Max Collins - Executive Order

At another table, a couple, possibly tourists, were in close conversation. Behind the oak counter, a tall African American bartender in a white tuxedo shirt and black tie smiled at Morris, who sat down at the bar.

The bartender brought Morris a napkin, and Morris ordered a Johnnie Walker Blue.

The bartender’s practiced smile became a genuine grin as he poured. “Man knows his Scotch.”

Morris sipped it.

“Not your first time here,” the bartender said.

“No.”

“Thought you looked familiar.”

“Yeah. I remember you, too.” Vaguely.

Motion at the entry, caught from the corner of an eye, turned Morris that way. A blonde, a pretty blonde in a form-fitting red dress, obvious but enticing, here already! Aphrodite’s didn’t fool around.

She walked right up to him with fluid confidence and eyed the Johnnie Walker, licking lipsticked lips and saying, “That looks good. Could I have some?”

Morris nodded and waved for the bartender to bring another drink. “Glad to. I’m Lawrence. And you are...?”

“Diane,” she said, which was the name the confirmation text from Aphrodite’s had promised.

“Pull up a chair, Diane.”

The blonde smiled, displaying pretty white teeth, and slipped up onto the stool beside him. Her dark eyes were bright, despite the dim light. Those long legs and that nice rack were fine even for Aphrodite’s buffet.

They talked for a while. She was in college — grad school, and she was old enough for that to be true. He told her all about working as the aide to a well-known senator. She pretended to be impressed, just as he had pretended to believe her college crap.

“You know,” Diane said, “it’s not often a girl gets the chance to spend an evening like this with... don’t get me wrong... someone she would’ve spent it with anyway.”

He gave her a sly smile. “Well, you don’t have to charge me.”

She shrugged, smiling in a chin-crinkly way. “Not up to me, I’m afraid. Aphrodite’s has your Visa on file, remember?”

“I remember.”

“But I tell you what. Things go nicely, I won’t let you leave me that nice cash tip you’re planning to.”

He laughed a little. “That’s nice of you. Ready to go upstairs and have some fun?”

“One more little drink, okay?”

“Sure.”

They had that drink and then were walking arm in arm across the lobby when he stumbled a little.

“You all right?” she asked.

“That... that second shot isn’t settling right.”

“Let’s get you up to the room.”

They were at the elevators now. She was propping him up, strong for a girl, just using one arm as her other hand extended to push the DOWN button.

“No,” Morris said, “up.”

The doors opened onto an empty car and she hauled him in and hit the door-close button, enclosing them. It took that long for Morris to know he’d been had. He flailed at the woman, whose expression was cold, and he got a fistful of hair.

Then he had a blonde wig in his hand.

“No,” the 911’s male voice said, “you’re going down.”

Rogers had been furious at first, when Reeder suggested enlisting Kevin for this duty. But obviously she couldn’t play the role since the drone knew her all too well, and Nichols was in the hands of the enemy, so...

And the information about Morris and his habits that Miggie had come up with made the Aphrodite’s sting a tempting prospect. The idea was to flash credentials at the bartender and send him to the backroom till further notice, while Wade took the man’s place and kept Kevin safe.

It had begun at Nichols’ apartment, with Reeder talking Rogers through it, assuring her that they’d be right there to back Kevin up, should her roommate agree to play.

And he had.

She’d hoped that Kevin might have already disappeared into the world of his Virginia Plain friends, but Reeder had caught him at her apartment, still packing up... and eager to help.

Feeling steamrollered by Reeder, she’d faced Kevin privately and said, “You don’t have to do this. It’s incredibly dangerous, and you don’t do this kind of thing for a living like I do, and—”

“You may be forgetting,” he said, “that despite the trappings, I’m the man in this relationship.”

“Oh, Kevin, come on—”

“Then call it an equal partnership. And I’m going to hold up my end.”

And that had been it.

Now, back at DeMarcus’s pad — with Kevin along but out of drag, and Wade too, no longer in bartender getup — she and Reeder faced each other off to one side.

“You okay?” Reeder asked.

Her sigh seemed to start at her toenails. “As okay as possible when I’ve just been party to a kidnapping. That’s a federal offense, you know. And I’m on the wrong side of this one.”

Reeder’s expression was blandly blank. “Factor this in: Morris threatened to have you, and everyone else I love, killed. And his people have Anne Nichols. Or are you not in the mood at the moment to save the ol’ US of A?”

“Is that what we’re doing, Joe?”

“Make it the world then. Nukes on the fly aren’t that selective.”

She shook her head — not a “no” gesture, more trying to clear it. “I know we’re trying to stop something terrible from happening... but we’re so far out of my law-enforcement comfort zone, I don’t know if I know what’s right and wrong.”

“This isn’t exactly law enforcement, Patti.”

“No kidding!”

“I mean, we’re more working the espionage and counterespionage side of things, where the line between what’s right and wrong is, well, murky. But it’s still a line we have to walk. Or anyway, dance along.”

She held his eyes. “Joe, I just watched my boyfriend act as a diversion while Reggie Wade roofied a government employee so we could snatch the SOB. Does that sound like any FBI agent you know?”

Reeder managed a weak smile. “I’m just glad to see you loosening up a little.”

That made her laugh, but just a single “ha.”

“Kevin did very well,” Reeder said. “He’s a natural for this kind of work.”

“Am I supposed to say ‘thank you’ for that?” She raised an eyebrow. “He did handle himself well, and I think he’s a little proud of himself, actually.”

“He should be.”

Right now Kevin was tucked away in the bedroom where their guest, Lawrence Morris — currently blindfolded and duct-taped into a kitchen chair — wouldn’t see him.

“Kevin wanted to lend a hand,” Rogers said, no-nonsense, “and now he has. But first chance, I’m getting him the hell out of here.”

“Oh yeah,” Reeder agreed.

“So what’s our next move? A bank robbery, maybe... or would that be a step down?”

Reeder gave her a rare half-smile. “They have Nichols, and now we have one of theirs. Let’s go talk to our friend from the GAO and let him give an accounting of himself.”

“If you take no risks, you will suffer no defeats. But if you take no risks, you win no victories.”

Jerry Bohannon, tie loosened, jacket folded up on the passenger seat, was fighting to stay awake. Every law enforcement officer in the world hated surveillance duty, and while this wasn’t technically that, it sure as hell felt like a stakeout.

Bohannon was parked in a Bureau Ford outside his fellow agent Trevor Ivanek’s place in Dumfries, Virginia. For a change, he didn’t have to worry so much about being spotted. All he was doing was waiting for Trevor to come home. There was even a convenience store nearby, so he didn’t have to monitor his liquid intake, and was sipping a coffee with cream and sugar right now. Of course, his boss, Patti Rogers, claimed a rogue element in government was up to no good, but frankly Bohannon found that a little hard to buy.