Taylor Smith - Liar's Market

Karen’s parents had never been encouraged to cultivate a sense of adventure themselves, but a couple of those kids their daughter worked with, they’d been astonished to discover, had traveled around the world. They skied and scuba dived and parasailed, and got downright snippy if you suggested there was anything surprising in that. Times had definitely changed. The Hermanns had never even been on bicycles for fear they might be struck by an unheard car coming up on them from behind. And though they now ran a small but moderately successful home-based Web site management business, neither had ever traveled beyond a sixty-or-so-mile radius of Washington, D.C.

Karen was already determined to help give the next generation of hearing-impaired kids more opportunities than her parents had had. She was even considering pursuing a doctorate and then teaching at Gallaudet University, the only one in the country dedicated to the needs of deaf students. Now there, the Hermanns thought, was a hot-bed of militancy. Both were Gallaudet graduated, but would a hearing-enabled professor, even one as sign-fluent and accomplished as Karen, be welcomed there these days, when so many students insisted that hearing people couldn’t relate to the issues they faced? They didn’t want their precious daughter targeted by reverse discrimination.

It was a source of constant worry, but they comforted themselves with the realization that Karen’s final career decisions were some way off.

In the meantime, she’d gotten it into her head to do some traveling. Having passed her freshman year at the University of Maryland with flying colors and the start of her summer job still a month off, she’d been eager to join two girlfriends on a spring vacation in England. She was a good kid, an honor roll student who’d never given them a moment of worry. What’s more, she was an adult now, for all intents and purposes, and she’d saved the money for the trip herself from the part-time tutoring she’d done all year. How could her nervous parents forbid her from going, much as they wanted to?

Before they would agree, though, they’d gone onto the Internet to do their homework. The State Department Web site posted travel warnings to Americans traveling abroad, but Britain, they were relieved to see, fell into a low-risk category. Fair enough. The IRA seemed to prefer negotiation to bombs these days, and London was as security-conscious as Washington where other hot-button populations were concerned. If their daughter must go abroad, England was probably as safe a bet as anywhere.

Still, the State Department Web site did advise U.S. travelers to register with the embassy on arrival in a foreign country so that they could be notified in case of emergency. If the advice was rarely heeded in the more popular tourist destinations, the Hermanns didn’t know that.

Afterward, they would bitterly regret extracting the promise that took Karen to the embassy that day. Had they been a little more worldly, they might not have, but Mr. and Mrs. Hermann had never been out of the country themselves.

Thus it was that Karen Ann Hermann came to be outside the American Embassy that dark and rainy London afternoon when all hell broke loose.

TOP SECRET

CODE WORD ACCESS ONLY

NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPTION

(continued…)

So when you arrived for the reception that afternoon, Carrie, you didn’t know you wouldn’t be attending the ambassador’s dinner?

No. Apparently Drum had left messages for me on my mobile and at home, but for some reason, I hadn’t gotten either of them. I gather he’d also asked the Gunny to watch out for me—that’s the Gunnery Sergeant, head of the Marine Guard detachment.

Sergeant Jenks, yes. He’s been interviewed on several occasions. We’ve got his full testimony covering that day.

Right. Well then, you know he was on duty in the lobby. He was tied up when I came in, so it was Drum’s secretary who took me upstairs to the reception. She was also the one who told me I wasn’t needed at the dinner.

Would it surprise you to learn there’s no record your husband ever called your cell phone that day?

He said he did. I thought the voice-mail system must have been down.

It was working just fine, according to company records. And although the phone at your apartment did receive one call at about…let’s see…12:27 p.m. GMT—

That’s when he called to tell me I was invited to the reception and dinner.

Right. According to your home-phone records, that was the only incoming call that day.

So, what are you saying?

I’m saying he lied. Your husband’s real purpose was to lure you out that afternoon.

Lure me out?

Yes. That’s why he didn’t bother calling back when the dinner requirement disappeared. He made a special point of going down to the lobby and telling Sergeant Jenks he’d called you to try to cancel, but we think he was just covering his tracks.

You make it sound like he was laying a trap for me. What are you—

Let’s just carry on with that day, Carrie. Did you see anything out of the ordinary when you arrived? Anyone who seemed to be watching you as you went in?

No. Not that I would have noticed, probably. It was a horrible day, pouring rain. I was hunched down under an umbrella and so was everyone else in the street.

Did you take a taxi?

No, it was just a few blocks. I probably should have, but I didn’t realize how hard it was raining. I walked over.

So you weren’t approached by a taxi or anyone else in the street? Didn’t notice that you were being followed?

Not that I recall. I talked briefly to the Marines at the front gate when I got to the embassy. I knew them, of course. And then, the receptionist at the front desk, who called up to say I’d arrived. That’s when Drum’s secretary came down to take me up and told me about the cancellation.

And how did your husband seem when you saw him?

I don’t know. Fine. Normal, I guess.

He didn’t seem surprised that you’d actually made it over? You didn’t notice anything unusual about his reaction?

Not really…unless…I don’t know…

So there was something?

I’m not sure. It was a busy day for him. High profile, you know, with the senators in town and him responsible for their program while they were in London. And it was a tense time for everyone, of course with the heightened security climate since September 11.

But there was something else. What was it?

I’m not sure. It’s hard to put my finger on it.

Try. Tell me about that afternoon, Carrie. What happened when you attended the reception for those visiting politicians?

American Embassy, Grosvenor Square, London

5:41 p.m.

Carrie’s facial muscles were beginning to ache from the effort of so much forced smiling. Her feet, perched on impractical three-inch heels, were wet and cold, and as she shifted her weight on the thick pile carpet, she felt water squishing in the toes of her strappy black Manolos. She’d probably ruined her most expensive shoes, wearing them out on such a rainy afternoon, but Drum had told her to “spiff it up” when he’d called unexpectedly and pressed her to put in an appearance at this late afternoon reception and the dinner to follow.

Now, it turned out she wasn’t needed at dinner.

The expendable chair-filler, that’s me, she thought, dodging the frond of one of the tall, potted palms that dotted the perimeter of the long room. She kept finding herself backed into the thing, wedged into a corner by two of the reception’s more garrulous guests, and it felt as if a persistent spider were landing on her bare neck every few minutes. It was beginning to get really irritating.