Stuart Woods - Mounting Fears

“Somebody had tacked it to a bulletin board at Langley this morning,” she replied, not looking at him.

“I was ambushed,” Will said. “Surely you understand that.”

“I don’t like it when you’re ambushed,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

“I don’t like it when you let yourself be ambushed.”

“It was the crack of dawn. I was half asleep, and she came at me from behind.”

“From behind was not where you were grabbing her.”

“I told you, I was fending her off. Obviously, the whole thing was planned. She wants me to pardon Larry Moody.”

Kate dropped the newspaper. “I don’t believe it!”

“Neither do I, but that’s what she wants. The campaign has instituted a Charlene Watch to make sure she doesn’t get near me again.”

“Good luck with that,” Kate said. “She’s a very determined bitch.”

Will went to the bar, mixed her a martini and poured himself a bourbon. He sat down on the sofa next to her and handed her the drink. “Look at me,” he said.

“I’d rather look at the martini.”

He held on to the glass when she reached for it. “Look at me.”

She looked at him. “All right.”

“That’s enough about this incident.”

She blinked rapidly a few times. “Is it?”

“It is. Let’s not refer to it again.”

“All right,” she said.

Will released the martini to her, and they clinked glasses.

“I know assassins who could fix this problem,” she said.

“I’m not supposed to know you know assassins,” he replied.

“Well, I’m not absolutely certain about it, but I think I could scare up an assassin, if I had to.”

“You don’t have to. Have your people found that nuclear warhead?” he asked.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I am.”

“We’re not supposed to talk business in the quarters.”

“I take it if there were any new developments, you’d apprise me.”

“I’d apprise you. How did Marty’s ceremony go?”

“Just fine. He’s in California for Rivera’s inauguration. He had to ride out there in a G-III, instead of Air Force Two.”

“I’ll bet he loved that.”

“He has to get used to being number two. He’ll like his campaign plane better.”

“I had a meeting with somebody from Justice today, and he said that Marty’s chief of staff has applied for a big job over there.”

“That’s right. She gave me as a reference.”

Kate laughed. “Not Marty?”

“Marty is being very careful to remain hands-off,” Will said.

“Uh, oh.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I think it would be a perfectly normal thing for a vice president to do, to help his former chief of staff get a Washington job.”

“I suppose so. What are you getting at?”

“Doesn’t he strike you as being a little too careful, if he’s not willing to recommend her himself?”

“You mean you think he’s been screwing his chief of staff, and that’s the reason for the divorce?”

“Would you be shocked if he were, Will?”

“Surprised, maybe, but not shocked. I’m a lot harder to shock than I used to be.”

“Nonsense. You’re shocked every time somebody does something the slightest bit venal or unethical.”

“Shocked, maybe, but not surprised.”

“If anybody knew the width and depth of your straight-arrow-ness, they’d be shocked.”

Will laughed. “Don’t ever tell anybody-it would impair my effectiveness. The press would start comparing me to Jimmy Carter.”

“There are more similarities than differences,” Kate said.

“There are more similarities between men and women than differences,” he pointed out. “Same number of fingers and toes, eyes and ears, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Sure. Different only in the important areas.”

“What time is dinner?” he asked.

“Any minute. You have something in mind?”

“After dinner,” he said.

“Hold that thought,” she replied.

Martin Stanton was ensconced in his hotel suite in San Francisco, plugging in his secret cell phone, when it vibrated.

“Yes?” he said.

“I’m downstairs,” Barbara said, her voice husky. “Can I come up?”

“Listen, baby, I’ve got Secret Service protection now, you know?”

“You think they’d shoot me?”

“I think I don’t want to ask them to look the other way while you and I fuck each other’s brains out.”

“Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty,” she said.

“Okay, come on up. I’ll switch off the security.”

“You really mean that?” she asked. “I’m shocked.”

“I love shocking you.”

“Now I have to shock you.”

“Go ahead.”

“I lied. I’m not downstairs. I’m in my Sacramento apartment, or what’s left of it.”

“Awwww.”

“Yeah, eat your heart out.”

“Why are you toying with me?” he asked plaintively.

“I just wanted to see how far you’d take this celibacy thing, and I guess I found out.”

“I was kidding about calling off the Secret Service,” he said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I was, really.”

“Well, in any case,” she said, “you’re going to have to sleep with your hand under the covers tonight.” And she hung up.

Stanton whimpered, then hung up, too.

Teddy Fay adjusted his gray comb-over hairpiece and combed his very real, very gray mustache and his not-so-real thick eyebrows. As a final touch he slipped on a pair of heavy black-rimmed spectacles, then stood back from the mirror and took in his full length. In the months he had been in Panama he had lost twenty-five pounds, and given his exercise program, he felt fitter than he had in years. This look was one of three he had adopted, so that he could move around Panama City without becoming familiar to very many people.

He slipped the jacket of his white suit over his open-necked white shirt, took one last look in the mirror, and went out the back door of his apartment. It was a good exit for him-a tree-shaded wooden staircase rising thirty feet to the road behind his little building. His Vespa motor scooter was locked to a street sign, and he worked the combination quickly. The scooter started instantly, and he let the engine warm up for a moment before putting it into gear and starting down the hill.

He liked the scooter, partly for the anonymity-because there were so many scooters in the city-and partly for the wind in his face. Tonight, he made his way to a bar he liked at El Conquistador, a small but elegant hotel catering to upper-income international visitors. The hotel subsisted on word-of-mouth and relations with a couple of dozen travel agents in American and European cities. He liked it, too, for the occasional businesswoman traveling alone; he had gotten lucky there twice.

Teddy had heard the hotel might be for sale, and he had fantasized about buying it and becoming the genial host. He didn’t have that much money, though, and he couldn’t afford to become rooted, especially now when he had heard there was a man wandering around town showing a faded photograph of a middle-aged man and asking if he had been seen locally. He didn’t much like the sound of that. The man was said to be staying at El Conquistador.

Teddy had chosen Panama City because he could flee north into Mexico or south into the southern continent very easily, and he could quickly disappear in either place. His Spanish had been pretty good when he arrived, and with work, it was much better now, so he was able to pass as an American who had made a career in the country and was now retired.

He parked the scooter and strolled through the lobby, making a show of looking at the expensive merchandise in the glass cases, the goods of nearby shops. The cases went through the wall and could be seen from the bar, too, and that allowed him to view the customers inside. He spotted the man almost immediately.