TWENTY-EIGHT
RAYFORD HAD NEVER been called on the carpet per se, so he was pretty sure this summons to Earl Halliday’s office was something other than that. And when he saw Earl’s smile, he was relieved.
“I don’t know if it was all the coverage you got for that safe landing in L.A. or your background in ROTC,” Earl said, “but the brass at the CIA and the Defense Department want to talk with you.”
“Think it has anything to do with my being on the reserve list for Air Force One and Two?”
“No idea, but you can bet they know about that. They probably have a record of every traffic ticket you ever got too, and if you got caught chewing gum in school.”
“Kids still get in trouble for that, Earl?”
“How would I know? Showing my age. Anyway, I’m changing your next assignment so you’ll fly into Reagan, and you’ll have plenty of time to meet with those boys. They made it clear it would be super classified, confidential, and all that, but you gotta promise me, Ray. Promise you’ll remember every word.”
“Yeah, I forgot. You love all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“Don’t you?”
“Sure. But who knows what this is about?”
“Not me,” Earl said.
“Let me see the crew list for the original pattern.”
Earl produced it from his computer, and Rayford scanned it. He would have to call Hattie and tell her she’d need another way home.
Nicolae’s morning speech was scheduled for a One World rally at the University of Romania at Bucharest. For some reason the students there, particularly those belonging to liberal cause clubs, had turned on their old favorite, Emil Tismaneanu, and decided he was now too establishment. They had to be aware that Nicolae Carpathia was every bit as much a materialist and capitalist as Tismaneanu, but he was also young—not much older than they—and had charm and energy unmatched by other politicos in their memory.
Besides, Carpathia rarely spoke of business and commerce. He spoke of the poor, the oppressed, the disenfranchised. He spoke of opening Romania to the rest of the world—a message that would go down easily at a rally for globalism.
Nicolae mounted the podium to enthusiastic applause and assumed the students and faculty had seen the latest polls that showed him ahead by nearly ten points. He suspected their motives. Had he been trailing by that much, would that many have shown up, and would they be so enthusiastic if they thought they had thrown in with a loser?
Nicolae felt upbeat and stayed on point. He said what the education crowd wanted to hear, then waxed eloquent on globalism and the need to de-emphasize national borders. He was interrupted time and again by cheering and applause.
“This is where my opponent and I disagree,” he said. “Do I esteem my opponent? No, I do not.”
Wild applause.
“But I will say that Emil Tismaneanu happens to be a close personal friend and, I hope, long will be, even after I defeat him. And I will beat him with your help! Does it come as a surprise to you that he and I are friends? Would it shock you to know I recently hosted a dinner party in his honor? I wonder if the favor will be reciprocated when I am looking for a place to celebrate victory.
“But I tease my friend because we disagree on fundamentals. A sincere man? Yes, he is. One who loves his country? Certainly. But therein lies the rub. He would enclose us, strengthen our borders, keep us from being cosmopolitan. There is a reason Emil Tismaneanu is a successful businessman. He does not like to share the wealth.”
And so there it was. Nicolae had not only not used the code language prescribed in the threat, but he had also used the opposite. And he had broken his promise to not use the surprise party for political gain. But there was more. Nicolae had sunk in the knife. It was time to twist it.
“I shall leave to my other-than-esteemed opponent the explanation of why his campaign is flagging and why it would not surprise me in the least if he opted out of the race, even at this late date. He actually broached that subject with me recently, and one of his representatives discussed his dropping out with one of my staff members only yesterday. I do not know about you, but I would prefer a man in the Parliament committed to a long-term future, a man who knows his own mind, a man other than wishy-washy about his own future. But that is just me. I am not the one looking at poll figures showing an all-but-hopeless cause.”
Nicolae left the platform to cheering and a standing ovation, having left the ball squarely in Emil Tismaneanu’s court.
“Class elections this time of the year?” Irene said.
Chloe nodded, smiling through her complex braces. “It’s for next school year, but they’re doing it now. I’m running for president of the seventh-grade class.”
“Really? And what do you feel are your chances?”
Chloe looked suddenly crestfallen. “You don’t think I can win.”
“I didn’t say that. Of course you can win. I just wonder how confident you are.”
“Totally, Mom. In fact, the only other person I know for sure is running is a football player. He’s like the male version of the dumb blonde.”
“Careful. You’re blonde too.”
“I don’t mean literally, Mom. His hair is brown. But he’s a jock, beginning and end.”
“Is he popular?”
“’Course. But this isn’t a popularity contest. This is about issues.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Every election is a popularity contest.”
“Mom! Why do you have to throw a wet blanket on everything?”
“Oh no, I’m not. I just want you to be pragmatic, practical.”
“You don’t think I’m popular.”
“I know you must be.”
“Then why would you say that? You don’t know anything about me!”
Nicolae settled into the expansive backseat of Leon Fortunato’s monstrous black SUV. As his driver pulled into traffic, Leon smiled.
“You like that speech, Leon?” Carpathia said.
“Loved it. There’s Tismaneanu’s answer to his strong-arm tactics. If he had any doubt or question, he doesn’t now.”
Nicolae laid his head back. “I just hope I gave him a reason to do something that will give me a reason to respond.”
“I have little doubt,” Leon said.
__
After a day filled with appearances, press conferences, and meetings, they were finally headed home when Leon took a call. “Slow down, Viv. What do we know for sure?”
“Give me that phone, Leon,” Nicolae said, pulling it from Fortunato’s fingers. “What is the problem, Viv?”
“You wanted Reiche to lie low, and after what I heard on the news this morning, that was wise counsel.”
“And so?”
“He refused my offer of a drink here. He’s on his way out.”
“Surely not to The Longshoreman.”
“No. He said something about the Biserică Strană.”
“The Church Pew! Does he not know where that is?”
“Where is it?”
“In Tismaneanu’s neighborhood. Reiche must be suicidal. Call him and tell him to get back to the compound immediately. I need to see him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Captain,” Hattie said. “I was going to thank you for your kindnesses lately by offering you a late dinner at my place.”
Rayford hesitated. Since it wasn’t going to happen anyway, he could say what he wanted without fear of repercussion. “Oh! My loss. Well, maybe another time, but of course dinner is totally unnecessary.”
“I know.”
“It’s my pleasure to run you home,” Rayford said.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
Leon’s driver was pulling into the Carpathia estate by the time Nicolae took another call from Viv.
“I’m getting no answer at Reiche’s number,” she said. “Nicolae, I’m scared.”
“Best not to worry about things over which we have no control. I believe you taught me that, Aunt Viv.”
“Why does Reiche have to go out every day? Why can’t he just enjoy something from your liquor cabinet?”
“Precisely. He happens to be a bright man, a spiritual man, without a lick of common sense.”
“Someone’s pulling in right now.”
“It is us, Viv.”
“I so wish he would pull in right behind you. He will be back soon, won’t he?”
“We can hope,” Nicolae said. But privately he wished for the worst. He was dead serious in his desire to have a reason to retaliate. And if he had to pick one dispensable member of his inner circle, it was Reiche. Fortunato was irreplaceable. Viv was weak but genuinely cared for him. Reiche had always been a sycophant and always would be.
“Keep trying his phone, Viv,” Nicolae said once they were inside and he saw how distraught she was. It would give her something to do.
But with each failed attempt to reach him, she became more and more distressed. “I’m going to call the bar itself,” she said.
“Put it on speaker,” Leon said. “We may have to go down there.”
The number rang. Then, “Hello. We’re closed.”
“Closed? But . . .”
“We’ve had an incident here. This is a crime scene.”
“What happened? Who was—?”
Click.