The Kingmaker (18 page)

Allan D. Riser was a fairly big man, meaning tall, and heavy, with a bone-ugly, fierce face resembling a wild boar that had somehow learned how to shave. Unless it was our intention to scare the shit out of the Russians, he wasn’t hired for his looks. His office was decorated with the usual assortment of power photos and trinkets. His booming voice was the first thing I noticed, however.

“Both of you sit down,” he roared, the indication being that we weren’t here to discuss the town’s tonier nightspots.

He gave us what I’m sure he thought was his most steely-eyed look and said, “Drummond, right?”

“That’s me.”

“And you’re Miss Mazorski?” he asked, and received a polite nod. He faced me. “And you’re here to prove Morrison didn’t do it, right?”

“Not exactly, sir. We’re here to investigate the circumstances concerning the charges and his arrest.”

He leaned back in his chair and considered my mealy-mouthed reply. I had the sense that this was a man not to screw with and made a swift mental note to behave. He said to me, “I heard on the news that he slashed his wrists.”

“That’s right.”

“Too bad. I can’t say I liked the son of a bitch, but he was good at his job. I like Mary, though, and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve this shit. And to be perfectly blunt, I’m having difficulty believing he did everything they’re saying.”

I looked somewhat astonished, because it is not in the nature of professional diplomats to blurt out exactly what they’re thinking. It makes their toes curl or something. I asked, “Why’s that, Mr. Ambassador?”

He waved his long gangly arms around the air. “Oh hell, I’ve been doing Soviet or Russian affairs for thirty years. Always the same damn thing . . . they catch one of these guys, then blame everything from Sputnik to nuclear plants in Iran on them.”

“You think they’ve exaggerated it?”

“No, I don’t
think
that. I
know
that.”

Katrina gave him a discerning look. “And how could you
know
that?”

“You two heard all the shit they’re putting on his doorstep?”

“We don’t expect to get the full monty until the prosecutor calls to offer a deal,” I admitted.

He chuckled. “Sometimes we’re worse than the damned Soviets used to be with their show trials. There’s just things he couldn’t possibly have done. He just couldn’t.”

We sat and stared at each other, us hoping he’d say something more enlightening, which he didn’t. Instead, he bent forward, and that menacing expression slammed back into place. “Now, in case you haven’t heard, we’ve got FBI and CIA people climbing all over our asses. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told them. I have an embassy to run. The mostly good people who work in this building are trying to manage the highly delicate relations between two countries that have over twenty thousand nuclear warheads. This is still the one relationship in the world that can obliterate the earth. And we need Russia’s help with this counterterrorism thing, too. Our work takes precedence over everything. Don’t get in our way. Don’t cause us problems. Misbehave or abuse our generosity and I’ll slap your asses on an airplane so fast you’ll wonder if you were ever here. Clear?”

How could it not be clear? I nodded politely while Katrina stared demurely at the floor. We made a lovely couple.

He continued: “That young captain’s got an embassy car and he’s been told to take you anyplace you need to go. There’s a reason for my generosity. Be careful in this town. It’s run by mobsters, there’s Chechen bombs going off sporadically, and you can get fleeced faster than in Times Square in its heyday. Any questions?”

You know those stories you sometimes hear about those effete, limp-wristed State Department types who sip tea with a pinkie lifted and speak in polished riddles? Mr. Riser must have been sick for that day of training.

I replied, “You’ve made everything abundantly clear.”

He chuckled at that, too. “Good. Get out of here and do what you have to do. And remember, don’t abuse our hospitality.”

Mel awaited us in the anteroom. He looked surprisingly cheery and said, “Hey, did you hear the latest thing the general did?”

I said, “No, I, uh, I tried to get the TV in my hotel room to work, but, uh, it was stuck on some channel.”

I was of course looking at Katrina as I reported this, hoping to restore my reputation.

“They’re saying that when he was on the NSC staff and reports would come in on what the Russians were up to, he would modify them and sometimes even add pure distortions to mislead the President.”

I shook my head. “No kidding? That’s what they’re saying?”

“That’s the latest,” Torianski confirmed, leading us back down the hall to the elevators. “Well, what’s next?” he asked, looking at Katrina instead of me, which frankly showed healthy instincts. She was much more invigorating to look at.

I told him, “We want to meet the head of that big investigating team you mentioned.”

There was a choking sound, and his eyes nervously darted around. “Mr. Jackler? You’re sure?”

“Would I have asked if I wasn’t?”

He took us into the elevator, pushed a button, and we were off. The doors opened on the seventh floor, and just as in Eddie’s building, two armed guards were standing straight in front of us. They didn’t have Uzis pointed at our chests, although otherwise the place had the earmarks of an Eddie Golden extravaganza. The whole floor reeked of lethal determination and obnoxious self-importance.

The guard on the left muttered, “What do you want?”

I replied, “We’re Morrison’s attorneys. We want to talk to Jackler, the guy in charge of your show.”

He walked off and left us in the company of the other guard, who was staring curiously at Katrina—not curiously like she was a suspect; curiously, like what was she doing that night, and, uh, maybe she’d like to see what it was like to do the salami dance with a real man. Maybe I should have told him what she does to guys she catches cheating.

The other guy returned a minute later and led us around a few corners to a small office at the back of the building. Mel, like the courageous lion of lore, let Katrina and me go in and then
stopped at the doorway, like, Hey, I’m with these two, but not really
with
them.

Jackler, the man behind the desk, made no effort to get up. He looked to be about fifty, and in terrific shape for his age—or any other age, for that matter. He had a crew cut and a nose that had been broken with extreme prejudice, as they say in the trade, and looked incredibly like Sergeant Joe Friday, if you added fifty pounds of hard muscle, a misshapen snout, and made his personality even less scintillating. It was a great face for an inquisitor.

He didn’t invite us to sit down in the chairs in front of his desk, but stared at them, willing us to sit. So we did.

His chilling eyes examined me. “You’re Drummond, right?”

“I’m afraid so. And this is my co-counsel, Katrina Mazorski.”

He did this funny thing with his face that was akin to a nod, only without moving his head. It was a gesture every aspiring badass really should master, and I tried to do something with my face, too, only it made my earlobes itch, so I don’t think it created the impression I wanted.

“You asked for this meeting,” he said in a severely icy tone.

“Right. No doubt we’ll be interviewing the same people, and I don’t want to get anything confused.”

“I knew you were coming,” he informed me.

“I’m sure you did. A guy like you probably knows everything.”

He was looking at me quizzically. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

It was probably best not to answer that, so instead I asked, “Who do you report to? The Agency or the prosecutor’s office?”

“We run everything through Golden first, then he decides what goes forward. Why’s that? He a buddy of yours?”

“Oh yeah. Like this,” I said, twisting two fingers together. “Of course we ended up on different sides this time.”

This earned a big guffaw. “Yeah, and he’s really gonna kick your butt, too.”

“Well, yeah,” I chuckled. “Except the other guy should take some of the heat off my client.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“What? You’re kidding, right? Eddie hasn’t told you what we’ve got?”

“He hasn’t told me shit. With him it’s always take, take, take.”

“I know, I know,” I said, shaking my head in commiseration. “I mean, I love him like a brother, but the boy’s got a few kinks and flaws. You might find this hard to believe, but some JAG guys think he’s a real prick.”

“Do tell,” he said very impatiently. “What’s this shit about this other guy?”

I winked at him. “Why do you think we flew all this way? We get the name and we trade it to Eddie for a
big
sentence reduction. A few more small details to wrap up, and then, badda-bing, the big press conference.”

“Aw, you’re shittin’ me.”

Katrina suddenly bent forward with a puzzled expression. “I’m sorry, I’m a private citizen. Don’t you government people . . . well, don’t you share these things?”

I stared at her, because I hadn’t really expected any help. He, of course, was staring even harder. He said, “You mean, you’re not jackin’ me off?”

I said, “Look, it’s the unwritten code of the JAG Corps—never surprise each other. We’re not cannibals, right? Make one or two guys look bad, and pretty soon everybody’s making everybody look bad. Eddie keeps me clued in on the big stuff, and I return the favor.”

He was shaking his head like this really sucked. “That son of a bitch. He sends me all the way over here and never tells me about this other asshole.”

“Well, that’s shocking,” I said.

He scratched his stubby butchcut. “See if I got this straight. You and Golden already know about this accomplice?”

“Right . . . here in the embassy . . . under our very noses. We
don’t know exactly who yet, but we have a few leads. But hell, don’t worry about it. In a few days, you’ll learn all about it at our press conference.”

FBI and CIA people really, really hate it when outsiders discover their moles and turncoats. Guys like Jackler get early retirement. He asked, “So there’s another friggin’ traitor here in the embassy?”

“It would seem that way,” I assured him, trying to look regretful, while Katrina tried to mimic my expression.

He pondered his desktop, his jaws bunching and unbunching, and said, “Listen, you find anything, I mean anything, you let me know right away, okay?”

“Sure.” I asked, “And you’ll return the favor, right?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, of course,” he said, “whatever we get, you get.”

Of course we would. Anyway, I replied, “Jesus, you
are
a good sport. And Eddie said you were a royal bastard. He said I should just tell him when I found the accomplice. But I don’t . . . I mean, sure, I might be Morrison’s attorney, but we’re all on the same team, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, yeah, same team,” Jackler replied. His hands were fidgeting. He apparently couldn’t wait till we got our tushes out of his office so he could rush out and strap down some of these embassy nerds on the rack.

“Well, listen,” I said, “time to get back to work. I mean, the sooner
I
find this accomplice, the sooner we get our deal.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, standing up and literally shooing us out.

Katrina kept mum till Torianski dropped us off back at the hotel, although the second our elevator door closed, she said, “Am I missing something here?”

“You mean that thing with Jackler?”

“Don’t give me that innocent shit. Silly of me, but I like to know what I’m getting into.”

“Quite simply, we’re sowing dissension in the enemy’s ranks.”

“And this is a smart thing to do?”

“Very smart. So far these guys have had it all their way. They’ve been working for months on this case, and they’re going to keep us in the dark as long as possible, right?”

“So it would seem.”

“But the thing with government agencies is, they’re relentlessly competitive, competing for budget dollars, for better reputations, for—hell I don’t know. But Eddie’s got this gigantic task force made up of agencies that privately distrust one another, so we sow a few seeds of discord and Eddie’s job gets a little harder.”

“If the taxpayers only knew.”

“And another thing. That ambassador—if I ever met a guy who meant every word, it’s him. So Jackler and his goons turn up the heat on his embassy people, and pretty soon they’re at each other’s throats.”

“How’s that a good idea?”

“It might not be. It’ll be fun to watch, though.”

We went to my room, where she walked to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers, tossed me one, and popped the other.

“Miller time,” she said, then examined the label. “Well, Moscva Piva time.” She sipped and studied me in her strange way. “This is why I became a lawyer. I’m having a great time.”

“You think this is fun?”

“Fun? I said I’m having a great time.”

I sipped from my can, too, and it tasted awful, like dirty water. I also thought I detected a faint trace of urine. Of course, I’d never drunk urine, so surely I was mistaken.

I said, “What’s behind this metamorphosis thing?”

“I’m an adaptable person. New city, new look.”

She sipped again, and the thought struck me that few sights are more seductive than a woman in buttoned-down business attire swilling beer from a can. Women of contrasts can be a very
powerful turn-on. Of course, a naked woman chugging suds can be fairly seductive, too—assuming it’s the right kind of beer.

But then, Katrina and I were business associates. We consummate professionals don’t look at each other in naughty ways. The trick, in case you’re wondering, is to compartmentalize—clean thoughts go into a frontal lobe compartment; naughty thoughts get squeezed into the back.

In fact, I was preoccupied at that moment with weighty concerns about nuclear proliferation and global warming. “Come on,” I asked. “What’s with the makeover?”

She leaned against the wardrobe that served for a closet in this fleabag. “I took this job because I thought it would be a lark.”

“A lark?”

“Spies, espionage, the military angle—that’s heady stuff . . . very intriguing.”