It seemed to be leaving a gas station. That was it: he had stopped for gas and had been under a canopy for several minutes while he filled his tank.
Tom breathed a sigh of relief and went on with his work, but he left the tracking software on-screen until the vehicle was back in its usual parking spot at Sykes’s compound.
* * *
—
Bess slept fairly late for her, making up the time lost in last evening’s excursion. She missed breakfast, then after lunch climbed the hill again and perched on her favorite rock. Sykes came out of the house once with a pair of binoculars and trained them on her. She smiled and waved at him, then he went back inside.
At dinner, she was alone with Sykes; the others were apparently away from the compound. He turned on the TV for the evening news, and they both watched a story from the network’s White House correspondent.
“The kerfuffle over the broken window at the White House is apparently over. The window has been replaced, and the staffer, who had minor cuts from the glass, is back at work.” She returned the audience to the anchorwoman in the studio.
The anchorwoman continued, “President-elect Holly Barker has been spotted shopping on Madison Avenue in New York. A reporter who caught up with her got this comment.”
They switched to a medium shot of Holly carrying shopping bags, and someone shouted a question at her from off camera.
“It’s hard to campaign and shop at the same time, so I’m making it up today,” Holly said, smiling at the camera.
Sykes switched off the television. He seemed annoyed.
“Had enough of the president-elect?” she asked Sykes.
“Not nearly enough,” Sykes replied grumpily, and then changed the subject.
38
Tom Blake was at his desk when his secretary buzzed. “Yes?”
“Peg Parsons, on one.”
Tom pressed the button. “Hi, Peg.”
“You sound wary,” she said.
“No, I don’t. I may sound sleepy. I’ve been reading a very boring report.”
“You don’t have to be wary of me, Tom,” she said. “I don’t mind being an occasional piece of ass, but I’m not a home-wrecker.”
“Not intentionally,” he said, “but you have no idea how suspicious Amanda is when your name comes up.”
“Then don’t bring it up,” she said.
“I make a point of not doing that.”
“All right, all right. I have a tip for you. By the way, did your plan work when I published my piece?”
“It seemed to. I can’t really go beyond that.”
“Well, I have something new for you.”
“Shoot.”
“I can’t shoot on the phone. Buy me lunch.”
“That’s dangerous, Peg, for both my case and my ass.”
“Then cover them both, please, but we’ve had word that some of our lines at the paper are tapped, and we’ve been told to be careful what we say.”
“Okay, lunch. But somewhere we won’t be talked about if we’re seen together.”
“All right, we’ll meet in my car at the same spot at Rock Creek Park—at the far end of the parking lot, away from the buildings. One o’clock?”
“Okay, at one.”
“I’ll bring lunch.”
“See you then.” He hung up and buzzed his secretary.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m supposed to have lunch with Assistant Director Taylor today. Reschedule, will you? Tell him I have to see a source.”
“Is Peg Parsons a source?”
“Don’t you ever mention that name to anyone, understand?”
“Understood. I’ll reschedule with Taylor.” She hung up.
* * *
—
Tom arrived at Rock Creek Park first and parked where he had been told. She was right; that part of the lot was empty.
He switched off the ignition and waited. Two minutes later her little Mercedes parked alongside him, and she got out, carrying a wicker picnic basket. She didn’t approach his car, she just walked into the woods, and he scurried after her.
There was no path, but the forest floor was covered in pine needles, so it was easy going. He began to hear the sound of flowing water, then he found her on a flat rock near the creek, and she was spreading a blanket.
“Hi, there,” she said, opening the hamper and producing sandwiches, coleslaw, and a bottle of chardonnay. She handed him a corkscrew. “The wine is your job.” She waved a hand: “Is this private enough?”
“It would seem so.” He got the bottle open and filled the waxed paper cups she had brought.
She raised her cup. “Bon appétit. This is delicious, if I do say so.”
He took a bite of his sandwich and drank some wine. “So, Peg, what have you got to tell me?”
“You know the group down in Virginia, the white-supremacy guys?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I now have