by C. W. Saari
“Well, I’m going to remember not to come into the office at noon,” Andre said. “You’re lucky we’re not permitted to have visitors in our space. Maybe you might want to think about getting some shoes that breathe better than those Bulgarian toe stompers.”
“Kak Italiani? Like those Italian models you wear? Besides you, the only people I see wearing those expensive shoes are gomodseksualisti. Homosexuals.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. Besides, I happen to appreciate quality shoes. You spend about a third of your life on your feet. You may as well wear a well-made product.”
“Well, I spend hundreds of hours on my ass, too. You got a suggestion for that?” Ivanov removed his feet from the end of the desk and swiveled around to face Andre.
“Try getting out and doing some work,” Andre chuckled.
Victor smiled. They always ribbed each other the first time in the day they saw each other.
“Did you hear about that CIA officer who was found murdered?” Victor asked.
“That was strange. I bet CIA Headquarters is trying to figure out if the guy was a traitor, or the victim of a homosexual lover, or some conspiracy.”
“One of my contacts said two female bodies were found with him.”
“Maybe it was a ménage a trois. You know how the Americans always seem to be involved in kinky sex,” Andre said.
“Do you remember that American guy, Adrian Block, who worked as a diplomat for thirty years and then got fired as a suspected spy?”
“Vaguely.” Andre picked up a copy of The Washington Post and glanced at the headlines.
“Supposedly, he was a KGB agent. One of my friends used to visit a prostitute in Vienna who was friends with the whore who serviced Block. Guess what kind of sex he supposedly was into?”
“No clue,” Andre said, continuing to look through the newspaper.
“His whore used to get completely nude except for a plastic see-through raincoat and spiked heels. She had him push a dog bone across the tiled floor with his nose, buck naked with a dog leash around his neck. If the bone moved off course, she whipped him with a riding crop. You’ve got to admit, that’s pretty weird.”
“Yeah, and that’s probably a good seminar topic for the shrinks. I just stopped in to check my messages and review the mail. I’ve got to stop by the embassy later, but first I have an appointment at a congressman’s office. He just came back from break and agreed to see me.”
“You working on that article about US, British, and Russian Navy cooperation?”
“It’s an excellent excuse to see the congressman. He’s actually piloted a mini-sub. He’s on the Armed Services Committee, which could be useful to me. I think I’ll finish my article regardless of what develops. I have my cell phone if anything comes up.” Andre tossed the newspaper on the desk and turned to leave the office. “Do svidanye, Victor.”
In the three months Andre had been assigned in Washington to the world’s fifth largest news agency, Victor had called him only once, and that was during his first week on the job, just to make sure he had the right phone number. As Andre drove through the streets of downtown DC, he thought about his two appointments that afternoon. Only one concerned business.
At the Defense Intelligence Agency’s (DIA) Intelligence Analysis Center, Sparky Gillespie prepared to meet a reporter who was dropping off a load of toys for Christmas. Sparky, the DIA’s representative to the Marine Corps’ Toys for Tots program, had received a call from a journalist who said he was collecting toys from other reporters. He wished his donation to remain anonymous. Sparky, whose real name was Francis, agreed to meet the reporter in the parking lot of the main complex at Bolling Air Force Base. Sparky left the reporter’s name with the guards at the main entrance so his visitor wouldn’t have any problems when he arrived at 1:00 p.m.
Andre called a taxi to pick him up at a parking lot two blocks from the old Smithsonian Building. As a green and white Capitol City cab pulled to the curb, Andre walked around to the driver’s side.
“I need to deliver a bunch of Christmas toys to Bolling Air Force Base,” he told the driver. “Can you give me a hand? They’re in the back of my car. I’m afraid the alternator is dead. I’ve got a tow truck coming here later.”
A thin, dark-skinned man with a long nose got out of the cab and walked to the back of Andre’s open trunk. The cab driver was wearing a Washington Nationals baseball cap, black slacks, and a long-sleeved white shirt. “No problem,” he said. “We can handle. But I must charge extra loading.” The cab driver grinned.
“That’s okay. There are about two dozen boxes.” Andre pointed to the dolls, robots, and other toys he’d bought at Toys R Us. The four hundred dollars he’d spent gave him satisfaction, knowing it was for a good cause—his own.
“Are these for party?” the cabbie asked.
“For Christmas. For kids without parents.”
“That is nice.”
Andre called Sparky as they pulled into the visitor’s line at the entrance to the base, letting him know he had come in a cab. The guards checked the identification of the driver as well as the passenger in the back seat. While the cabbie produced his registration and popped the trunk, Andre, carrying his false identification, showed a District of Columbia driver’s license with the name Andre Neff. The guard checked his clipboard and saw his name opposite Gillespie’s.
After giving the cabbie directions, Andre arrived at the front of the DIA complex. You couldn’t miss the modern silver and gray buildings. Even the five-story attached parking garage looked like a wing of the main structure. A man was standing outside, waiting for him.
“I’m Sparky Gillespie.” He extended his hand as Andre emerged from the cab.
“Andre Neff.”
“I can’t believe what a godsend you are,” Sparky said. “Your gifts will put us over the top. This will be the fourth straight year we’ve exceeded our goal. You’re going to make a lot of kids happy.”
Andre noticed two things about Sparky. The first was that his red hair contrasted with his cream-colored complexion. The second was a port wine stain on the upper left side of Sparky’s forehead. It reminded Andre of Mikhail Gorbachev, the former President of the Soviet Union. He tried not to stare at it.
“These aren’t just from me,” Andre said, “but also from a bunch of other guys in the press pool. I hope you understand why we wanted to downplay our contribution.”
“Sure. Everyone’s got their own reasons. What’s important is what you’re feeling in your heart. I wish you could be there to see the smiles on the kids’ faces and hear their excitement when they open their gifts.”
“I’ll take your word for it. That’s good enough for me,” Andre said.
It only took two minutes for the two of them to transfer the gifts from the taxi to Sparky’s SUV.
“My understanding is you’re involved with collecting food for the Nathaniel Gospel Mission, is that right?” Andre asked.
“You seem to know a lot about me. Who’s your source?” Sparky asked. “Do I know him?”
“I’m sure you do, but I know you appreciate we newspaper people always protect our sources.” Andre laughed as he thought about the mole who had identified Gillespie as a shrewd Russian intelligence analyst. Sparky smiled and didn’t pursue the questioning.
“After the holidays maybe I can arrange to meet you and drop off a few cases of soup, cans of fruit, and boxes of pasta,” Andre said. “What do you think?”
“Sure. That sounds great. Give me a call and we can make arrangements.”
“I’ll do that,” Andre said. “My cab’s running up my tab, so I’ve got to get back.”
Andre reached over and gave Sparky a quick bear hug and pat on the shoulder. He hated this show of familiarity, but it was part of the act. “You’re doing a wonderful thing. God bless you. And all the other Santa’s elves. And happy holidays,” he added. He smiled and walked back to the cab.
“I’m finished here. Take me back to m
y car, please,” Andre said to the cab driver.
One more Christmas had come and gone. The investigation had slowed, and the task force members were home with family or relatives. A “polar express” had plunged the nation’s capital to seventeen degrees. Bannister spent the morning working out of his hotel room. It wasn’t so much working as it was networking. He called a lot of friends, both in and out of the FBI, to wish them a happy New Year, good health, and prosperity for the coming year. Not surprisingly, none of the people he called were at work, so Bannister left messages. A few of his acquaintances could talk anyone’s ear off, so he was okay with that. There were other things on his mind.
Bannister spent the week working, poring over reports. Finally, it was December 31. Robin had agreed to meet Bannister in the reception area at the FBI Academy. All the separate sections at the Academy were connected by glass-enclosed walkways. He looked down one hallway through double glass doors and spotted her from fifty feet away. She was carrying a red garment bag and a small duffel. He couldn’t help but notice her tight-fitting jeans. She walked right up to him, dropped her duffle, and gave him a hug. She stepped back smiling.
“Do I look any different?” she asked.
“You look gorgeous, as always.”
“Since I started here, I’ve lost five pounds and gained a lot more strength and agility.”
“Shazamm ma’am! That’s impressive.” Bannister slung the duffel’s strap over his shoulder, and they walked out the door to his car, which was parked in front. Robin grabbed his hand. Hers was warm.
Once they were underway, he asked, “How was your Christmas?”
“It was nice. I actually enjoyed touring Colonial Williamsburg with my parents. They were really jazzed about all the things I’m learning at the academy. They went back to California yesterday. How was your Christmas?”
“I’d like to say it was eventful, but it wasn’t. Mostly quiet.”
“Did you put up a tree?”
“No. I always do, but this year I didn’t think I’d be back. Amelia left a little artificial Christmas tree on my kitchen counter so I could feel the spirit of the holiday.”
“Did you get to open up anything nice?”
“Only a stack of junk mail.” Robin scrunched her nose at that comment. “I watched a couple of Christmas specials and . . . thought about you.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“What if I said they were bad?” He laughed and drew a pinch from Robin.
“So you only had a couple of days in Atlanta?”
“Yeah, I had to put some paperwork together for Witt to take to the US Attorney. You heard Terry Hines is out of jail, didn’t you?”
“No. How could he be? He’s charged with a terrorist act.”
“Apparently he appealed the denial of his bond, and a judge agreed to set his bail at a million. Hines surrendered his passport and can’t leave Atlanta. His parents put up their Long Island home as collateral.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“The poison he mailed can kill on contact. I’d feel a lot better with him behind bars.”
“Me, too.” Robin changed the subject. “So, where are you taking me tonight?”
“You said you like seafood, so I made reservations at the Oceanic. It’s got a good menu and one of the best wine cellars in town.”
“You’re not going to try and ply me with liquor, are you?”
“You bet I am,” Bannister said, and got another pinch.
They arrived at his suite, and he showed Robin to her room. She went to hang up her garment bag.
“I have a special drink for you to try. Are you game?”
“Sure. What is it?” He heard her voice from the other room.
“It’s an interesting aperitif wine, especially when you add a twist of orange.” He poured each of them a glass of Lillet Blanc on the rocks.
“Thanks, James Bond. You know I prefer my drink shaken, not stirred.” Robin came around the corner with a playful grin. He handed her the drink as they eased into the sitting room.
“Cheers.”
They sipped their drinks.
“This is good,” Robin said, swirling the ice cubes.
She talked about the academy, describing her classmates and their diverse backgrounds. One of the other females was a chemist who was also a professional potter, with several pieces in museums. One of the guys, who had his doctorate, had been a corpsman in Afghanistan and recently published an article on post-traumatic stress syndrome.
“Sorry,” Robin laughed. “I didn’t mean to rattle on and on.”
“I don’t mind.” He smiled.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the advice you gave me, especially about getting into good shape before reporting. I still have energy after class when a lot of the other students are wiped out and too tired to study.”
“Well, you’re only going through there once. You may as well give it your best shot.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
They chatted for another half hour before Robin excused herself to take a shower and dress for the evening.
Later, when she stepped into the kitchen, Bannister drew a breath. She was stunning, draped in an ivory silk dress accented with a gold necklace and matching dangling earrings. That Nordic blonde hair cascaded down to her shoulders, making her look like she was ready to walk down the red carpet at some awards ceremony.
“You really look beautiful.” Bannister sincerely meant it, and he could tell by her smile she was pleased with his compliment.
“I didn’t want you to be disappointed. You look great, too.” She brushed a piece of lint off his double-breasted jacket.
After a short drive to the restaurant, he handed the keys to a valet. They checked their coats and were escorted to a table by one of the wait staff. The ceiling was a multi-colored, stained-glass oval.
Robin’s eyes turned upward. “I love the lighting,” she said. “It’s so soft and subdued. And did you notice the ecru damask on the chairs and booths match the table linens?”
He grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know what damask is, but the color combo is nice.”
Centered on each table was a hurricane shade with a large candle whose flame sent light dancing through the room. The entire dining area had a sense of openness but with enough privacy they didn’t have to worry about the people nearby hearing their every word.
Robin ordered the signature dish of lobster with ginger, lime, and Sauternes sauce, while Bannister stepped out of the box and agreed to try a pecan-encrusted sturgeon filet. To hell with calories, they said, when their waiter pronounced the golden matchstick fries the best he’d ever had anywhere.
Over a glass of chilled Chardonnay they chatted, laughed, and smiled, totally caught up in the warmth of each other’s presence. A soothing piano muted the sounds of a restaurant at work on the last day of the year. Their meal arrived, beautifully presented.
“It’s like a work of art. I’m almost afraid to eat it,” Robin said.
“Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks.”
They were not disappointed, and the service throughout the evening was outstanding. Robin’s napkin slipped off her lap, and before she could reach down to retrieve it, a waiter discreetly replaced it.
An hour and half later, they topped off the meal with cups of rich coffee and a poached pear stuffed with a bourbon mousse nestled in a phyllo shell.
The night was still young when they left the restaurant. Bannister drove around the Capitol grounds, past familiar Washington landmarks. “I like the way the monuments are lit,” he said. “I think seeing them at night makes people think more about what they memorialize.”
“For me, I just like their stark, simple beauty,” Robin said.
As he drove down Independence Avenue toward his hotel, Robin said, “Ty, stop here at the Lincoln Memorial. Let’s walk up the steps.”
He pulled over and they got out.
“You
know it’s freezing tonight,” he said as they started up the stairs. “Is there something special for you about the Lincoln?”
“I just remember that scene from the Clint Eastwood movie, The Line of Fire, where he’s sitting on the top step watching the female Secret Service agent he likes walking away. He says, ‘If she looks back, it means she’s interested. Come on now, take just a little look back.’”
They arrived at the top step and turned around, gazing at the lights bouncing off the frozen Reflection Pool.
“And what happens? In the movie?” Bannister asked.
“She looks back at him.” Robin reached for his gloved hand. “I thought it was so sensual.”
“Sensual, huh? One little glance?”
“They end up in bed together.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Maybe I should send you down these steps and see what happens. But I’d rather you didn’t walk away from me at all.”
They slowly descended the steps and walked arm in arm back to his car. Robin shivered as she settled against the cold leather.
“Thank God for heated seats,” he said.
Five minutes later they were at his suite.
Robin moved around the room, silently dimming the lights, creating a warm and intimate atmosphere while Bannister poured champagne. He had just put two glasses on the counter when she walked up behind him. She put her arms around his waist, resting her head on the back of his shoulder. He could smell her perfume, a refreshing hint of tangerine. He turned slowly and looked into her eyes. He kissed her softly once, then again, and again. His hand caressed her hair as he felt her mouth hot on his.
Robin pulled away, smiling. “It’s your call. Your room or mine?”
“Whatever’s closest.”
As he kissed her deeply, his hands gently slid the zipper down the back of her dress. Her hands were busy tugging at his belt. She led him to the bed. He kissed her neck and the curve of her shoulder. He kissed her firm breasts, listening to her quick breathing. His tongue twirled slowly around her nipples, teasing a response. His hand glided slowly between her thighs, arousing her to a new level. Her hand reached his pulsing hardness and caused him to shudder. In their hunger to caress, to taste, and to feel, they moved from finesse to animal lust.