Holly took a gulp of her wine, too. “All right, now you know. What’s your advice?”
“Shoot him between the eyes with a large-caliber weapon,” Stone replied.
“Be serious.”
“That’s as serious as I can be with grossly insufficient information. Try again.”
“My deputy secretary stopped by the house last night and insisted that we take a walk around the block, indicating with hand motions that there might be a bug in the house. So, we took a walk.” She paused to stuff some moussaka into her mouth.
Stone waited for her to chew. “Did you check that out?”
“This morning. My living room was bugged. My people fixed it.”
“And what did your deputy impart to you while you were hiking the streets of Georgetown?”
“That he believed there to be a mole in the department.”
“On what evidence? And don’t tell me a hunch.”
“He had a briefing from somebody at the Agency whose report on the Russian situation contained a telephone intercept that employed the exact language he had used at a staff meeting at State a week or so before.”
“Who else attended the staff meeting?”
“About thirty staffers.”
“How many State Department staffers are there?”
“A little over seventy-five thousand.”
“So, you need only investigate the thirty? That’s better than seventy-five thousand. Why didn’t you immediately call the FBI?”
“Are you nuts?”
“Isn’t that what they do? Counterintelligence?”
“They would flood the department with agents, knocking over things and looking into people’s desk drawers and interrogating my staff.”
“Don’t you think they know what they’re doing?”
“I do think they know what they’re doing, but they do it noisily, and I can’t afford that kind of noise right now. It would get into the media before sunset tomorrow.”
“Ah, so this has a political edge to it.”
“Of course it has a political edge! Everything I do between now and the election next year will have a political edge, whether I like it or not!”
“I guess you’re right about that.”
“Then what am I going to do?”
“I don’t know, what are you going to do?”
“That’s what I need your advice about: What am I going to do?”
“Well, let’s start by eliminating those actions that we feel wouldn’t work.”
“Okay,” she said, “start with the FBI.”
“All right, number one. Don’t call the FBI.”
“Advice accepted. What else?”
“Well, let’s see,” he said, chewing his moussaka thoughtfully.
“Stop chewing your moussaka thoughtfully and come up with something!”
“Why don’t you call somebody at the Agency?”
“Because Lance is out of the country, and I don’t trust any of the other hierarchy there. If Hugh English got hold of this, I’d be hauled before the Senate Intelligence Committee the following day, put under oath, and made to look like a fool because there’s a mole at State and I’m not doing anything about it!” Hugh English was the crusty old deputy director for intelligence, and he bitterly hated Lance—and Holly almost as much.
“All right, number two. Don’t call anybody at the Agency.”
“Advice accepted,” she said. “What else?”
“Doesn’t State have its own intelligence operation?”
“Yes, but since I don’t know where the spy is in State, how can I trust them? He might be embedded in their ranks.”
“Number three. Don’t call in State’s intelligence people.”
“Jesus Christ. Advice accepted. Can’t you come up with something that might have a chance of working?”
“It seems to me that you need a trusted partner in this, one who knows Washington well, knows where the bodies are buried, knows where to bury any fresh ones that turn up, and is a better counterspy than you or anyone else. In short, someone who would know exactly how to proceed.”
“That sounds an awful lot like Lance Cabot,” she said.
“As it happens, I have—right here in my pocket—a special telephone that will allow you to speak to Lance in a positively secure manner.” He took out his Agency iPhone and put it on the dining table.
“I know,” she said, digging into her purse and coming up with an iPhone. “I have one just like it.” She put hers on the table.
“Then why haven’t you called him already?”
“Two reasons,” Holly said. “One, I wanted to talk to you before I made a move.”
“Which you have now done.”
“Two, I try never to make important decisions when my mind is really on sex.”
“There must be something I can do to help,” Stone said.
“Let’s skip dessert,” she replied, putting down her fork and heading toward the elevator. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder.
“Coming, coming.”
“Not yet, you aren’t, but you will be soon!”