Dammit, she thought. There was only one way, then: along the path that followed the river, all the way to K or L Street. She’d have to see how best to get from there to 8th Street. She had to move.
* * *
—
She made it to the Washington, DC, post office around eleven o’clock and found something as rare as a pay phone in working order. She looked at the layer of mud that had become a permanent feature of her pant legs, shook her head, and dialed Wesley’s direct number. This, of course, was a really stupid idea, but hearing his voice would give her the moral support she needed right now. She couldn’t say directly that she was going to try making it into the White House, but he’d understand what she meant. He was a clever guy.
Their conversation was short. It felt good to hear his voice, just as she’d hoped. Now she was expecting he’d take the proper precautions.
The smile on her lips died as she replaced the receiver and looked around. She’d been met by a disquieting sight every time she looked south. All the streets leading to the university and the White House were swarming with black uniforms, and everyone headed that way was stopped and asked for identification. Most were turned back.
So they’d sealed off the area surrounding the White House. Of course. The British delegation mustn’t be allowed to see the people’s discontent. The helicopter with the prime minister and his entourage would land on the White House lawn in front of the Oval Office. He would remain in the Oval Office until the helicopter came and fetched him again. It was that simple.
With such massive control around Pennsylvania Avenue, she was forced to make a detour north to the Metro Center, around Chinatown, and then down to Barnes & Noble. She picked up her pace a bit, her feet squishing as though there was oatmeal inside her shoes. She gasped for breath like a chain smoker as first her raincoat and then the rest of her clothes also got soaked through. It wasn’t so strange that people were staring at her, the way she looked. Who’d be dumb enough to go out in this kind of weather, dressed as she was, and without an umbrella? Who else besides some poor wretch who didn’t know better? Poor girl, eyes were saying as she rushed by. Strangely empty eyes.
The city wasn’t itself anymore.
As she approached Barnes & Noble from F Street, things seemed completely normal. Too normal, actually, and this made her nervous. Soldiers were lined up with bulletproof vests and full combat uniforms just one block farther on but not here. There weren’t even policemen patrolling. A few customers went in and out of the bookstore fifty yards down the street, but that was it.
She stole a glance at the upstairs windows of the neighboring buildings and tried to spot an alert face, but there was nothing unusual to see there, either.
They’re waiting for us in the bookstore—of course they are. Don’t try and fool yourself, Doggie Rogers, you’re too smart for that, she thought to herself, and hugged the wall of the building to escape the waterfall from the overflowing roof gutter. There were twenty minutes until her meeting with T. If this was going to work, she’d have to catch him before he reached the shop.
Where will he park? she asked herself. Over on Tenth? Maybe she just ought to stay where she was. If he showed up on the other side of the corner entrance, she’d bolt towards him, even though the chances of getting away were slim. But she was hoping for—and counting on—his coming from the north end. He probably would. It was much easier to find a parking place up there.
* * *
—
At ten minutes to twelve she sat down on the sidewalk against the wall of the building, paying no attention to the flood beneath her. That’s what a real bag lady does, she thought, because that’s what she was. A shopping cart would probably have helped the overall effect, but attitude was what was most important. She laid her chin on her knees. That way she could glance up and down the street, only moving her eyes.
“Come on, T,” she whispered, while she tried to relax her body.
Not ten minutes went by before she saw a poorly camouflaged FBI agent approaching her from down on the corner. His black raincoat was still almost dry, but the brim of his hat was saturated from the rain. So, up pops the G-man, she thought. I wonder if he was given the sign by someone up in one of those windows. She looked up again, but saw no one, and stuck her hand in the plastic bag as she followed his progress out of the corner of her eye. She trawled the bottom with her hand until she found her eyeliner in a corner. Then she broke off the point of the eyeliner on the surface of the sidewalk and crumbled it between her fingers. The FBI guy was approaching fast.
With her head hidden between her knees, she put her hand to her face and smeared the black stuff around her eyes, humming as she did so. He was only ten yards from her and already addressing her when she leaned back her head and let the streaming rain do the rest. It stung, but she could tell it was working. No makeup could stay put for long under those conditions.
He nudged her with his foot. “May I see some identification.” It wasn’t a question.
She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Hey, beautiful. Did you say you’d like to see my cunt?” She tried to sound a little drunk and laughed hollowly, while her heart was hammering with fear. Then she cast her eyes down at the cascading water and kept humming.
“You can’t sit here,” he said, and pushed once more with his shoe.
“Hey, man, maybe you wanna take me to the hotel?” she drawled. “Okay by me. I’ll do it wherever you say.” She looked at him yieldingly, with her mouth agape. “I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Shit, do you look good! Give me a hand here, okay?”
He shook his head and leaned his head towards his lapel microphone. “What should I do with her?” he asked. “You have to come with me,” he said, when he’d gotten the answer in his earpiece. “You can’t sit here.”
“Why not? Where am I supposed to go?”
“You have to get off the street.”
He dragged her past the first window of the bookshop, down towards the corner. Like many Barnes & Noble facades, the windows reached from street level to second floor. In a few minutes T would be wandering around in there, looking for her. If she didn’t do something, his search would be in vain.
She tried to pull her arm away, but the FBI agent’s grip was firm and determined. He had to get her away from the street, and fast. Those were his orders.
Just five yards from the corner she caught sight of T, on his way down the bookstore’s escalator, wearing what was for him an unusually anonymous jacket. Even the cowboy boots had yielded to a normal pair with laces. He looked pale, like a man who hadn’t slept for several days, but in T’s case, you couldn’t judge the book by the cover. She observed how his tired eyes were shooting a hundred snapshots around the room. It was a professional at work.
“I’m goin’ in here,” she yelled into the man’s ear.
“No, you’re not. You’re going and sit in the van around the corner.”
“I’ve gotta take a piss. They always let me. I used to work here, get it? So let go of me, jerk, I’m goin’ in.”
He tried to ignore her while she pulled in the other direction. If he were going to get her to come, he was going to have to fight for it.
“Listen: I’ve gotta go in here. I gotta piss. Otherwise I’ll fucking piss in your goddamn fucking van, okay? I don’t give a shit what you say.” The grip on her arm tightened.
“Hey, you fucking bum, you’re not gonna use force on a lady, are you?” She let herself flop down on the sidewalk. “I just have to take a piss, okay? Let me go in, and then I’ll disappear from the ‘hood, okay? Otherwise we can just pick up where we left off when I come out. Okay?”
He let her slide all the way to the ground. “What now?” he said into his lapel, then nodded his head a couple of times. “Yeah, we still have the guy under surveillance. He’s looking for her. Yes. All right.”
He looked down at her. “So get out of the area when you’re done, understand?” She was no longer his focus of interest. She was nothing.
She nodded. Did she understand? Absolutely.
* * *
—
She felt dozens of pairs of eyes watching her as she approached the escalator. It was hard to tell whether this was caused by her bizarre appearance or because the ears that went with the eyes had been listening in on her and the FBI agent. Probably both. In any case, there were a lot of earpieces being worn in that bookshop—that was for sure.
Halfway up the escalator she spied T looking around in the science book department. At one point it appeared as though he were looking straight at her, and she lifted her hand slightly from the rail’s rubber belt. But then his gaze continued on, out the windows. Shit, he didn’t recognize me, she thought. Just so long as he was patient. In any case, she couldn’t make contact now. “We still have the guy under surveillance,” they’d said.
On the second floor she hurried straight past the racks of DVDs to the restrooms. She hadn’t been faking—she had to go. If she’d been dragged to the police van she’d probably have carried out her threat.
Inside the ladies’ room she bumped into a woman who was drying her hands in front of the mirror. An elegant, feminine woman, like so many of the customers in Barnes & Noble—that is, if one ignored the FBI identification card tucked into the waist of her slacks.
There were agents everywhere.
Doggie glanced at herself in the mirror as she shuffled by. It wasn’t so strange they couldn’t recognize her—she could hardly recognize herself. What a messy, pathetic sight. Like a rat backed into a corner—that’s how she looked. And that’s exactly what she was.
She sat down in one of the stalls. The next ten minutes would show whether her venture was going to succeed. Ten crucial, unnerving minutes. If they arrested her she’d have a lot to answer for. She’d probably survive, one way or another, but for her father it would be all over. Therefore she had no choice but to go on. She had to make it into the White House. That was her next hurdle.
And as she sat there obeying nature’s call, she realized how she’d do it. It was so simple. But she absolutely had to get out of the store with T. Otherwise it wouldn’t work.
She dabbed her face with toilet paper, trying not to wipe off the eyeliner.
“Yes, she’s still in the toilet” came the hushed voice of the woman on the other side of the door.
“Yes, I’ll keep an eye on her. . . . No, otherwise nothing. . . . Yes, I’m ready.”
Like hell you are, thought Doggie. Then she pulled her soaked pants back on and took a hundred-dollar bill out of the plastic bag.
She stepped past the woman without looking at her and left the restroom, leaving a wet trail all the way to the café in the back, where she asked for a cup of tea at the counter. The waitress did a double take before her eyes came to rest on the large banknote that was being thrust towards her.
“Give me that sandwich there, too,” Doggie said, pointing.
She took a couple of swallows of tea and didn’t feel anyone watching her. After a couple of bites of the sandwich she passed the children’s book department and chose a book on her way back down the escalator, constantly on the lookout for the sheriff of Highland County.
But T was nowhere to be seen, and she felt the panic rising as she looked at her watch. It wasn’t even ten past twelve. He couldn’t have left the store already, for God’s sake.
She tried to look around calmly in all directions as she headed for the counter to pay, but he simply wasn’t there.
Then she picked up a book from the new arrivals table and pretended to look at it while the personnel watched to see if she’d do any damage. She knew one of the clerks would soon show her the door if she wasn’t careful.
Just behind her an agent was scouting the room, and in front of her one was looking out the window. The woman from the restroom was now positioned at the top of the escalator, watching the entrance. They were on full alert, and here she stood like a scarecrow, visible to everyone in the world, and no one suspected anything. She was the swan who’d turned into an ugly duckling.
Please, T, come out, come out, wherever you are, she pleaded silently and put the book down again. Then she headed towards a corner where an older couple stood, speaking softly and paging through a huge book. They shrank away when they caught sight of her.
If I go outside to look for him, they won’t let me in again, she thought. But what if he’d really left?
She walked around the escalator and to the back of the store. A couple of agentlike types were hanging around, but they, too, moved away when she approached.
Then she gave up and headed for the entrance. T was gone. This was the worst thing that could happen.
It was raining harder than ever outside. The FBI agent had run for cover, and the gutters were like rivers. She had to be down at Market Square in three-quarters of an hour to meet Bugatti, but the walk itself would take only a few minutes if she headed straight for the square. By walking past the Metro Center parking lot and up around the Franklin Square neighborhood, she could use up extra time and still arrive early enough to try and stop Bugatti from entering the tea house. Maybe she’d get lucky and spot T along the way. She hoped so very, very much.
She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was following her, but the street was deserted. She sped up her pace, looking down side streets as she passed, but there was no T.
Her mind was racing. T had disappeared from Barnes & Noble. The agent had said they’d been keeping him under surveillance; maybe they thought he could lead them to her. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to find T, but one thing was for sure: Getting into the White House wouldn’t be easy without him. Maybe Bugatti would be able to help instead, but right now she just didn’t know.
She looked behind her one more time. A man was walking, bent over, on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards behind her. It was hard to see him clearly because her vision was blurred by the rain, but Doggie wasn’t taking any chances. She began walking slightly faster and was horrified to notice that there was now another man following along a little ways behind the first one. By the time she reached the courthouse she was considering dropping the meeting with Bugatti—but how? It was her responsibility to warn him.
She’d felt uneasy ever since she’d set her foot on the pedestrian bridge over the Potomac, but now she was really afraid. The man behind her was like a fog that could envelop her at any moment. Or another man could suddenly appear in front of her. They said that most concentration camp prisoners became passive the longer they were in captivity, and that the daily suffering blunted speculations about the probability of their own death. She knew this was one of nature’s quirks, where the destitute and doomed found a kind of peace of mind in resigning themselves to their fate. But before that point was a limited time span where fear took over, where one had survived long enough to imagine one had found a way out—only to realize one had been mistaken.
This was precisely Doggie’s state of mind as she cut across Indiana Avenue with the two men on her heels.
Why don’t you just give up? The obvious question was growing in her consciousness. Market Square is just down at the end of Indiana Avenue, but so is FBI headquarters. These men are on their home turf. They’re playing cat and mouse and are just waiting to see your next move before they pounce, Doggie thought.
“Pull yourself together,” she said out loud. She had to warn Bugatti if she could. Then she’d see what happened afterwards.
That was the moment where she began thinking maybe it all wasn’t worth it. When she reached Market Square again she’d be almost back where she started, a few hundred yards from Barnes & Noble. If she showed up at the spot where they most likely already knew John Bugatti would be waiting for her, it probably wouldn’t be s
o difficult to put two and two together. Pressing her luck was a bad idea—she could sense it. No, one shouldn’t tempt the same opponent two times in a row.
So she stopped and turned around.
The first man was only twenty yards away now. He’d catch up with her if she didn’t start running. The last downpour had soaked him to the skin, and he didn’t seem to be enjoying it. Then he raised his head and looked right at her.
It was T.
She was about to shout with joy when she saw him nod behind him.
“Follow me very closely,” he muttered as he passed her. His breathing sounded like a faulty ventilation system.
She followed three steps behind him, down towards Market Square, crossing the map of the world that was engraved into the square’s granite surface. Then she looked up 8th Street towards Teaism, the tearoom. There didn’t seem to be any sign of Bugatti. She looked at her watch. It was still too early.
They turned down Pennsylvania Avenue towards the Capitol with the other man trailing along behind and then turned up 6th Street. She turned around again. The guy was gone, so she caught up with T.
He didn’t look at her. Instead he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and tried to light one in the downpour. He was unsuccessful.
“I’ve got to meet John Bugatti down by Market Square now,” she hissed. “What do I do?”
“Don’t do it. We’ll have the whole police force after us. You’ve got to figure we’re being watched all the time. Just come with me.”
“But the guy who was following us is gone.”
“They’re never gone.”
“Was he after us?”
“What do you think? He and his buddies have been on my tail ever since I left Barnes & Noble.”
“I just saw him. Where is he now?”
“He’s standing, watching us a little farther up, but we’re going to ditch him, along with all the others. Come on, but keep your distance.”
The Washington Decree Page 49