Three Weeks in Washington, page 21
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
“You have good instincts, Ben. Use those instincts, set aside your emotions, and always have a contingency plan. If you do, you’ll be just fine.”
Several months later, Mitchell told me he wished he’d followed my advice. If he had, things would have turned out much differently.
Chapter 28
I picked up my wallet and some personal items from Support Services, along with the keys to my Range Rover, and pulled out of Agency headquarters around four-thirty. Since it was Sunday, the traffic on the Beltway around Washington was light, and I realized I’d probably be arriving early for my six o’clock dinner engagement.
Because I had the extra time, I thought about taking a slight detour in order to check out WK Photography, owned by Mr. Walid Khouri. At the last minute, I took note of Carlton’s warning and headed west on Interstate 66 instead.
After making a lane change about a mile down the freeway, I considered the possibility I was being followed.
What alerted me wasn’t anything specific.
The feeling was more a vague sense of unease, much like the sensation I used to get before taking the field in a losing football game.
I told myself it was nothing, just a little pre-operations paranoia.
That was understandable, because I was about to embark on a dangerous mission in a volatile country. To make matters worse, the success of the entire operation depended on a Jihadi terrorist who hated Americans. If that wasn’t enough, the primary intelligence officer, Keever Pike, who’d been assigned to lead the operation, carried around a lot of baggage. Unfortunately, he wasn’t shy about unpacking it at the most inopportune times.
As I got near Fairfax, just in case my feelings weren’t simply pre-op paranoia, I executed a few counter-surveillance tactics.
After doing so, the only vehicle that kept reappearing in my rearview mirror was an older model silver Ford Mustang. Since it had fancy chrome wheels and didn’t exactly fit the profile of a standard surveillance vehicle, I gave it low marks for viability.
After I made three right-handed turns, and the Mustang didn’t follow me, I blamed my uneasiness on mission jitters and forced myself to ignore the yellow caution lights dancing around the outer perimeter of my cerebral cortex.
* * * *
It was five-thirty when I pulled up to The Waterwheel, a restaurant overlooking an old gristmill on the outskirts of Fairfax. Since Nikki’s car wasn’t in the parking lot, I decided I’d wait for her in the Range Rover.
Also, I wanted to see if the occupant of a certain Ford Mustang had chosen to dine near the old gristmill on a summer’s eve.
Five minutes later, my iPhone rang.
“Hi, Titus, it’s Carla. I can’t believe you actually picked up.”
This wasn’t the first time my sister had expressed frustration at the difficulty of getting in touch with me.
More often than not, whenever she called my personal number, she was rerouted to the Agency’s communications hub—although she didn’t know that. From there, she heard my own voice telling her to leave a message on my voice mail. Depending on my circumstances, it might be several days before Communication Services could actually deliver the message she’d left me.
“You caught me at a good time. I’m not working tonight.”
“I should hope not. It’s Sunday evening.”
“Well, my employer can be a slave driver at times. How’s everybody there? Did Brian tell you I talked to him a few days ago?”
“We’re all fine. Kayla has a new boyfriend, so she’s on cloud nine right now, and Eddie just wrapped up a successful two-day training conference with his marketing team. Yes, Brian mentioned he’d talked to you. That’s why I’m calling. I wanted to thank you for trying to help him with his internship.”
I watched as two cars pulled into The Waterwheel parking lot. Neither one of them was a silver Mustang.
“I wish I could have gotten him the recommendation he needed.”
“I’m sure you tried your best. He didn’t think you’d be able to help him in the first place, but now that he’s been given the chance to work with Senator Mitchell, none of that matters. I can’t tell you how excited he is to be in the same office as such a great man.”
When Carla launched into a long explanation of how the Senator’s assistant had paired Brian up with another intern who was looking for a roommate, my eyes wandered over to the access road off to my left, the one leading from the highway over to the restaurant’s parking lot. What caught my attention was the line of cars waiting at the traffic light, particularly one vehicle, a silver Ford Mustang with chrome wheels.
Even though the Mustang wasn’t in the turn lane for the access road leading to The Waterwheel, its reappearance bothered me.
I made a quick decision and decided to get back on the highway and follow it.
However, as soon as I inserted my key in the ignition, I saw Nikki’s SUV pull up to the restaurant, and, at the same time, I suddenly realized Carla had asked me a question.
“Do you think we could see you then?”
“See me when?”
“When we come to D.C. to visit with Brian. Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Of course, I was.”
“It doesn’t sound that way.”
“Okay, I got a little distracted because I’m meeting Nikki Saxon for dinner, and I just saw her car pull in the parking lot here at the restaurant.”
“Now that’s exciting. Is she in town for a visit?”
Carla remained in a perpetual state of distress about my marital status, and now, having recently met Nikki at my mother’s funeral, she was certain wedding bells were in my future.
“No, she’s in the area for some training with the FBI. What were you telling me about coming to D.C.?”
“I said Eddie has some time off in July, and we thought we’d come to Washington and see Brian then. I was also thinking we could see you at the same time.”
“You’re coming to Washington?”
My mind suddenly conjured up a scene from an old Agency training video showing the effects of a chemical weapons attack. This time, though, instead of seeing the horrifying faces of a bunch of strangers, I saw my sister’s family staring back at me. Then, as I watched Nikki emerge from her Buick Enclave, I suddenly realized that scene could include her as well.
“Yes, Titus, I’m talking about coming to Washington, D.C. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to refocus. “You’ll love Washington, and if I’m in town, I’d be happy to show you the sights.”
“We’ll enjoy that. If Nikki’s still there, you could ask her to join us.”
“We’ll discuss that later. I need to go now.”
“Okay. I’ll call you back when Eddie and I have firmed up the date. Give Nikki a hug for me.”
“I promise I will.”
I had no problem keeping that promise.
* * * *
I met Nikki at the front door of The Waterwheel, and, while I was delivering the promised hug from Carla, I took one last look around the parking lot.
Nothing.
No Ford Mustang on the access road either.
Nikki said, “What a lovely setting for a restaurant.” She pointed over to a wooden building on her right. “Is that the original gristmill?”
“According to the restaurant’s website it is.”
She laughed. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”
I held the door opened for her. “No, but the other day, when I was driving out to The Meadows, I saw a billboard advertising this place as one of the area’s most romantic dining establishments. For some reason, that made me think of you.”
Nikki smiled, but before she had a chance to respond, the hostess said, “Welcome to The Waterwheel. There’s a thirty-minute wait this evening, but if you’ll give me your name, I’ll get you seated as soon as possible.”
I said, “I called ahead and made a reservation. It should be listed under the name of Douglas Carlton.”
The hostess quickly found my reservation, and a few seconds later, she led us over to a secluded table in a corner of the room.
Once we were seated, Nikki leaned across the table and whispered, “Should I call you Douglas while we’re here?”
“Only if you want to irritate me.”
She picked up her menu. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I quickly picked out an entrée, and then I gave Nikki my full attention.
She was wearing a sleeveless black and white dress with a pair of black sandals, and her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face, revealing a pair of black and silver earrings.
“Did I pass your inspection?” she asked, laying aside her menu.
“Forgive me for staring, but you are an incredibly beautiful woman.”
She looked surprised by my words—I was a little surprised by them myself.
“Thank you, Titus,” she said, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand.
I held onto her hand until the waitress came to take our orders. Once she’d left, Nikki asked, “Okay, seriously. Who’s Douglas Carlton?”
“You asked me earlier about the owner of The Meadows. That would be Douglas. He’s more or less an absentee owner.”
“Does he know you’re boarding your dog at his house and impersonating him around town?”
“Douglas doesn’t know about Stormy yet, but I suspect he’s aware I sometimes use his name when making a reservation. He’s never appreciated his name being bandied about, and that’s the reason I do it.”
She nodded, and I could tell by the look on her face she was trying to work through my scant details about Carlton to reach some kind of conclusion about him.
I said, “Look, Detective, don’t tax that pretty brain of yours tonight. Save that for your classes at Quantico tomorrow.”
She sighed and sat back in her chair. “If those classes turn out to be anything like the instruction manuals they gave us at orientation yesterday, I’ll need every bit of this gray matter just to pass this course.”
“You’ll do fine. You were probably a straight A student in college.”
“Hardly.”
For a brief moment, I thought about telling her my future at the Agency might depend on her passing the Quantico training, but then I quickly reconsidered.
When our entrées arrived, she started quizzing me about Arkady Orlov and his relationship to the owner of The Meadows, so I told her how the Russian weightlifter had fallen in love with Millie Durkin, the embassy employee in Seoul, South Korea. I also mentioned that Millie had been friends with Carlton’s wife, Gladys.
The way in which Arkady and Millie had become Carlton’s housekeepers appeared to intrigue her, even though I had to give her a sanitized version of the truth and refused to answer her questions about Carlton. What seemed to fascinate her more than anything else was my description of Millie.
Whether this was a woman thing or not, I couldn’t tell.
As we were finishing up our meal, I started racking my brain for some way I could spend a few more hours with her, preferably alone.
An easy solution presented itself.
“What would you think about leaving your car here at the restaurant and driving out to The Meadows with me?”
“That’s very tempting.”.
“I’m sure Stormy would love to see you.”
“Could I also have a tour of the house?”
“I’ll show you every nook and cranny of the place myself.”
“And what would Mr. Douglas Carlton think if he knew you were playing the tour guide at his house?”
“I’m sure he’d suggest I show you around the gardens as well.”
“This Carlton guy sounds like an interesting character.”
“That all depends on how you define interesting.”
* * * *
For some reason, the drive out to The Meadows took on a whole new dimension with Nikki in the seat beside me.
First, she pointed out a faded barn with an old mural painted on the side of it, and I had to admit I’d never noticed it before. And then, strangely enough, she was able to name the architectural style of the country church a few miles from the turnoff to Carlton’s house.
“You’ve never lived anywhere but Oklahoma. How do you know about country churches in Virginia?”
She sounded amused at my question. “There’s this wonderful invention called a book. It can take you anywhere you want to go; it can teach you anything you want to know; and it’s guaranteed to transform the most ignorant soul into the most annoying expert.”
“Isn’t that what the internet is for?”
“Without books, there wouldn’t be an internet in the first place.”
I nodded. “I suppose you’re right, Detective, but I have to say I’m surprised at your choice of reading materials. Architectural styles of Virginia sounds like pretty heavy reading to me.”
She laughed. “The truth is, I read a lot of historical fiction, and gothic buttresses and gabled roofs show up in almost every one of them.”
I suddenly realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read a fiction book, and I knew I’d never read a historical novel before.
If my cover story required me to grab a paperback book off the rack in an airport gift shop, I always picked up a spy novel, if only for the sheer irony of it.
* * * *
I parked my Range Rover in the circle drive of Gladys’ magnificent house, and seconds after closing my car door, an enthusiastic yellow lab ran out from behind the garage and pounced on me.
“Stormy, how’s it going, boy?”
He answered with a couple of short barks and then dashed over to see Nikki. After she’d scratched his ears sufficiently, he raced around to see me again, putting his paws on my chest and licking my face.
“I’d say he was happy to see you.”
“My boss treats me the same way every time I get back in town.”
A few minutes later, Frisco appeared in the driveway, and following close behind him was Arkady, whose excitement at seeing me again was muted in comparison to the delight he expressed at seeing Nikki.
Arkady immediately assured her that Stormy and Frisco had already become good friends, and then, in an obvious attempt to impress the lady with his dog training expertise, the Russian began demonstrating how Stormy had learned to obey some simple commands. For some reason, he used his native Russian tongue when telling Stormy to sit, come, and stay.
I decided not to mention I’d taught Stormy these same commands—albeit in English—when I’d first adopted him.
Despite Arkady’s training, when a squirrel suddenly ran across the driveway, both dogs abandoned their stance and took off after it. A disheartened Arkady threw his hands up in the air and began yelling Russian curses at them.
When it became apparent the dogs were more interested in pursuing the squirrel than in obeying Russian commands, Arkady looked over at Nikki and shrugged. I could tell she was having a hard time not laughing at him, so I tried diverting his attention by telling him I was here to give Nikki a tour of the house and introduce her to Millie.
He grinned. “Yes, yes. Of course, you must do this. She should meet my Millie.”
As soon as Arkady ushered us in the front door, he went in search of Millie, and, immediately afterward, I took Nikki’s hand and led her across the foyer and into Gladys’ great room.
I stopped in the middle of the room and put my arms around her. “I’ve been wanting to do this all evening.”
I leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.
She smiled up at me. “What happened to the tour you promised me?”
I kissed her again. “Do you think the tour could wait?”
“Hmmm,” she said, as I caressed her neck. “Maybe so.”
When I cradled her face in my hand and gave her a long, lingering kiss, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me even closer. My pulse quickened and I suddenly found myself lost in the smell of her skin and the tantalizing sweetness of her mouth.
“Oh, sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt,” Millie said, breaking through my passionate reverie.
I pulled away from Nikki like a teenager caught on the front porch by a worried dad.
I heard Arkady snickering.
Nikki, however, didn’t seem fazed by the couple’s sudden appearance and immediately stepped forward and introduced herself to Millie.
“Hi, I’m Nikki Saxon. You must be Millie.”
Millie shook Nikki’s hand, and then pointed her finger at me. “I’ve never seen this guy speechless before.”
“I was giving Nikki a tour of the house,” I said, although the minute it came out of my mouth, I knew how incredibly ridiculous it sounded.
Millie laughed. “Oh, anyone could see that.”
She took Arkady’s arm. “We’ll let the two of you get on with the ... tour. Stop by the kitchen when you’re finished ... touring.”
As they left the room, Millie looked up at Arkady and shook her head.
Chapter 29
At the end of the house tour, Nikki and I ended up in the kitchen, where we found Millie preparing a pot of coffee. After placing the carafe back on the warmer, she gestured out the window and informed us we were having dessert out by the pool.
When I started to protest, Nikki spoke up and said we’d love to have dessert, but only if Millie and Arkady would join us. Millie agreed, and then she immediately shooed me out the kitchen door and told me to go find Arkady.
I decided it might be best to follow her instructions and left the room.
I found Arkady down by the pool giving the dogs a lecture. Even though I couldn’t fully understand his Russian, I figured his scolding had something to do with both dogs getting water all over him every time they shook themselves dry.
Apparently, they’d just taken a forbidden dip in Carlton’s pool.
“Sorry, Arkady, I guess I should have told you Stormy loves the water.”
