As he slipped his key into the ignition, a text from Eleanor Clay flashed across his phone’s screen. This time, she invited him to an evening of “entertainment” accompanied by the details of a new embassy purchase. She had tickets to the revival of an old show, Shear Madness, at the Kennedy Center. He always needed any intel she could give him about foreign sales, but he was busy and didn’t want to encourage her in any personal way. Maybe he could pawn her off on Dom.
As he considered how to answer her message, he reflected that the name of the show mirrored the state of his most important assignment: the Naples investigation. Everything about Samantha’s situation—the explosion, the stalker, the hit and run driver—was complete madness. For her sake, he wanted to solve the case as soon as possible.
He shoved the cell back in his pocket and started the car. He needed to stop by a few other clandestine locations on Embassy Row before picking up Samantha at the southwest gate of the White House. Protecting her was turning out to be the best part of that assignment, even if some nutcase was still out there trying to track her down.
THIRTY-ONE
EARLY MONDAY EVENING;
WASHINGTON, D.C.
OTTO STUDIED THE EMAIL FROM Vadim again. It was a follow-up to the testy conversation they had had about him staying in D.C. a little longer. While he hated reading the imperialistic tone of Vadim’s writing, he was glad he had finally won a round with the man. Staying in D.C. meant spending more time with Jolene. The flip side was Vadim’s demand that Otto finish the job he had been sent to do.
He pushed his laptop off his lap and then swung his legs over the side of his hotel bed. Otto walked to the bureau, rummaged through a stack of jeans and T-shirts, and fingered his brand new Glock 19. It had never been fired. He put it on the desk next to his latest batch of notes on the Reid woman’s whereabouts. Recently, she had started getting rides with different people to and from work. Had to be some kind of bodyguards.
He wondered if she remembered him from the Naples dinner. It didn’t seem very likely, but it would explain the sudden driver routine that kicked in right after she spotted him at that restaurant on lower K Street. Then when he screwed up the hit-and-run and knocked down that old man, she had gotten even more protection. He hoped that man was okay.
Figuring out how to get his bonus without killing the woman was turning out to be a lot more difficult than he thought. Maybe he could scare her into leaving town for a while. That would remove her from her government action and allow Vadim to operate more freely. Perhaps that would satisfy him.
While he figured out his scare tactics, there were still things he could do to fill his reports to Vadim. He would continue to trail her from a distance and keep the gun in his car from now on. Just in case. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to do some surveillance near her apartment later in the evening. Right now, he had better plans.
He was going to see Jolene and help her move out of her dorm. She had just graduated and had already found an apartment near DuPont Circle. After he helped set up her new place, he planned to surprise her with a nice bottle of cabernet he had bought from his now-favorite liquor store.
Otto glanced at his phone and realized he needed to start getting ready. He quickly undressed and stepped into the shower. While the warm water ran through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to Jolene. She had been on his mind a lot. He had never met a woman who was so unlike the girls in their gang back home.
Jolene always talked about her parents with respect, and she was never angry or belligerent. She had ambition. As far as he could tell, she never used any kind of drugs. She didn’t even have tattoos or piercings, at least none that he had seen. It would probably take a few more dates before he got that close. But a guy could dream.
He finished showering, shaved, and picked out a pair of fairly clean blue jeans and a polo shirt. Then he went through his usual routine of grabbing his keys, wallet, and credit cards. This time, he also grabbed the bottle of wine and wrapped his Glock in a T-shirt before heading down to the parking lot. Otto stashed the concealed Glock in his car’s glove box and locked it.
It took him less than ten minutes to drive to the campus. He pulled the Acura to the side of the road leading to the guard gate and texted Jolene. Then he sat back and waited. After a few minutes, he saw her waving and running toward the car.
“You’re right on time,” she said, opening the passenger door and leaping in. “I’ll show my pass to the guard. You can park right next to my dorm. You are so nice to come help me tonight. It’s kind of chaotic with everyone moving out, but those are the rules.”
“No problem,” he said, pulling through the gate. “Glad to be of service.”
I’d like to service her sometime.
“We just have a short drive. Go up the hill and turn right.”
As he followed her directions, he appraised the girl of his recent dreams out of the corner of his eye. Her short black hair was swept away from her flushed face. Her dark eyes looked mysterious and inviting at the same time. How did she do that? And why wasn’t she always surrounded by other guys? Why was she so willing to only go out with him? She had told him that she recently broke up with a student from China. Maybe he simply came along at the right time. Now, he wanted to spend all his time with her, or at least as much as he could manage.
He flicked on the radio as they drove. As soon as he switched it on, he heard George Strait singing “Give It All We Got Tonight.” Jolene had also told him she liked American country music, so he had gone through great pains to program the right stations. As George sang, “My god, you’re somethin’, like nothing. If I’m asleep girl, let me dream,” Otto looked at her and couldn’t believe his good fortune to be awake with this gorgeous creature sitting next to him.
“I like that one,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“Mmm-hmm,” he muttered, glancing around at all the SUVs and trucks along the side of the road.
“Over there,” Jolene said.
“I see it.” Otto pulled into a spot, and they trooped into the dormitory.
Jolene had already packed her clothes into several suitcases, all sitting in a line on her dorm room’s floor. She also had three boxes of books, her computer, a printer, a lamp, two posters, and a shopping bag filled with shoes sitting on top of a small fridge. It didn’t take long to load everything into Otto’s trunk and back seat, drive to her new building, and haul it all inside. When they were finally finished, Otto retrieved the bottle of cabernet from the car. He walked back to her new apartment and handed it to Jolene.
“Wow! This looks great. Thank you. And thank you for all your help. You sit down. I’ll open this, and we’ll chat for a while.”
“These are pretty nice digs,” Otto said, plopping down on a tweed couch and stretching his legs. He was relieved to be inside where no one could see him and possibly tie him to the ongoing news reports about Naples. Tonight, he could really relax. He just hoped that one night he could relax with her. He thought about that as he glanced toward the bedroom.
“I really lucked out,” she said. “The landlord offered it to me partially furnished. Nothing elegant, but at least I’ve got the basics.” She grabbed two glasses and came to sit next to him.
“You know, Oleg,” she said as she poured the wine, “when we’ve been together, we’ve talked about my family, my classes, my finals, my job plans. But you haven’t really told me much about yourself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice of you to show so much interest in me. I mean, a lot of guys I meet do nothing but talk about themselves, their sports, their trophies, how they nailed an exam, how they’re going to make a million dollars with a start-up, whatever. But you’re different. You’re almost . . . secretive,” she said. “It’s like you don’t want to tell me about your family or your life. So, tonight I just decided I’d come right out and ask you about it. Do you mind?”
Otto shifted in his seat. How much could he tell her without scaring her or chasing her away? He didn’t ha
ve much to be proud of. No sports, no trophies, no money. His only hope for a million dollars was to stay tied to a man he couldn’t stand. Was that his plan? His only plan?
He hesitated, sat back, and then took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I should say. I told you I went to school in Moscow. My mother lives on a small farm. My dad died in a tractor accident. I don’t have any trophies or an idea for a start-up. Guess that’s not very impressive, right?” he said with a slight frown.
“Hey, wait a minute. Being impressive has nothing to do with it. I’m just curious about what you’d like to do.”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But look at you. You’ve got all sorts of ideas about jobs you can get, things you can do, money you can make. It’s terrific. You’ve got it all sorted out.”
“Not quite,” she said. “Sure, I’ve got ideas, and I have been looking for a job. In fact, I’ve got a few leads I was going to tell you about. But I don’t have everything figured out yet.” She leaned forward and took his hand. “And I think you’re a lot more impressive than you realize. You’re nice, you’re tall, you’re cute—”
“Cute?” he said with a half laugh.
“Well, I think you’re cute. And you’ve got good hair,” she said with a grin. “You’re also smart and great with computers. You know more than most of the students did in my senior computer class. I’ve told you before that you could probably get a good job around here. One of the things I wanted to do tonight was try to talk you into giving it a shot.”
“You mean look for a job and stay in Washington?”
“Why not? The place is booming. I saw an article in the Post that said thousands of graduates come to D.C. from all over the country. There are government contractors everywhere you look and lobbyists all over town. And every company needs computer help, especially for security.”
“What’s a lobbyist?” he asked.
“Oh those,” she said. “They work on legislation. Big companies or associations of smaller ones or nonprofits send them to Washington to get things passed that they want. They talk to members of Congress and try to get them to vote for bills that would be good for their businesses. Anyone has a right to lobby for a cause.”
“ ‘Lobby’ is a strange word,” he said.
“It comes from way back. People would stand in the rooms just outside Congress, out in the lobby or hallways, and try to talk to the members to influence them. So, they’re called lobbyists. See?”
“I get it, but I don’t know anything about legislation or politics. We don’t get involved in that stuff back home. I don’t think they’d pay any attention to us even if we wanted to. I mean, we have elections, but I think they’re pretty well fixed. Come to think of it, a lot of stuff back there is fixed. If you know the right people.”
“Knowing the right people here helps too, but I don’t think the elections are fixed. Oh, they’ve definitely got some problems, but we don’t have to talk about that. What I wanted to focus on was the possibility of you staying, not the reality of it. So, what do you think?”
“I think I’d like to spend more time with you. For starters anyway. Oh, and I just got word that I am going to stay here a little longer.”
“That’s great,” she said with a big smile. “That means I have more time to get you to make a decision.”
Could he possibly make such a big decision after being in the country for such a short time? He had spent some time in San Francisco, but that was different. Out there he was just an errand boy. An intern. An acolyte. That was a word his mother used a lot, and he didn’t think he wanted to spend the next several years in some sort of servitude. No, maybe Jolene had it right. Maybe he could start checking the job boards and see what was out there. The sooner he was no longer dependent on his uncles the better.
Perhaps his bonus could speed things up. Maksim never mentioned an exact number, but it might be enough for him to live in D.C. for a while and create a start-up or even go into business with Jolene. In fact, maybe he could get it all over with and start living a new life later tonight.
THIRTY-TWO
LATE MONDAY EVENING;
THE WHITE HOUSE
“HAVE A GOOD NIGHT,” SAMANTHA said as she nodded to the Secret Service agent who was seated at a desk by the basement door of the West Wing.
“You too, Miss Reid,” the man replied. “FBI picking you up as usual?”
She stopped. “Yes. I guess you know that.”
“We all know,” he said. “Stay safe out there.”
“Sure thing,” she said and pushed open the door. She hurried down the walkway along the parking area known as West Exec and approached the southwest gate. She waved to the agent inside the guard shack, went out the door, and looked around. Brett’s car was double-parked down the street with the headlights flashing. He stepped out of the car, ran over, and walked next to her until she scrambled inside. He got in on the driver’s side. “Where to tonight?”
Samantha looked over at him. “You know, it’s been a really long day. Most of my meetings ran late. As usual. I think I need to go straight home.”
“Got it.” He started to drive down E Street, heading for Virginia Avenue. “So, how was the day that wore you out so much? Anything you can talk about?”
Samantha leaned back and sighed. “Let’s see. I went to a Cabinet meeting. Whenever I go to one of those, I sit against the back wall with other staff where they don’t even pass the M&Ms.”
He chuckled. “Probably classified info.”
“Yes. I also had to sort out plans for a trip I have to make.”
“Where?” A note of concern touched his voice.
“They’re sending me out to Jackson, Wyoming, to give a talk on one of my favorite subjects right now: the money-laundering and illicit arms sales we’re trying to track. It’s a conference put on by the Fed. The Treasury Secretary has the lead. But with a lot of finance ministers and central bankers coming, my boss thinks I can convince them to help us close bad accounts. Anyway, we’ll have Treasury security with us, so you’ll get a break. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly safe.”
As Brett turned onto K Street, he remembered the listening devices picking up the words “conference,” “financiers,” and “Tepanov.”
Is this the conference they were talking about?
“Have you ever heard the name Alexander Tepanov? He’s a Russian banker,” Brett said.
“Tepanov? Let me think. Homer over at Treasury has been working with his staff to trace a bunch of new Russian accounts. I don’t think he’s mentioned that particular name. Why?” she asked.
“He might be connected to that conference out west. By the way, I have some questions about that, especially your role, the schedule, and the security setup.”
“Well, we’re here,” she said as Brett pulled up to her building. She rummaged in her purse. “I brought my door opener, so why don’t you pull into the underground garage. I have an extra spot for a guest. Then you can come up for a few minutes, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Good idea. I always want you off the streets as fast as possible,” Brett said.
He drove into the garage and waited until the garage door came down behind them before parking. They rode the elevator up to her condo and walked down the hall to her door. Samantha opened it, entered her new security code on a keypad, and they stepped inside.
“I’m glad your security system is working. Be sure to put it on STAY whenever you come home,” Brett advised.
“Yes, I do that,” she said. “Before we talk about the conference, would you like something to drink? Coffee? Juice?”
“Just water, thanks.” He followed her into the kitchen and accepted a glass of ice water while Samantha poured some juice for herself.
“Anything new on that waiter from Naples?” she asked.
“We’ve been looking all over town. Our agents are using the sketch, hitting hotels and motels, car rental agencies. The works.”
“An all po
ints when we’re not even sure of his name?” Her eyes widened.
“Yes, but it takes time. Do you know how many hotels are in D.C.?”
“Not a clue,” she admitted.
“One hundred and ninety-six. And that doesn’t include all the suburbs. He could be staying at someone’s house,” Brett said.
“It’s been tough trying to focus on my job while always wondering where that maniac might be. Wherever he is, though, I feel so much better when you and the other agents are around.” She said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I was reading something last night, and I came across an old poem by Mearns. It struck a chord. ‘As I was walking up the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today. I wish, I wish he’d stay away.’ ”
“I can see how you’d feel that way. I promise, we’re trying our best to keep you safe.”
She eyed him, paused, and said, “How did you become a special agent?”
“Well, if you really want to know. I grew up outside of Indianapolis. Got a scholarship to Purdue and a degree in engineering. But I decided I didn’t want to be an engineer after all. My dad was in the military; Mom was a teacher. She taught civics and used to drum things like citizenship, voting, and the Constitution into me all the time.”
“Sounds like you were lucky. I don’t think they teach enough civics in schools these days. Have you ever seen those man-on-the-street interviews on Watters’ World on Fox?”
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