Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [21]
"I believe there were just two deaths, Monsignor," Lieutenant McGuire said. "The terrorist, a man named Chenowith, and a civilian, a young woman who was cooperating with the FBI. What was her name, Matt?"
"Susan Reynolds," Matt answered.
And I loved her, and she loved me, but we didn't make it to that vine-covered cottage by the side of the road because that lunatic Chenowith let fly with his automatic carbine.
He had a sudden painfully clear mental image of Susan on her back in the parking lot behind the Crossroads Diner, her mouth and her sightless eyes open, her blond hair in a spreading pool of blood. The carbine bullet had made a small, neat hole just below her left eye, and a much nastier hole at the back of her head as it exited.
He laid his fork down, put his napkin on the table, and stood up.
"Will you excuse me, please?" he said, and looked around the room in search of a bathroom.
As he walked across the room, he heard Monsignor Schneider ask, "Detective Payne has experience working with the FBI, does he?" and heard Lieutenant McGuire's answer.
"Yes, he does, Monsignor."
Then he was in the bathroom, hurriedly fastening the lock, and hoping that he could splash cold water on his face quickly enough to force back the bile and nausea he felt rising.
Ninety seconds later, he was leaning with his back against the bathroom wall, wiping his face with a towel, exhaling audibly. He had managed to keep from throwing up, but there had been a cold sweat, and he could feel the clammy touch of his undershirt on his skin.
You're going to have to stop this shit, Matthew. That was a long time ago, Susan is not going to come back, and you're going to have to really put all of that out of your mind, or they'll put you in a rubber room.
Finally, he hung the towel back on its rack, and then, after purposefully taking several slow, deep breaths, unlatched the door and went out of the bathroom. Everyone was filing into the conference room--how the hell long was I in the john?-- and he joined the line at the end, taking his seat at the table where he had left the laptop.
He saw a dark blue plastic folder lying beside his laptop. There was a neatly printed label on its cover: Stan Colt's Visit to Philadelphia. Matt looked around the table and saw that everyone had been provided with a folder, and that there was another laptop on the table, in front of a man about his age wearing a gray business suit.
Matt's seat turned out to be beside Monsignor Schneider.
"Are you all right, son? You look a little pale."
"A little indigestion, sir. I'm afraid I gulped the omelet."
"If I may have your attention," a natty, intense-looking man in a dark suit said, waited until everyone was looking at him, and then went on. "I think it might be a good idea if we all knew each other. I'll start with me. My name is Rogers Kennedy, and I'm a senior vice president of Global Artists Management, heading up GAM's New York office. Let me say that I'm delighted to be here, and it's my intention to see that Mr. Colt's activities here raise just as much money as possible for West Catholic High School, which is really dear to Mr. Colt's heart, and to see that that's done in such a manner that Mr. Colt will look back on the experience fondly. To make sure that any bumps in the road, so to speak, are smoothed out beforehand, or that the best possible detour is set up.
"This lovely young lady, who is living proof that there is such a thing as the opposite of the dumb blonde of fame and legend, is Miss Terry Davis, of GAM's West Coast Division. Vice President Davis has been charged with the hands-on management of Mr. Colt's visit. . . ."
1005 head gam man is rogers kennedy senior vp from nyc terry davis gam vp from la is hands-on boss
". . . and this is Larry Robards," Rogers Kennedy went on, indicating the young man with the other laptop, "my administrative executive, who takes things down so we don't forget anything."
Mr. Robards smiled around the table.
"Administrative executive"? What the hell is that?
larry robards is kennedy's 'administrative