Blood Trust - Eric van Lustbader [11]
“No,” Alli said. “No, I haven’t.”
“Interesting.” Willowicz held out his hand and O’Banion placed something in it.
When Alli saw that it was a photo, her heart sank. Reluctantly, she took it when Willowicz handed it over, a surveillance photo of three people talking casually outside a local bar.
“Man, she’s smokin’ hot,” O’Banion said.
“Ms. Carson,” Willowicz said, “would you be good enough to identify the young woman with you and William Warren.”
Of course it was Arjeta Kraja.
* * *
ON THEIR way out of the hospital, Henry Holt Carson said, “Mr. Secretary, I believe your phone’s about to ring,” just as Paull’s phone buzzed.
Paull gave him a sharp glance.
“I think you’d better answer it,” Carson said with a perfectly straight face. The gloating was all in his voice.
Paull thumbed on the cell phone and put it to his ear. He listened for close to ten seconds before he said, “Yes, sir,” and closed the connection. “Jack, go on ahead. I’ve got an appointment at the White House.”
“At this hour?” Jack said.
“This president never sleeps,” Carson said. Then, turning to Jack, he said, “Why don’t I give you a lift?”
“I have my own car—”
Carson waved a hand. “I’ll have someone come and fetch it.”
Jack recognized a summons when he heard one. He watched his boss cross the parking lot and approach his car. Stars were blurred by the city’s artificial dome of light and the slow creep of dawn. A chilly wind blew off the Potomac with a dampness that pierced his thick coat like a spear.
Jack turned back to Carson. “What’s going on?”
Carson shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Why ask me?”
“Because,” Jack said, “you seem to have orchestrated this entire scene.”
Carson appeared unperturbed.
Jack hurried to Carson’s Navigator and they climbed into the backseat. Carson’s driver turned the SUV around and drove away from the hospital.
Jack turned to Carson. “Now what the hell was that all about?”
Carson held up a finger. “Excuse me.” He punched in a number on his PDA. After a moment, he said, “Harrison, it’s Henry.… Yes, damnit, I’m well aware of the time. Get dressed and haul your ass over to Fearington Academy.… Nothing, I hope, but on the other hand my niece seems to be in trouble.… What sort? I’ve no damn idea.”
After he closed the connection, he sat brooding and silent.
Jack said, “Who are you bringing on board?”
“My lawyer, Harrison Jenkins.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I hope not, but the world doesn’t run on hope.”
They drove on in a fulminating silence. Sitting next to Henry Holt Carson was akin to living near a blast furnace going full bore.
“You never answered my question about orchestrating that scene back there with Dennis.”
“Persistent little fucker, aren’t you?”
“That’s no answer.”
“I’ve been around politicians all my life.” Carson stared straight ahead, his arms folded across his chest. “Say, I don’t have to be worried, do I?”
“About what?”
“You being able to read the street signs, that’s what.” He glanced in Jack’s direction, though not directly at him. “Dyslexia’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Especially,” Jack said, “if you know nothing about it.”
Carson laughed with his teeth bared. “You’re a fuckup, Jack. I’ll never forgive you for my brother’s death.”
“That’s your choice,” Jack said. “But in the same way you’re ignorant about dyslexia, you know nothing about Edward’s death or the circumstances leading up to it.”
“I’m uninterested in your litany of excuses, McClure.”
“We’re like oil and water,” Jack said, “destined never to inhabit the same space.”
Carson grunted. “What the hell my brother saw in you is beyond me, McClure. And the fact he allowed you unlimited access to Alli was a grave mistake.”
“Alli is an adult. She can make her own decisions.”
“She’s a psychological train wreck and you know it. Kidnapped, brainwashed, traumatized further by her father’s sudden death and her mother lingering on in a vegetative state.” He shook his head. “No, what she needs is the firm guidance of an adult who cares about her.”
“She has me.”
“And how’s that