by Allan Topol
Walking across Pennsylvania Avenue to main Justice, Ben tried to strengthen Al Hennessey's backbone, to resist any involvement by DOJ in the case. This meeting, though, had something totally unexpected in store for Ben. Minutes after he and Al had arrived in the fifth-floor conference room, the team of DOJ lawyers Van Buren had assembled to review the case filed in. Included in that team was a woman so striking that Ben couldn't take his eyes off her. She was tall and lithe, just an inch or two under six feet. She had honey-blond hair tied up in a bun, and her wire-framed glasses didn't conceal the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Her nose and mouth were perfectly proportioned, with full, round lips. Her blue-green eyes sparkled. Her skin was so fresh and clean that it almost glowed. She was small-busted with a narrow waist. Even dressed in a proper lawyer's navy blue suit, she carried herself with grace and elegance. She's a goddess, Ben thought. There was no other way to describe her.
The meeting started promptly, with Hennessey summarizing their case and Ben trying to establish eye contact with her, as she could easily tell, because she appeared to be ignoring him, while giving him an occasional smile. She was smart, too. Ben knew that as soon as she opened her mouth. Where have you been my whole life, Jennifer Moore? he wanted to say.
He was so taken with her that he changed his strategy. As long as he would be lead trial lawyer, which was justified from his experience and the work he had done on the case, he'd take Jennifer on as second chair at trial, and DOJ could have a say in all of the strategy discussions. A startled Al Hennessey couldn't believe that was the deal Ben was cutting.
After the meeting, Ben told Jennifer he'd start briefing her. At lunch at the Old Ebbitt Grill, Ben's initial impression of Jennifer was confirmed. She was everything he could have imagined in a woman. She wasn't even involved with anyone else in a serious relationship. He suggested dinner that evening at Equinox, hoping to snow her with the elegant food.
They had such a great time at dinner that when the waitress asked them about dessert, Ben looked at Jenny hopefully and said, "Thanks, but we have something at my place." As soon as they were inside the door, they started kissing passionately, touching each other all over, ripping off their clothes like a couple of teenagers. When they were naked, Ben picked her up and carried her up the stairs.
In this same bed, they went at each other most of the night. For Ben, it had never been like that before. When the morning sunlight broke through the curtains, Ben was dead tired and very much in love. He slipped out of bed, turned on the coffee downstairs, and returned moments later with his guitar. As she began to stir, he serenaded her with an old Spanish love song that he had learned at Berkeley.
Their cooperation in the Malvern prosecution never amounted to much because the defendant copped a plea to assault and resigned from his cabinet post a week later. A few weeks after that, Jennifer moved into his house. They were the happiest months of his Me. Besides the fabulous sex, he loved doing things, going places with her, sampling the myriad ethnic restaurants in Adams-Morgan, watching old foreign films in tiny theaters near Dupont Circle.
On New Year's Eve, he proposed to her, presenting her with a gorgeous diamond solitaire ring from Tiffany's. They set a date for a June wedding because Jennifer wanted to make sure they really knew each other before making a lifetime commitment. Ben would have gotten married sooner, but she was adamant.
We almost made it to June, he thought, turning over again in bed. God, I don't need her back in my life. Not now. If I had any sense, I'd pack my bags in the morning and head out with Amy to Aspen. They must have snow there already. Beautiful, beautiful Jenny. The goddess of love. The purveyor of misery.
* * *
Was I insane? Jennifer thought, accepting Marianne Kelso's last-minute invitation to a black-tie dinner at her house in Georgetown this evening with all the work I have to do on the Gillis defense and the West Virginia pollution case for KRC Industries?
The message had been waiting on Jennifer's voice mail at the office late in the afternoon. "It's Marianne Kelso; I desperately need a favor. I had a last-minute cancellation. I need an extra woman. Please don't let me down. Please. It's black-tie. Cocktails at eight o'clock. Chamber music at nine o'clock. Dinner at ten o'clock."
Marianne was the largest contributor to the Women's Legal Defense Fund, and a member of its board, for which Jennifer served as general counsel. Marianne had been a great source of comfort for Jennifer when Craig had hit the road for Colorado. So Jennifer didn't want to turn down the request. Also, she knew that Marianne liked everything to be perfect for her dinner parties. An imbalance of men and women would make her very unhappy. But Jennifer's motive in accepting wasn't totally selfless. She needed a few hours off from work, and an invitation to one of the Kelsos' dinners was among the most prized in Washington. Besides the people and the food, they had a collection of art including a Renoir, a Monet, and two Chagalls.
Still, by seven o'clock, with tons of legal research to do for Clyde Gillis's defense, she was sorry she had agreed to go. She finally reached a compromise—she'd skip the cocktails and most of the chamber music. As long as she was in her assigned seat at one of the dinner tables, Marianne would be pleased.
In the closet in her office, Jennifer kept a short black dress with thin straps that would work. At eight-thirty she showered, then changed clothes and jumped into a cab so she wouldn't have to waste time getting her car from the garage.
Her timing was perfect. The string quartet was ready to begin its final piece—a Bach sonata—when she arrived. As she tried to slip unobtrusively into an empty chair in the last row, next to Marianne, many of the forty or so heads turned toward her. "You look great," Marianne whispered. "Thanks for coming."
"Sorry I'm late. The cabdriver was clueless."
Marianne raised an eyebrow. "You haven't missed a thing."
Seated two rows in front of Jennifer was Jim Slater, who didn't bother to turn around when she entered. He heard their words and smiled to himself. She'd see him when he sat next to her at dinner. She'd no doubt guess that he had arranged for her to be here.
* * *
Across town at a reception for Jacques Morot, the visiting French foreign minister, at the magnificent residence of the French ambassador, Liu pulled Cunningham aside and took him out onto the spacious flagstone patio that overlooked Rock Creek Park. They each held a glass of 1985 Clos La Roche by Dujac.
Liu looked at Cunningham sternly. "I didn't appreciate the message President Brewster gave me today to deliver to Beijing. I'm even more unhappy about your three aircraft carriers."
Cunningham placed his hand on Liu's arm, signaling the need for restraint. "I did what I could to soften my government's response. Admiral Hawkins and others wanted to take far stronger action. Beijing's troop deployments toward Taiwan have made people here upset."
Liu pulled his arm away from Cunningham. "Then we're even, because the Winthrop arms package for Taiwan has people in my government outraged. With good reason, as I've been telling you for some time."
"I understand that. I'm trying to get it reversed."
"The leadership in Beijing won't wait forever for you to accomplish that. At some point, before long, we'll have to act on our own."
"This issue's too important for riddles. What are you saying?"
Mystified, as always, why subtlety didn't work with Americans, Liu took a sip of the excellent wine, trying to frame his words with care. "Unless you inform me by December first that your President will not submit the Winthrop arms package for Taiwan to Congress, then we intend to take action shortly after that date to unify the island of Taiwan with the People's Republic of China, using all available means."
Liu's words shook Cunningham to the core. "Then your government is intending to go to war?" he asked in disbelief.
Liu had a trace of a sinister smile. "We can't wait indefinitely for unification while you continue to arm Taiwan in a way that will make its liberation increasingly costly."
C
unningham looked out over the park below, watching cars wending their way over its narrow roads, as he thought about what Liu had just said. "I've told you before," Cunningham finally replied. "I'm prepared to support unification and to urge President Brewster to support it by diplomatic means. Not by threats of war."
Liu shrugged. "The decisions are being made in Beijing. They're not mine to revise. We prefer that you view our troop deployments as an incentive rather than a threat to change the Winthrop arms package by December first."
Cunningham studied Liu's face in the patio lights. It told him nothing. "That's not enough time. Winthrop's death is a complication. Tell Beijing to slow down on the troop deployment we're seeing. Tell them that I need until December seventh to achieve the policy reversal you want."
The choice of the date wasn't lost on Liu. He chuckled. "You have a sense of humor."
Cunningham hadn't intended to make a joke. He saw nothing humorous in this situation. "There's still one more important condition to my getting this done."
Liu's back stiffened. He hadn't told Beijing about other conditions. "What do you mean?"
"It assumes that you and your government are not implicated in certain criminal matters in the United States."
"We won't be. You don't have to worry."
"You sound so confident now. It's a big change from Sunday."
Liu lowered his voice to a whisper. "The video has been retrieved. No one will be able to connect us to Winthrop's murder."
* * *
When the concert ended, Slater huddled with Senator Burgess from Ohio, chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, tipping him off that charges would be filed against Clyde Gillis tomorrow afternoon. Watching through the corner of his eye. Slater waited until she was at the table before walking over.
As he held out her chair, he said, "Well, well, isn't this a pleasant surprise."
She looked at him and shook her head in disbelief. "I should have guessed you were responsible for my being here."
"David's a good friend."
"And like you, he was also a big fund-raiser for President Brewster."
He laughed easily. "Was he really? I hadn't heard that. But more important, you look smashing tonight. Generally, I don't find black to be a flattering color for women. It works for you."
She was pleased by the compliment, showing it with a warm smile. "Well, thank you."
"But I think most colors would work."
As they chatted through the first course, a delicious squash soup, Slater tried different subjects, looking for something they had in common. Before the waiter cleared the bowls, he found it: They were both Anglophiles. Attending Oxford, he had gained an appreciation for England, particularly London.
"During those three years," he said, "I spent every hour I didn't have to study exploring the countryside or running around London."
Her face lit up. "Really? It's my favorite city in the world, with all that theater. Once I finished school, whenever I could scrape together the plane fare, I was off for London. Not just the West End. I particularly loved the fringe shows. You know, above a pub."
He placed a hand on hers for an instant and then removed it. "I hit quite a few of those when I was at Oxford. Mostly, though, I liked the West End and the action there."
She nodded. "In my acting days, I had enough theater contacts to get somebody to comp me a ticket for most shows."
A waiter served rack of veal and ratatouille. "I even lived in London for three years," Slater said, "running our office there during the go-go years of the late nineties."
Slater paused to sip some wine. It was an elegant 1982 Chateau L'Evangile. "Great wine," he said.
She tried it and agreed. "I'm not such a connoisseur, but I'd like to learn."
"If you ever want a teacher, give me a call."
She gave him a coy look. "You're a collector?"
"I have a modest cellar."
"What, a thousand bottles?"
"Try two."
She laughed softly.
When the waiters were clearing the dishes, David Kelso came over. "She's Marianne's good friend," he said to Slater, tongue in cheek. "You'd better be taking good care of her."
"I'm trying to, but since I left New York, I lost all my people skills. All I do is work down here."
David burst into laughter. "That'll be the day. With the power you now have, there must be a dozen young people eager to do your bidding. In fact, you should bring Jennifer, here, into the White House."
Slater looked at her longingly and nodded his head. Now, there's an idea, he thought. "Um, I don't know, David. She's making too much of a financial killing in private law practice."
Jennifer laughed. "Not quite."
Kelso drifted away, his mission accomplished. Slater picked up his glass of red wine and sipped it slowly. Just then the pager in the vest pocket of Slater's jacket vibrated. He took it out and checked the number. "It's the President calling," he told her. From the sparkle in her eyes, he could tell she was impressed.
Slater excused himself, went into a deserted book-lined study, and called the White House on his cell phone.
"Where are you on the Winthrop case?" Brewster asked.
Oh, goddamn it, Slater cursed under his breath, it was eleven-thirty. Why the hell was Brewster pestering him about this now? Still, he couldn't very well tell the President of the United States what he was thinking. "We're on course for filing charges against the gardener Wednesday at four p.m."
"Did he do it?" Brewster asked.
"That's what the guy in my office, Ed Fulton, is telling me. He's been on the case since day one. Also, I've got the best guy in Al Hennessey's office on the case. He wouldn't file if he didn't think we had the right man."
"All right, let me know tomorrow as soon as the charges are filed."
"I'll be sure to do that."
Before returning to his seat at the table, Slater stopped in the doorway and gazed at Jennifer. She was engrossed in an animated conversation with Senator Burgess on her other side. He watched the lovely way in which she moved her hands, pushed back her hair, and laughed easily with the senator. She had a grace, style, and intellectual sophistication that went beyond her looks. Sure, she was twenty or so years younger than he –s, but he could handle her.
He suddenly remembered that Ed Fulton was waiting outside in Slater's car, planning to brief him on the way home. He dialed Fulton's cell phone number. "Listen, Ed, something came up for me here tonight. Why don't you take a cab home?"
"Will do, Mr. Slater."
"What about the search for George Nesbitt?" he asked Fulton.
"They're down to three possibles."
"And the one from San Jose?"
"Still can't find him."
"Tell Murtaugh I want ten more agents put on it."
"I'll call the director first thing in the morning, sir," he said.
When Slater returned, the party was breaking up. "Can I offer you a ride home?" Slater asked Jennifer.
"I'm in upper northwest. If that's out of your way, I could take a cab."
"Nothing's out of my way," he said.
As the limo pulled away from the Kelsos' house, Jennifer and Slater leaned back in the plush leather seat. She gave the driver her address on Livingston Street. "Where do you live?" she asked.
"I've got a small house down here on Tracey Place in Kalorama." He gave her a knowing look. "My real home is in Chappaqua, up in Westchester. I've also got places in Rancho Santa Fe and Aspen."
"So where is Mrs. Slater tonight?" she asked. "Doesn't she like parties?"
Seeing the doubt in her face, he decided to take the bull by the horns. "I am married, but we have a rather unusual arrangement. Alice lives where she wants. I do the same." When Jennifer didn't respond, he added, "You probably wonder why we stay married."
"Yes, I was thinking that."
He shrugged. "I guess neither of us have had any reason to make a change. Alice made it very clear a long time ago th
at she prefers her horses to me."
"Whatever works," Jennifer replied. Despite Ann's warning clanging in her head, she had to admit she was very interested in this man.
When they pulled up in front of her house, he climbed out of the car and walked her to the front door. Watching her fiddle with the key, he wondered if she'd ask him to come in, but she didn't. So he kissed her once on each cheek and headed back to the car. He was pleased with how it had gone tonight. He had no doubt that she was as taken with him as he was with her. With this one, he'd move slowly. Anything worth having was worth waiting for, and she was clearly worth having.
* * *
"Has the package arrived yet from Alpha Materials in Japan?" Chen asked the secretary in the director's office of Diamond Computers in Shanghai, while trying to conceal the anxiety in his voice.
"Not yet, Master Chen," she replied. "We're looking for it carefully. Every day you ask, and I tell you that."
Chen was furious at himself. He was too anxious about the package. If she became suspicious, she'd report him to one of the party big shots in Shanghai. They'd begin watching him around the clock.
"Well, a few more days doesn't matter," he said. "But I would like to show my father that I can get the notebook computer line running and make the production projections for my month over here."