“That was helpful,” Oak said. “We’ve identified some more leads to follow.”
“We still haven’t tied in any of the three names.”
“No, but that might change after we talk to Corridan and Dixon tomorrow.”
She kind of resented Malone’s calling Patrick by his surname without the “Senator” attached, but let it pass. At ten o’clock, she found sheets and a blanket, and Malone unfolded the hide-a-bed in her office and made it up. She thought he was asleep before she finished her shower in her master bath. Collapsed comfortably in her very own bed, she should have fallen asleep immediately, but her mind kept focusing on the man across the hall. It was kind of fuzzy thinking, blurry without sharp outlines. Just . . . Oak Malone. An hour passed before she drifted off.
And now she drove her own three-year-old Camry into the District, taking the 14th Street Bridge past the Thomas Jefferson Memorial and north until she reached Independence Avenue. She drove that congested thoroughfare east to 2nd Street and then turned north again. Fortunately, she still had her Agency parking permit and easily found parking in the lot across C Street NE from the Dirksen Senate Office Building.
It was 9:15 on a Friday, but she’d called in, and with no hearings scheduled, Patrick was waiting for her when she reached his office. It was a bustling beehive of staff activity. As a long-term incumbent, with important committee assignments, he rated enough staff support to start his own government.
Patrick Corridan was designed to be a U.S. Senator. He was tall at six feet, perfectly fit in his dark blue suit, and perfectly at ease in a crowd, a contentious meeting, or a social obligation. He was 67, but healthy. His face had filled out over the years, become more rounded, but was smoothly jovial with a wide smile revealing even white teeth. He wore his hair longish, gray-black swept over his ears.
On the other side of things, Bobbi had seen him take hard, cynical, and sometimes ruthless positions in committee hearings and on the floor of the Senate. Jovial when necessary, a bastard when required.
He came around his desk and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m so glad to see you, Bobbi. It’s been months.”
“I know. It’s terrible, since we’re only miles apart, but schedules seem to rule, don’t they?”
“Indeed they do. Please, let’s sit over here. Would you like coffee?”
“I’m coffeed out this morning, Patrick. How is Evelyn?”
“Better than ever.”
“I hope so.”
Bob’s mother had lost a lot of her zest when he was killed, and it took a couple of years for her to regain just some of it. Bobbi empathized.
They sat opposite each other, she on the sofa and he in a chair. On the trophy wall, among the pictures of Patrick with presidents, vice presidents, majority and minority leaders, as well as foreign dignitaries were two of him and Bob together. One fly fishing in Wyoming and another deep sea fishing off Key West. Fishing was an activity they had both enjoyed. They’d often talked about the pleasures of deep sea fishing.
“Are they keeping you very busy, Bobbi?”
“Well, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you, and give you a heads-up. I’ve resigned from the Agency.”
His eyebrows went up. “You’re serious? Bobbi, you’re quite young. What are you going to do?”
“I’ve taken a position with an investigative company that I’m going to like, I think. It’s owned by Oak Malone. Do you remember him?”
“Of course I do. He and Bob were pretty close, I think.”
No alarm in his face at the mention of Malone, she thought. Of course, he had years of experience in not revealing his inner thoughts, especially to constituents and reporters.
“What is it you’ll be doing? Nothing dangerous, I hope.”
“Oh, no. It’s primarily projects outside the United States, where legal jurisdictions might be a little confused. Oak tracks down fugitives and stolen property. My work will be mostly in research.”
“Well, I daresay you’re good at that.”
“There’s something that came up the other day, Patrick. Do you know anything about an organization called the Institute for International Stability?”
“Oh, yes! I’m a member, and I support their efforts wholeheartedly. In fact, a few years ago, I was successful in getting them some federal match money to help the cause. Not as much as I might have liked, but certainly something to help out. How did the topic arise?”
“It was in a discussion about a couple of people. A man named James Mears and a woman named Lani Dixon. Do you know either of them?”
A light in his eyes?
“I don’t know anyone named Mears. But, yes, I’ve met Lani several times. She’s a beautiful woman. Her husband has something to do with one of the think tanks, I believe.”
Maybe the light in his eyes was lust. There was no reason to believe that Patrick hadn’t done a dallying around from time to time. This was Washington. And certainly, Lani Dixon wasn’t above attempting to improve her lot in life.
“The reason it came up is because they’re both members of the Institute also.”
“Lani is? I didn’t know that. Obviously, I don’t go to their meetings, and I admit that I really, really speed read their newsletters.”
Bobbi evaluated. She hadn’t learned much of anything so far. None of those facial tells that Oak talked about, at least any she could be certain about.
Go for broke?
Why not? She had promised Oak.
“I’ve got something to show you, Patrick.”
She dug into her purse and found a set of the donation comparisons. She’d made quite a few copies. Handing it to him, she explained what it meant.
Now she had a reaction.
His eyes narrowed as he read down the page. The corners of his mouth went down. When he looked up at her, his whole body language shouted “Stricken!”
“Does this mean what I think it means?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, I believe so, Patrick. Someone is ripping off the taxpayer.”
“Oh, Jesus! And I set it up.”
It sure as hell wasn’t a bullet point for his reelection chances.
“What you have is as much as I have at the moment. I don’t have any evidence pointing at a particular person or persons. I don’t know where the money went.”
“But I should have someone investigate.”
“That’s a two year proposition, Patrick, when you get Congress involved. You can do that, or you could wait a week and see what more I come up with.”
“Will you please keep me aware, Bobbi?”
“I will,” she promised.
*
Malone had been sitting in his rented Malibu at the nearest cross street for over two hours.
When he called Lani Dixon earlier, the same voice he had talked to before from Scottsdale told him that Mrs. Dixon was at a fund-raiser breakfast and should be home by 10:30.
So he parked and waited. At 9:40 he saw a middle-aged woman emerge from the Dixon town house, walk out to the street, and turn east. Housekeeper or maid or whatever.
At 10:22, a cab pulled up in front of the house and Lani Dixon got out. The sleek and dark red hair gave her away. Malone waited until she had fished a key out of her purse, unlocked the front door, and gone inside before he got out of the car and sauntered down the street. At mid-block, he crossed the street and went up to the door.
Pressed the doorbell button and was rewarded with a muted but melodious first bar to something he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the William Tell Overture.
Three minutes passed before he saw a shadow block the light in the peephole and knew she was checking him out. Probably should have worn a tie judging by the very nice pale yellow dress she left the taxi in.
He passed inspection at least partially when he heard the lock click. The door opened about three inches, to the length of the security chain. The most vivid green eyes peered out at him. Her makeup was flawless, but a litt
le heavy around the eyes, he thought. The dark red hair was a nice contrast. Made him think of Bobbi, but Bobbi’s auburn hair was almost black.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Dixon, my name is Oak Malone. First of all, I’m a fellow alum from the U of A. Secondly, I’m an investigator collecting information about potential corruption.”
“U of A?”
“I’m ’89, but we may have a common contact in Jim Mears. Do you know Jim?”
“Of course I do. We . . . dated for a year.”
She had different memories than ol’ Jim did.
“Ah, I thought so. Could we talk for a bit? I won’t take up much of your time.”
“Well, uh, do you have some identification?”
Malone wasn’t blessed with a private investigator’s credentials, but he showed her his driver’s license and his passport. The passport was rampant with entry and exit stamps from twenty-some countries.
“Oh, okay. I only have a few minutes.”
“All I need, thank you.”
She closed the door to release the chain, and then swung it wide and he stepped into a marble appointed foyer. A fresh bouquet of roses rested atop a gold-veined marble column. Lani motioned left to a living room decorated as if it was just waiting a visit from Architectural Digest photographers.
He could not imagine that he should sit on any of the snowy white couches, but Lani moved to one and sat very ladylike and so he took a seat on a couch opposite her. The vase on the glass-topped coffee table between them held what he thought were Texas bluebonnets.
Better than bluebonnets, Lani Dixon in her pale yellow dress gave the room some real class. The hem of her dress was just above shapely knees. Through the glass table top he could see equally shapely calves. She believed in plunging necklines, and Oak decided he did also. Her colors weren’t right, but he kept thinking Elizabeth Taylor.
“How is Jim?” Oak asked.
“You know, I haven’t seen him in years. David and I visit in Scottsdale only a few days each year, but I don’t see many of the people I used to know so well.”
“I know how that goes, Mrs. Dixon.”
“Please. Call me Lani. Everyone does.”
Everyone in her social circles, no doubt.
She was studying him pretty intently, and she finally said, “Do I know you? Did we ever meet in Tucson?”
“No, not in Tucson, but we did meet briefly at the French Embassy once, about six years ago. I was with the CIA at that time.”
She was wearing a different name at that time, so she didn’t pursue it now.
“CIA. And you’re investigating something?”
“I am. I found out that you’re a member of the National Rifle Association.”
“That’s kind of in honor of my father, who was a life member. I used to target shoot, but it’s been some time ago. My husband David doesn’t care for guns.”
That was the way Malone had had it figured.
In other circumstances, this would be the time for Malone to ask about buying that old Colt six-shooter.
“You also belong to the Institute for International Stability.”
“I do? Well, probably. I belong to a large number of worthwhile causes.”
He couldn’t tell if the I do? was meant to mislead or was truly forgetfulness.
“I’m sure that’s true,” Malone said. “In the case of the Institute, something irregular has popped up.”
“Oh? What is that?”
Malone pulled a lengthwise folded set of papers from his inside coat pocket and handed them to her. While she frowned and tried to follow the columns down the page with a dark red painted fingernail, he explained the discrepancies.
When she got to the end of the second page, she said, “I’m sure I don’t know what any of this means. I think I only give them fifty or a hundred dollars a year.”
That’s what her head was telling him, but her heart was elsewhere. She’d begun to lean forward. Her eyes had narrowed, and there was a rosy flush creeping up her throat from all that open cleavage. He could see a little tremor in her fingers as they clutched the papers.
“It can be complicated,” Malone told her. “But it’s nothing that you’ve been aware of?”
“Oh, no! If this is true, it’s terrible.”
“You do know Senator Corridan?”
“Certainly. We see each other from time to time, usually at social events. Why do you ask about him?”
“Only because he secured legislation that gives the Institute tax dollars.”
“I didn’t know that. Honestly, I don’t pay attention to most of the organizations I support. Would you expect the Red Cross or the Cancer Society to do something like this?”
“I haven’t looked at them yet,” Malone said.
Her face went quizzical. Was he going to do that?
“Did you ever know a man named Tracy Dinmore?”
“Dinmore? I don’t think so. Who is he?”
She knew him. Her face didn’t register any search of memory. Right off the starting line, I don’t think so.
“Well, that helps a lot, Lani. I appreciate your taking the time.”
The way her head and shoulders straightened up, he could see the relief. This interrogation was finally over.
I survived.
Don’t think so.
Malone stood, and she followed suit. Saw him to the door and outside. They said their goodbyes, and as soon as the door closed, he heard the locks falling into place.
He wished he had some bugs with him. He’d like to hear her half of the conversations that were shortly to take place on her telephone.
*
The Chair finally called at 2:00, and Alicia brought him up to date quickly.
He didn’t sound too excited. The Chair was generally calm about everything, one reason she admired him so much. Another reason, of course, was the affair they’d had beginning six years ago, and off and on for quite awhile. It was such a wonderful time, but of course, he was committed to a marriage, and things had just not worked out the way she might have wanted.
Sometimes memories were so hard to live with.
But sometimes, the future took on amazing new turns. Who could know what might develop? There was always a chance for a new beginning. Alicia never did much outside the office, didn’t travel, didn’t socialize. She dreamed a lot about what could be.
“So where is November now?”
“He arrived in Washington early this morning. His name is now Dexter Flynn. He’s at the Best Western on New Hampshire.” She gave him the new number of November’s disposable cell phone.
“Alicia, you’re so on top of things. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
She didn’t know what they’d do without her, either. At some point, she’d demand a larger share of the pie, though she had no clue where she’d spend it.
“Tell me again how it went down between Paxton and Malone.”
She told him again.
“Jeffrey is pretty upset?”
“He was, but I think I’ve eased his mind a little.”
“And you have a backup plan?”
“I worked all last night at home on it. If we have to, the Institute will admit that it pays bribes to certain individuals in various countries to assist the Institute in its quest. The membership will not like it, and we may lose a lot of members. My estimate is that about 42 percent will not renew their memberships. It’s survivable, Chair.”
“But we do this only if something hits the news,” he said. “It’s quite possible that the auditors over the years would lodge a few complaints about the Institute’s definition of good faith as far as its records are concerned.”
“Yes. I see that.”
“Now, Malone. Do we know where he is?”
“Not precisely. But I am relatively certain he was travelling with a Roberta Galway.”
“Bobbi is what she goes by.”
“Oh. You know her.”
“She worked f
or the CIA the last I knew.”
“Not any more. She resigned on June 18th.”
“How do you know this, May?”
“I was searching for her address, which is not published anywhere. When I found out she worked for the CIA, I went into her records.”
“So you think Malone is with her?”
“That is my best guess. In Alexandria.” She gave him the address.
“You wouldn’t know about his car rental, would you?”
“Let me call it up.”
Alicia opened the file where she had stored the Malone information.
“It’s a blue Chevrolet Malibu.” She gave him the license number.
“Thank you, May. Now, did you see yesterday’s news out of Qatar?”
“I did. There were eleven people killed and forty-two injured. The damage to the first three floors was extensive.”
Sometimes Alicia found it difficult to think about the collateral damage. People were hurt in these incidents. But it was a war, and some consequences were to be expected. Plus, to be sure, it was not Alicia making these decisions. The Chair made the decisions in concert with the Treasurer who knew so much about the value of foreign companies.
“And did you check the daily quotes?”
“The Commercial Bank of Qatar’s stock price fell by twenty-seven Qatari Rials. It will probably fall some more on Monday.”
“What is the current exchange rate, May?”
“One U.S. dollar is equal to 3.64 Qatari Rials. At the moment, converting to dollars, if we buy stock for the short sale, we’ll have made about $456,000. After the 200K investment in the local activists, that’s a quarter million in profit.”
“Not bad for a few days. Let’s place the order for the first thing on Monday.
“Very well. I’ll do that. Should I call November?”
“I’ll take care of it,” the Chair told her.
*
The Chair called her just before 3:00 after she’d sat around frazzled all day long. She was afraid to do anything, dreading the time David would come home and ask her what was wrong. He would see right away that she wasn’t normal.
As soon as Malone had left, she had congratulated herself on how well she had handled the man and the whole episode. But then, thinking about it over the next hours, her confidence eroded steadily. Malone had seen right through her. Soon, her life would be over. She had gone to the bedroom and changed into sweats. Gone up to her rooms on the third floor and exercised hard. She couldn’t work Malone and his insinuations out of her system.
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