The plane he was going to catch was at a private airport about thirty miles away. From there, he would fly to a big airport in Berlin, and from there, back to the U.S. He was supposedly making sure that preparations for the big attack were in order, and in a way, he was. He had already talked to people he needed to talk to, and he would see others. Missy wasn’t expecting him back for a couple of days.
Putting fear into Keller was part of the preparations as far as he was concerned.
He smiled at the memory of Keller, lying curled like a newborn on the floor in the train’s washroom, a pool of yellow vomit next to him. He hadn’t really hurt the man, nothing permanent. Never hit him in the face. He would be sore tomorrow, belly, ribs, back, thighs, and he would bruise some, but nothing that would show when he was dressed. He was a flower-picker, Jackson was, his ping- pongs the size of BBs, more girl than man. It hadn’t been particularly satisfying to beat him, like slapping a child. He had offered no resistance, but it had to be that way. There were things that a man had to do if he was going to remain a man and not turn into an old woman.
He hadn’t decided yet how he was going to punish Missy, but he was smart enough to know he needed to wait until the attack was finished. There would be a bonus for successful completion, a big bonus, enough so he could walk away if he really wanted to do that. At the very least, he had to wait until that money was converted
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> gold and on its way home. It would not be quite as i as he wanted, but it would do. A man like him could ays find more work if he had to find it. ” The heater had finally begun to unfog the windows and fer enough warmth so he didn’t have to tense against ; cold. Better. Not good, but better. Keller would say nothing to Missy. If he knew any- ng, Santos knew when a man would stand and fight, . Keller was not such a man. Missy was more dangers. She could put a knife between your ribs if you pissed off bad enough and closed your eyes at the wrong That was part of what he liked about her. She was where it counted, she could wring a man dry of his ential juices, but she was also hard in her mind. He aid punish her, he had to, but it must be in such a way
she could not revenge herself upon him. He might even have to kill her. A shame, but sometimes, that’s what you had to do. People died every day. was how life was: You came into the world, you lived your time, you left. All that mattered in between the ning and the going was how you spent your time. And Santos, that and O-Jdgo-The Game. All else was no more than a shrug.
2tt
Washington, D.C.
The lobbyist’s name was Corinna Skye. She was a drop- dead gorgeous natural blonde who looked five years younger than her thirty-five years. She was tall, slim, busty, and was a six-handicap golfer. She wore a charcoal-gray power suit, the skirt cut just short enough to show she had great legs without being titillating, a white silk blouse, and a dark red scarf. Her shoes were dark gray handmade Italian leather, one-inch heels, five hundred dollars a pair. She was smart, funny, and while many in political circles considered all lobbyists high- priced whores, she had never slept with a senator or congressman, though many of them had tried to make that happen. She had graduated first in her class at Columbia in political science, and was considered the best lobbyist on Internet issues in the country.
Chance sat across the table from Skye in the booth at Umberto’s. The salad had been perfect, and the handmade fresh pasta was outstanding-Chance had gotten the bay shrimp in heavy cream and would have to pay for it on
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; stairclimber later, but it had been worth it. (“With Wayne DeWitt’s unfortunate accident-a terri-tragedy-tilings’11 be easier on the senatorial side,” ye said. She didn’t know that DeWitt’s injuries had
i on Chance’s orders; she wasn’t in that loop. ^:She continued: “We’ve gone to a full-press in the e. Congressman Kinsey Walker-he’s a D from Cal-ia-will offer his bill on Monday. We have the votes |’get it out of committee, though we’re still eight shy for
I in the House-but we’ll get those.” | “Assuming it passes in the House and Senate,” Chance
“what are the chances of a presidential veto?” I “Ordinarily, I’d say it would be nailed, at the very least cketed. But the administration has a couple of pet pro- on the table, the National Parks bill and the new thing, and they’d sell their wives and mothers i a Turkish dope dealer to get either of those passed. We |ve some votes to trade. More than enough.” “Good.” The waiter came by. Would the ladies care for dessert
coffee? |,Just coffee, they both said. “You do realize that this bill is not what we’d hoped
Skye said. “It’s about half-strength.” .Chance nodded. “Yes. But it’s a start. Once this is esblished, then it’s like new taxes, it won’t go away, and : can strengthen it next session. The first part of making omelet is to collect some eggs.” Both of them smiled, women of the world. As they sipped their coffee, Chance reflected that in tier life, she might have been friends with Skye. She eferred the company of men most of the time, men were much easier to manipulate, but there were occasions sitting somewhere and talking to a bright woman more relaxing. True, there was always a certain ount of competition, even with women, but as long as were no men around to control, girl talk could be a
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breath of fresh air. Testosterone did get overwhelming at times.
Take ‘Berto, for instance. He was a man’s man, willing to buy a drink and slap a back in fellowship, or, at the drop of a hat, kick in his drinking buddy’s teeth. No complexity about him, no convoluted layers to his thoughts, he had simple wants and needs. For him, life was one giant game of king-of-the-hill. As one of her yoga teachers would have said, ‘Berto lived in his lower chakras, the belly and the phallus, and had yet to realize his higher potentials. The yoga teacher would have earnestly believed that ‘Berto had higher potentials. Chance knew better. ‘Berto had three things driving him: fighting, sex, and good food, that was it-
“I’ve seen the latest TV spots,” Skye said, interrupting her internal musings.
“What did you thinkr
Skye chuckled. “The people who make Kleenex must love you. Even Kodak hasn’t got anything so soppy.”
“Subscriptions are up twelve percent since we started running the new series.”
Skye wiped a bit of lipstick from her coffee cup with a napkin. “Doesn’t surprise me. I’d expect them to be effective. Subtle doesn’t work for television viewers. Lowest common denominator and all. Speaking of which, I know a woman who slept with one of those basketball players.”
Chance raised an eyebrow.
“Hung to here,” she said, slapping the inside of her left knee. “And she says they must make Viagra out of his blood.”
They both laughed.
Chance nodded. Yes, a smart woman was a great break from mule-headed men. She glanced at her* watch. “Well. I need to run along. It’s been great visiting with you, Cory.”
“As always. I’ll call you with updates.”
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|*1 appreciate it.”
| Chance waved the waiter over and paid the bill, and Skye ely nodded her thanks. Another thing a man would aibble over. Skye cleared hah7 a million a year, easy, and wasn’t going to make noise over a little hundred- lunch tab, one way or the other. | As she left the restaurant, Chance looked around. Washington was a dreary city in the winter. It was beau- in the spring, all the flowering fruit trees, but when s gray and cold settled in, all the marble and wide streets idn’t offset the gloom. She had a couple of other er; to run, including a visit to a key senator. While Cory ye was scrupulous in her personal life, Chance would any weapon she had to win a contest If that meant ewing a middle-aged married senator stupid-which no great chore, given the starting point of his IQ- I had no problem with that. Whatever worked.
poni was excited. It had been some time since she had i hi the field, back when she and Alex had had their ubles on that trip to England. She smiled at the mem- which was bittersweet. Such heartache they’d gone Dugh, for what was basically a stupid mistake, on both parts. More his than hers, but, she had to admit, she I jumped to a conclusion she shouldn’t have. She had packed for warm weather, one bag she could into the overhead bin on the jet. She was only going a couple of days, and she had had enough bad expences with checked baggage to last a lifetime. Once, on i flight to Hawaii, her suitcase had vacationed in Japan. ; Documents had provided her with a new ID-driver’s use, credit cards, even a library card, no passport d-that showed she was Mary Johnson, a divorced from Falls Church, Virginia. She was on holi- ay, going to play the slot machines and soak up the sun- in the warm Caribbean. She had her flight booked, ; with a single cabin on the Bon Chance. It was