Tripp took her arm, and they followed his parents to the front entrance of the Ritz Carlton. Surrounded by mangroves and palm trees, the beige stone structure formed a U-shape with the tallest building in the center, flanked by low wings on either side, each topped with a tawny Spanish tile roof. Behind the wall to the right was a large ballroom.
Samantha brushed a strand of long brown hair off her fore-head as a warm breeze blew in from the gulf. But she couldn’t brush away her worries about the intel she and the national security advisor had received. A new deluge of arms had been delivered to militant groups by what she and the advisor sus-pected were Russian sellers. Not corrupt government officials, though there were plenty of those.
She had been tracking a group of oligarchs who might be involved in the illicit and dangerous trade, and she knew there was a bevy of analysts back at the White House, Treasury, and CIA following the same threads. She sighed inwardly and resolved to check in with the Sit Room to get the latest when this event was over.
When Samantha approached the door, a flash went off, and a reporter for the Neapolitan Section of the Naples Daily News shouted a question, “How are you enjoying Naples?”
Another yelled, “Any national security problems down here, Ms. Reid?”
“What about those arms dealers you’re tracking?” a TV news anchor inquired.
Samantha and Tripp sidestepped the questions and ducked inside without making a comment. They were greeted by strands of a Cole Porter song played by a musician seated at an ornate piano under crystal chandeliers, which bathed the coffered ceil-ing and paneled walls in a golden glow. Several volunteers directed the guests down a hallway to the dinner check-in tables.
Tripp leaned toward her and asked, “Don’t you ever get tired of dealing with the media?”
“I usually refer their questions to the press office, but we all get ambushed occasionally. There was a leak a while ago about our latest investigation, and my boss thought I should try to respond. I didn’t think there would be reporters here tonight, though.”
Tripp’s mother stepped closer and said, “Oh, my dear, in Naples we try to get news coverage, especially for our charities. The more the merrier I’d say.” She appraised Samantha’s short, green, silk dress. “You look nice tonight, dear. That color matches your eyes.”
“Thanks,” Samantha replied, giving the older woman a warm smile.
“By the way, Mom,” Tripp interjected, “you’ve got a pretty good crowd here. What are they going to do with all the money from this dinner?”
“Oh, we have so many projects in the Everglades. Saving all the creatures—that sort of thing.”
“I think they should just gather up the alligators and make belts. They’d probably make more money that way,” Tripp whis-pered to Samantha. She chuckled and gave him a wry grin. She was starting to relax. This might be a pleasant weekend after all.
Walking into the crowded ballroom lit by shimmering chan-deliers and small candles on white tablecloths, she took a glass of Chardonnay from a passing waiter and looked around the room. “This is amazing. Look at the orchid centerpieces, the votives, the dance floor. It’s just like the events they have in Wash-ington. The only thing missing is the Marine Band.”
Samantha noticed a group of people gathering around a tall man shaking hands with everyone in the circle. When she spotted several security guards standing at a discrete distance, she imme-diately recognized the governor.
Tripp took her arm. “I hear those little chimes. I think we’re supposed to find our table. Oh, and I have something important I need to talk to you about when we’re seated.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Didi Cutler
The Honorable Karna Small Bodman served on President Ronald Reagan’s White House staff for six years, first as Deputy Press Secretary and later as Senior Director of the National Security Council. At the time of her departure she was the highest-ranking woman on the White House staff. She also spent fifteen years as a reporter, television news anchor and political commentator in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Washington, DC and New York City. Later she was Senior Vice President of a Public Affairs firm. Now the author of five novels, please visit her website: www.karnabodman.com
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