Life of Secrets (14 page)

"No one is
arguing that he doesn’t deserve to be punished, Alyssa. What he did was wrong –
what he did to the country, and what he did to you. He deserves to be punished.

"All I’m
arguing about is whether it’s in any way healthy for you to be the one who does
the punishing."

"That’s
not your call to make. We’re going."

"Maybe
it’s not my call about whether or not vengeance is healthy for you, but it
is
my call whether or not ‘we’ are going because I will not help you become a
murderer, Alyssa. I love you too much. If I can’t stop you, I certainly can refuse
to help you. And I do. I will not help you murder Lance Reeder."

Alyssa felt
something ripping her up inside. She had done so much wrong to Matt over so
many years. He saved her life, and he forgave her for what he knew about. He
would never forgive the stuff he didn’t know, but then, he didn’t know… She
didn’t want to keep hurting him. She didn’t want to keep betraying him.

But Lance
Reeder was not going to get away with murder. She didn’t want lying to Matt to
be the price of justice. She never wanted to hurt Matt again. But…

"Will you
come with me if I promise not to kill him?"

They were in a
formal-wear shop. Matt was being fitted for a tux. Alyssa didn’t need fitting.
She knew her sizes, and the red cocktail dress fit perfectly. She tried it on
once and was still wearing it.

Matt came out
of the changing room wearing a black tux with long tails and a pink bowtie and
cummerbund. His pink with her red dress was a debatable color match, but Alyssa
didn’t care. She wanted to be able to keep track of Matt at the fundraiser.
Every man there would be in a black tux but few men wore pink. Giving him those
accents would make him easier to spot.

What she wasn’t
prepared for was how good he looked. Matt was a scrawny beanpole of a guy, but
it meant the tux hung on his frame well and gave him an air of sophistication
that might not have worked for a bulkier man.

She smiled at
him and enjoyed the sight. Matt practically glowed at the idea that Alyssa was
looking at him and liking it.

Alyssa paid
with cash – still the one asset she had in abundance – and they walked out of
the formalwear shop onto M Street.

"This is
crazy, you know," Matt said as Alyssa strode boldly up to the curb and
stuck her arm out for a cab. "This is the successor to a Presidential
candidate who was just assassinated. The security on him is going to be like a
vise. You’re the most wanted woman in America. You changed your hair color,
changed your eye color, and stuffed your bra. You think that’s going to get
past the greatest dragnet in American history?"

"I don’t
think my costume will get me past," she replied. "I think my attitude
will get me past. Matt, if you learn nothing else from me, learn this. Project
confidence. If you do it, no one ever suspects you of anything."

A taxi pulled
to the curb, and they climbed in. The conversation died. Neither of them wanted
to say anything worth saying where it might be overheard.

Arriving at the
fundraiser, Alyssa simply shook her head at the spectacle. In mere days, the West-Reeder
campaign had become Lance Reeder for President. Banners decorated the front of
the building; red, white, and blue bunting lined the walkways; and well-dressed
donors streamed in. Somewhere in the distance, a band pumped out John Philip
Sousa music.

The main
entrance to the
Leavey
Center at Georgetown was
across a short bridge that carried pedestrians over the narrow road underneath.
Alyssa and Matt joined the throng heading over to hear the future President
speak.

Inside the
building, the route to the ballroom was lined with staff in formal attire to
guide people in. Giant video screens had been erected, playing new versions of
the old West campaign commercials, now with Lance Reeder in the starring role.
Obvious Secret Service agents in their dark suits and their
earpiece-microphones stood along the path. Alyssa knew what she had always
known about getting into places you’re not allowed: just look like you’re
supposed to be there. She’d done her job right at the store – both she and Matt
looked the part of people who would spend $35,000 to go to a political event.
She knew what worked for situations like this.

Matt, on the
other hand, had no such experience or confidence. He leaned over to put his
lips right next to Alyssa’s ear and whispered, "I think I might wet my
pants the next time a Secret Service guy looks at me."

She put her arm
around his waist – mainly to give the federal agents an explanation for why
they were whispering together, but also to comfort him. She was surprised at
how good it felt. It seemed silly, even stupid, that it meant so much to her.
Other people formed relationships and bonds every day, but Alyssa’s whole life
had been spent making sure no one knew too much about her; making sure no one
got too close. A couple of days of being on the run changed everything. All of
a sudden, this one person who still trusted her mattered. He mattered a lot.

She whispered
back, “Matt, I used a completely clean fake ID and credit card for this. We’re
not even like those state dinner party crashers from a few years back; I
legitimately paid to be here. The one and only risk is if we look or act like
anything other than a rich couple wanting to meet the next President.”

Before, Alyssa
merely tolerated Matt. Now she
liked
him. She wanted him to like her.
She wished she had never done some of the things she’d done – the things that
had hurt him. She wished she didn’t have to worry about him realizing what she
had done to him. If he ever found out that she was the one who burned his
computer and his whole office to the ground…

Her arm would
probably never be welcomed around his back again.

Never mind if
he ever found out what she was thinking now. She had promised him that she
wouldn't kill Lance Reeder here. But Alyssa had no idea whether she would keep
that promise. She had a visual fantasy that she couldn't stop dwelling on. She
would knock down a Secret Service agent, take his gun, and kill the man who had
ordered West killed, ordered her friend killed, and ordered her framed.

She could sense
that her arm around Matt's back didn't give him perfect peace, but he did at
least try to smile and look around at people, just as she was doing. That was
what people at political fundraisers did. Checking out the crowd to see who
else was there was as much a part of the event as seeing the candidate.

They made it
inside the ballroom, passing easily through the metal detector since Alyssa had
not brought a gun. Once there, the din became almost overwhelming, as hundreds
of people chattered in an enclosed space. Alyssa guided Matt toward the bar to
keep them looking normal.

"All we
need to do now is get me close enough to talk to Lance Reeder," she said.
"Which might not be that easy. You’d be shocked to learn how many people
give $35K and never even get to shake his hand."

Matt shrugged.
"I'll feel better about it if we never get close to him. You're taking a
huge risk to be here, Alyssa, and not just the risk of getting caught."

"We’ll get
close," she replied. "Trust me: I’m confident about getting close
enough to eavesdrop on a politician. It’s what I do for a living."

Barr shook his
head. He didn’t respond. He simply let the silence grow until it was easier to
change the subject.

"I still can’t
believe Lance Reeder’s going to be President. The guy’s a total nothing. He’s
never accomplished anything in his life but to survive a car wreck."

Alyssa
shrugged.

"I never
cared much about who got elected. I just took their money to go thrill-seeking,
but it’s not relevant right now. Keep your eyes peeled for a chance to get
close to Reeder."

They made it to
the front of the line at the bar. Before Matt could speak, Alyssa ordered two
blue dolphins. He asked, "Blue Dolphin?"

Then he tasted
it. Water.

"Keeps you
hydrated, helps you look normal at a booze-fest, and neither of us needs our
faculties impaired right now," Alyssa said.

They circulated
around the party. To Alyssa, the scene was boring. In the course of her career,
she’d been to dozens of high-dollar fundraisers. The dresses could have fit
right in at a Hollywood movie premier. Most of the women had clearly spent
hours with a stylist that afternoon. Discreet wait staff floated among them,
always seeming to offer a tray of hors d'oeuvres just as the conversation
ended.

Matt’s bright
pink bowtie worked exactly as she planned, making it easy for her to keep an
eye on him in the crowd. She was just making eye contact with him to ensure he
had nothing to report, when she felt a hand on her bare shoulder.

She was a
professional. She was used to tension, so she didn’t jump out of her skin, but
she did feel the tingles that come from adrenaline flooding the body, and her
fists did clench instinctively, ready to fight for her life.

"Thank
God. I’ve been so desperate to find you. This was my last hope."

Chambers
blinked and turned around. Before her was a man with the top of his head shaved
completely bald, but wearing about a week’s worth of beard over his full face.
He wore glasses with the thick black plastic frames that formed the basis of
every stereotype image of nerds. His rumpled business suit was definitely a
step below the formal attire of most men at the party.

It took her a
moment or two to recognize him, and when she did, she had to give a smile and
slight nod in admiration.

"George
Pierce. Nice work on the disguise."

"I ought
to have learned at least a little bit. I’ve been working with you for ten
years. Which, I might add, is why I need a disguise. You’ve got to help me,
Alyssa. The FBI thinks I’m a suspect! I have a friend who owns a boat, and I
know where he hides the keys. I’ve been living there since the day we heard
that West died. At lunch, I heard the radio report that you were a suspect. I’d
been wondering what I should do about it. Then I walk back to my office, and
there are a bunch of cops hanging around it. I turned around and went the other
way."

Matt Barr
elbowed a few people out of the way in his race to get back to Alyssa.

"What’s
going on?" he asked breathlessly. "Who are you?"

"Quietly,"
Alyssa growled. "Matt, this is George Pierce, an old… business associate
of mine. George, Matt Barr. An old friend. Pretty much the last friend I have
left, as you might imagine if you watch the news at all."

"Not quite
the last friend," Pierce replied. "There’s Mike Vincent."

"What do
you mean?" Matt asked, eyes going wide.

"Matt,
please let me do the talking. But yes, George. Since that’s given away, how did
you know that I know Mike Vincent?"

Alyssa’s face
could have won the World Series of Poker. She gave no clue at all that she was
really here for Reeder, and Pierce was off the mark.

"It’s the
only reason I thought to look for you here. He’s one of West’s best friends,
and one of the leading figures in the West campaign. I figured he had to be
here."

"But why
would that lead you to look for me here?"

"A few
years ago, I was brought in to help on a project," Pierce recalled.
"A frequent client of mine was running against Mike Vincent in the
primary, and he wanted to sandbag that Rich West fundraiser that helped him get
started."

Chambers kept
her facial expression carefully under control. She had worked the same project,
of course, but with no involvement from Pierce, so she had never wondered
whether Pierce might have been involved with the Vincent race.

"My client
tasked me with hiring a plumber to go in there. You turned me down when I
called."

She remembered
the call quite well. She didn't like turning George down, but she already had a
project. Little did either of them know it had been the same project.

"Do you
remember that guy Reeder's opponent was using when you and I first met? Fred
Harris? Well, I hired him."

At this, it
took all of Alyssa's willpower for her to keep her jaw from dropping open. She
remembered every detail of meeting Harris at West's fundraiser for Vincent. She
could still recall what it felt like to have her ears ring and see stars from
the first time she'd lost a fight. Now, with Rich West dead, the memory was
especially poignant.

"When I made
contact with him about the job, he told me, 'I nearly caught Vincent leaking to
the press when he was a campaign staffer a couple years ago. Someone shut him
up before I could get the actual evidence though.'"

This time,
Alyssa couldn't stop herself.

"Wait,
Harris was working the first Reeder for Senate campaign at the same time I
was?"

"Exactly.
That's how I knew about you and Vincent being friends. I knew you'd be trying
to get in touch with him for help. He's a big deal at the West campaign, and this
is their big re-launch. He'd have to be here. You let him off the hook once, he
owes you. I knew you'd come here. I risked everything to be here at the same
time you were, so I could get your help."

Chambers just
shook her head. Pierce found her by exactly the wrong chain of reasoning. The
problem with that was, if Pierce expected her to be here because of the old
Vincent connection, who else might be waiting for her here?

Pierce
continued, "You would never tell Tilman and me who the mole was. You just
got him to quit leaking and kept his name secret. So we knew the two of you had
to be friends. We just didn't know who it was. Wow, was Tilman ever angry at
you. He didn't want to pay you, but I insisted. You're a valuable ally; I
didn't want to make you mad."

Chambers
whistled softly. This put everything into a different light. She had always
wondered who sent Harris after her at the West-Vincent event. And George knew.

"Who were
you working for when you hired Harris to sandbag that fundraiser?" she
asked.

Pierce looked
away from her.

"Come on,
Alyssa. You know how it is in this business. We don't rat people out. We have
to keep secrets, or we lose our value."