Maggie and Rothmann met in the lobby of the Crown Plaza that evening. She wore a new, light summer dress with matching high-heeled shoes. Her graying, auburn hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her signature granny glasses were nowhere to be seen. She even wore make-up for the occasion.
Rothmann greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then pushed her back, holding her shoulders with both hands. “My, my, Maggie. You look great.”
She blushed. “I thought you liked the disheveled look.”
“I do, I do, but . . . well, I like this look as well.”
She tucked her arm in his and asked, “Where are you taking me, big guy?”
“It’s only a block away. We’re going to walk. It’s called Da Domenico—my favorite restaurant in northern Virginia.”
“It’s mine too! I love their double-cut veal chops.”
“Me too. And if we’re lucky, one of the brothers will serenade us with a little opera.”
She laughed. “Aren’t they great? They’ve owned the place for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been going there for more than twenty years.”
“I guess everyone in the Agency knows Da Domenico and the opera-singing owners.”
She changed the subject. “How’s the leg coming along? You seem to be limping worse than ever.”
“I don’t know. It’s certainly not getting any better. I’ve already had one knee replaced and now it’s time for the other. Too much football, too many parachute jumps, and the shrapnel doesn’t help much either.”
“You’re an old warhorse, Ed. When are you going to take the plunge and retire like me?”
“Soon, very soon. The Agency has changed a lot since 9/11 and not necessarily for the better. It’s becoming just another bloated bureaucracy run by timid politicians and lawyers. That’s why I need people like Mac and Santos, people who understand the business and who can get things done the old-fashioned way.”
He changed the subject. “By the way, how is business these days at GSR?”
“Excellent, we’re actually making money. Our CounterThreat publication is our bread and butter and we’re keeping busy doing deep background and due diligence investigations. All in all, our cover is holding up well. We’re turning a small profit in the black. That said, we’ve recently run into some difficulties with a couple of child recovery operations.”
Rothmann frowned. “How so?”
“Well, recently Santos got arrested in Belize and Mac had to go down there to bail him out and smuggle him out of the country. In another case, the whole team, including two pilots, got arrested in Roatán. They spent a few days in the slammer before we were able to straighten things out with the authorities.”
“That’s not good. Maybe you guys should consider sticking to more mundane operations like research and investigation and get out of the risky child recovery business.”
“We’ve learned our lesson. We’re going to be much more careful in the future.”
“Yes, please do. I don’t want anything happening to my secret weapon. Just keep the cover working. We have more important things to worry about, and you certainly don’t need the money. You’ve got all you need and more in that bank in Switzerland.”
They reached the restaurant and were ushered to one of the rear, circular booths by one of the brothers. He promised a short serenade later in the evening. They continued their conversation.
“Well, the boys really came through for you this time,” said Maggie.
“They sure did. Now the problem is how to protect them. The recruitment of Pouri Hoseini is a huge deal. We can classify the hell out of it, put it in restricted handling channels and all that. But too many people will still be asking questions about how we obtained the source, not to mention how we rescued Yasmin from Hezbollah. I can only deflect and obfuscate so much. If the director finds out that I’m using outsiders for these kinds of jobs, especially MacMurphy and Santos, shit will definitely hit the fan.”
The waiter came and began reciting a list of daily specials, but Rothmann cut him off mid-sentence and ordered a bottle of Chateau Talbot Bordeaux and medium-rare veal chops for their dinners.
Maggie asked, “How did you handle the fallout from the boys’ activities in the Golden Triangle? As I recall, there were dead bodies strewn everywhere by the time they finished.”
Rothmann laughed. “There certainly were. Mac and Santos forged a wide path through drug land on that gig. Khun Ut is still doing hard time in Bang Kwang prison in Bangkok.”
“Well, how did you handle it?”
“Easy, we made it look like rival factions went after Khun Ut. He was the main man up there at the time, so it made sense. Having Charly Blackburn around to corroborate our story made it easier.”
“Then why not do the same thing in this case? Make it look like Iran tried to get its hostage back from Hezbollah, but she managed to escape in the process and called me to help get her out of there.”
“That could work. After all, we don’t have to convince a lot of people. Yes, that’s a good cover story. You could have known Yasmin from a while back, perhaps from down on The Farm when she was going through training. When she escaped, she could have immediately called you and you ran to her rescue and spirited her out of the country and back here. That’ll work.”
“Okay, I’ll go over the story with her tonight so she’ll be prepared when she arrives in the morning.”
He raised his glass and they toasted to their success.
“Damn, this wine is really good,” she said.
“Only the best for one of my secret weapons,” he replied.