The Washington Lawyer (19 page)

Allison opened the center desk drawer. All it contained were more committee reports and hearing transcripts, as well as office supplies: a stapler, pens, pads. No personal papers. She checked the side drawers. Same thing.

After her experience in Vanessa's apartment, Allison understood immediately what had happened. The office had been sanitized. Someone in a hurry, without time to look through Vanessa's papers to pull out the ones which identified her lover, had simply removed everything. These people were always one step ahead of her.

Allison heard a knock on the door. “Who's there?”

“Susan.”

Allison opened the door and asked if they could talk in Susan's office. She didn't want Susan to focus on the cleaned-out office and set off alarms. Allison had to do this methodically.

When they were in Susan's office with coffee, Allison, who decided she could trust Susan, said, “My sister drowned in Anguilla. The police down there said she was alone. Knowing Vanessa, I'm convinced she was with a man who ran off and left her body on the beach. I wonder if she told you with whom she was going.”

Susan shook her head. Allison's spirits plunged.

“I don't have a name for you, but last Thursday Vanessa seemed happy. She told me she was going to the Caribbean for the weekend. When I asked her with whom, she looked coy and said, ‘One day you'll find out. And you'll be surprised.'

“Then she began waving around the ring finger on her left hand. She told me, ‘I'm getting married.' When I asked her who the lucky man was, she said the same thing. ‘You'll be surprised.' That's all she told me.”

“I knew it,” Allison said. “She went with a man.”

Susan looked thoughtful. “Vanessa was strong-willed. I suppose it's possible he changed his mind about going at the last minute and, furious, she went herself.”

Allison thought about that for a moment. “That's conceivable. Do you have any idea whom my sister was dating?”

“About a year ago, a nice lawyer, Paul Maltoni, from Andrew Martin's firm. He picked her up here a few times. I liked Paul and asked her why she broke up with him. She said that she wanted to marry someone very wealthy and powerful. She didn't want just a nice house in Bethesda with a basketball hoop in front and a couple of good-looking kids. ‘But hey, that's my life,' I told her. She laughed and said ‘it was fine for me.'”

“Whom did she date before or after Paul?”

“She was very secretive about the men she was seeing. She'd go into her office and close the door for personal phone conversations.”

“You think they were people working on the Hill? Congressmen or senators?”

Susan looked down and fiddled with her wedding ring. “That was my guess. Probably married. But look, it was none of my business. People can do what they want.”

Allison realized she had gotten as much as she could from Susan. “Could you do me a favor? There are a couple of framed magazine covers and a diploma in Vanessa's office. Could you ship them to me in Providence?”

“Sure.”

She gave Susan the address and her contact info.

“If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

“Will do.”

Riding down in the elevator, Allison thought: Next stop is the bank vault.

Then her stomach growled, telling her to get something to eat. In Vanessa's apartment all she had was yogurt and black coffee. From years of starving herself as a model, Vanessa wasn't big on grocery shopping. Allison decided to make a quick stop before going to the bank.

It was a gorgeous fall day, warm with lots of sunshine. Allison walked along the streets of Capitol Hill, in a neighborhood recently gentrified, until she spotted a small restaurant, the Silver Eagle. Inside, it had a wooden floor, a dozen tables, and a coffee bar on one side. At the midmorning hour, only two of the tables were occupied. At one, a college-age student was working at a computer and sipping coffee. At another, a man and a woman in their mid-twenties were arguing loudly about a movie. Allison sat down at a table against the wall opposite the bar.

A waitress came over, a brunette with a bob wearing braces, with a tattoo on her arm. She handed Allison a menu. She glanced at it quickly. “A tomato and mushroom omelet and a cappuccino.”

While waiting for the food, she picked up a copy of the morning
New York Times
abandoned on a nearby table. When she looked at the first page, she immediately saw Andrew Martin's picture. As she read Nelson's article, she understood why Paul was headed to Martin's office early today. If Nelson's right, Martin's selection as chief justice was in deep trouble.

She opened the paper to the continuation of the article. As she did, through the corner of her eyes, she saw two Chinese men enter the restaurant. She spotted the scar on the one's left cheek. Uh-oh, she thought. Those were the two who had been in the churchyard last evening and threatened to kill her unless she broke off her investigation and left Washington.

Allison guessed they wouldn't do anything to her in the restaurant. She looked around anxiously. The bathroom was in the back. Close by was a rear exit. She hoped it was unlocked.

Allison looked down at the newspaper, pretending not to see the two Chinese men.

The waitress brought over Allison's omelet and cappuccino. Without making eye contact with the two, Allison handed her twenty dollars and began eating. When she was finishing the omelet, the waitress returned with her change. “Where's the bathroom?” Allison asked.

The waitress pointed to the back.

“Okay. Don't take my coffee,” she said loudly. “I'll be right back.”

Carrying her briefcase, Allison headed toward the back of the restaurant, on a beeline for the bathroom. When she was opposite it, she made a sharp right, opened the back door, and charged through it.

She was in a tiny backyard, surrounded by a six foot wooden fence. Damn. She was boxed in. Looking around, she spotted a trash can that she moved next to the fence.

As she did, she heard the Chinese man with the scar shout from the doorway, “Give me your briefcase. Or I'll shoot.” She had to take a chance that he wouldn't shoot with so many witnesses in the restaurant. So she ignored him, tossed her briefcase over the fence, climbed onto the trash can and in an instant boosted herself up, while kicking out the garbage can, and she leaped over the fence.

She landed in an alley, rolling to break her fall, but she felt a shot of pain in her left leg, the one she had injured in the Olympics.

She knew she'd have trouble running, but she headed down the alley as fast as she could. She expected the Chinese man to come over the fence and follow. And he did.

He was damn fast
.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him gaining. Even with a good leg, she'd never outrun him.

Her leg ached. Her breath was coming in short spurts. She would never get away from him. She had to try something else.

She was approaching the intersection of the alley with a street. Allison knew what to do. Still ten yards ahead of her pursuer, she turned right at the corner. He could no longer see her. She dropped down to her hands and knees on the sidewalk, making sure to tuck down her head.

As she expected, he turned the corner at full speed and went flying over her body while smacking one foot against her back. He landed ten yards away in a clump of bushes. He wasn't moving. Must be unconscious. She didn't wait to find out. This was her chance to get away.

She raised her arm. A cab stopped. Trying to shrug off the pain in her back, Allison climbed in.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“I don't know yet. Just drive.”

As he roared away, she was thinking. Vanessa's bank vault might have the mysterious CD these men wanted, but they seemed to know every move she made in Washington. She had to assume they'd be waiting for her when she came out of the bank. She had to get out of Washington, to get away from them.

The bank vault would have to wait, she decided. It would be safer for her to go to Anguilla. She might find some answers there.

“Reagan National Airport,” she told the driver.

* * *

Xiang wasn't unconscious. Merely dazed. His face scratched, he climbed out of the clump of bushes. He was furious at himself for letting her trick him like that.

He watched her get into a cab and pull away. His eyesight was too cloudy to get the cab's ID or a license plate.

Angry and frustrated, Xiang trudged back to the restaurant where he had asked Chou to wait. He'd have to make up a story for Chou that didn't make him seem like such an incompetent. He didn't want Chou telling Hu what had happened, or Hu might call Liu and ask that Xiang be taken off the case. He'd tell Chou that when he was chasing Allison a police patrol car happened to come along, so he had to let her get away. He'd tell him that to hide from the police he drove into a clump of bushes, and that's how he scratched his face.

He thought about it for a minute. That story would work. As for Allison, Xiang was confident he'd catch up with her again. He'd put two men in front of Vanessa's apartment for surveillance around the clock.

And he had something else. From searching Vanessa's papers in her apartment, Xiang knew where Vanessa banked. If she had a vault box, chances were that's where it would be. He'd put surveillance in front of the bank to snatch Allison after she came out—hopefully with the CD.

When he had been in training, an instructor had lectured Xiang and the other trainees, “Never let your work become personal. You can't be emotional about anyone you're working with or tracking.”

Xiang felt himself violating that order. Allison had just humiliated him, and he was becoming emotional about her. Once she got the CD, he vowed to gain revenge.

Meantime, Xiang had another problem. Liu had told Xiang to keep Liu personally informed of what happened in Washington. Xiang, of course, had no intention of calling Liu to report what just occurred and to tell Liu that he had lost track of Allison—his one lead for the CD. But what if the spymaster called demanding a status report before Xiang caught up with Allison again? The spymaster would demand answers. Lying and evasion would never work. Xiang would be in deep trouble.

Alexandria, Virginia

S
tanding at the American Airlines ticket counter, Allison was dejected once she learned how long it would take her to get to Anguilla. “I'm sorry,” the agent said. “It's hard enough getting there in season, but now, you're out of season.”

Allison would have to fly to Miami this afternoon, then in the morning to San Juan and connect there for the flight to Anguilla.

With two hours until her flight to Miami, Allison called the Corinthian Hotel in Anguilla where Police Commissioner Har Stevens said Vanessa had stayed. She wasn't expecting any information, but as she learned in her archeological work, there was no harm in trying. Sometimes long shots pay off. She asked to speak to the manager.

A minute later, she heard a man in a British accent say in a quavering voice, “John Burt, here.”

“Hello Mr. Burt. My twin sister Vanessa was staying at your hotel when she drowned Sunday evening.”

“That's right. I'm very sorry for your loss. She was a very attractive woman and a good guest.”

“I want to know with whom she was staying.”

There were a couple seconds of hesitation before he said, “Oh, she was staying by herself.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. I keep careful tabs on my guests.”

Unlike Stevens, whom Allison thought sounded convincing, Burt was tentative. He's lying, Allison was convinced.

“I'm flying down to Anguilla, Mr. Burt. I'll be there late tomorrow. I want to stay in the same room my sister had.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because we were twins. I have to experience what she did before she died. That's the only way I can get closure.”

“Do you really think that's wise? It could be upsetting for you.”

“How nice of you to be concerned about me.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “But I'm coming.”

Her next call was to Paul.

“Are you okay?” he said as soon as he answered.

She considered, but rejected the idea of telling Paul about the Chinese men chasing her. She didn't want him leaning on her to break off her investigation, which she had no intention of doing.

“Completely safe. I'm at Reagan National Airport. On my way to Anguilla. I decided Washington was too dangerous. I'm hoping to get some answers there.”

“Makes sense. Call me from Anguilla if I can do anything to help. When you return, immediately come to my house. You have the address and the key will be under the mat.”

“Thanks, Paul. I really appreciate it.”

“And be careful.”

With more time to kill, she went shopping in the airport. She bought a duffel, some clothes, and toiletries.

Before boarding, she had time for another call. It was to Zahava, on the dig in Israel. “I was concerned about you,” Zahava said. “But I didn't want to bother you. How are you doing?”

“As well as possible under the circumstances.”

“Everyone here said to express their condolences.”

“Please tell them I said thanks and that I'll get back when I can, probably in a week.”

“We'll be waiting for you.”

“How's the work going?”

“We've done a lot more digging, but so far without any result. After what appeared to be our initial success, people are starting to feel frustrated. I'm trying to reassure them that this is the nature of our work.”

Allison understood exactly how they felt. She was digging, too, and so far not getting anywhere.

Washington

M
artin, in a discussion with Paul, was having difficulty concentrating. So much was happening regarding the chief justice appointment. Arthur had called to say that Martin would soon have a meeting with President Braddock. Martin had always been able to brush aside extraneous matters and deal with the issue at hand. But not now.