Tom had agreed to meet Lester at an all-day eatery just off Cambridge Street. A modern redbrick building called The Lincoln, set back from the sidewalk at the far end of a sprawling parking lot.
He parked the rental car on the opposite side of the road thirty metres down, deciding to leave it there just in case Mahmood had spotted him driving off in it and had called the cops, although he figured Hasni would’ve ordered him not to. But he couldn’t be sure.
As he walked back up the road he noticed dappled sunlight reflecting off the puddles on the gravel lot, and heard small birds chirping from the sweetspire bushes that formed a natural border with the crowded McDonald’s next door. The weather seemed to change with the same regularity as his mood of late. Striding out, he wondered whom Lester had been able to sign up.
The interior of the place had dim lighting and a patterned carpet that had seen better days. Soft background music was playing. The smattering of people seated at the dark wooden tables looked more like professor-types than students. He saw a woman sitting next to Lester at a window booth, both cradling cups of coffee. She looked healthy. Her hair was short and black, cut unevenly but stylish. More like a fashion model’s than a punk’s. He figured she was maybe in her late thirties. She wore faded jeans and red sneakers. There was a passing remembrance to the secretary, too, roughly the same height and weight, and he wondered what kind of state she was in right now, telling himself that she had to be alive.
They both rose as he walked over.
“Karen Booker, Tom Dupree,” Lester said.
She smiled and shook Tom’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Tom.”
“Likewise,” Tom said.
He noticed her eyes, the colour of liquid honey. She and Lester resumed their positions on the padded bench and Tom sat opposite them.
“Karen’s ex-Army. Been a freelance communications expert for the last eight years. Worked for Blackwater for a time in Iraq. Speaks fluent Spanish,” Lester said. He gestured to Tom. “Tom here speaks French. A few other languages, too. Despite the way he looks, he’s smart.”
Tom nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”
She smiled.
“Karen’s willing to help out,” Lester said.
“I’m a trained medic, too,” she said, patting a backpack by her side.
“That’s good,” Tom said.
She said she was very serious about her work, and Tom detected a faint lisp in her otherwise perfect diction.
“Ex-Army, huh?”
“Yes. The Signal Corps. Spent my first years at Fort Gordon, Georgia. Don’t ask me how I got into it. I wanted to be a doctor, but my grades weren’t up to it. But I’m glad I didn’t. Watchful for the Country, the Corps motto. It still means a lot to me.”
“Well said,” Lester commented, nodding appreciatively.
She smiled again, and Tom saw that her slightly hard features softened into a pleasing face.
“Lester, can I have a quick word?”
“Sure.”
“Would you excuse us for a minute, Karen?”
“Of course, Tom,” she said, nodding.
Both men stood up and Tom walked Lester out of Karen’s earshot over to an imitation-marble counter where the bored-looking wait staff were resting their elbows.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“Hey, you ain’t sexist, are ya?” Lester asked, glancing back at Karen.
“No, of course not. I mean, just the one.”
“My people are freelance, as I said. And in the timeframe, I’d say I got us a good one.”
“What’s she doing up here?”
Lester frowned and his head jolted back a few centimetres. “Her brother is a lab tech at Harvard. She was visiting.”
“She Mexican?”
“She’s from Connecticut.”
“Her roots?”
Lester’s face showed his displeasure again. “Mine are from somewhere in Africa, but that was like two hundred years ago. How far do ya wanna go back?”
Tom leaned in a little closer. “You know what I mean, Lester.”
“Not sure I do at that.”
“I’m just trying to get some background info here.”
Lester shrugged. “You wanna ask her if she prefers nachos to burgers, go right ahead.”
“Okay, buddy, let’s forget about it,” Tom said, tapping the fingers of his right hand lightly on Lester’s protruding bicep.
“No problem,” Lester said.
They walked back to the booth and sat down.
“I have to level with you, Karen. This could be hairy,” Tom said, his head nodding slightly.
“Just what’s this all about?” she asked, her face taking on a concerned expression.
Tom thought if she was going to risk her life, she had the right to know. “The Secretary of State.”
“Wow.”
“I’m the head of her protective detail. I think with a lot of luck, I might be able to find her. But I’ll be honest, if you get involved, you might not make it.”
“I thought I might not make it a few times back in Iraq. A few other times, too.”
“It’s my duty and Lester and me go way back. Why are you willing to take such a risk?” Tom asked, his tone a little more inquisitorial than he’d intended.
“Well,” she said, turning her palms face up, “some girls like Friday nights out and chocolate. Me, I like danger and intellectual challenges.”
She smiled again. That smile could melt a block of ice, Tom thought. He sighed.
“Listen, if you don’t want me on board, I can live with that. But the way I see it, the secretary has been kidnapped by men I’ve been fighting in one way or another for most of my adult life. I’d say it’s up to me whether or not I do my patriotic duty here. Besides, I haven’t got anything else to do right now. And I’ve got a 32 gigabyte laptop and some other equipment in my pack that might just come in useful.”
“What about your brother?” Tom asked.
She shot a glance at Lester. “He’s busy. He’s always busy. He only agrees to see me so our mom won’t call and shout him out.”
Lester looked at Tom and grinned.
“Okay, then. But if this all goes to rat shit, I take the rap for y’all,” Tom said, his voice serious and uncompromising.
She nodded.
“I’ll pay you twice your daily rate. A bonus if we pull it off.”
“I’ll gotta hand it to ya, Tom, you’re one helluva negotiator,” Lester said.
Tom couldn’t stop himself from snickering.
“See. I told you he was one of the nice guys,” Lester said. “What now?”
“Arlington County,” Tom said.
“Shit. I just came all the way from New York. Jesus, Tom, you’re a real pain in the ass.”