Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

She pulled the car into an empty space and shut the engine. "They think you do. You're on the Anti-Terrorist Task Force, Mideast section."

"Right. I forgot."

So, we got out of the car, walked into the building, and took the elevator up to the sixteenth floor.

The FBI had the whole floor, plus some other floors that they shared with other Justice Department agencies.

To make a long story short, the prodigal daughter had returned, there were hugs and kisses all around, and I noticed that the women seemed as happy to see Kate as were the men. This is a good sign, according to my ex, who explained it all to me once. I wish I'd been listening.

Anyway, we made the rounds of the offices, and I pumped a lot of hands and smiled so much my face hurt. I had the impression I was being shown off by… by my… fiancée. There, I said it. Actually, however, Kate didn't make any announcements along those lines.

Somewhere in this labyrinth of corridors, cubicles, cubby holes, and offices lurked a lover or two or maybe three, and I tried to spot the little shit or shits, but I wasn't getting any signals. I'm good at spotting people who are trying to fuck me, but not very good at spotting people who are, or have, fucked one another. To this day, I'm not sure if my wife was screwing her boss, for instance. They do travel a lot on business, but… it doesn't matter anymore, and it didn't matter then.

As my good luck would have it, the fellow I'd spoken to here on the telephone the other day, Mr. Sturgis, Deputy Agent in Charge of something, wanted to meet me, so we were escorted into his office.

Mr. Sturgis came around his desk and extended his hand, which I took as we exchanged greetings. His first name was Doug, and he wanted me to call him that. What else would I call him? Claude?

Anyway, Doug was a handsome gent, about my age, tan and fit, and well dressed. He looked at Kate, and they shook hands. He said, "Good to see you, Kate."

She replied, "It's nice to be back."

Bingo! This was the guy. I could tell by the way they looked at each other for a brief second. I think.

Anyway, there are many forms of hell on earth, but the most exquisitely hellish is going someplace where your spouse or lover knows everyone, and you know no one. Office parties, class reunions, stuff like that. And, of course, you're trying to figure out who had carnal knowledge of your mate, if for no other reason than to see if he or she at least had good taste and wasn't fucking the class clown or the office idiot. Anyway, Sturgis offered us seats and we sat, though I wanted out of there. He said to me, "You're exactly as I pictured you on the phone."

"You, too."

We left that alone and got on to business. Sturgis rambled on a bit, and I noticed that he had dandruff and small hands. Men with small hands often have small dicks. It's a fact.

He tried to be pleasant, but I was not. Finally, he sensed my mood and stood. Kate and I stood. He said, "Again, we thank you for your good work and your expertise in this matter. I can't say I'm confident that we'll apprehend this individual, but at least we've got him on the run, and he'll cause no further problems."

"I wouldn't bet on that," I said.

"Well, Mr. Corey, a man on the run can be a desperate man, but Asad Khalil is not a common criminal. He's a professional. All he wants now is to escape and not draw any further attention to himself."

"He is a criminal, common or otherwise, and criminals do criminal things."

"Good point," he said dismissively. "We'll keep that in mind."

I thought I should tell this idiot to go fuck himself, but he already knew what I was thinking.

He said to Kate, "If you ever want to come back, put in for it, and I'll do all I can to see that it's done."

"That's very nice of you, Doug."

Barf.

Kate gave him a card and said, "My cell phone number is on there. Please have someone call me if anything develops. We're just taking some time off to sightsee. John's never been to L.A. We're taking the red-eye out tonight."

"I'll call you the minute anything develops. If you'd like, I'll give you a call later just to keep you up-to-date."

"I would appreciate that."

Barf.

They shook hands and bid adieu.

I forgot to shake hands on my way out, and Kate caught up to me in the corridor.

She informed me, "You were rude to him."

"I was not."

"You were. You were being so charming to everyone, then you go and get nasty with a supervisor."

"I wasn't nasty. And I don't like supervisors." I added, "He pissed me off on the phone."

She dropped the subject, perhaps because she knew where it was headed. Of course, I may have been totally wrong about any amorous connections between Mr. Douglas Pindick and Kate Mayfield, but what if I weren't and what if I'd been all nice and smiley to Sturgis while he was thinking about the last time he'd screwed Kate Mayfield? Boy, what a fool I'd be. Better to play it safe and be nasty.

Anyway, as we walked down the corridor, it occurred to me that being in love had a lot of drawbacks.

Kate stopped by the commo room and got our flight information. She informed me, "United Flight Two-Zero-Four, leaves LAX at eleven-fifty-nine p.m., arrives Washington Dulles at seven-forty-eight A.M. Two Business Class reservations confirmed. We'll be met at Dulles."

"Then what?"

"It doesn't say."

"Maybe I have time to complain to my Congressman."

"About what?"

"About being off the job for a stupid press conference."

"I don't think a Congressman can relate to that. And on the subject of the press conference, they've faxed us some talking points."

I looked at the two-page fax. It wasn't signed, of course. These "suggestions" never are, and the person who's answering media questions is supposed to sound spontaneous.

In any case, Kate seemed to have run out of old friends, so we got on the elevator and rode down in silence.

Out in the parking lot, on the way to the car, she said to me, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, it wasn't. In fact, let's go back and do it again."

"Are you having a problem today?"

"Not me."

We got in the car and pulled out onto Wilshire Boulevard. She asked me, "Is there anything special you'd like to see?"

" New York."

"How about one of the movie studios?"

"How about your old apartment? I'd like to see where you lived."

"That's a good idea. Actually, I rented a house. Not far from here."

So, we drove through West Hollywood, which looked like an okay place, except everything was made of concrete and was painted in pastel colors, sort of like square Easter eggs.

Kate drove into a pleasant suburban neighborhood and drove past her former house, which was a small Spanish stucco job. I said, "Very nice."

We continued on to Beverly Hills, where the houses got bigger and bigger, then we cruised Rodeo Drive, and I caught a whiff of Giorgio perfume coming from the store of the same name. That stuff would keep a dead body from stinking.

We parked right on Rodeo Drive, and Kate took me to a nice open-air restaurant for lunch.

We lingered over lunch, as they say, with no appointments, no agenda, and not a worry in the world. Well, maybe a few.

I didn't mind killing time because I was killing it near to where Asad Khalil was last heard from. I kept waiting for Kate's phone to ring, hopefully with some news that would keep me from flying to Washington. I hated Washington, of course, and with good reason. My animus toward California was mostly illogical, and I was feeling ashamed of myself for my prejudices against a place I'd never been to. I said to Kate, "I can see why you'd like it here."

"It's very seductive."

"Right. Does it ever snow?"

"In the mountains. You can go from beach to mountains to desert in a few hours."