Indecent Exposure

by Stuart Woods

  “I’m a little less uncomfortable with that.”

  “Then perhaps you should arrange for a platoon of New York Police Department personnel to charter another yacht and accompany us, with an eye toward saving your ass, in the event that an attack is made on our guests.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Dino said. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  42

  Peter Rule parked his car in the Capitol garage, went to the Russell building, entered Senator Eliot Saltonstall’s office, and took a seat.

  “I spoke earlier this morning with a reliable source,” Saltonstall said, “and there’s news of Benton Blake.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s off to Bermuda for a week or two with his new girlfriend, Gloria Parsons.”

  “Isn’t she the one Stone had thrown out of our wedding reception?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Interesting that she’s with Blake. How long?”

  “My impression is very recently. My source also tells me that Blake was upset by your announcement, and he won’t be declaring for the Senate.”

  “He’s just depressed, he’ll get over it.”

  “He was actually quoted as saying he would just wait around for me to have a stroke, then run for my seat.”

  “How rude of him.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “How did your physical go, Senator?”

  “I’m tip-top.”

  Peter watched the senator blink rapidly and immediately knew he was lying. He never played poker with the senator because the tell made him too easy to read. “My guess is Blake’s impatience will outrun his depression. We should expect him to run later. In the meantime, I have to run as though I’m already behind.”

  “You’ll want to get commitments from as many state and party officials as you can. We don’t know what other candidates will arise in the meantime. Faith Mackey is working on a plan to keep you in the news. If we can make you look like a foregone conclusion, other potential candidates may wither on the vine.”

  “Wither on the vine,” Peter repeated. “I like the sound of that, Senator.”

  “Peter, you’re my son-in-law now, you can call me Dad.”

  “I already have two dads to refer to, it could get confusing.”

  “Call me Eliot, then? I’d like that.”

  “Henceforth you are Eliot,” Peter said. “Anything else this morning?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Then I’d better start working the phones,” Peter said.

  “Who will you be calling?”

  “I’ve got a long list.”

  “Get to it, then,” Saltonstall said, making shooing motions.

  “Good morning, Eliot.” Peter left and went back to his office. It was larger than that of most chiefs of staff in the Senate because his senator had more seniority than most. He had room for a sofa and a couple of easy chairs, and there were paintings of the Hudson Valley School on the walls and books of an appropriate nature: the three Roosevelts—Teddy, Franklin, and Eleanor—and an array of Kennedys, plus biographies. Republicans were not represented. His private line rang, and he picked it up. No one unimportant to him had that number.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Rule, will you speak to the President?”

  “I suppose so,” Peter drawled.

  There was a click. “It’s your ma,” she said.

  “Hello, Ma.”

  “Don’t call me that—only I can call me Ma.”

  “Hello, Mudder.”

  “You are exasperating, but you handled your announcement beautifully.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Your voice is always deeper when you’re speaking to groups. It reminds me of my father.”

  “That’s high praise.”

  “Word has reached me that Benton Blake will not be running against you.”

  “That word has reached me, too, but it’s not in my interests to believe it, not until the polls have closed, anyway.”

  “You’re my wisest son,” she said.

  “That’s not especially high praise since Billy is only four. Are you bringing him on the cruise?”

  “He doesn’t want to go, if you can believe that. He’s afraid he’ll be seasick.”

  “Has he ever been seasick?”

  “No, he just heard about it somewhere. We’re dropping him off in Georgia. Aunt Bee will stay with him. He always gets excited about the cows and horses, and he wants to visit his pony.”

  “You never got me a pony,” he said reprovingly.

  “You were an urban child—you couldn’t have a pony in Georgetown.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but I still resent it.”

  “If that’s all you resent, then I must have been a very good mother.”

  “You were a very good mother because you were too busy to interfere very much in my life. I liked making my own decisions.”

  “That’s true, you always have. That’s a character trait that will stand you in good stead in politics.”

  “All I have to do is imitate you and Will.”

  “Oh, thank you for that!”

  “Listen, don’t you have a country to run?”

  “Oops, forgot about that. I’m out of here.” They both hung up.

  Peter ran over the list of calls on his desk and found the most important one missing. He called the office of the senior senator from New York and asked for his chief of staff, Dick Porter. “Tell him it’s the putative junior senator from New York.”

  “Porter.”

  “Hey, Dick.”

  “How you doing?”

  “I’m hungry. Let’s have lunch.”

  “See you in an hour.”

  —

  They met in the Senate dining room, in which their staff status allowed them to lunch, and Peter wangled a corner table.

  “Congrats,” Dick said. He was fifteen years older than Peter, and shorter.

  “Thanks, Dick.”

  They ordered quickly out of habit and had iced tea instead of wine.

  “What’s happening?” Dick asked.

  “It has come to my attention that you are going to become unemployed next year.”

  “So kind of you to mention it.”

  “It’s best to inject a little anxiety into a conversation like this one.”

  “What kind of conversation is this?”

  “One where I ease your fears of unemployment.”

  “Ease away, pal.”

  “Dick, you have the reputation of being the best chief of staff on the Hill.”

  Dick grinned. “I’ve heard that, and I can’t bring myself to disagree.”

  “Do you like the work?”

  “The only thing I’d like better is my senator’s job, but I’m ill-suited for that by temperament and intellect.”

  “You mean, you’re smarter than your boss.”

  “Ah, you know how I feel.”

  “How’d you like to keep your job for, say, another two terms, maybe three?”

  “You mean my guy is going to stand for reelection?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then who in the world is going to replace him who would keep me on the payroll?”

  “It ain’t going to be Benton Blake,” Peter said.

  “Ah, then it must be you.”

  “Right, and I’d like you to come work for me.”

  “After Election Day?”

  “Today, if you like.”

  “And walk out on my senator?”

  “You’ve never liked him all that much. It’s hard working for someone dumber than you, so working for me should be a refreshing change.”

  “Where’s my office going to be, if I walk ou
t on my man?”

  “In my house in Georgetown, with a direct line to my desk here, until I’m running full-time. And you can spend the summer at my place in the Hamptons, if you like. The phones work between here and there, so it wouldn’t be much different than having you in Georgetown.”

  “My wife would like that.”

  “Is she pregnant yet?”

  “No, and her doctor says that’s not really in the cards.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’d make a lousy father.”

  “I’ll pay you half again what you’re making now, and double what you’re making when the campaign starts. After I’m in office, I’ll supplement your government salary handsomely.”

  “You say all the right words, Peter.”

  “How about these words—start the day after New Year’s Day, that will give you time to break the news gently to your boss.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve been grooming my deputy for a couple of years—she can take over.”

  Peter held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

  Dick shook and held it. “You know, I think I’d make a great White House chief of staff.”

  “All in good time,” Peter said.

  43

  Stone Barrington got out of the Bentley at Bergdorf’s and began to tour the shops on the way downtown. He found a lovely cashmere dressing gown for Holly, and a sweater for Joan at Saks. He strolled over to Rockefeller Center and had a close-up look at the big tree.

  He was standing in front of a shoe store, examining their display, as if he needed more shoes, when he caught a glimpse of the reflection of a familiar figure in the plate-glass window, but before he could turn around, the crowd of tourists surged, and the figure disappeared. What the hell, he thought, he’d lived in this city his whole life, and it would be unusual not to run into someone he knew, even if he couldn’t figure out who.

  Alphonse Teppi took a tweed hat from his coat pocket and pulled it on, then donned his glasses. He thought Barrington had spotted him, but he seemed safe now.

  —

  Benton Blake and Gloria Parsons strolled along a pink beach in Bermuda, hand in hand. The sand made squeaking sounds as they walked. Benton was wearing a Panama hat and sunglasses; he didn’t want to be recognized and photographed with a woman at an intimate resort so soon after his divorce.

  “Listen,” Gloria said, “if you’re not going to run for anything, what the hell do you care if you’re seen with me?”

  “I’m still a politician,” Benton said, “and we think about those things. I’ve had years of being cautious about where I’m seen and with whom, and it doesn’t go away immediately after a divorce decree. It’s a reflex. It’s one thing to be seen together at a party or the theater, another to get caught shacking up in Bermuda.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Gloria said. Her phone rang. “Excuse me a minute. Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Al.”

  “Hey.”

  “I’m on Barrington, like you asked, but it’s really boring.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry about that. You didn’t ask for boredom money. What’s he doing?”

  “He’s walking around Rockefeller Center, gawking at the tree and the skaters like somebody from Wichita, or something.”

  “Most people are boring most of the time, Al.”

  “Oh, all right, I’ll stay on him.” He hung up.

  “What was that about?” Benton asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, just an acquaintance who was bored and wanted to talk to somebody.”

  “In New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the weather like there?”

  “Cold and sunny, according to the forecast on TV this morning.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, otherwise, why come to Bermuda?”

  —

  Stone went into a wine shop and found a very expensive bottle of vintage cognac for Dino, then he went into the Diamond Center and found a lovely broach for Viv. He couldn’t find anybody following him, but neither could he shake the feeling that somebody was out there.

  —

  Teppi got Danny Blaine on the phone. “What time do you get off work?”

  “At five, like everybody else, unless I work late.”

  “I’ll need you to spell me shortly after five. I didn’t dress for the weather, and I’m freezing my ass off.”

  “So, you want me to freeze my ass off, is that it?”

  “You’ve got a sheepskin coat, darling, and you’re young and hardy, unlike me.”

  “All right, where do you want me to meet you?”

  “Right now he’s in the Diamond Center, on Fifth at Forty-seventh Street, and he seems to generally be heading downtown.” He looked at his watch. “It’s four-thirty now, so he ought to be in your neighborhood around five, if he keeps this slow pace.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m leaving my building.”

  “Great.” Teppi hung up and stamped his feet, trying to get some circulation going. He looked up to see Barrington coming out of the Diamond Center, talking on his phone. Teppi turned his back and pulled the hat down over his forehead, watching Barrington’s reflection in a shop window. He was just standing on the corner, looking uptown.

  This went on while Teppi kept stamping his feet. Then a green Bentley turned a corner and pulled up to where Barrington stood, and he got in and was driven away.

  “Shit!” Teppi said aloud, and started waving his arms for a taxi. The Bentley turned a corner and glided out of sight. Teppi’s phone rang.

  “Okay, I got out of the office early,” Danny said. “Where are you?”

  “Never mind,” Teppi said, “he got into his Bentley and drove away, and there are no vacant cabs on Fifth Avenue.”

  “Do you know where he’s going?”

  “Probably home. You know the address—take a cab over there and see if he’s home. If he is, he won’t be going out for dinner until seven or so.”

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Danny said.

  “Because Gloria wants it, that’s why. I can never say no to her, and neither can you. She got you out of the jug, didn’t she?”

  “Oh, all right, I’ll get over there. Here comes a cab!”

  —

  Stone walked into Joan’s office. “I know this is weird,” he said, “but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being followed.” He looked out the window but saw nobody.

  “Paranoia does not become you,” Joan replied, then went back to her work.

  Stone sat down at his desk and went through his phone messages, then returned some calls.

  A few minutes later Joan buzzed him.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re being followed,” she said. “Come in here.”

  Stone went into her office.

  “Look out there,” she said, pointing to the window.

  Stone looked out and saw a thin, fashionable-looking young man leaning against a tree across the street and smoking a cigarette.

  “He got out of a cab ten minutes ago,” Joan said.

  “I’ve never seen him before,” Stone replied.

  “Why do you think he’s following you?”

  “If I don’t know him, how would I know why he’s following me?”

  “I guess that makes a weird kind of sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” Stone said.

  “You want me to take a shot at him?” Joan asked.

  “Not yet,” Stone replied. He walked out of her office, stepped out the front door, and yelled, “Hey!”

  The young man jerked to attention.

  “What do you want?”

  He threw away his cigarette and sprinted toward Third Avenue.

  Stone thought he was remarkably fast. He went back inside and found Joa
n standing at the window.

  “Maybe you’re not paranoid,” she said.

  44

  On the appointed date, Stone had Fred drive him to Teterboro Airport, where he did a thorough preflight inspection on his Citation CJ3 Plus, ran through his checklist, and started the engines. He received a clearance as filed. It seemed that there must be little traffic; everyone was home for the holidays.

  He took off for Manassas; the air traffic controllers sounded bored, and he heard little chat on the radios. He received a vector of direct Manassas, landed there after an hour’s flight, and taxied to the FBO ramp. Holly, Peter, and Celeste came out of the building and pushed a cart toward the airplane as he cut the engines.

  Stone loaded their luggage, made Peter and Celeste comfortable in the passenger seats, and invited Holly to fly right seat. She was a licensed pilot and could work the radios for him. Fifteen minutes later they were climbing toward forty thousand feet and winging their way toward Key West.

  —

  At almost the same moment, a Gulfstream jet took off from Andrews Air Force Base.

  Billy Lee sat next to his mother, reading Lassie Come Home.

  “How’s the book?” she asked.

  “The dog is dragging through a swamp with a broken leg,” he replied.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll get better,” she replied.

  “Don’t tell me the ending!”

  She raised her hands in surrender.

  “Mom,” Billy said, looking around, “this isn’t Air Force One.”

  “Yes, it is,” she replied.

  “No, it isn’t. Air Force One is a lot bigger and has a lot of people on it.”

  “It’s like this, sweetheart—whatever airplane the President is flying on is called Air Force One—big or small. It’s what’s called a radio call sign.”

  “Oh,” Billy replied, and added another fact to the growing collection in his young brain.

  —

  Two hours later, the Gulfstream set down at Warm Springs, Georgia, where the runway had been lengthened to accommodate big jets when Will Lee had been President.