Стюарт Вудс - Choppy Water

“I believe a decision was made to make it seem that she might have been sidelined.”

“Hence, the story about the injured staffer?”

“Off the record, maybe something to do with that.”

“Anyway, Sykes apparently believes that she’s going to be in New York running her transition team, pretty much until the inaugural festivities.”

“And he wants her in D.C., where she might be more accessible?”

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

“That’s what you have to tell me?”

“Let’s call it an introduction to my source.”

“What’s your source’s name?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“I need enough information about him to allow us to check him out. He could be a member of the group and just playing you.”

She shook her head. “I did my own checking. He was a government employee before, so that made it easier.”

He also needed enough information to ascertain whether Elizabeth Potter was her source as well as his. “I’m sorry, Peg. That’s not how the Bureau works. If we’re going to bring on a CI — a confidential informant — we have to do an FBI background check, and that’s more thorough than you can imagine.”

“Well, Tommy, that’s not how it’s going to work with my source. He tells me, I tell you. If he turns out to be right, he’s good. If not, well, you can look elsewhere. But I’m telling you, I have a very good nose, and if he was lying to me, I’d sniff him out. I don’t need a platoon of FBI agents to do it for me.”

“You’re very cocky, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say that I’m cock-oriented.” She stroked his crotch and got a response.

“Careful,” he said, “it bites.”

“So do I,” she said, pulling his zipper down and putting a hand inside to free him.

“Be gentle,” he said, lying back and letting her have her way with him.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You’ll have to use it again tonight, won’t you?” She went to work on him and got excellent results.

Tom sat at his desk, still a little weak in the knees, and tried to think how he might contact Elizabeth. He decided to continue to be Dad, e-mailing: Hi, there, baby. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my girl. Let’s get together soonest. When are you free? Love, Dad.

He pressed the send button. There was no way of telling when she’d see the e-mail; he’d just have to be patient. At five, he left the office and drove home. Amanda’s car was in the garage, so he took a few deep breaths and put on his innocent face.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he said, as he walked in.

Amanda looked up, surprised. “You’re home early,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She kissed him and pressed herself against him.

“A long and very boring report,” he said. “In fact, I think I need an hour’s nap.” He loosened his tie.

“Want some company?” she asked.

“Give me an hour, then I’m yours.”

She checked her watch. “All right, you’re on the clock. Shoo.”

He went upstairs and got undressed. As he hung his suit on a hanger he saw something he hadn’t seen before, and it scared him. The suit was a light tan, and there was lipstick on his fly.

He looked around for something that would dissolve lipstick. He went into the bathroom and found a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some tissues. He poured some on the Kleenex, replaced the bottle in the cabinet, then went back and applied it to his fly. To his vast relief it seemed to come off, but when he blew on it to dry it, it still left a visible stain, just not a red one. He hung the suit on the second rack, behind the first row, then flushed the tissues down the toilet.

Finally, he turned down the duvet, got into bed, and stretched out. In a couple of minutes he was snoring lightly.

He felt a draft and reached for the covers, but he encountered a head of hair instead. He hadn’t inspected himself for lipstick stains, so he pulled her away and up to his lips.

“I smell alcohol,” she said, sniffing.

“I spilt something on my suit at lunch, and I was trying to get out the stain.”

She rolled on top of him and made to insert him. “You’re not very responsive today,” she said.

“I was sound asleep,” he replied.

“Well, your hour is up.” She fondled him until she got a response, then mounted him. Ten minutes later they were both spent. She went into the bathroom for a minute, then returned and opened his closet door. “Which suit? I’ll see what I can do.”

“The tan gabardine, second row.”

She pulled it from the closet and hung it on a hook. “Where?”

“On the trousers,” he said.

“What was the stain?”

“Russian dressing from a sandwich. That pink stuff.” He held his breath.

“Yes, I can still smell the alcohol. And it seems to have worked.” She put the suit back into the closet. “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes,” she said, pulling her jeans back on and slipping into a sweater and flip-flops. “See you downstairs.”

Halfway through dinner his phone vibrated. “Excuse me,” he said, and went to his messages.

Dear old Dad!

I’ll be home around nine; if you can stop by, I’ll give you a drink!

“Anything important?” Amanda asked.

“Yes, a message from a CI. He’s not allowed to contact me by phone. I’ll have to go out for an hour or so after dinner.”

“Oh, well. At least I’ve already exhausted you. Don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

Tom drove to Elizabeth’s apartment house, near DuPont Circle, pulled into the garage, and parked. He took the elevator up to the floor above hers, then walked a flight down the fire stairs and peeked into the hallway. The coast was clear. He walked quickly down the hall, found the door off the latch, and let himself in. “Elizabeth?” he called.

“Have a seat. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He sat down on the sofa and looked around. He’d been there only once before, and it seemed much the same: comfortable.

Elizabeth appeared, buttoning her blouse.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said.

“Fat chance. Drink?”

“I’ve already had some wine with dinner. I’d better not.”

She poured herself one and sat down. “What’s up?”

“First, a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you recently had any contact with a female journalist?”

“You mean like Peg Parsons?”

“She’ll do. Have you seen or communicated with her?”

“No, I haven’t. Do you have some reason to believe that I might have?”

“I saw her today, and she told me that she has a source in Sykes’s group.”

“Holy shit.”

“My feelings exactly. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“Did she say it was a female?”

“No, she used the editorial male gender when speaking of him, but said it might be a woman.”

“I’m the only woman I’ve seen there, so it’s got to be a man. What sort of information did she get?”

“Nothing earthshaking. She said Sykes had seen Holly Barker in New York on television, so he knows she’s not dead.”

“I was with him at dinner when he saw that on TV.”

“How did he react?”

“He seemed annoyed, but he didn’t say anything more about her.”

“I guess he wouldn’t. I got your message about the trackers.”

“Good.”

“I checked them out, and they’re working just fine. I watched his Explorer go into the village for groceries and gas, then return.”

“That’s odd,” she said. “Elroy would ordinarily go in for groceries. Could it have been the liquor store? He might have bought some wine.”

“Could be.”

“Holy shit again!”