Dark Ambition (36 page)

"I had law school ahead of me. I wasn't interested in a relationship with anyone. Certainly not with her. So I broke it off. She dropped out of school a little while later."

The flight attendant brought a tray with dinner, but Jennifer waved her away. "I'm not hungry," she said.

"It's going to be a long time until we eat again," Ben said.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped at him.

His face straining to look polite, he asked the flight attendant to hold both of their meals until later.

Jennifer turned back to the argument. "You told me that you were going out to Los Angeles for two days. Just long enough to get her under the care of a psychiatrist. You'd be back Monday evening."

"That's what I thought at the time. Things got more complicated than that."

"As I later learned."

Here was the nasty side to her again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's your story. Why don't you continue to spin your tall tale? By the way, just for the record, don't leave out the fact that even after what she said on the phone and even knowing that you had dated Terry, I trusted you. I was such a dope. I thought it was a good idea for you to go and help her. I even drove you to the airport."

They were getting to the tough part. Ben drained the rest of the wine in his glass and ran his hand through his hair. "When I got there Saturday night, she was in dreadful shape. She was out on the balcony of her fifteenth-floor apartment in Santa Monica, threatening to jump to Wilshire Boulevard below."

"How touching."

"I called a psychiatrist who had been a fraternity brother of mine at Berkeley, and I leaned on him to come out. He calmed her down and medicated her. He agreed to see her Monday morning. I figured I'd fly home Monday afternoon."

"That's what you told me when you called on Sunday."

"But on Monday he gave her a new medication. He said it would take a day or so for her condition to stabilize. So I decided to stay a little longer. I called and told you that on Monday. Later that day, she took most of a bottle of sleeping pills. I rushed her to St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica, where they pumped her stomach. That's when I decided I'd better move out of the Beverly Hilton and into her apartment to take care of her. I figured I could sleep on the couch."

"Wasn't there anybody else who could take care of her?" she asked suspiciously.

"There was nobody," he protested. "I swear it. Remember, this wasn't the greatest time for me. I was scrambling to complete a brief in the Dobson case that was due to be filed in court in Washington on Friday." That struck a chord of remembrance in her, and she nodded for him to continue. "Tuesday morning, my psychiatrist friend said he would try a different medication. I stayed with Terry Tuesday night and Wednesday night, sleeping on the couch. Then, even though she was pleading with me to stay longer, I told her I couldn't do any more for her. I loved you, and I was going home to you. I tried calling you Thursday morning to say I was coming home, but I couldn't reach you. So I got on the first plane out." He stopped, his voice turning dull. "I returned home to the wonderful surprise you left for me. All the wedding invitations cut in half and placed neatly on the bed. Your engagement ring on top of the pile, that lovely note, and you had moved out of the house. The worst part was you wouldn't even let me explain. You wouldn't even talk to me."

"I can see how shocked you were. You expected a hero's return."

He was surprised at how tough, sarcastic, and sharp Jennifer sounded when she wanted to. He never remembered this side of her from before. Maybe it had developed as a result of the broken engagement and her divorce.

He continued, "Sarah Van Buren came to talk to you when I got back. She told you that I was just taking care of Terry. I never had sex with her. Why didn't you believe her?"

"Oh, c'mon, Ben. She was just telling me what you had told her. She may have believed you, but she had no idea what really happened."

She was right about that. Desperate at that point, he had told Sarah what to say. When Sarah couldn't make any headway, he had decided it was futile.

"I never tried to call you again after that," Ben said. "I figured if you didn't trust me, then there was nothing to our relationship. No point in our getting married. The hell with you. I wasn't going to spend my life with somebody like that. Face it, Jenny, your imagination ran away with you. I know what you thought." He locked eyes with her. "I swear to God I never fucked Terry the whole time I was in L.A. That's it. End of story. By the way, I might add that I've never seen or spoken to Terry since. Now, does that satisfy you?"

"You only left one thing out," Jennifer said coldly.

"What's that?"

"You didn't explain what you were doing asleep in Terry's bed at five o'clock Wednesday afternoon, when I called and she answered the phone."

"What'd you say?" he asked in a weak voice.

"Don't stall for time. You damn well heard me."

"You called on Wednesday afternoon?"

"Yes, darling," she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "You gave me the telephone number at both the Beverly Hilton and at Terry's apartment. You hadn't called me since Monday. Wednesday evening, about eight o'clock, Washington time, I decided to call you and see how things were going. First I tried the Beverly Hilton. They said that you checked out two days before. That was a big surprise. So I called Terry's apartment and asked to talk to you."

"What did she say?"

She puffed out her lips in a fake smile. "Let me try to do it in her sexy voice."

"Just tell me," he demanded.

"She said, 'He's sleeping, honey. Do you want me to wake him?' And I responded, like a total moron, 'What do you mean, he's sleeping?' So she said, 'He's right here next to me in bed, his eyes are closed, and he's making little snoring noises. I love that about Ben. After we have sex, he sleeps like a baby. Does he do that with you, too, honey?' Seemed pretty clear what had happened. Wouldn't you say?"

Ben was outraged. "It was an absolute lie. I never had sex with her that week."

"Good try, Ben, but you're not convincing me."

"Jesus, Jenny, I had no idea that you called on Wednesday. I wasn't even in her apartment on Wednesday afternoon." He paused, trying to recall. No, he hadn't been. "I remember distinctly. I was downtown at the U.S. Attorney's office making final changes in my brief in the Dobson case. I can get an affidavit from somebody down there if you need it," he said angrily, seeing her face hadn't changed. "Believe it or not, I was trying to keep up on my work that week. The U.S. Attorney's office in L.A. made an office and secretarial help available to me as a courtesy." He clenched his teeth. "Dammit, Jenny. I didn't do a thing with her. All you had to do was give me a chance to explain. The woman was nuts, for God's sake. That's why I was there in the first place. What happened to trust?"

A flight attendant came over with a bottle of white wine in her hand. "A little more?" she asked Jennifer.

"How about a lot more?"

"Same for me," Ben added.

Mercifully, Ben's stopping to take a sip gave Jennifer a chance to absorb what he had said. His story sounded credible, but so had Terry on the phone that day.

Ben seemed to read her mind. "I'm going to say only one more thing and then I'll shut up. I felt I was wronged, and I'm sorry I didn't push you harder to clear the air. But now I have. So can we forget it and start over?"

Confused, she left his question hanging. She didn't know what to believe or what she thought. Assuming the worst, he had made a mistake and cheated on her with this old Berkeley flame. He was sorry. Should she have forgiven him? She loved him at the time. Still, she thought she had made the right decision. That was no way to start a marriage.

Suppose he was telling her the truth now, which she was beginning to believe. He had still been self-centered and inconsiderate at the time. Not calling after Monday was just one example of that. They were engaged. He didn't care enough to call. She sighed. On the other hand, they had had so many wonderful times together. Was he different now? More thoughtful? She wasn't sure. She doubted it. "Life's not like that, Ben. You can't just pick up from a prior point years ago. A lot's happened to both of us since then."

"Well, we can try."

"We can't," she said emphatically, "because I need somebody who'll treat me as their top priority, regardless of what happens in the rest of his life. And I don't think you're capable of making that kind of commitment."

He frowned, listening to her. There was something more on her mind than what she'd just said. "You're involved with someone else now, aren't you?"

She had no intention of telling him about Slater. "That's not the point."

"But it is. Who is he?" Ben snapped.

"It's none of your business. Discussion closed."

* * *

At five minutes past ten that evening, Gwen stood in the shadows behind the statue of Thomas Jefferson watching the figure in the long black coat pace nervously in the dim light from the moon's reflection on the water of the tidal basin. The floodlights on the memorial grounds had been turned off at nine o'clock. GSA was trying to save money.

Before climbing the stairs to the memorial, Gwen had searched the grounds in every direction. She had to be satisfied that no one else was there. They might be trying to kill her. She realized how expendable she had become. She was the only thread linking them to the Winthrop killing. In their shoes, she would have shot her in an instant.

Still, she needed the meeting tonight. She had to know what they knew.

She approached the figure stealthily, moving on the toes of her tennis sneakers. Then she threw a hammer-lock around the neck, evoking a scream. "Hey, what—" She tightened her grip and conducted a body search. There were no weapons, so she let go.

"What the hell?"

"Sorry, I had to do that. We're down to the short strokes now. There are no team players. It's everybody for himself."

"Why did you want to see me? I thought we decided that you'd handle the rest yourself. No more meetings."

"Something's happened. Ben Hartwell's gone to Europe. He's taken Jennifer with him."

"Europe?"

"Yeah, Zurich and London. Zurich I can understand. I'm dealing with that. But why London?"

"Ben won't find anything in London. You can count on that."

"What's he looking for in London?"

"You don't need to know."

Gwen reached into her pocket and slipped out the push-button stiletto. The blade shot out of the end. "I need to know everything."

"Don't worry. London will be a dead end for Ben Hartwell. We're in this together. I have more to lose than you do."

Gwen thought about what she had just heard. "I've taken out an insurance policy," she finally said. "I have a good friend in one of the intelligence agencies. If anything happens to me, he'll receive a letter explaining everything we did."

"Nothing will happen to you."

"Hartwell's becoming more of a problem than I would have thought. I have to be more creative in dealing with him."

"You don't have to worry about London. I told you it'll be a dead end for him."

"If London isn't a dead end for Hartwell, I'll kill you."

She said it matter-of-factly, as if she were announcing that she had to get a cup of coffee. Quickly she turned and disappeared into the shadows.

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

The Bahnhofstrasse, running from the train station to Lake Zurich, cuts through the heart of Zurich's most fashionable shopping area. Each side of the wide thoroughfare and its tiny side streets are lined with the most expensive designer shops from France, Italy, and everywhere else in the world. Mixed in with those shops are the main branches of a half dozen of Zurich's largest banks. And under the street, encased in steel and concrete, are vaults that hold gold ingots, row after row, piled high for nearly half a mile.

The taxi Ben and Jennifer took at Zurich airport turned onto the Bahnhofstrasse at the train station and threaded its way slowly along the street in heavy morning-rush-hour traffic. A wet snow was falling with thick, heavy flakes. As the taxi stopped for a red light, Ben yawned and looked around. Off to the left behind the buildings he could see the Fraumunster, a thirteenth-century church, with its slender spire shooting up to the sky and its five stained glass windows, in their current version designed by Marc Chagall.

What he didn't realize was that he and Jennifer had been followed from the minute they cleared Swiss customs by a sophisticated tag team, using cellular phones and several different cars to avoid being detected. Now a gray Mercedes was trailing two cars behind the taxi.

From the airplane, Ben had phoned Jack Carmack to arrange a meeting. He suggested the restaurant in the Hotel Bar Du Lac at the far end of the Bahnhofstrasse. Low, heavy clouds hung over the lake, blocking off any view as they scrambled out of the taxi, under the hotel's canopy.

Ben looked around the lobby and the dark-paneled hotel restaurant. No sign of Carmack.