Manstein was wearing an elegant off-white suit: Italian silk, Jake guessed. His precisely knotted tie was royal blue. He smiled handsomely as he followed Paulie to their table at the rear of the restaurant.
Jake and Lovett got to their feet as Manstein approached, looking perfectly relaxed. Jake was wound tight, and a glance at Lovett’s face showed he was in dead-serious mode.
“Mr. Manstein,” Jake said, “this is Patrick Lovett, Senator Tomlinson’s campaign director.”
Manstein extended his hand. “Delighted,” he murmured.
Lovett said nothing.
As they sat down, a waiter came to the table and poured a glass of wine for Manstein.
He sipped at it, then nodded. “An Italian wine. Valpolicella, I believe.”
Jake looked at the bottle’s label. “Right.”
“A decent wine,” Manstein allowed.
Opening the menu before him, Jake asked, “What brings you to New York?”
“I am here to extend an invitation to you—or, rather, to Senator Tomlinson.”
“An invitation?” Lovett asked.
“Yes. But perhaps we should order our food first.”
He’s enjoying this, Jake thought. Keeping us dangling. He’s having fun.
Paulie himself came to the table, made a few suggestions, and took their orders: veal piccata for Lovett, a green salad for Manstein, and an antipasto plate for Jake.
As Paulie left, Lovett asked, “What about this invitation?”
Manstein leaned forward slightly and replied in a low voice, “Senator Sebastian would like to meet with your Senator Tomlinson. Privately, away from the news media and all that.”
“He can do that in Washington, just about any day of the week,” Lovett said.
“Oh come now, sir,” Manstein replied. “They are two very busy and popular men. More than half the time they are out of Washington, campaigning. And when they are in the capital they are surrounded with news reporters and others.”
Lovett nodded. “True enough. Still—”
“Still,” Manstein interrupted, “Senator Sebastian feels it would be advantageous to have a quiet, face-to-face meeting. Without news reporters and cameramen, without hordes of underlings hovering around.”
“He wants to talk to our man with no one listening in,” Lovett said.
“Precisely. Oh, I suppose he could be accompanied by one or two of his staff. But no more. The meeting should be quiet, unnoticed—”
“Secret,” Jake said.
Manstein almost smiled. “A rather melodramatic way of putting it. Let us say, private, confidential.”
Secret, Jake repeated to himself. He glanced at Lovett, whose facial expression was halfway between intrigued and dubious.
“And what would be the subject of this quiet little meeting?” Lovett asked.
With a shrug, Manstein answered, “What else? The campaign. The race for the party’s nomination. Perhaps even the campaign afterward, for the presidency.”
Jake asked, “Will you be at this meeting?”
“I presume so.”
Lovett started to ask another question, but a waiter came up to the table, pushing a cart that held their lunches.
Once the dishes were served and the waiter wheeled the cart away, Lovett said, “I’ll have to speak to the senator about this, find out what he wants to do.”
Manstein speared a lettuce leaf with a fork, then looked up. “I would advise you to have him make up his mind as quickly as he can. Senator Sebastian is a very busy man.”
“He’s not the only one,” Jake snapped.
Manstein smiled. Like a snake.