The Parnell Affair

by James, Seth

  “So, I have some good news,” he said. “That suspicion of ours: I got confirmation. We were right.”

  “Don't give me the specifics over the phone!” Sally said quickly.

  “I know,” he said. “I wasn't going to.”

  “That's fantastic, though,” she said. “Another reason I can't wait until you get home.”

  “You're going to love the how and the who, I think,” he said.

  “Can you print it?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Not without that, um, thing.”

  “No luck getting a hold of it?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I'm on the right track. There's a young woman who has access to it. She's thinking about it.”

  “Oh, a young woman,” Sally said and chuckled. “Well what are you waiting for, Romeo? Get in there and seduce her.”

  “I'm halfway there already,” Tobias said. “Went pretty smoothly. Quick, too!”

  “You scoundrel,” she said and laughed. “Though, slow is more reliable in something like this; but it's not as if we have the time, I expect.”

  “That's what has me worried,” Tobias said. He took a breath to say more but rose and paced in the silence instead.

  “Tobias?” she said.

  “I was just thinking,” he said. “Given the cross between puppy-dog-eyes and the come-fuck-me-look the young woman gave me, I'm suddenly wondering if she'll release the, uh, things without some sort of price attached to them.”

  “When is the resolution expected?” she said.

  “A day or two,” he said. “There was a false alarm today; scuttlebutt is somewhat erratic on the subject.”

  “Not much time,” Sally sighed. “Not much time before those things go back where they came from, maybe out of reach.” Another pause, this one of her making. “If she asks, if she silently demands, can you do it?”

  “What!” Tobias blurted.

  “Listen,” she said quickly, “there's only one woman I want you to sleep with and she certainly is not in New York at the moment. But this is so important. Not just to me, not just to us: a war is being started with these lies.”

  Sally's mind seemed to stiffen in response to her words. Her long stifled emotions rebelled at the sight of the NOC officer recruiting a less than willing spy. She had said many of these words before.

  “I can't believe you're asking me to go through with this,” Tobias said.

  “I'm not asking you,” Sally said. “Please don't make me ask you. But the stakes are so high; so many lives depend on us—it's worth the sacrifice. And it is a sacrifice. It wouldn't be about lust or pleasure or even much about sex; it's just what needs to be done.”

  Tobias was far from inexperienced, had indulged in more than his share of liaisons and one-night stands over the years. Sex at times had been a diversion, a pastime without passion, closer to an agreeable exercise than the making of love. But always, in those comfortably casual affairs, his partner had been equally casual, an accomplice in vice. He'd been used—by wives seeking an excuse to divorce, girlfriends hoping to get caught, to force an end—but he'd never used. And sex hadn't always been so casual. Profligate as his life had sometimes seemed, sex had always been the only source of intimacy Tobias had.

  “Really?” he said. “So, if this shouldn't work and what I'm after goes back where it came from and next week you have a chance to fuck them away from some fella with access, you're perfectly okay with that? Is that the sort of thing they get up to in the CIA?”

  “Did you just call me a whore?” she said.

  “No, I didn't,” he said. “I asked you a question.”

  “A few questions, all at once, it seems,” she said. “To the question you did not directly ask: no, I never had occasion during my career to fuck some fella for god and country.” Before Tobias could respond, she continued: “But I would not have hesitated for a moment! Not if the choice was between sex with someone I didn't like and the killing of hundreds of thousands, by nuke or by slower, more brutal war. If those were the choices, I'd have had an extra glass of wine and shown the bastard a hell of a good time—and all through it I would have had images running through my mind of babies in their mother's arms, saved from being spitted on bayonets!”

  Silence thrust itself between them. As her agitated breathing slowed, Sally suddenly wondered if Lucy had heard what she'd shouted into the phone, if she were in her room down the hall.

  “I'm sorry,” she said.

  “No, don't be, forget it,” he said. “You're right: compared to the slaughter of coming war, my little scruples are petty in comparison.” He took a breath and sat down heavily.

  “They're not petty,” she said tenderly.

  “Babies on bayonets?” he asked and forced a laugh.

  “Well?” she replied.

  “Not really an image likely to entice my, uh, little partner up for some casual action,” he said.

  “Your little partner?” she asked. “Oh! No, I suppose not,” she said and laughed. After they'd both laughed for a moment, she said, “I'm sorry. I know this isn't the life you set out to lead.”

  “Don't be,” he said. “I just, hell, I don't think I can do it, Sally. Maybe it won't matter: maybe if she shows up and demands a little rumpy and my man servant doesn't rise to the call, I could tell her it's a medical thing. Tell her it doesn't happen every time, that next time it'll work. Play as if we were beginning a relationship. I suppose she'd settle for other sorts of activities.”

  “Activities I won't want to think about when you first kiss me after getting home?” Sally said.

  “I just hope she has the courtesy to wash up down there before she comes over,” he mumbled. “So, anyway, speaking of when I get back, I was thinking that it isn't all that likely people in your social circle would visit my old neighborhood, and there's a great Cuban joint there now. Beats driving out of state every time we want to see each other.”

  “I'd love to,” she said. “You can show me the old neighborhood! And I've come to the conclusion that keeping this a secret,” she said, deliberately not defining 'this,' “simply isn't possible. Not without a hell of a lot more work and it isn't worth it. I'm sure half of DC thinks Joe is shamelessly carrying on with his secretary. And what business is it of theirs anyway?”

  The next morning, Tobias tried for another steam-room rendezvous with the Russian ambassador but he never showed. Back at the UN, Tobias caught sight of Ms Dupree only once. She seemed to deliberately avoid looking in his direction, dropping her eyes to the floor if she happened to turn toward him. Before she stepped out of sight, however, she stole a glance, blushed enough to show through her makeup, and smiled shyly.

  That afternoon, Tobias caught up to her, or more accurately, she caught up with him. He'd cornered one of the INR guys from State and asked him about the difficulties his office had had with certain appointed Under Secretaries, conducting the conversation as if following up on what he'd learned from Gerald Hicman. Ms Dupree stole him away with come-hither glances, standing concealed nearly within a potted geranium. She said she had an hour or two to herself and asked if he'd like to have a drink.

  They sat huddled over a tiny elevated bar table in a rather dark bistro in midtown. Though Tobias learned her first name was Marion, Marion breezed past his casual inquiries about where she was from and gone to school. She wanted to know all about his work, how he went about discovering stories and getting people to talk, how to investigate and to put two and two together in the murky, misleading currents of American politics. Their drink had made her more voluble but it seemed his stories intoxicated her more: whether a hair-raising account of his war correspondent days in Colombia or deducing whose arm was twisted by which lobby, Marion grew more rapt in her attention and more obvious in her awe. Her manner was half that of a student shamelessly occupying a professor's office hours and half that of a fan begging for stories of sports glory.

  Amid the tales of his professional success, Marion a
lways returned to Tobias's reputation for romantic escapade. At first shyly and, after another drink, more boldly, Marion at first seemed concerned that his reputation was too well earned, and later that it was exaggerated. Tobias, still uncertain as to whether he could go through with any erotic persuasion, willingly turned the conversation back to his craft. He selected stories in which a tip from someone inside government had led to a story of some importance, trying to frame the act of leaking as heroically as possible. She took the hint in her stride.

  “I guess you're somewhat anxious to know about those documents,” she said and pondered her drink.

  “Preoccupied,” he said, stilling her fidgeting fingers by touching her hand. When she looked up at him, a note of unease clouded her heretofore beaming features, and Tobias thought: crap, she thinks I'm playing at romance to get the Niger docs. Which, truthfully, I am but it doesn't help if she knows. Have to play in the other direction. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Deadlines, you know how it is. I need to write it soon or my paper will recall me. I'll probably wind up simply focusing on the IAEA's concerns, do without a look at the Niger docs myself. It's too bad, the story would have been better with them, but I'm running out of time.” He grinned wearily and sighed. “I'll be buried somewhere in the middle of the paper again, I guess.”

  “But I found out where they are,” she said, gripping his hand. “And I do have access, or I can slip in there easily enough. You shouldn't give up on your story being as good as it can.”

  “Slip in there?” Tobias said, stifling his sudden excitement. “It's great that you can—and would do that for me; I really appreciate it—but I don't want you to get into trouble.”

  “I won't get into any trouble,” she said, visibly pleased by his concern.

  “If it's between my story not being as much of a success,” he said, wondering if he was now actively sabotaging his chances, “or you risking your job—”

  “I'm not; I just told you,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “If you know who has custody, maybe I should just approach that person directly, at least try.”

  “But why don't you want me to help you?” she asked, looking hurt.

  “It's not that I don't,” he said. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I won't,” she said. “I'll get them tonight. Tomorrow night at the latest. I'll bring them to you. To your room.”

  Her chest rose and fell as nothing was said for a moment. Then, abruptly, she freed her hands and dove into her pocket for her phone. A quick check of the screen and she was out of her chair.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “I have to go.”

  Tobias said what reassuring things he could in the few seconds it took her to gather her coat and bag. She stepped toward him, in the attitude of someone about to kiss another goodbye, hesitated, and then fled.

  That night Tobias paced the length of his hotel room constantly. He'd talked to Sally after dinner but hadn't mentioned Marion's news. Despite Sally's argument, the reasonableness of the sacrifice she described, the closer Tobias came to facing it, the more uncertain he became of his ability to do it. He inspected the clock every few minutes until he hated the thing. He conjured myriad images of insurmountable obstacles preventing Marion from getting the Niger docs or bringing them to his room. He invented schemes for incapacitating himself: getting stumbling drunk, stuffing himself with greasy foods and laxatives until the room was unlivable, or utilizing the pay-per-view porn and furiously masturbating into unrecoverable impotence. The last thought seemed hardly necessary; he couldn't imagine successfully sleeping with Marion. And yet, he didn’t want to let down Sally, or seem less sophisticated than their plight demanded. On the other side he didn't want to lose his self respect. He stretched out on the bed, with every intention of fantasizing about Sally until his libido was too charged to say no to Marion, but all he could imagine was lying next to Sally afterwards. And then he fell asleep. Waking briefly at 2:00 am, he realized Marion would not come that night.

  “Wonderful,” he said as he undressed. “I can look forward to going through this again tomorrow night.”

  Tobias didn't see Marion the next morning and the buzz around the UN explained why. A resolution was expected at any moment. It wasn't until that afternoon, however, that a resolution vote on Iraq was held. The wording hinted at possible future action if Iraq did not fully comply with weapons inspectors, but its vagueness concerned both hawks and doves.

  The council adjourned and left their chamber to meet the press, formulaic responses in hand. The half circles of cameras and pants-suited-microphone-holders took down the post game comments as Tobias watched from the sidelines. Marion followed the secretary out, a pleased look, bordering on smugness, wreathed her face and shaded her eyes. Tobias walked over to where she stood off beyond the floodlights, as Secretary McLean praised the cooperation of his international partners. Catching sight of Tobias, she walked over to meet him. A condescending smile broke through her restraint, along with a look of mocking pleasure that froze the air in Tobias's lungs.

  “Thanks for not publishing any of your baseless assumptions during the negotiations,” she said. “That would have been an unfortunate additional hurdle for us as we worked toward international security.”

  Her tone, her stance, they way she wore her clothes—she was back on message. I got played? Tobias thought. It wasn't as if it had never happened before, but infrequently enough that he needed a second for it to register.

  For the first second, he was relieved. But then the price of failure asserted itself. No witty comeback rose to his defense, no face-saving air; he stood as if uncomprehending.

  “What?” she asked, her youth showing in her casual scorn. “Did you really think I'd jeopardize my career just to roll around with you? You have quite the reputation around town, Mr. Hallström, but you're not that attractive. And about ten years too old for me,” she added in a whisper before stepping away to merge into the chaos of cameras and reporters that orbited Secretary McLean as he left General Assembly Hall.

  Chapter 6

  “I mean, for crying out loud! She could have simply said 'no thank you' or 'no comment' or 'take a hike, Jack,'” Tobias told Sally as they walked from his apartment—where it was a little safer to leave her car—and went east toward his old neighborhood. He'd taken the night train back the evening before and both had waited impatiently through the day. He was back to jeans and a blazer—the October weather unusually warm that year—while Sally was back in Anna's tweed coat. “Too old! I thought the rule was half your age plus seven: I'm forty-two. She was easily twenty-eight. Hell, with her skin? She could have been fifty-eight—and all of it spent on the beach.”

  Sally made a screeching cat noise and laughed. “You bitch,” she said playfully. With the excuse of comforting him, she put her arm around him. “Oh, I think you are a little hurt,” she said.

  “Well, a little bit,” he said though he smiled ruefully.

  “Listen,” she said and took a breath. “I want to apologize.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said.

  “I think I do,” she said. “I think I gave the impression that I didn't take your reluctance seriously. I did. And though the betrayed spy in me is sorry we didn't get the documents,” she said and then smiled her own rueful smile, “the woman in me is very happy, relieved, you didn't sleep with that woman.”

  Tobias snorted. “That woman,” he said. “I'm glad I didn't sleep with her: as cold as she was, she was likely to be frigid.” Sally made another cat noise. “And thanks,” he said, “though I knew the night we talked about it that you understood.”

  “And if it makes you feel any better,” she said, “it was all bullshit. Whenever a woman says you aren't that attractive, she means she's attracted to you. Only, her sex drive doesn't run her life.”

  “What makes me feel better is stepping out with you,” he said and kissed her gently as they walked. “And, hell, it doesn't do my ego any
harm to get shot down by some—woman,” he said, restraining himself. “It was growing all out of proportion, what with receiving the attentions of the most beautiful woman to ever grace this city.”

  She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything in case he wanted to continue along that vein.

  To her disappointment, his attention snapped back to the investigation: “I guess what burns me up about it is that I came so close,” he said. “That was the right place, the right time, and there had to have been opportunities. Which, naturally, is why she went to the trouble of leading me on, so I wouldn't pursue any other opportunity to obtain them. Stupid of me. Don’t know how we'll find someone to leak the Niger docs now.”

  “I managed to find a list of people who work at the OSP,” Sally said. “Anything they lent out to State would have to go back. They may have been returned today.”

  “Well, well,” Tobias said. “Anybody interesting?”

  “Not in person,” Sally kidded. More seriously, she continued: “Strangely high level people working at the OSP. It's run by the Deputy Secretary of Defense, Dutch Faith.”

  “Is that unusual?” he asked.

  “He has no intelligence experience,” she said. “It's unusual for a Deputy Secretary to take on the management of a project; he'd assign a team leader of some sort normally.”

  “Tells you how important they see that office,” Tobias said. “Could be it has more than one project under its purview. Maybe the intel brief for McLean was only one of many projects.”

  “That's probably it, actually,” she said. “Special Plans: could be they have some roll in planning the invasion of Iraq, though they shouldn't need to. Those plans should already exist; they have plans for attacking almost any country all ready to go, just in case. Even the Netherlands.”