Sunday was cool, so I put on a sweater and a bomber jacket.
“There really is no justice, y’know?” I said as I looked him over. I unlocked the front door and followed him out.
“Oh?”
“No one would ever guess you were smashed last night.”
“Excellent genes.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll drive.”
“Works for me.”
We walked briskly to where he’d parked his car.
I was going riding with Quinn and his mother. I was getting pretty good at it. At least I didn’t wind up as sore as I had the first time I’d gotten up on a horse.
And Portia’s smile was proud.
Afterward, as the horses were being stabled, Portia said, “You’ll have brunch with us, won’t you?”
Novotny was standing at her shoulder, and why didn’t her suggestion make him more unhappy?
“Please, Mark?” Quinn looked hopeful. How could I say no to him?
“Sure, babe. Thanks,” I said to Portia, and I resigned myself to hearing Novotny snark at me the entire time.
Quinn parked at the curb, and I followed him up the walk to the front steps, keeping an eye on the neighborhood because that was the way I was.
He opened the door, then stood aside so I could enter first. I’d no sooner gotten three feet into the foyer when everyone chorused, “Happy birthday!”
“We were sorry to miss it, Mark.” Portia kissed my cheek.
Turned out that was why Quinn had wanted to have brunch in Great Falls. They had a cake for my birthday. Portia gave me a set of Mikasa dinnerware, and Novotny… he laughed his Czech ass off while I unwrapped his present, a golf towel with my name embroidered on it in hot pink letters.
Ha fucking ha.
Still, it was a nice birthday party, and afterward, Quinn drove me home, staying long enough to get out of his riding clothes and into my bed for a little afternoon delight.
***
Monday didn’t turn out as piss-poor as I’d expected, although I was irritated to find my department looking like the city morgue. Matheson, my senior special agent, was away on assignment—I assumed The Boss had sent him on it—and Ms. Parker was taking some sick time. That had me concerned because she was never sick.
Human Resources provided a temp to replace her. He made a decent cup of coffee, brought me a sandwich from the cafeteria, and stayed out of Ms. Parker’s file cabinet. I had him call Carnations and Roses and Orchids, Oh My and order a spring arrangement to be delivered to her apartment.
He worked on Matheson’s files, I worked on my own, and the day moved along smoothly.
Tuesday, though, made up for it in spades.
Things started off quietly, with the regular Tuesday morning meetings and the paperwork they required, but then just before noon, it hit the fan. That was when I found out Matheson had been sent to California for almost a month, for no good reason. He’d sat out there pretty much cooling his heels, given instructions by that idiot Gershom, the Director of Security, not to contact anyone. Since I hadn’t been there to countermand that order, he’d had no choice but to obey.
Where was I that this could happen? I’d been out of the WBIS for a month, first taking care of Wexler, and then on the job in Phoenix. Someone had taken advantage of my time away.
And how did I find out about this? Theo Bascopolis, who was involved with Matheson, had managed to reach me to ask about his whereabouts. My one-time landlord had been desperate to know what had happened to his lover.
I wanted to know myself, and when I discovered what had gone down…. Well, I wasn’t a happy camper, and that was putting it mildly. After I contacted Matheson and told him to get his ass back to DC, I went down to the first floor to tear Gershom a new one.
Everyone in the WBIS who crossed my path either decided there was someplace else they needed to be or ducked into the nearest office, hoping I didn’t see them. Of course I saw them, but they weren’t the reason for my aggravation, so I wasn’t about to take it out on them.
Gershom’s secretary stared wide-eyed as I stalked through her office and into his without bothering to knock.
“What the—Vincent, what are you doing here? You could at least have the courtesy to knock!”
“Hold your breath. And I’ll tell you what I’m fucking doing here! You’re screwing with my agent.”
He bared his teeth at me. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Screwing him? He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?”
I reached over the desk and closed the fingers of one hand in the front of his shirt, while twisting his collar with the other, and I jerked him to his feet and across toward me.
“Why?” I demanded, shaking him.
He couldn’t get a word past lips that would start turning blue in a minute or so, clashing with the red in his face. His eyes began to bug out, and he scrabbled at my hand, trying to get me to release him.
I gave him a final shake and then tossed him back into his chair.
“Start talking.”
He coughed, slid a finger into his collar, and tugged on it. “Corcoran needed—”
“Bullshit. Corcoran had no idea why Matheson was there and he only kept him out there as a favor to you.”
“That’s not true….” Gershom’s voice was raspy. His color was slowly returning to normal, but there was a mulish twist to his mouth, and I could see he wasn’t going to admit to anything.
“Isn’t it?” Okay, not a problem. I might not get along with most of the senior directors, but the support staff would be more than happy to help me out. I’d talk to his secretary later. But now it was time to lay the cards on the table. “I’m going to tell you this once, Gershom—leave Matheson, leave all my people the fuck alone. If I have to tell you again, you’re not going to like the results.”
“You can’t touch me!”
“No?” I let the corner of my mouth twist in a grin, and he turned pale. I knew my grin hadn’t reached my eyes. “Sperling thought the same thing.” For almost a year everyone had believed I’d killed the former Director of Interior Affairs. I hadn’t been there when he caused the door to explode in his face, but I wasn’t above using it to throw a little fear of God into this asshole. “Don’t fucking cross me.”
He shrank back in his chair and swallowed audibly.
I turned on my heel and walked out of his office. Now we’d just see how this played out. Would he go crying to The Boss? Or would he try to handle it on his own?
He didn’t waste any time in running to Mr. Wallace. By the time I got to seven, there was a message The Boss wanted to see me.
The temp looked pale. He murmured, “Good luck, sir.”
I went up to ten and stalked down the corridor to The Boss’s office. Ms. DiBlasi glanced at me and shook her head. “You do stir things up, don’t you?”
Hey, it wasn’t my fault. If people fucked with my department, they’d have to expect there would be consequences.
I opened the door and went in. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes. Would you care for a cup of coffee, Mark?”
“Uh… thank you.” I went to the urn and poured myself a cup. “Can I get one for you?”
“Please.” The Boss took it the same way I did: black, no milk, no sugar.
I brought it to him and waited to hear what he had to say.
“Have a seat.” He took a sip, watching me over the rim of his cup. Finally he put it down. “How’s your golf game coming along?”
This was the last thing I’d expected him to bring up. “Okay.” I shrugged. “I’m still at par.”
“It took me a while to shoot under par. But I imagine soon you’ll be doing better. Your golf pro seems to think so, at any rate. I’m pleased, Mark. I understand your condominium complex offers a nine hole golf course.”
“Yes.” I wasn’t surprised he knew, but I was surprised he mentioned it. “As a matter of fact, my living room looks out on the water hazard.”
“Interesting. I’d like to play it with you once the weather warms up.”
“Of course, sir.” Like I would tell him no?
“Now tell me, how do you think Matheson is coming along?”
“I’ve got no complaints. He’s competent and does the job well. Even when he’s had to kill.”
“I know what you’re talking about. I’ve questioned Adams about it.”
“How did he explain it?” James “Bond” Adams was the man who’d trained Matheson. He’d chosen him to be a wet boy, something I could never figure out.
“He honestly didn’t think Matheson would stick with it. He was aware of Matheson’s background, but he failed to take it into account. Matheson’s uncle is a retired Marine who taught him to use his hands in self-defense, as well as a knife. Sloppy work on Adams’s part, and you didn’t hear me say that.”
“No, sir.”
“I regret to say this, but Adams is growing old.”
I swallowed a cough. Adams was a couple of years younger than The Boss.
“I’m afraid he also overlooked the fact men from Matheson’s family have been in every major conflict—and some not so major—going back to before the Civil War. In addition, another uncle, the one who’s teaching at Caltech, wasn’t the first Matheson to head west. One carried the mail for the Pony Express, another was an Indian Scout, and still another rode the Chisholm Trail. All men who didn’t sit home and let life pass them by.”
“You know a good deal about my agent, sir.”
“That’s why I wanted him to be your agent. Keep me posted about him.” He finished his coffee and rose. “Well, thank you for coming to see me, Mark.” He could see I was at a loss. I’d expected him to tear into me for not only challenging a senior director but manhandling him as well. Instead we’d just had coffee and chitchatted for twenty minutes. He chuckled. “Yes, Gershom is unhappy with you. He demanded I speak to you. We’ve spoken, and I believe that concludes our business.”
“Yes, sir.” I stood and put my cup on the tray near the urn. “Just one last thing. This is the second time my senior special agent has been interfered with. If there’s a third time….” I let the threat hang.
“Really, Mark?”
“Mr. Wallace, you made me director of my department. I take care of my people.”
“Yes, you do. Do whatever you have to. I’ll back you up.” He offered me his hand.
“Thank you, sir.”I took his hand and shook it before turning and walking out.
Gershom was standing by the elevator, a satisfied smirk on his face. I stared at him until he began fidgeting, jabbing the call button for the elevator. It finally arrived and he bolted into it.
For a moment I was tempted to get in after him, but I could smell the flop sweat on him. That elevator would need to be fumigated once he got out.
I opened the door to the stairwell and trotted down to seven, putting him out of my mind.
***
Wednesday was a quiet day. Matheson was back, a bit gimpy and with a love bite on his throat that looked like Dracula had chowed down on him, but he was whistling.
And the next day, my secretary would be back. Not that the temp hadn’t been decent. He did his work and stayed out of my way.
Just before I left for the day, The Boss sent me an e-mail. I had to take a 9:00 a.m. meeting at the OIG with General Kirkpatrick.
Well, wasn’t that special.
I left a note on my secretary’s desk and went home.