Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

Kate said, "Bottled water, please."

"And for you, sir?"

"Double Scotch. Can't fly on one wing."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Corey, I'm not allowed to serve armed personnel."

This was the moment I'd been waiting for all day, and I said, "I'm not armed. Check the manifest, or you can search me in the lav."

She didn't seem inclined to accompany me to the lav, but she did check the manifest, and said, "Oh… I see…"

"I'd rather drink than carry a gun."

She smiled and put two little bottles of Scotch on my tray with a plastic cup of ice. "On the house."

"On the plane."

"Whatever."

After she moved off, I offered Kate a Scotch.

She replied, "I can't."

"Oh, don't be such a goody-two-shoes. Have a drink."

"Do not try to corrupt me, Mr. Corey."

"I hate to be corrupt alone. I'll hold your gun.", "Cut it out." She drank her water.

I poured both Scotches over the ice and sipped. I smacked my lips. "Ahhh. Really good."

"Fuck off."

My goodness.

We sat in silence awhile, then she said to me, "Did you get things squared with your friend on Long Island?"

This was a loaded question, and I considered my reply. John Corey is loyal to friends and lovers, but the essence of loyalty is reciprocity. And Beth Penrose, for all her interest in yours truly, hadn't shown a great deal of loyalty. I think what she wanted from me was what the ladies call commitment, and then she'd be loyal. But men want loyalty first, then they might consider commitment. These were opposing concepts and not likely to be resolved unless one or the other party had a sex change operation. In any case, I wondered why Kate had asked the question. Actually, I didn't wonder at all. I finally replied, "I left a message on her answering machine."

"Is she the understanding type?"

"No, but she's a cop, and this stuff she understands."

"Good. It might be a while before you have any free time."

"I'll send her an e-mail to that effect."

"You know, when the ATTF worked the TWA explosion, they worked around the clock, seven days a week."

"And that wasn't even a terrorist attack," I pointed out.

She didn't reply. No one in the know replied to questions about TWA, and there were still unanswered questions. At least with this case, we knew who, what, where, when, and how. We weren't sure of why, or what next, but we'd know before too long.

Kate asked me, "What happened with your marriage?"

I spotted a trend in these questions, but if you think being a detective makes a guy wise to the ways of women, think again. I did, however, suspect a motive in Ms. Mayfield's questions that went beyond idle curiosity. I replied, "She was a lawyer."

She didn't speak for a few seconds, then said, "And that's why it didn't work out?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you know she was a lawyer before you married her?"

"I thought I could get her to reform."

Kate laughed.

It was my turn, and I asked her, "Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"That's a personal question."

I thought we were doing personal questions. Actually, we were when I was on the receiving end. I refused to play this game and found a Delta magazine in the seat pocket.

She said, "I've moved around a lot."

I studied the Delta world routes map. Maybe I should go to Rome when this was all over. See the Pope. Delta didn't go to Libya, I saw. I thought about those guys on the air raid in 1986 who flew those little jet fighters from somewhere in England, around France and Spain, over the Mediterranean, and on to Libya. Wow. That was some flight, according to my map. And no one was serving Scotch. How did they take a leak?

"Did you hear me?"

"Sorry, no."

"I said, do you have children?"

"Children? Oh, no. The marriage was never consummated. She didn't believe in post-marital sex."

"Really? Well, for someone your age, that shouldn't have been a hardship."

My goodness. I said, "Can we change the subject?"

"What would you like to talk about?"

Actually, nothing. Except maybe Kate Mayfield, but that subject was trouble. I said, "We should discuss what we learned today."

"Okay." So we discussed what we learned today, what happened yesterday, and what we were going to do tomorrow.

We approached New York, and I was glad to see it was still there, and that the lights were on.

As we came into La Guardia, Kate asked me, "Are you coming with me to Federal Plaza?"

"If you'd like."

"I would. Then we can go for dinner."

I looked at my watch. It was 10:30 P.M. and by the time we got to Federal Plaza and left, it would be near midnight. I said, "It's a bit late to eat."

"Then drinks."

"Sounds good."

The plane touched down and as it decelerated on the runway, I asked myself the question that all men ask in these situations, which is, "Am I reading these signals right?"

If I wasn't, I could be in professional trouble, and if I was, I could get into personal trouble. I thought I should wait and see. In other words, when it comes to women, I played it safe.

We deplaned, got outside, got into a taxi, and went to Federal Plaza via the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and the Brooklyn Bridge.

As we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, I asked Kate, "Do you like New York?"

"No. Do you?"

"Of course."

"Why? This place is crazy."

" Washington is crazy. New York is eccentric and interesting."

" New York is crazy. I'm sorry I took this assignment. None of the FBI people like it. It's too expensive, and our cost-of-living allowance barely covers the extra expenses."

"Then why did you take this assignment?"

"For the same reasons that military people take hardship assignments and volunteer for combat. It's a quick career boost. You have to do New York and D.C. at least once to get ahead." She added, "And it's challenging. Also, bizarre and unbelievable things happen here. You can go on to any of the other fifty-five field offices around the country, and you'll have New York stories to tell the rest of your life."

"Well," I said, "I think New York gets a bad rap. Look, I'm a New Yorker. Am I weird?"

I didn't catch her reply, maybe because the cabbie was screaming at a pedestrian and the pedestrian was screaming back. They spoke different languages, so the exchange didn't last as long as it might have.

We pulled up to Federal Plaza, and Kate paid the driver. We went to the after-hours door on the south side, and Kate opened it by means of a security code keypad. Kate had her keys for the elevator, and we went up to the twenty-seventh floor where some of the suits hung out.

There were a dozen people there, looking tired, unhappy, and worried. Phones were ringing, faxes were dinging, and a moronic computer voice was telling people, "You've got mail!" Kate chatted with everyone, then checked her phone messages, her e-mail, then checked the commo for the day and so forth. There was an e-mail from George Foster, which said, "Meeting-as per Jack-28th-floor conference room, 0800 hours." Unbelievable. Koenig, in DC., calls an 8:00 A.M. meeting in New York. These people were either tireless or scared shitless. Probably the latter, in which case, you can't get much sleep anyway.

Kate asked me, "Do you want to check your desk?"

My desk in the cubicle farm was a floor below, and I really didn't think I'd have anything different down there than Kate had up here, so I said, "I'll check it tomorrow when I arrive at five."

She poked around awhile longer, and I stood there feeling close to useless, so I said, "I'm going home."

She put down whatever she was reading and said, "No, you're buying me a drink." She added, "Do you want your papers from my attache case?"

"I'll get them tomorrow."

"We can look at some of this stuff later, if you'd like."