Collateral Damage (23 page)

“I hope you’re right,” Mike said.

“And,” Holly continued, “it would give her an excuse to spend some time in New York. She likes it here, and so does her husband.”

“Then I’ll broach the subject,” Mike said. “There’s something else: I had lunch with the AIC of the New York FBI office today, and we tiptoed around the subject of Jasmine Shazaz and her friends.”

“Oh?” Holly asked. “Anything I should know about?”

“Nothing specific, but he gave me the impression that he wasn’t much interested in cooperating with your people and the NYPD in the hunt. The Bureau has always been a credit hog, and I think they would prefer not to share it with anybody in this instance.”

“Did he give you any indication of what his plan is?”

“Only that they’re bringing in something like fifty more agents to work on it.”

Stone spoke up. “I’ll bet they won’t be distributing flyers on the West Side.”

“Anything else?” Holly asked.

“Only that, in my opinion, the AIC would do anything he could think of to derail your efforts in his favor. Did you see the piece in
The New York Times Magazine
about the Bureau’s bumbling in intelligence matters over the years?”

“I did. Bumbling seems to be a tradition at the Bureau.”

The doorbell rang, and Stone picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“This is Special Agent Carmichael with the Secret Service,” a male voice said. “The director will arrive in two minutes.”

“Thank you,” Stone said. “I’ll be right down to meet her. Did you identify yourself to the two men in the black SUV?”

“They insisted,” the man replied.

Stone laughed and hung up. “She’s on her way. I’ll bring her here,” he said. “Sit tight.” He walked to the front door and arrived in time to see the car pull up outside. It had begun to drizzle, and the agent held an umbrella for her as she exited the car.

She ran up the steps, came inside, and gave Stone a kiss on the cheek. “What a handsome house,” she said, looking around the living room.

Stone hung up her raincoat. “Thank you. It was built by my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister, and my father did all the woodwork and much of the furniture.”

“He was very, very good,” she said.

“Holly and Mike are in my study. Come this way.” He led her into the smaller room and, while she greeted Mike and Holly, poured her a bourbon.

She flopped down on the sofa and took a sip of her drink. “This is fun already,” she said. “Will and I don’t get that many opportunities to dine in someone else’s home, unless it’s a grand occasion.”

“You’re very welcome here,” Stone said. “I’m sorry the president couldn’t join us.”

“He’s speaking to the Security Council at the U.N. tomorrow morning, so he’s on the way up from Washington now,” Kate replied. “He won’t be able to make dinner, but he said he might stop in for a drink later.”

“That would be wonderful. Kate, before we go down for dinner, Mike would like to speak with you about something.”

“Of course,” she said, taking another sip of her bourbon.

“Mrs. Lee . . .”

“Kate, please, Mike.”

“Kate. It has occurred to me that you’re going to be retiring from government service in the not-too-distant future.”

“The Constitution insists that Will retire, and I pretty much have to go with him.”

“Well, perhaps we can find a way to keep you from being bored after you are a private citizen again.”

“Oh, good! I’ve been worried about that.”

“Stone and I would like it very much if you would consider joining the board of Strategic Services.”

“What an interesting idea,” she replied. “What would that entail?”

“We meet more often than some boards, on the first Monday of each month, except August, when everybody seems to be out of town. Since we work our board pretty hard, the pay is twenty-five thousand per meeting, but you’re certainly not required to make every one.”

“Just when I need the money?”

Mike laughed. “If you’re feeling flush, you can miss some meetings, but we’d like to see you there as often as possible.”

“Mike, you understand that, even after I leave the Agency, I’ll be under very tight strictures about what I can discuss.”

“We’re more interested in the experience you’ve acquired and in your judgment,” Mike said. “And, though we like gossip as much as anyone, we’re not interested in official secrets.”

“That makes your offer very attractive indeed,” Kate said. “I’ll have to discuss it with Will, of course, but he likes New York as much as I do.”

“I know you have a great deal on your plate between now and retirement, so I don’t expect an immediate answer.”

“Thank you. I’ll think about it when I can.”

The phone buzzed. “That’s Helene,” Stone said, “telling us to come to dinner.”

They dined and drank wine and talked and laughed, and not once did anyone bring up the Agency, the White House, or Jasmine Shazaz.

“I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun,” Kate said, as Stone poured her more wine. “It’s such a relief not to have to keep up appearances, for fear of what will be in the columns the next morning.”

“This is a leakproof environment,” Stone said, “and you’re welcome anytime.”

“It looks like you folks are having way too much fun,” said a voice from the door to the kitchen. Will Lee came in and pulled up an extra chair.

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Stone said.

“It’s just Will in this company,” he replied, accepting a glass of wine.

“Will,” Kate said, “I’ve had a job offer.”

“You already have a job,” he said. “Doesn’t it keep you busy enough?”

“It will until next January,” she said. “Then I’ll be at loose ends.”

“What’s the job?”

“Mike and Stone have asked me to join the board of Strategic Services.”

“Have they, now?” Will said, frowning a little.

“They have, and unless you can cough up some substantive reason why I shouldn’t, I’m going to accept.”

“Well, it’s usually presidents who join boards in the afterlife, but I don’t think there’s any law against a first lady doing the same.”

“Any personal objections?”

“If there were, I wouldn’t air them here.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “I have wine taken, and I’m a little giddy.”

“You need to be giddy more often,” Will said.

“In time.”

“Take the offer,” he said, “but all of you, not a word to anyone until we’re well out of office. I think next spring might be a good time for an announcement.”

“May I tell the other members of the board?” Mike asked.

“You may not. It will be a nice surprise for them.” Will turned to his wife. “Well, we have an excuse to keep the apartment at the Carlyle instead of looking for something cheaper.”

“I’ll pick up the maintenance on the place,” Kate said.

“I may take you up on that,” Will said. He raised his glass. “Congratulations to all of you.”

—

A car pulled up in front of a shop in Soho, and Habib got out and rapped on the glass door. It was unlocked by a woman, and Habib went back to the car and opened the door for Jasmine, who ran inside.

“I’ll park the car,” Habib said, then left. “I’ll be back in . . . how long?”

“That depends on what you wish done,” the woman said. She was of Middle Eastern extraction, tall, with long black hair pulled up in a bun.

“Shampoo, cut, coloring,” Jasmine said.

“Two hours,” the woman said to Habib, who left, closing the door behind him.

“My name is Sheba,” the woman said, locking the door. “Please come through.”

They left the handsome reception room and went into the rear of the building, where hairdressers’ booths were set up, then through a door off the larger room. “This is my private room,” Sheba said, waving her to the chair. “Let’s talk about what you need.” She stood behind Jasmine and looked at her in the mirror while she talked.

“I want it shorter, but not too short,” Jasmine said. “Do you think I have the skin for blond hair?”

“I have the perfect blond shade for your skin,” Sheba replied. “With blonder highlights. You’ll love it.”

“I’m in your hands, then,” Jasmine said.

“Come, let me wash your hair.”

Jasmine moved to the other chair and lay back, resting her neck on the shaped edge of the sink while Sheba gently shampooed and rinsed her hair.

Sheba dried it with a towel, then moved her client back to the other chair and began to cut it quickly, shaping as she went. Finally, she stopped. “How’s that for length?” she asked.

“Excellent,” Jasmine replied.

“Now let’s begin on the color.”

—

The president looked at his watch. “Good God!”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Kate said.

“I was going to read through my speech again before bedtime,” Will said, “but the hell with it. It can wait until breakfast.” He got to his feet.

“Thanks so much for keeping my wife off the streets,” he said, “and for the promise of work for her later. I’ve always told her she’d have to support me in my old age.”

“We’re looking forward to having her aboard,” Mike said.

“And I was looking forward to having her to myself,” Will said. “So much for that.”

“Oh, I think I can work you into my schedule,” Kate said. They walked up the stairs, and Will produced a cell phone and pressed a button. “Now,” he said.

Stone opened the front door and looked up and down the block. All was quiet, only a couple of Secret Service men standing by. Then, from around a corner, a procession of four black SUVs drove slowly into the block and stopped.

Everybody shook hands with Will and kissed Kate, and they were gone.

“Come on back to the study for a brandy,” Stone said.

“You two boys besot yourselves,” Holly said. “I’m hitting the sack—nothing but big days ahead.” She disappeared into the elevator.

Stone and Mike went back to the study and found cognac.

“Well, that was a surprise,” Mike said, “Kate’s blurting it out like that. I thought she’d take weeks to think it over.”

“She knows her husband very well,” Stone said. “She took the moment.”

“I’m delighted she did.”

“So am I. She’s a remarkable person, and she’ll fit right into the board.”

“I’m going to go after Holly, too,” Mike said. “But for an executive position, not the board, and not just yet.”

“You won’t get an argument from me,” Stone said, “and I think she’ll want it. When Kate goes, she’ll be adrift in the Agency. She doesn’t have the stature yet to be director, and the alternative is to go back to work for Lance Cabot again, and she’s been there, done that.”

“Pretty much what I figured,” Mike said, raising his glass.

—

Jasmine sat in the chair and looked at her new hairstyle and color. “It’s perfect,” she said.

“Perfection is what we deal in,” Sheba replied. “The change in the eyebrows will help give you a new appearance, too. As it is, you look nothing like the person in the flyers that are all over town.”

So she knew whom she was dealing with, Jasmine thought. She stood up. “How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” Sheba replied calmly. “Our special price for fugitives.”

Jasmine laughed. “And worth every penny,” she said. If she wanted that much now, what would she demand when the reward was offered? She reached into her purse, and her hand closed on the butt of the Walther PPK, silencer fitted. In one easy motion, she turned, raised the little pistol, and fired into Sheba’s face. A small hole appeared on one side of her forehead, and blood trickled down her face.

Sheba looked astonished, and seemed to be trying to speak, but she didn’t fall; she clutched at a countertop to steady herself.

Jasmine shot her in the head again, and Sheba collapsed in a heap at her feet.

—

Back in the car, Habib spoke. “You look wonderful,” he said. “Did you kill her?”

“She wanted a hundred thousand dollars,” Jasmine replied. “Can you believe it? We would never have been able to trust her.”

“Quite right,” Habib said, and drove away.

The New York City police commissioner was having a sandwich at his desk and enjoying some unaccustomed solitude when his secretary buzzed. He picked up the phone. “I’m deep into corned beef and chicken liver at the moment,” he said. “Do you have something more important than that for me?”