The Camel Club Part 25

Alex suddenly realized his mouth had opened wider and wider as he listened to her. He quickly closed it. "So, uh, Kate lives in the carriage house?"

"I've wanted her to move in here-the place has eight bedrooms, after all-but she won't. She likes her s.p.a.ce, all women do. And she can come and go as she wants." She patted his leg. "So this is your first date with her. That's sweet. Where're you going?"

"I'm not sure. Kate picked the place."

She gripped his hand again and looked directly into his eyes. "Okay, honey, let me give you some advice. Even the modern woman likes the man to take charge every once in a while. So next time you you pick the place. Be decisive about it. Women hate men who can't make up their minds." pick the place. Be decisive about it. Women hate men who can't make up their minds."

"Okay, but how do I know when else else she wants me to take charge?" she wants me to take charge?"

"Oh, you won't. You'll just screw it up like every other man does."

Alex cleared his throat. "So does she date a lot?"

"Okay, you want the 411 on Kate, don't you, honey? Well, Kate only brings someone around every few months. n.o.body's stuck yet but don't let that discourage you. She usually brings home some fancy-pants lawyer, lobbyist or big-shot government type. Now, you're the first man with a gun she's brought here," she added in an encouraging tone. "You are are packing heat, aren't you?" she asked hopefully. packing heat, aren't you?" she asked hopefully.

"Would that be a good thing?"

"Honey, all civilized women throw their underwear at dangerous men. We just can't help ourselves."

He grinned, opened his coat and showed her his gun.

She clapped her hands together. "Oh, that is so thrilling."

"Hey, Lucky, get away from my man."

They both turned around and saw a smiling Kate Adams standing in the doorway leading into the next room. She had on a pleated black skirt that ended midthigh, a white blouse open at the neck and sandals. Alex realized he'd never seen her legs before; she always wore pants at the bar. She gave Lucky a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I have been entertaining your beau while you made yourself beautiful, my dear," Lucky said. "Not that it takes that much effort for you. Oh, it's just not fair, Kate. Not even the best plastic surgeon in the world could give me your cheekbones."

"You liar. The men were always gaga over Lucky Whitney. And they still are."

Lucky smiled at Alex and said in a very coy tone, "Well, I have to admit, this young man did show me his piece, piece, Kate. I bet you haven't had that pleasure yet." Kate. I bet you haven't had that pleasure yet."

Kate looked surprised. "His piece? No, I haven't seen it yet."

His expression one of horror, Alex jumped up so fast he spilled some of his drink on the couch. "My gun! I showed her my gun."

"That's right, that's what he called it. His gun, gun," Lucky said, smiling impishly. "Now, where are you two going for dinner?"

"Nathan's," Kate answered.

Lucky raised her eyebrows. "Nathan's?" She gave Alex a thumbs-up. "That's where she takes the ones with real potential."

CHAPTER 40.

"REUBEN," STONE CALLED OUT from his perch in the sidecar. "We have some time yet. Can we stop in at Arlington Cemetery?" from his perch in the sidecar. "We have some time yet. Can we stop in at Arlington Cemetery?"

Reuben looked over at the nation's most hallowed burial place for its military dead and nodded.

A few minutes later they pa.s.sed through the visitors' entrance and walked past the Women in Military Service Memorial. They paused for a moment near the Kennedy graves, Arlington's biggest visitor draw, with the changing of the guard at the Tombs of the Unknowns a close second.

Continuing on, Reuben stopped and gazed at a stretch of gra.s.s near Arlington House. It had once been Robert E. Lee's home but had been confiscated by the federal government after Lee had chosen to lead the Confederate army against the Union.

"Isn't that where you found me, stoned outta my head?"

Stone looked at the spot. "It was a long time ago, Reuben. You pulled yourself out of it. You fought off your demons."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Oliver." He paused and looked around at all the white tombstones. "I was just so d.a.m.n p.i.s.sed off. I lost half my company from Nam to Agent Orange, and the army wouldn't even admit they'd done it. And then the same thing happened with the Persian Gulf syndrome. I just wanted to come here and scream, make somebody listen."

"It's probably best that you pa.s.sed out when you did. The secretary of defense was here that day; it might've gotten ugly."

Reuben gazed curiously at his friend. "You know, I never asked you what you were doing at the cemetery that day."

"Just like everyone else, I was there to pay my respects."

Stone stopped at one area and silently counted down the rows of white headstones until he came to one near the middle. He stood, his arms folded across his chest, while the setting sun burned down into the horizon. Reuben checked his watch but seemed reluctant to interrupt his friend.

Stone's solitude was finally halted by a group of men pa.s.sing nearby. He watched as they headed toward the newest expansion of Arlington Cemetery and one that was not yet completed. It was the 9/11 memorial site that ab.u.t.ted the grounds of the cemetery. The site included a signature monument to the lives that were lost at the Pentagon, and a memorial grove.

Stone stiffened when he saw who was in the center of the wall of armed security. Reuben glanced over too.

"Carter Gray," Reuben muttered.

"Here to see his wife, I would a.s.sume," Stone said quietly. "Before the crowds come tomorrow."

Carter Gray stopped at the gravesite of his wife, Barbara, knelt on the ground and placed a small bouquet of flowers on the recessed earth. Technically, the anniversary of his wife's death was tomorrow, but the cemetery would be filled that day, and, as Stone had deduced, the man had no desire to share his grief with a ma.s.s of strangers.

Gray rose and stared down at where his wife's body lay, while his security detail kept a respectful distance away.

Barbara Gray had retired from the army as a brigadier general after a distinguished career in which she set many firsts for women in the military. Barbara Gray had also been one of the most vocal advocates for members of the World War II-era WASPs, or Women's Air Force Service Pilots, to be eligible to receive burial at Arlington with full full military honors, something denied to them because they were summarily disbanded after the war. In June of 2002 a new regulation allowed a number of women's military groups, including the WASPs, to at least be buried with the more limited military honors, something denied to them because they were summarily disbanded after the war. In June of 2002 a new regulation allowed a number of women's military groups, including the WASPs, to at least be buried with the more limited funeral, funeral, instead of full, military honors. Unfortunately, Barbara Gray had not lived to see it happen. instead of full, military honors. Unfortunately, Barbara Gray had not lived to see it happen.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, Barbara Gray, then a civilian consultant, was meeting at the Pentagon on a project with two members of the army when the American Airlines flight slammed into the building, obliterating the room she was in. As an appalling footnote to this tragedy, the Grays' daughter, Maggie, a government lawyer, had just arrived at the Pentagon to meet her mother. Her body was virtually cremated in the initial explosion.

As Carter Gray stood there looking at his wife's grave, the image of that morning cut deeply into him. And then the waves of guilt followed, for he should have been in that building too. Gray was supposed to meet his wife and daughter at the Pentagon before they all headed out on a long-planned family vacation. He'd been caught in traffic and was running about twenty minutes late. By the time he got to the Pentagon, his family was gone.

As he finally pulled his gaze from the consecrated ground, Gray looked around and spotted the two men staring back at him from a distance. He didn't recognize the large man, but there was something familiar about the other. Then he watched as the two men turned and walked off. Gray lingered by his wife's grave for another ten minutes, and then, his curiosity getting the better of him, he headed to the spot where the two men had been standing. He realized this section of graves was familiar to him. He started looking at the headstones, his gaze moving swiftly down the neat rows of markers, until he stopped at one.

The next moment his security staff was hustling after Gray as he rushed down the walkway. As he drew closer to the exit, he stopped and bent over, sucking in huge amounts of air as his security team circled him, asking if he was all right. He didn't answer them. He didn't even hear them.

The name on the grave marker that had caused his pell-mell rush was pinballing around his mind. There was no body in the casket under that marker, Gray well knew. It was all a sham, all part of a cover-up. Yet the name on the marker wasn't a fraud. It was a real man who, it was thought, had died in the defense of his country.

"John Carr." Gray said the name, one he had not uttered for decades.

John Carr. The most accomplished killer Carter Gray had ever seen.

Nathan's wasn't that crowded yet, and Alex Ford and Kate Adams were seated at a table in a corner near the bar area and had ordered some drinks.

"Lucky's a real pistol," Alex said. "How'd you hook up with her?"

"Before I went to Justice, I was in private practice. I handled the trusts and estates work when her husband died. We became friends, and she eventually asked me to come live with her. I said no at first, but she kept asking, and Mr. Right had failed miserably to show up at my door in the meantime. I pay rent for the carriage house," she added quickly. "Lucky's a very interesting person. She's someone who's been everywhere, knows everybody. But she's lonely too. Old age doesn't go down well with someone like her. She's so alive, and she wants to do everything she used to do; but she really can't anymore."

"From what I saw she's doing a pretty d.a.m.n good job of trying," he replied. "So why'd you jump to the government side?"

"Nothing too original. I got burned out on the billable hour treadmill. And you're not going to change the world doing T and E law."

"So what do you do at Justice to change the world?"

"I'm into a fairly new thing actually. After Gitmo Bay and treatment of POWs at Abu Ghraib, the Salt Pit and other places, Justice formed a new group to enforce the civil rights of prisoners deemed to be of a highly political nature as well as foreign combatants, and to investigate any crimes against those cla.s.s of persons."

"Well, judging from what I read in the papers, you must keep pretty busy."

"The U.S. overall has an excellent record when it comes to treatment of POWs and persons listed as foreign combatants, but the longer the war against terrorism goes on, the more tempting it is for our guys to stoop to the other side's level. After all, they're only human, and they might come to view the person sitting across from them as someone not worthy of any rights at all."

"But that doesn't excuse them breaking the law."

"No, it doesn't. And that's where people like me come in. I've been to the various war zones six times in the last two years. Unfortunately, it's not getting much better."

"It looks like Carter Gray has started counterpunching well."

Kate sat back and sipped on the gla.s.s of red wine she'd ordered. "I have mixed feelings about that. I feel for him personally and his loss on 9/11. I think that's the only reason he came back into the government sector. But I'm not convinced it was a good thing. "

"What do you mean?" Alex asked.

"I know he's gotten extraordinary results. I wonder if he employs extraordinary means to achieve them. For example, we've had real problems with rendition."

"I've heard that's quite a political football."

"It's no wonder with the way the procedure works. Suspected terrorists are transferred from the U.S. to other countries or vice versa without any legal processing or access by the International Red Cross. When we transfer prisoners out to other countries, verbal a.s.surances are first required from the receiving country that the transferees won't be subjected to torture. Well, the problem is there's no way to verify that torture doesn't occur. And in fact, it seems clear that the torture often does does happen. On top of that, because such torture in the U.S. is illegal, some think NIC and CIA are actively involved in rendering prisoners to other countries so that torture can be used as a tool to get useful information. They'll even get the receiving country to trump up charges against a suspect so he can be jailed, interrogated and often tortured. That's against everything that America stands for." happen. On top of that, because such torture in the U.S. is illegal, some think NIC and CIA are actively involved in rendering prisoners to other countries so that torture can be used as a tool to get useful information. They'll even get the receiving country to trump up charges against a suspect so he can be jailed, interrogated and often tortured. That's against everything that America stands for."

"Well, after seeing the place firsthand, I believe NIC is capable of pretty much anything."

"So I take it your looking into that man's death isn't going all that well?"

Alex hesitated and then decided it wouldn't hurt to come clean. He told her about his uncomfortable "chat" with the director of the Secret Service and about being busted back to protection detail.

"I'm so sorry, Alex." She reached over and touched his hand.

"Hey, I set myself up for it. Gray plays in the big leagues, and having your own partner rat you out doesn't help. I guess I was outcla.s.sed." He took a drink of his c.o.c.ktail. "Your martinis are much better," he said, smiling.

She clinked her gla.s.s against his. "I knew I liked you."

His expression grew serious. "I should've stuck to my original plan: with three years to go to finish off my twenty, put it on cruise control and don't rock the boat."

"You don't strike me as a 'cruising' sort of person," Kate replied.

He shrugged. "Look, let's cut the shoptalk. Tell me more about yourself. That's what first dates are for."

She sat back and picked at a piece of bread in front of her. "Well, I'm an only child. My parents live in Colorado. They'll tell you we're descended from the Ma.s.sachusetts Adamses, but I'm not sure I buy that. My dream was to be a world cla.s.s gymnast. And I worked my guts out for it. Then I grew six inches in one year, and there went that dream. Right after high school I decided I wanted to be a croupier in Vegas. Don't ask why, I just did. I enrolled in a course, pa.s.sed with flying colors and took off for Sin City. But it didn't last too long. I had a teeny problem with drunken high rollers thinking they could grab my b.u.t.t whenever they wanted. After a few of them lost teeth, the casino suggested I head back East. When I started college, I decided to bartend to pay for it, and then I continued pouring drinks when I went to law school. At least with that occupation you have solid wood between you and the resident animals. And as you deduced earlier, I also play the piano. I earned money teaching it to help pay for school. I don't need to keep bartending, but honestly I like to. It's an outlet for me and you meet a lot of fascinating people at the LEAP bar."

"Gymnast, croupier, bartender, piano-playing defender of truth and justice. That's pretty d.a.m.n impressive."

"Sometimes I think it's far more dysfunctional than it is impressive. So how about you?"

"Nothing too exciting. I grew up in Ohio. Youngest of four and the only son. My dad was an auto parts salesman by day, but by night he was the second coming of Johnny Cash."

"Really?"

"Well, he wanted to be anyway. I think he had the largest collection of Cash memorabilia outside of Nashville. Always dressed in black, played a wicked acoustical guitar, pretty good pipes. I learned guitar so I could play with him. We even went out on the road together, playing some of the best hole-in-the-walls in the Ohio Valley. We weren't great but we weren't bad either. It was a blast. Then his four-pack-a-day habit caught up to him. The lung cancer took him in six months. My mom lives in a retirement village in Florida. My sisters are scattered around the country."

"So what made you want to play the human shield?"

Alex took another drink and his look became somber. "I saw the Zapruder film clip of Kennedy's a.s.sa.s.sination when I was twelve years old. I remembered thinking that something like that should never happen again. I'll never forget the image of Agent Clint Hill jumping on the limo, pushing Mrs. Kennedy back into her seat. A lot of people at the time thought she was part of the conspiracy to kill the president, or else condemned her because they thought she was just trying to get away from all the blood on her, even if it was her husband's. What she was actually doing was trying to retrieve the piece of her husband's head that had gotten blown off."

He finished his drink before continuing. "I met Clint Hill at a Secret Service function. He was an old guy by then. Everybody wanted to shake his hand. I told him how honored I was to meet him. He was the only guy to react when it happened. He helped Mrs. Kennedy, and he put his body between her and whoever was shooting at them. I told him if the time came, I hoped I did as well as he'd done. You know what he said to me?"

He looked up to see her gaze directly on him; Kate Adams seemed to be holding her breath. "What did he say?" she prompted.

"He said, 'Son, you don't want to be like me. Because I lost my president.'"

There was a long silence and finally Alex broke it. "I can't believe that I'm sitting here dishing out this depressing c.r.a.p. I'm not really like that."

"With the day you had I'm surprised you didn't bag tonight."

"Kate, the thought of going out with you tonight was the only only thing that got me through today." thing that got me through today."

Alex looked a little surprised at the frankness of his words and quickly looked down, studying the exterior of his remaining martini olive.

Kate reached out and touched his hand. "I'm going to further embarra.s.s you," she said, "by telling you that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

The conversation turned to more innocuous subjects, and time sped by. As they were leaving, Alex muttered an expletive under his breath.

Coming in the door were Senator and Mrs. Roger Simpson and their daughter, Jackie.

Alex tried to duck by but Jackie spotted him.

"h.e.l.lo, Alex," she said.

"Agent Simpson," Alex replied curtly.

"These are my parents."

Roger Simpson and his wife looked like twins: very tall and fair-haired. They towered over their pet.i.te, dark-haired daughter.