T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

“I’ll come by your office one day next week, lay it out for you in black and white.”

“I look forward to that.”

“Thank you, Wynn.” She met the waiter and the bill with credit card outstretched, giving Wynn no chance to play the gallant. “Now it’s your choice. We could take our coffee and a nightcap at Bijou Bijou, it’s just up the street from here.”

“Or?”

She rose from her chair and encircled herself with a matching shawl. When he joined her, she melted in close. “We could go for a walk.”

“A walk sounds fine.”

They left the restaurant and turned away from M Street’s fluorescent bedlam. Valerie guided them down worn brick stairs and along the C amp;O Canal’s towpath. They passed the waterfall alongside Thomas Jefferson Street, pausing to admire three couples in muslin and homespun maneuver a canal boat through the neighboring lock, then continued on in comfortable silence. Valerie led him up the next flight of stairs and into Dean amp; DeLuca, saying, “This is one of the reasons I love living in Georgetown.”

A long line of fans marched down the high brick ceiling, dancing lazy circles over a brick-and-ceramic palace to fine cuisine. The air was spiced with rich fragrances and complacent chatter. Valerie led him past marble counters with smoked sausages stacked like logs, past the two hundred fresh cheeses displayed on reed mats, before releasing him with, “Why don’t you go find us a nice wine for the dinner I’ll make us next time.” As she turned away she might have added, “Or later tonight,” but he couldn’t be sure.

Wynn made his way to the back of the shop, selected two bottles of Teledeschi’s Pinot Noir, and met her at the front counter. She made a swift moue of approval and stroked his arm as he paid. The invitation was clear as fireworks across the sky.

But as they left the store, his phone rang. He shifted the wine to his other hand, pulled out the phone, checked the display, and said, “Sorry. It’s Sybel.”

But when he punched the button, it was Grant’s voice that rang out, harsh and angry. “I sure hope I’m taking you away from a good time.”

“What’s the matter?”

“She’s left me, that’s what.”

“Sybel’s gone?”

“Didn’t I just say that? I got back from a fund-raising jaunt down Miami way to nothing but an empty house. Her note doesn’t say a thing except she’s had enough. Wouldn’t you think I deserved more than that?”

Wynn tried to disguise his rage with a casual tone. “You figure that pretty little aide was worth your marriage, Grant?”

“Now you listen up!” The governor was glad for the chance to vent a little of his own ire. “The only difference between you and me, buster, is you’ve got a whole lot less to lose!”

“Maybe you’re right.” Wynn forced himself to back off, knowing the outcome of any argument was futile and foreordained. “What do you want?”

“Go get her back.”

He observed how Valerie stood by the wall, listening with a gossip’s undisguised interest. “I’m not-”

“Sybel will hear you out. She always does.”

“Not about this.”

“Tell your sister, if she’ll give us one more chance, I’ll change.”

Wynn bit back on his retort about lost causes and overlate transformations. Grant mistook his silence for agreement. “We can make it a trial run if she wants just through the next election and my campaign for the Senate. After that, if she still wants to leave me, I’ll give her whatever she wants. The house, the boat, a good settlement. Anything.” The rage-sharpened edge returned. “But you tell her if she doesn’t come back and see me through the next sixteen months, I’ll destroy her like she’s destroying me. I’ll fight her for everything. You tell her that. She’ll listen.”

Wynn cut the connection, stood staring at streetlights splashing on the cobblestone way. He heard Valerie approach but could not risk turning his gaze and revealing what he felt.

In the soft tones of one who had been there, she said, “Washington timing. Positively dreadful. Has loathsome effects upon one’s social life.”

“Valerie-”

“Shah, now, wait and call me when you can hear yourself think.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then she extracted the bag with the bottles from his hand, raised an arm to signal a passing taxi, kissed him a second time, and walked away. Valerie paused at the taxi’s door to turn back and smile. Then she waved once and was gone. Ethereal as smoke.

Sunday

The Egyptian almost had to drag Jackie into the Willard Hotel. He left her standing beneath the huge central chandelier as he approached the reception desk. When he returned, he said, “The congressman is not here. We must wait.”

“The guy has a suite here?” Jackie stumbled over her own feet as he led her to a sofa, the result of trying to look in six directions at once. “All the time?”

“I do not care for this.” Nabil Saad’s accent was much thicker now, from the strain of being pushed around a little too much. “One does not invite the cobra to sleep with the doves.”

“So Wynn Bryant is really the enemy?”

“I hear what you hear, Miss Havilland.”

“I thought we were going to be on a first-name basis.”

“Yes. You are right. Jackie. Esther Hutchings has named him an enemy. Bryant’s sister I have not seen since many years. You know Mrs. Wells?”

“Not a chance. Remember who you’re talking with here.”

“Of course. Forgive me. Tomorrow I fly to Cairo, where I will be forced to watch as Graham’s life work evaporates.” There were pale patches to either side of his nose and on his temples, brands of fatigue and strain. “I knew Wynn Bryant and his sister many years ago. I have not seen him since my childhood. This is not how I would wish to renew the acquaintance. Not here, and not in this manner, wondering whether the man who approaches is the friend we need or the enemy we dread. And not tonight.”

“I don’t think he’s an enemy.” Jackie tasted the air as Nabil slowly swiveled around to face her. Finding no wrongness to her observation. “He’s totally ignorant of everything.”

“Which means he still could be used by those who oppose us.” Nabil fastened upon something beyond her and rose to his feet. “He is here.”

The congressman entered with a phone attached to the side of his face. His gaze swept over Nabil without stopping, then fastened upon Jackie. He punched off the phone and walked over. “Mind telling me how you manage to show up at all the worst possible times?”

Jackie indicated the Egyptian. “I was asked to come and introduce someone.”

But his gaze remained upon her. “First in Esther’s living room, then in College Park. Now here. Your timing is exceptional.”

Wynn wore what Jackie classed as rich man’s casual attire. Suede jacket light enough for the balmy spring evening, gabardine slacks, shoes of woven leather so supple he could probably roll them like socks. She had a lifetime’s experience fending off guys like this. “Nabil is a friend of Esther’s.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something to me?” Wynn inspected Nabil. “We met in Kay Trilling’s office.”

“That is correct, Congressman.”

“Does this have anything to do with my sister’s vanishing act?”

Nabil cleared his throat, said formally, “I bring a message from Sybel.”

“I should have known.” Wynn crossed his arms. “So give.”

“She asks you to join her in Rome.”

“Not a chance in this world.”

“She asks that you treat this as the birthday wish you did not agree to earlier.”