Stuart Woods: D.C. Dead

“I’d take my vaccinations, if I knew which ones to take,” he replied.

“You don’t look very happy about this,” Joan said, pouring him a cup of coffee.

“I’m not unhappy about it,” Stone replied. “If I’m unhappy at all, it’s about Peter’s being off at Yale.”

“How did yesterday go?”

Stone shrugged. “Bittersweet. I’m happy for Peter, getting what he wants, but I miss him already.”

“So do I,” Joan said. “It was a nice change from it being just you all the time.”

“You’ll have Allison to talk to,” Stone said, referring to the Woodman amp; Weld associate who had been assigned to his office, “and that means you’ll have Herbie Fisher dropping by at every opportunity just because Allison is here.”

“I hear on the secretarial grapevine that Herbie is already making his mark at the firm,” Joan said, “working long hours, being smart. He’s got the other associates coming to him for answers.”

“Who knew that Herbie would turn out so well?” Stone said. “I personally thought he’d be dead or in prison by now.”

“Better haircuts and suits seemed to improve him,” Joan said, “and the lottery win didn’t hurt.”

“I hope he’s still got some of it,” Stone said.

The bell rang, and Joan went to let Dino in. She took his bags to the garage.

“Coffee before we blast off?” Stone asked.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Dino said, accepting a cup. “Has Holly called and told you what this is all about?”

Stone sat down and sipped his coffee. “Nope. I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

“That used to be kind of exciting,” Dino said, “not knowing what’s going to happen.”

“You’re depressed,” Stone said.

“I am?” Dino said, looking surprised.

“About Ben going away to college.”

“Oh, that. Yeah. You too.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I have an idea,” Dino said. “Let’s go to Washington and find out what the hell this is all about. It might improve our dispositions.”

“Good idea,” Stone said, putting his coat on. “Let’s get out of here.”

They were at Teterboro airport in half an hour, and it took Stone another forty-five minutes to do a preflight inspection of his Citation Mustang, get a clearance to Manassas, and taxi to the runway. Shortly, they were cleared for takeoff. Stone shoved the throttles all the way forward, waited for ninety knots, then rotated. The little jet roared off the runway like a big bird. Stone contacted New York Departure, got a vector and a new altitude, and they were off.

Another three-quarters of an hour and they were settling onto the runway at Manassas. A lineman directed them to a parking spot, and someone drove a black SUV over to the airplane and parked it near the door.

“That must be our car,” Dino said.

“Who would give us a black SUV but the CIA?” Stone asked.

The lineman took their bags from the forward luggage compartment and stowed them in the rear of the vehicle, then Stone registered with the FBO (Fixed Base Operator) and gave them a credit card for refueling.

“I’ll drive,” Dino said. “I know the city better than you.”

“Nevertheless, I hope there’s a map in the car,” Stone said.

He got into the passenger seat, and Dino got behind the wheel. “I’m going to need the car key to open the glove box,” Stone said.

Dino handed him the keys, and Stone examined them carefully. There were just two: an ordinary car key and another that looked like something off the space shuttle. He inserted that key into the large, nonstandard lock on the glove box and opened it. Inside he found two holstered SIG Sauer P239 9mm pistols with an extra magazine for each, and a box of cartridges.

“Why do we need to be armed to go to the White House?” Stone said. “They’ll just take them away from us as soon as we get there.”

“Just leave them in the glove compartment,” Dino said. “Is there anything else in there?”

Stone removed a thick black envelope and pulled a tab that broke the seal. v we the sHe shook out the contents onto the glove box door and looked at the four plastic cards that came out.

“Okay, we’ve got two White House passes marked ‘Staff,’ and two wallets with CIA ID cards.” He handed one of each to Dino, who examined them.

“Looks like we clip the White House passes to our lapels. What do we do with the CIA IDs?”

“I don’t know. They’ve never given us those before,” Stone replied.

Dino clipped the White House pass to his lapel, stuck the CIA wallet in his inside pocket, and started the car. “Oh,” he said, “here’s the map from the door pocket. Keep me out of trouble.”

Stone opened the map and found Manassas, then found the White House. “First,” he said, “drive out the gate.”

Dino did so, and a minute or two later they were driving north on the interstate. “Hey,” he said, “I forgot to ask where we’re staying.”

“At the Hay-Adams,” Stone said. “Sixteenth and H Streets.”

“And how do I get there?”

“It’s across Lafayette Park from the White House.”

“And how do I get there?”

Stone consulted the map. “Straight ahead. I’ll let you know when to turn. This is your local knowledge?”

“Right. You give me directions,” Dino said, “and my local knowledge will get you there.”

They checked in, and a bellman took them to the top floor of the hotel, thence to a pair of double doors.

“We need two doors?” Dino asked.

The bellman opened the door, and they walked into a large sitting room. Stone gave the bellman a fifty. “His room is the worst one,” he said, indicating Dino.

“They’re both very nice,” the bellman said, hesitating.

“How about the smallest bathroom?” Stone asked.

“Once again, both very nice.”

“Okay,” Stone said, pointing to the door on his right, “put my bags in that one.”

Dino went and opened the door to his room. “Can we manage this on five hundred per diem?”

Stone shook his head. “I’m splurging. It’s the first time I’ve spent any of Arrington’s bequest. You can chip in half your per diem.”

“Deal,” Dino said, walking into his room. The bellman followed with his bags.

Stone went into his room, unpacked his bags, and put things in dresser drawers. He grabbed a handful of things on hangers and gave them to the bellman. “Pressed and back in an hour?”

“Better make it an hour and a half,” the man said. “You’ve got a lot of stuff here.”

Dino added some things to his burden, and the man left. Dino walked over to a set of French doors and opened them. “Wow,” he said.

“Wow what?”

“Come out here and look at this.”

Stone walked out and found himself on a terrace, nicely furnished. Then he looked out over op|Lafayette Park and saw the White House, neatly framed by trees. “Wow,” he said.

“How much are you paying for this?” Dino asked.

“I don’t want to know,” Stone said. “I never again want to know how much anything costs.”

“Let’s keep this gig going as long as we can,” Dino said. “How about some lunch on our terrace?”

They ordered from room service and were soon sitting on their terrace, allowing the air-conditioning to waft through the French doors to combat the August heat in Washington. They ate, and stared at the White House.

“There are people on the roof,” Stone said.

“Well-armed people, no doubt,” Dino replied, popping a French fry into his mouth. “And I’ll bet those box things conceal ground-to-air missiles.”

“Don’t do anything threatening,” Stone said. “They could put one right through the French doors.”