The Winner

by David Baldacci

  turned right from M Street onto Wisconsin Avenue, and finally managed to snag a spot on a side street not too far from where he was heading. A light rain began to fall as he walked down the street. The quiet area he soon found himself in harbored an elite neighborhood of towering brick and clapboard residences which were home to high-ranking businessmen and political types. He eyed some of the homes as he walked along. In the lights visible through intricately designed windows Donovan could make out well-dressed owners settling down in front of warm fires, coddling drinks and exchanging light kisses as they went through their rituals of relaxation after another day of perhaps changing the world, or merely adding to their already hefty investment portfolios.

  So much wealth and power rested in this area that an energy seemed to wash up from the brick sidewalks and hurtle Donovan along at a furious clip. Money and power had never been overriding ambitions of his. Despite that, his occupation often placed him in close proximity to those who held the attainment of one or both of these prizes above all else. It was a wonderful position from which to play the altruistic cynic and Donovan often played that role to the fullest for the simple reason that he genuinely believed in what he did for a living. The irony of this was not lost on him. For without the rich and powerful and their evil ways, at whom would he throw his sharp-edged stones?

  Donovan finally stopped at one formidable residence: a one-hundred-year-old three-story brick townhouse sitting behind a waist-high brick wall topped by black steel wrought-iron fencing of a style found throughout the area. He inserted a key into the gate’s lock and went up the sidewalk. Another key allowed him entry through the massive wooden front door and he shook off his coat.

  The housekeeper appeared immediately and took the wet coat from him. She wore a traditional maid’s uniform and spoke with a practiced degree of deference.

  “I’ll tell the missus you’re here, Mr. Donovan.”

  He nodded quickly and moved past her into the drawing room where he took a moment to warm himself before the blazing fire and then looked around with contentment. His upbringing had been decidedly blue collar but he did not attempt to hide his pleasure at occasionally dabbling in luxury. It was an incongruity in his nature that had bothered him greatly in his youth, but much less so now. Some things did become better as one aged, he mused, including layers of personal guilt that one ended up shedding like peeling an onion.

  By the time he had mixed himself a drink from the stock housed behind a cabinet in one corner of the drawing room, the woman had appeared.

  She moved quickly to him and gave him a deep kiss. He took her hand and caressed it lightly.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  He led her over to the large sofa against one wall. Their knees touched as they sat close together.

  Alicia Crane was petite, in her mid-thirties, with long hair that was looking more ash than blond with each passing day. Her dress was costly and the jewelry clinging to her wrists and ears easily matched the richness of the garment; however, the image was one of quiet wealth and sophistication. Her features were delicate, the nose so small as to be barely noticeable between the deep luster of the dark brown eyes. While she was not a traditional beauty, her obvious wealth and refinement had inspired a certain look that was pleasant enough. On her best days she would be described as very well put together.

  Her cheek trembled slightly as he stroked it.

  “I missed you too, Alicia. A lot.”

  “I don’t like it when you have to be away.” Her voice was cultured and dignified, its cadence slow and exact. It was a voice seemingly too formal for a relatively young woman.

  “Well, it’s part of the job.” He smiled at her. “But you’re making that job a lot more difficult to do.” He was attracted to Alicia Crane. While not the brightest star in the universe, she was a good person, without the pretenses and airs that her level of wealth usually stamped on its possessors.

  With a start, she stared. “Why in the world did you shave off your beard?”

  Donovan rubbed his hand across the smooth skin. “Change of pace,” he said quickly. “You know men go through their own form of menopause. I think it took about ten years off the mug. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re just as handsome without it as you were with it. In fact, you remind me a little of Father. When he was a younger man, of course.”

  “Thanks for lying to an old man.” He smiled. “But being compared to him, well that’s high praise.”

  “I can have Maggie put on some supper. You must be starved.” She gripped his hand with both of hers.

  “Thank you, Alicia. And maybe a hot bath after that.”

  “Of course, the rain is so chilling this time of year.” She hesitated for a moment. “Will you have to leave again soon? I was thinking we could go down to the islands. It’s so beautiful this time of year.”

  “That sounds wonderful, but I’m afraid it’ll have to keep. I have to leave tomorrow.”

  Her disappointment shone through on her face before her gaze dropped. “Oh, I see.”

  He tucked one hand under her chin and stared into her eyes. “Alicia, I had a breakthrough today. A breakthrough that I wasn’t sure would happen. It was a risk on my part, but sometimes you have to take risks if you want the payoff.” He remembered from that morning, the haunted look in LuAnn Tyler’s eyes. “All that sniffing around, never sure if anything’s going to turn up. But that’s all part of the game.”

  “That’s wonderful, Thomas, I’m so happy for you. But I hope you didn’t place yourself in personal danger. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

  He sat back as he contemplated his daredevil morning. “I can take care of myself. But I don’t take unnecessary risks. I leave that for the kiddies coming up.” His voice was calming.

  He glanced over at her; the look on her face was that of a child listening to her favorite hero recount a past adventure. Donovan finished his drink. A hero. He liked the feeling. Who wouldn’t? Who didn’t need that kind of unadulterated admiration every now and then? He smiled deeply and gripped Alicia’s small hand in his.

  “I promise you something. After I break this story, we’re going to take a long vacation. Just you and me. Someplace warm, with plenty to drink, and I can dust off my talents as a sailor. I haven’t done that in a long time and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather do it with. How’s that sound?”

  She laid her head against his shoulder and squeezed his hand tightly. “Wonderful.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “You invited him for lunch?” Charlie stared at LuAnn with a mixture of anger and frustration on his grizzled face. “Would you mind telling me why you did that? And would you mind telling me why the hell you went there in the first place?”

  They were in Charlie’s office. LuAnn stood next to the bulky desk while Charlie sat in front of it. He had unwrapped a thick cigar and was about to light it when LuAnn had delivered the news of her excursion that morning.

  Defiance was all over LuAnn’s features as she scowled back at him. “I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.”

  “I told you I was going to handle it. What, you don’t trust my judgment anymore?”

  “Of course I do, Charlie, it’s not that.” LuAnn dropped her defiant stance, perched on the edge of his chair and ran her fingers through his thinning hair. “I figured if I could get to Riggs before he had a chance to do anything, apologize and then get him to drop it, we’d be free and clear.”

  Charlie shook his head, wincing as a small pain worked at his left temple. He took a deep breath and put an arm around her waist. “LuAnn, I had a very informative conversation with John Pemberton this morning.”

  “Who?”

  “Real estate agent. Guy who sold us the house. That’s not important. What is relevant is the fact that Pemberton knows everybody and everything that goes on in this town. He’s trying to track down the guy in the Honda for us right now.”

  LuA
nn jerked back. “You didn’t tell him—”

  “I concocted a cover story and fed it to him. He slurped it up like it was the sweetest ice cream in the world. We both have gotten real good with making up stuff over the years, haven’t we?”

  “Sometimes too good,” LuAnn said gloomily. “It’s getting harder and harder to remember what’s true and what’s not.”

  “I also talked to Pemberton about Riggs. Trying to get some of the guy’s history out, to try and get a feel for the guy.”

  “He’s not a cop. I asked him and he said he wasn’t. You said he was.”

  “I know, a screw-up on my part, but Riggs led me to believe he was.”

  “So what the heck was he? And why all the secrecy?”

  “A funny question coming from you.” LuAnn jabbed an elbow playfully into Charlie’s side. Her smile disappeared with Charlie’s next words. “Pemberton thinks Riggs was a government spy.”

  “A spy? Like the CIA?”

  “Who the hell knows. It’s not like the guy’s gonna advertise what outfit he was with. Nobody really knows for sure. His background is kind of a blur as far as Pemberton can tell.”

  LuAnn shuddered, remembering the info Riggs had gathered on her so quickly. Now it perhaps made sense. But she was still unconvinced. “And now he builds fences in rural Virginia. I didn’t think they ever let spies retire.”

  “You’ve been watching too many mob movies. Even spies change jobs or retire, especially with the Cold War ending. And there are a lot of specialties in intelligence gathering. Not all of them involve trench coats, pistols up the sleeve, and assassination plots against foreign dictators. He could’ve been just some schlep working in an office looking at aerial photos of Moscow.”

  LuAnn recalled her meeting with Riggs at his home. The way he had handled the shotgun, his observation skills and his knowledge of firearms. And finally his confident and cool demeanor. She shook her head firmly. “He doesn’t strike me as the office type.”

  Charlie sighed deeply. “Me either. So how did it go?”

  LuAnn stood back up and leaned against the doorjamb, her fingers hooked through the belt loops on the jeans she had changed into. “He had already dug up some info on me and the Honda. The cover stuff came up on me, so we’re okay there.”

  “Anything on the Honda?”

  LuAnn shook her head. “Rental up in D.C. Name looked phony. Probably a dead-end.”

  “Riggs moves fast. How’d you find that out?”

  “I did a little snooping around his office. When he caught me he was holding a shotgun.”

  “Good gosh, LuAnn, if the guy was a spy you’re lucky he didn’t blow your head off.”

  “It didn’t seem so risky while I was doing it. It turned out all right anyway.”

  “You and your risk-taking. Like going to the drawing that night in New York. I should really start putting my foot down around here. What else?”

  “I admitted to him that the car chase was something we were concerned about and that we were handling it.”

  “And he accepted that? No questions?” Charlie’s tone was skeptical.

  “I was telling the truth, Charlie,” she said heatedly. “I get kind of tingling all over when the rare occasion happens along that I can do that.”

  “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to put a stick in your spokes. God, we sound like an old married couple here.”

  LuAnn smiled. “We are an old married couple. We just have a few more secrets to share than most.”

  Charlie flashed her a quick grin and took a moment to light his cigar. “So you really think Riggs is okay? He won’t keep nosing around?”

  “I think he’s very curious, and he should be. But he told me he wasn’t going to pursue it and I believe him. I’m not exactly sure why, but I do. There doesn’t appear to be much B.S. in the man.”

  “And him coming over for lunch tomorrow? I take it you want to get to know him a little better.”

  LuAnn studied Charlie’s face for a moment. Was there a touch of jealousy there? She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it’s a way to keep an eye on him, and maybe learn a little more about him. Maybe he’s got some secrets, too. It certainly sounds like it, anyway.”

  Charlie puffed on his cigar. “So if things are cool with Riggs then we got only the guy in the Honda to worry about.”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s better than two headaches at one time. If Pemberton can trace him maybe we have clear sailing.”

  LuAnn looked nervously at him. “If he finds him, what are you going to do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I think I’ve decided to play straight with the man, call his hand and see what the hell he wants. If it’s money, maybe we see what we can work out.”

  “And if it’s not just money he wants?” She had difficulty getting the next part out. “What if he knows about the lottery?”

  Charlie took the cigar from his mouth and stared at her.

  “I can’t see how he could. But in the billion to one chance he does, there are a lot of other places in the world we can live, LuAnn. We could be gone tomorrow if need be.”

  “On the run again,” she said, her tone bone-tired.

  “Consider the alternative. It’s not pleasant.”

  She reached out and plucked the cigar from between his fingers. Clenching it between her teeth, she drew the smoke in and then let it slowly out. She handed it back to him.

  “When is Pemberton supposed to get back to you?”

  “No set time. Could be tonight, could be next week.”

  “Let me know when you hear from him.”

  “You’ll be the first to know, milady.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Oh, am I invited to this lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

  She glanced back. “I was kind of counting on it, Charlie.” She smiled prettily and left. He stood up and watched her glide gracefully down the hallway. Then he closed the door to his study and sat down at his desk puffing thoughtfully on his stogie.

  Riggs had put on a pair of chino pants, and the collar of his button-down shirt peeked out from under his patterned sweater. He had driven over in a Jeep Cherokee he had borrowed while his pickup truck was in the shop having its bumper repaired. The Jeep seemed more fitting to the affluent surroundings than his battered truck anyway. He smoothed down his freshly washed hair before climbing out of the Cherokee and walking up the steps of the mansion. These days he didn’t usually dress up, except for the occasional social event he attended in town. He had finally decided a jacket and dress slacks was too pretentious. It was only lunch after all. And who knew? The lady of the house might ask him to do some on-site work.

  The door was answered by the maid who escorted Riggs to the library. Riggs wondered if he had been watched as he had pulled up in the circle. Maybe there were video cameras trained on that area as well, with Catherine Savage and her sidekick Charlie sitting in some observation room crammed floor to ceiling with TV monitors.

  He looked around the spacious area and noted with due respect the numerous volumes lining the walls. He wondered if they were for show only. He had been in places where that was the case. Somehow he didn’t think that was true here. His attention fell upon the photos lining the fireplace mantel. There were ones there of Charlie and a little girl who strongly resembled Catherine Savage, but none of Catherine Savage. That seemed odd, but the woman was odd, so there was some semblance of consistency there.

  He turned when the double doors to the library opened. His first real encounter with the woman, in his reconfigured hayloft, had not prepared him for his second.

  The golden hair tumbled down the stylishly flared shoulders of a black one-piece dress that ended at her bare calves and didn’t miss any contour of her long, curvy body along the way. It struck him that on her the garment would have seemed equally appropriate at a state fair or a White House dinner. She wore matching black low heel shoes. The image of a sleek, muscular panther gliding towar
d him held fast in his mind. After giving it some thought, Riggs had decided that the woman’s beauty was undeniable, but wasn’t perfect. After all, whose was? And another remarkable detail now emerged: While there were fine lines beginning to carve themselves around her eyes, Riggs noticed the almost complete absence of lines around her mouth, as though she had never smiled.

  Curiously, the small scar on her jaw considerably heightened her attraction, he felt. Perhaps by silently forging a layer of danger, of adventure into her past?

  “I’m glad you could make it,” she said, moving briskly forward and extending a hand, which Riggs shook. He was again amazed at the strength he felt in that grip; her long fingers seemed to swallow his big, callused hand. “I know contractors have numerous emergencies during the day. Your time is never your own.”

  Riggs eyed the walls and ceilings of the library. “I heard about some of the renovations you had done here. I don’t care how