Choppy Water - Stuart Woods Page 0,32

ice pack!”

Elroy silently entered the room and exchanged a new dishcloth for the old one, then left the way he had come.

“That guy gets under my skin sometimes,” Sykes grumbled.

Bess looked at him and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you worry. I always treat him with kid gloves. I wouldn’t want to lose the best biscuit maker in Virginia.”

“Come on, Wade. What’s the silencer for?”

“You haven’t been with us long enough to ask questions like that,” Sykes said.

“You’re right,” she said sheepishly. “I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.”

“I suppose you’re not going to need my help with that one,” she said.

“Probably not. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Anything I can do,” she replied.

Elroy stuck his head in past the door. “Supper’s in five minutes, Colonel,” he said.

“Ring the dinner bell, then,” Sykes replied.

Elroy disappeared into the kitchen, and after a moment, an old-fashioned school bell began ringing.

Sykes removed the ice pack from Bess’s elbow and scrutinized it. “Much improved,” he said. “I think we can do away with the ice.”

“Thank Eugene for not doing away with me,” Bess said, tucking her napkin under her chin as the others entered and took their seats.

25

Tom Blake had only just arrived at his desk the following morning when his secretary walked in. “Yes?”

“That woman who won’t give her name is on line three,” she said.

“Thank you.” He put his hand on the phone and looked at his secretary, waiting for her to leave. She finally got the message. He picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“I’ve news from the south,” she said.

“What news?”

“The chief has got a man there who’s a pretty good shot, and he’s working on improving his performance.”

“With what weapon?”

“A high-powered rifle, and the fearless leader is working on a special silencer for it.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I thought so, too. Do you have her schedule?”

“She’s coming back to D.C. for a few days,” he said.

“Well, there you are.”

“Do you really think he has the balls for that?”

“People like him don’t need balls. They have fanaticism to drive them.”

“A good point. We’ll take steps.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll call the Secret Service, of course. Protecting her is their job.”

“What’s your job?”

“Gathering intelligence and keeping them informed.”

“I thought that was my job.”

“It’s our job. Who is the sniper?”

“His name is Eugene; I don’t have a last name.”

“We’ll have it somewhere,” Tom said. “We might even have a word with him, if the Secret Service approves.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she said.

He thought about it for a minute. “You’re right. It might compromise you, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Did you have the fight with your wife?”

“I did. Your advice was good, though, so I won. I’m having lunch with the lady in question today.”

“Be careful you don’t tell her too much,” she said.

“Just what she needs to know.”

“Good luck,” she said, then hung up.

* * *

—

Tom got there first. It was a corner table near the fireplace, and it had been swept less than an hour ago, followed by the placing of an electronic bug in the little lamp on the table. He wanted every word of their conversation; he might have to play it back for Amanda, if she became obstreperous.

Peg Parsons appeared in the doorway and spotted him immediately. She strode over to the table and stopped. “I want another table,” she said.

“Why? If I’m wearing a bug, it will move with me.”

“Are you wearing a bug?”

“No,” he lied. “Do you see any empty tables?”

She looked around. “Now that you mention it, no.”

“Then have a seat,” he said. “Or would you prefer mine?”

“This one will do,” she said, then sat down opposite him. “So, Tom, how are you and what do you want?”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Love one. A prosecco, please.”

Tom lifted a finger, and a waiter appeared. “One prosecco and one San Pellegrino,” he said. The waiter left.

“Why aren’t you having a drink?” she asked.

“FBI agents don’t drink in public at lunchtime,” he replied. “They might make fools of themselves.”

“So your plan is to get me drunk, while you remain cool and sober.”

“It’s not my plan, but if it’s what you feel like doing, go right ahead.”

“From the door I immediately saw two senators and four congressmen,” she said.

“Well spotted.”

Her drink and his water arrived.

“I’m going to assume this conversation is being recorded,” she said.

“Go right ahead and assume,” he replied. “Are you recording it?”

“Should I?”

“Up to you, but I have to tell you first that the life of a very important person is involved.”

She reached into her bag, found her iPhone, and disabled its recording function.