An hour and a half later Maggie checked her cell phone to make sure it wasn’t on vibrate. It wasn’t.
Her father hadn’t called.
His new wife Stefania said he was meeting clients for dinner. On the rare occasions Maggie had gone to dinner with her father in Washington, it always at the Golden Eagle Steakhouse, the city’s premier watering hole for politicos and lobbyists and her father’s favorite restaurant to boot. As a girl, fresh from her mountain village outside Quito, she recalled sitting in a plush leather booth in the Golden Eagle, trying to eat a T-bone that would have fed a family back home.
She telephoned the restaurant and said she was Robert de la Cruz’s secretary and that one of his clients was running late and would they possibly be able to move his reservation. They said that unfortunately they would be unable to move Mr. de la Cruz’s eight o’clock reservation at such late notice. Should they cancel? She said no, promised to be there on time, thanked them, and hung up.
So her father had an eight o’clock reservation at the Golden Eagle. That gave her two hours. She took a twenty-minute nap, followed by a long hot shower. She pressed her gray pinstripe skirt suit and a white cotton blouse, donned them with black heels. After that she went down to the lobby, had a real cup of coffee that picked her right up, before time to grab a cab to the Golden Eagle.
She found a stool at the bar with a good vantage point, where she ordered a glass of Malbec from the 1,200-bottle wine selection.
At 7:50 a man came in she had not seen in years. Tall, still slender and fit-looking, he wore a dark gray suit, light gray shirt and dark blue tie, all of which complemented distinguished salt-and-pepper hair that had receded since the last time she saw him. Chiseled folds around his mouth added self-assurance. He did a double-take when he saw her sitting at the bar.
“Maggie?”
From the tone of his voice it was obvious he had received no message from his lovely wife. Maggie’s appearance was a complete surprise.
“Hi, Dad!” She added a magnificent smile.
He broke into a grin. “Are you here to see me?”
She sipped from her glass of wine. “I know you have an appointment and I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all.” He came forward, gave her a peck on the cheek. He stood back to appreciate her. “You’re more beautiful every time I see you. Which isn’t nearly enough.”
“You’re holding up pretty well yourself, old man.”
He dropped his voice. “You must be in town for an Agency meeting?”
“I was. Thought I’d check in.”
He furrowed his brow. “I heard some news about you and Paris? Is it true?”
“You always did have your ear close to the ground.”
“It’s the only way to stay alive in this town. And, whatever you may think, you’re still my daughter. I must say, I am proud of my girl. And relieved you’re safe.”
She blushed. “I hope it’s being kept discreet.”
He made a zipper over his mouth. “How did you find out where I was?”
“I called your house. I don’t have your new cell.”
“You spoke to Stefania?” He stammered, looked down at his gleaming Oxford shoes. “She didn’t call.”
Because she’s a bitch and a half, Maggie thought. “Congratulations are in order, I gather.”
He looked up, obviously sheepish over his new bride.
“Sorry to hear about Elise,” she said.
“I debated whether to tell you, Maggie. But, quite honestly, the two of you were never the best of friends. And I’ve heard so little from you over the years, I didn’t want to contact you over bad news.”
“I understand.”
“I’m just so pleased to see you. What else can you tell me?”
“Well, that op is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said quietly, setting her long-stemmed glass on the bar. “I have a favor to ask.”
His smile faded. He looked at his watch. “I’m due to meet clients in a few minutes . . .”
“I’ll make it quick. The operation is getting the ax. There’s a ticking clock. I was hoping you could call Senator Brahms. She’s driving it from the funding committee and needs a little push. I know you used to work closely with her.” She stared straight into her father’s eyes and gave him a knowing look. Screw it. He owed her.
Her father winced before he covered it up with a weak smile. “Probably shouldn’t tell me much more, Maggie. I don’t have Agency security clearance. It’s really not something I can do anyhow.”
“Maybe we can have a drink after your dinner tonight? I’m just staying at the Airport Hilton.”
Now he frowned. “It promises to be a late night, sweetie.”
She was getting the brush-off.
Hardball.
“Oh well, I should have known I need three months’ lead time.” She hopped down from the stool, straightened her skirt. “You don’t want to be late for your eight o’clock reservation.”
He squinted at her. “You knew I had an eight o’clock dinner?”
“You think I can’t find things out? Like about you and Senator Brahms?”
He flinched again.
Maggie said, “Stefania let slip that you were going to dinner with clients. I figured out the rest.”
“You were always smarter than the law allows.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m headed back to SF tomorrow. Give me a call if you can think of a way to change Brahms’s mind.”
He looked at her in a way that conveyed he was reading her disappointment. Perfect. “One moment, Maggie.” He went over to the maître d’ and had a quiet word with him, then returned while the man scurried off to a back room at the side of the main dining room.
“I’m now tied up in traffic,” he said to Maggie. “You’ve got five minutes.”
“Where are your clients?” she said. “I thought they’d be hovering around the bar about now.”
“VIP room,” he said. “Private entrance so they aren’t seen coming and going.”
“These aren’t your normal State Department types then?”
“I quit the State Department.”
That was news. “I hadn’t heard.”
“I thought you kept track of such things,” he said drily. “I’m working for BlackWeb.”
She reared back in surprise. “I thought you hated lobbyists. And everything they stood for.”
“We all conform in the end.”
“You didn’t just conform. You got on your knees. Defense lobbyists?”
“It was right after Elise passed. She had political aspirations for me and I did my best to honor them. But she’s gone. My time is running out. I need to take care of myself.”
He always did. Maggie wondered if Stefania had steered him toward the big money of Washington lobbies.
“Life is just full of surprises,” she said. “Okay, here’s my elevator pitch.”
In less than two minutes Maggie was able to bring her father up to speed.
He waved for the barman, pointing at Maggie’s glass. She shook her head no. Her father ordered a double Black Label, neat, for himself. The drink came quickly and he drank off a third. “So you want me to contact Senator Brahms and ask her to reconsider her stance on Operation Abraqa. When her reelection is on shaky ground.” Her father twisted his glass on the bar.
“Brahms will survive. The Yazidi won’t.”
Her father lifted his glass, drank off another third. “What I have to say is going to be heartily denied if it ever reaches the light of day. Claro?” Her father spoke perfect Spanish, although he ran like a deer from his Hispanic heritage.
“Claro,” she said.
“Senator Brahms’s election coffers would be empty if it weren’t for the Worthington Group.”
“The Worthington Group. Aren’t they lobbyists for the Saudis?”
“See?” he said, taking another sip. “My girl is no dummy.”
It clicked into place. “And the Saudis don’t want to promote anybody who’s going to come down hard on Islamic terrorism. Because the Saudis fund Jihad Nation. While they sell us oil.”
Her father tapped his temple. “Your mother’s beauty and my brains. What a combo.”
She shook her head. “But how can you accept that?”
“Accept what? That you’re beautiful and brilliant? I’m your father. I paid for your college. Undergrad and grad school. Even though you never bothered to thank me. Even though you won’t talk to me. Unless you want something—like you do right now.”
“I know, I know. You could have bought a fifty-foot Sea-Ray for what Stanford and Berkeley cost,” she said. “You told me—more than once. But how the hell can you accept the fact that the Saudis get away with funding terrorism and US politicians?”
“Ever since 9/11, this gar-bage has been going on.” He consulted his watch. “I really have to go now, Maggie.”
“So you’re not going to talk to Brahms?”
“How can I? I have no real sway. Not over something like this.”
Maggie shrugged. “I guess I could call her and tell her no one wants The New York Times to hear about her connections to Saudi lobbyists at election time. Worthington Group, right?”
Her father shook his head. “That would affect you very badly in the long run. People like Brahms wield incredible power and could destroy you. Don’t.”
“Then I’ll opt for Plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Going back to Paris,” Maggie said. “Even if I have to run Abraqa on my own.”
Her father’s eyes widened. “Don’t be crazy, Maggie. You’ll get yourself killed. Those people are insane.”
“I’m going to nail those bastards—pardon my French. Unlike you, I’m still at a point where I don’t mind sticking my neck out.”
Robert de la Cruz took another hit of scotch. “You’ll need an army.”
“I’ve made a few friends along the way, too, you know.” Maggie swirled her glass of wine.
He took a deep breath and dropped his voice. “Please don’t, Maggie.”
“What’s the alternative? Walk away? Like you did with Mami and me all those years ago? Left us in a one-room hut waiting for you to come back, while you skedaddled back to Elise? And your political career that never happened?”
The maître d’ approached her father and excused himself. “I’m so sorry, Mister de la Cruz . . . should we begin serving the appetizer?”
“I’ll be there in a moment, Charles, thank you.” The maître d’ floated away.
Her father downed the last of his whiskey. “This is going to cost me, Maggie,” he said, snapping the glass on the bar. “But maybe now you’ll finally realize how much I’ve been trying to make things up to you.”
A jolt of relief made her sit up straight. “You’re going to call Brahms?”
“Not promising anything but I’ll do what I can.”
Maggie climbed out of the chair, went over, gave her father a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re a prince,” she said in Spanish. “Gracias.”
“De nada, Magdalena.” He smiled. “But I know what I am. Now, I’ve got to run before I lose my job.”