Maggie uncurled herself and took a deep breath before she walked to the door. She actually wanted to run to the door, but she held herself back. She opened it, a welcoming smile on her face. The smile turned into a wicked grin when Gus said, “I'm staying the night.” He had a small canvas bag under one arm and was walking with two canes. “Because of the weather. I hope it's okay. On Sundays, my therapy doesn't start till one o'clock.”
Maggie noticed for the first time that it was sleeting out. Gus's curly hair was glistening with little ice crystals. “Sure it's okay. When did it start sleeting?” she asked inanely.
“Oh, about four hours ago.” Gus laughed as he made his way inside.
“I didn't notice. Well, I have a nice fire going and my tree is up, and if I do say so myself, it is spectacular. Follow me, and I'll hang up your jacket. How about a glass of wine? Wow, Gus, you're walking pretty good.”
“I know. My doctors are pleased with my progress but not as much as I am. One more operation next month, more therapy, and they tell me I'll be good to go by late spring. Everything depends on my progress, though. We've had to revise deadlines several times. Good thing I have lots of patience.”
They were in the living room, and Gus turned to view the tree and the fire. “Oh, this is the perfect end to a great day. You were right. This is a spectacular tree. I love sitting in front of a fire and just daydreaming. The Christmas season really is here.”
“I was doing that when you rang the doorbell. When I was a kid, I remember asking one of my aunts why Santa's pants didn't catch on fire coming down the chimney. I don't remember if she answered me or, if she did, what she said. Grown-ups hated me because I was always the kid with the questions no one wanted to answer.”
“I guess you were meant to be a reporter even back then,” Gus said, lowering himself to one of the chairs by the fireplace.
Maggie laughed. “Yeah. You want some wine or a beer?”
“I'm a beer kind of guy, Maggie. And I like drinking it right out of the bottle, and the brand doesn't matter. Smells good in here.”
“I need to tell you right up front, Gus, I am not much of a cook. I throw stuff in a Crock-Pot, cook it for hours, and hope for the best. We're having stew. Kind of goes with the weather outside. You know, comfort food. Be back in a minute with the beer.”
Gus leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He hoped the pain in his back and legs would abate a little so he could enjoy the evening. He looked from the fire to the beautiful tree and made that wish. Either he was dreaming, crazy, or he was out for the count, because the minute he made his wish, he felt like he could get up and dance a jig. “Thank you, God,” he whispered.
Maggie was as good as her word. She was back in a minute with two bottles of beer. She handed one to Gus and then curled up at his feet by the fire.
“We should make a toast. How about to Santa coming down the chimney, pants smoking, and we douse him with our beer?” Gus said, clinking his bottle against Maggie's.
Maggie laughed so hard she almost choked. “That'll work.”
“Before we get off on the wrong foot again, and I'm willing to take the blame for speaking out of turn, let's talk about your last visit to the hospital. I don't want anything hanging over our heads if you and I decide to go forward with . . . with whatever is happening between us.”
Maggie bit down on her bottom lip. The rubber was about to meet the road. “Yeah, okay.”
“Let me go first. Then if you want to say something, feel free to interrupt me.”
Maggie nodded as she stared into the fire.
“I've been at Walter Reed since June. I met the president in person in August. That's just background. I had a lot of nurses, both male and female, and the females were always trying to take my mind off my pain, my body, and what I was undergoing. They were wonderful to me. The ladies would jab at me when they thought I was slacking and say things like they were going to sic the vigilantes on me. When I didn't know what they were talking about, they enlightened me.
“A lot of them had theories, and they weren't shy about presenting them. One feisty grandma type had this theory that the
Post
was somehow involved with the ladies. Your paper always seemed to have a jump on what they were doing, and you had the banner headline when the ladies solved something. Which led the feisty nurse to come to that conclusion. I didn't think much about it back then, but I put it all together the other day, when you went flying out of the hospital and didn't return my calls.
“I deduced, because I am a clever kind of guy, that you and the vigilantes were on a first-name basis, and you have a loyalty to them. What I want you to know, Maggie, is, I don't care. I hope you are friends with them, and I respect your loyalty to them as a group. Maybe someday you will be comfortable enough with me to let me be part of that, but if not, I'm okay with that, too. I know how to compartmentalize, just as you do. Any questions so far?”
Maggie shook her head.
“I have tons of time to do nothing but think. I even try to shift my mind to other things when they're trying to twist me into a pretzel. Sometimes, I think I have pretzel logic, but at least it's logic of some kind.”
Maggie turned from the fire and stared up at Gus. Her expression told Gus he needed to do a little more explaining.
“I understand now why you wanted to know about those money guys who were at Camp David. I did my own little survey at the rehab ward by asking the guys and some of the women what, if anything, would make them give up their own Thanksgiving dinner with their families, and they all said pretty much the same thing, something earth-shattering. Even then, that didn't satisfy me, so I turned to my laptop, the Internet, and Google. I have to say I didn't come up with much. Then I remembered this four-star general who was getting daily therapy, along with the senior senator from Texas, who sits on just about every committee there is. In rehab, titles don't count, at least where I was.
“We were just a bunch of guys trying to get whole again. We'd try to bolster each other up if one of us was having a bad day. What I'm trying to say here is, I overheard quite a few conversations that I probably shouldn't have listened to but at the time didn't mean anything. I also heard private cell-phone conversations.
“The general and the senator still come in for therapy twice a week, and most times they look me up and we chat a bit. When they found out I was invited to Camp David, they were a little . . . nonplussed . . . for want of a better word. Then, when they heard that you, the editor in chief of the
Post,
was going, they actually looked . . . I wouldn't say worried but more like concerned. Any questions?”
Maggie set her beer bottle down on the hearth and stretched her arms over her head. “But why?”
“I don't know, Maggie. I can tell you one thing, though. Both those guys hate the CIA. They aren't fond of the FBI, and they think Homeland Security sucks. As for the Department of Justice, they said those guys don't know their asses from their elbows.”
Maggie shrugged. “A lot of people in this town don't trust any of the alphabet agencies. So where does that leave us?”
“With a problem. I'm unbiased, a freethinker, at least at the moment. I'm not a politician, thank you, God. That's just another way of saying I don't have a dog in this race. No pun intended. Cleo is not part of this. Just off the top of my head I'd say those guys are having trouble with their respective slush funds. If you think for one minute that an agency that suddenly needs money for something or other goes to the Treasury Department and they just hand it over, then you are out of your mind. But there has to be one major person, I'm thinking, who oversees it all, and I think because the CIA is the most powerful, it has to be someone there. Hey, like I said, that's just my opinion. I'm probably so off base, you could hit a slam dunk and still have room to drive an eighteen-wheeler through the hole.”
“Any idea who that could be?” Maggie asked.
“Nope. Do you?”
Maggie shook her head.
“I can try and find out tomorrow. Both the senator and the general will be at rehab, even though it's Sunday. The two of them like to do the weekends so they don't eat into their office time. I sense a little self-importance there, like the Senate and the Pentagon can't run effectively unless they're in their respective offices. They might open up or let something slip. It's worth a try if you want me to go for it.”
Maggie grimaced. “Show me a politician who doesn't think like that. Sure, see what, if anything, you can find out.”
“Your turn, Maggie,” Gus said quietly.
“You were right. I guess you could say I'm an honorary member of the vigilantes. I believe in them, and when we reported anything, it was true and accurate because we had the inside track. Have I myself broken any laws? Not really. But I have skirted the edges and danced away in the nick of time. I'd do it all over again if I had to. Thanks to all of those women, I have the job that I have, and I do have a fierce loyalty to them. Today they are ordinary citizens with full pardons. Or, as Annie likes to say, today they are on the side of the angels.”
“Do you ever see them going back to their . . . original line of work?”
Maggie laughed. “Never say never.” She wondered what Gus would do or say if she showed him her gold shield. She was tempted to follow Nikki's advice but squelched the thought as soon as it popped into her head. “If you're hungry, I think we can eat now.”
“I've been ready since I got here. Even though the food is okay at the hospital, it's not the same as home cooking. My mouth is watering. So, we're okay, Maggie. I mean me and you.”
Maggie thought about it for a few seconds. “We're okay, Gus. Oh, oh, wait. We have to make a wish. You know, on the tree, like when we were kids.”
Gus just looked puzzled.
“You're supposed to make a wish the first time you see someone's tree. Okay, okay, I made that up, so let's each just make a wish. Close your eyes and wish hard.”
“Okay, I made my wish.”
“I did, too,” Maggie said. “We can't tell each other what it is unless it comes true. You know that, right?”
Gus nodded solemnly and grinned.
Maggie just smiled.
“So, it's okay for me to stay over. I have to do the couch, though. There's no way for me to do those stairs of yours.”
“It's not a problem. The couch in here opens up. You'll have the benefit of the fire and the tree at the same time.”
And me, if you want me,
she thought as she left to get the sheets and blankets to make up the sleep couch into a bed after dinner and more visiting.
“Uh-huh,” Gus drawled.
Chapter 20
G
us Sullivan hobbled into the room using both canes. He looked around and was surprised to see that he was the only patient, but then again, he was twenty minutes early. Even his therapist wasn't there yet. Not surprising, the weather being what it was. For all he knew, his two-hour therapy session might even be canceled. Doubtful but entirely possible.
Most days the smell of stale sweat and the powerful disinfectant the cleaners used bothered him. Today he barely noticed it, his thoughts back in Georgetown with Maggie Spritzer. He wished he had someone to confide in. Someone like Cleo, who would listen and nuzzle with him, but Cleo came only during the week.
Gus lowered himself to one of the benches, propped up his canes, and leaned back. He closed his eyes as he tried to project how much pain his therapist was going to put him through that day. And, of course, how cooperative his body would be. He thought about what he'd promised Maggie. He wondered how successful he would be. Four-star generals did not have loose lips, even though in this room they were just two guys fighting to get their bodies back into some kind of livable shape. In here were no spies, no secret recording machines. What there was, was a lot of cussing, moaning, and groaningâeven tears. He had certainly shed his share and didn't care who saw the tears rolling down his cheeks. He'd seen the general swipe at his eyes, and the senator had turned white and almost blacked out a few times. Therapy was a bitch. But the alternative didn't bear thinking about.
Gus's thoughts shifted to his evening with Maggie. It was the kind of evening he'd dreamed about when he was in the desert, finding that perfect mate, making it work, and going on with your life as a couple. The evening had been so endearing, so sweet, so perfect, he thought he was dreaming. Forty-seven years old and he was just now finding true love, and that true love didn't care if he was a cripple or not.
What was it Maggie had said? “If you go back to being a hundred percent, fine. If you don't, I'll take care of you.” That had blown his mind. Absolutely blown his mind. He hadn't known what to say, couldn't find the words. Maggie was the one who knew all the words. When she saw him struggling to say something, she'd put her fingers on his lips and say, “That's a promise.” And he believed her, heart and soul.
Gus was so deep into his thoughts, he didn't hear it when someone came into the room. When the air stirred around him, he opened his eyes to see the general easing himself down onto the same bench he was sitting on.
“How's it going, son?”
“Today is better than it was yesterday, sir. How are you doing? I didn't see you last week.”
“Had to go to Rhode Island to a funeral. Old army buddy. I got so caught up in my memories, I just didn't feel like coming here. I hate to admit it, but I needed to wallow a bit.”
“I understand, sir.”
The general looked around. He gave a snort of laughter and said, “Maybe you and I are going to give each other therapy. No one is here. The weather is bad, but when that happens, you have to leave early to make sure you arrive on time. You and I know that, son. It's these civilians that march to a different drummer who don't understand it. So, what's new in your life? Have you made any concrete decisions about what you're going to do when you get out of here?”
Gus grappled to find the words. Finally, he blurted out, “I'm in love. I met the woman I've waited all my life for, and she doesn't care what condition I'm in. I'm going to write a book. I always wanted to do that, so I'm going to try my hand at it. Then I'm going to breed dogs. I've been researching real estate on the Net, and I came up with a few possibilities.”
“Sounds like a plan. What kind of book?” the general asked curiously.
“Espionage, spy stuff, illegal funds. I guess you could say political.” Gus sucked in his breath as he waited for the general's response.
“That stuff sells. My wife loves thrillers. How do you plan on doing your research?”
“I haven't gotten that far in my thinking. Any idea who I should be talking to? I'm not up on Washington politics. The flip side of that is, why would anyone even talk to me? I'm a nobody.”
Gus was surprised when he felt the general's hand on his arm. “Son, I don't ever want to hear you say you're a nobody. You are somebody. You're a soldier who almost gave his life for his country. And you're suffering and undergoing unbearable pain as a result. You get a résumé in order, and when you call around to make appointments, you toot your own horn. I can steer you in a few directions.”
Gus felt his heart start to pound in his chest.
Careful, careful,
he warned himself. “Which agency should I start with, sir?”
“There is no such thing as full disclosure among agencies, so you'll have to talk to all of them, depending on what it is you're going to write about. In other words, your plot, son. I've never written a book, so I don't know if this is good advice or not.”
“You should think about writing your memoirs, sir. When you retire.”
“That's what my wife keeps telling me.”
The worms crawling around in Gus's stomach settled down. He heard noise from out in the hall. The therapists must have arrived. Before he could change his mind, he blurted out the question Maggie had told him to ask. “Who would I need to talk to about the different money funds that are not controlled by Congress? I read, so I know that they're out there and that the general public doesn't know about them. There has to be a person or a committee or a group of some kind that controls huge amounts of money. Do those people have control of the money, or do they report to the president?” There, he'd said the words out loud. He stared at the general to see his reaction.
“Sounds like you know what you want to write about, sonâmoney and power. You can never go wrong with that. I'm thinking you might want to talk to JJ, but I'm not sure he'd give you the time of day. The man is like a phantom, from what I've heard. He answers to no one, not even the president. Or so the story goes. This is Washington, son, and stories abound. Quirky kind of guy and, by the way, this is just scuttlebutt.”
Gus felt a surge of panic when the door opened and a gaggle of people entered the room. One of the therapists clapped his hands and said, “Okay, let's get to it!”
“Sir, who is JJ?”
The general pierced Gus with a look Gus couldn't define. He held his breath as he waited for the general's response.
“Jody Jumper. He knows where all the bodies are buried, or so I've been led to believe. And you didn't hear that from me, son.”
Gus thought he was going to faint. “Hear what, sir?”
“Okay, Sullivan, you're up!” his therapist said as he held out his hand to pull Gus to his feet. “You okay? You look a little . . . white.”
“Forgot to eat, that's all. I'm ready.”
Back in Georgetown, Nikki Quinn Emery was staring at her husband, a wide smile on her face. “I can't believe we're standing here like this on a Sunday afternoon, both of us. And that you just invited me out to brunch. I accept, Jack. And we need to do this more often. You do know the weather is pretty shitty out there, right?”
“I really don't care. I've been cooped up with Harry and Bert so long, I don't know what it's like outside. Let's just bundle up and go to the Knife and Fork. It shouldn't be so busy now, and the weather will keep a lot of people indoors. I'll hold your hand,” he said and laughed.
Nikki was already slipping into a long all-weather coat the color of burgundy. She plopped a rain hat on her head, pulled on boots and gloves, then held out her hand. “I'm ready, husband of mine.”
“I love the way that sounds.”
What should have been a three-minute walk to the Knife and Fork turned into a twenty-two-minute walk with hard, icy rain pelting them. In the end, Jack guided Nikki to the cobblestone road and held her arm tightly. It was slush up to their ankles, but they managed. Both of them sighed when they entered the small eatery. Both of them were surprised when the hostess told them it was a ten-minute wait. They hung up their coats and took a seat along with four other couples waiting to be seated.
“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. The temperature is dropping. By the time we leave here, it's going to be pure ice out there,” Jack said.
“Nonsense, and do we really care? No, we do not. Think of this as romantic,” Nikki said. “We held hands the whole way here. If we have to, we can slide on our bums all the way home.”
Jack laughed and mouthed the words
I love you.
Nikki mouthed the same words in return.
Fifteen minutes later, when they were finally seated, Nikki said, “Jack, did I tell you I think I have Alexis convinced to go to law school? You know I was in court all day yesterday, even though it was Saturday, because court was dark for two days with no heat. When I got back to the office, there was Alexis, manning the fort. She's a natural. I think between you and me, and a few other people I know who can pull strings, we can get her into law school if she wants to go.
“The firm will pay for it as long as she signs on to work for us when she graduates. She wants to, but she doesn't think she's got the smarts to do it. I also think she thinks she might outshine Joseph Espinosa. I don't know whom she loves more, Joe or his family. She absolutely adores Joe's mother. I don't think she would want to put that relationship to the test, and she might back away for that very reason.”
“Do you want me to have a little preemptive talk with Espinosa?”
“Yeah, that would be great, but don't come on too strong. Talking to Ted might also help since the two of them are so tight.”
“Consider it done,” Jack said, picking up his menu and perusing it. “I love their Canadian bacon, so I think I'll go for that and two eggs over easy. And some fresh-squeezed orange juice. Wheat toast with some of that blackberry-raspberry jam they're so famous for. How about you, Nik? You as hungry as I am?”
“I'll have the same, but let's split one of their potato-onion casseroles, too.”
Jack gave the order to the waitress after she filled their coffee cups.
Jack leaned back in his captain's chair and smiled across the table at his wife. “Seems like the only time we get to play catch-up is on the weekends. What's new?”
“That's so true, Jack. We really have to make more time for
us.
I thought that would happen when you and Bert took over Harry's training.”
“Yeah, well, if Harry hadn't screwed things up, it would have happened. We got him going in circles now. Bert cracks the whip, I can tell you that. Harry has agreed to everything we set up. I wish we could take the credit, but down deep I know it was Yoko who set Harry straight. He's coming along well, and I think he has a really good chance of taking the title in the spring.”
“Did Yoko tell him yet?” Nikki asked.
“Tell him what?”
“Well, Myra and Annie swear Yoko is pregnant, but she hasn't said anything to any of us to confirm or deny it, but by the same token, we haven't asked. Morning sickness,” Nikki said, as if that would explain everything to Jack, who just looked blank.
“That's really great if it turns out to be true. Harry can't keep a secret to save his life, so I have to say no, he doesn't know. If he knew, he'd be out running the streets, shouting at the top of his lungs. No, he doesn't know,” Jack said emphatically.
“Don't say anything, Jack. If it's true, Yoko will tell us when she feels the time is right. She might be afraid, considering what happened the last time. Asian people are often superstitious when it comes to things like this. Promise you won't say anything, Jack.”
“I promise. That the sum total of your news?”
“No, I have more.” Nikki giggled. “Fergus and Elias are working at Yoko's nursery, pro bono. They're getting along like two peas in a pod. They make Yoko sit and drink tea, and they do all the heavy lifting. You know, hefting those Christmas trees to roll into the barrel so they can net them up. Fergus told Annie's business is brisk, and Yoko is very happy when they tally up the receipts at the end of the day. And in February, Fergus is going to head up the security at Myra's candy factory.
“Mr. Unger, who replaced Charles, is going to retire. Lizzie is working on getting Fergus the right paperwork so all that can happen. Annie is happier than a pig in a mud slide, I can tell you that.”
“That is a lot of news. You're right. We have to spend more time together. I can't believe I didn't know any of this.” Jack grinned sheepishly.
“Wait, there's more,” Nikki continued, giggling again. “I saved the best for last.”
“Hit me!”
“Gus Sullivan, Maggie's new amour, went to her place for dinner last night and spent the night. I know nothing more, so do not ask questions. Maggie is definitely in love. She said Gus loves her, too. And, Gus has the inside track with some general who goes to Walter Reed for therapy. He's going to ask him some questions this afternoon. Seems the general prefers weekends for his therapy so he can be in his office during the week. Just two military types who are sweating the same bullets and hoping they can walk away whole when it's all over. She promised to call me when Gus reports back to her at the end of the session.”