First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [118]
"He sounds unstable," the Secretary of State said. "I don't like it."
"Unstable or not," the National Security Advisor said, "I like the shot. Dennis is right on target as far as the Renaissance Mission Congress is concerned. It's powerful and getting more so every day. Of course, it would be ideal if we could wrap up the RMC and the Hispanic vote in one tidy ball, but I'm as much a realist as the next man. I know a goddamn pipe dream when I see one."
"I concur." The president nodded. "We'll give Dennis his head with the McClure mission."
"Dennis," the National Security Advisor said, "if there's any assistance I can provide, I'm only a call away."
"I appreciate that," Paull said. "That might be just the boost I need." When there are ice cubes in hell, he thought.
The president held up a hand. "Please, all of you, keep our accelerated timetable in the forefront of your plans. Dennis, McClure has to be wrapped up and delivered before the twentieth."
WHEN DENNIS Paull exited the Pentagon, he pulled out his cell phone, punched in a speed-dial number, said, "Latent," and rang off. A moment later, he ducked into his limo, which took him to the nearby Nordstrom department store. Paull strode inside, went immediately to the men's store. There, he spotted two of his men. While the first one covered his back, checking for tails, Paull went up to the second agent, took the large shopping bag out of his hand, proceeded to the entrance to the dressing rooms, outside of which another of his agents stood guard.
Inside, only one booth was occupied. Paull chose an adjacent booth, spent the next four minutes stripping off his fedora, midnight-blue cashmere overcoat, Brooks Brothers suit, Paul Stuart shirt and tie. He put his black brogues aside. From the shopping bag, he donned a pair of stovepipe-leg jeans, a blue chambray shirt, a pair of brown Lucchese cowboy boots.
Thus dressed, gripping a dossier he'd extracted from inside his overcoat, he knocked on the dividing wall between his booth and the other occupied booth. The fourth of his agents appeared with a brown shearling coat and a dun-colored Stetson for Paull. As the secretary vacated his booth, his agent, who was the same weight and height as Paull, entered, dressed himself in his boss's clothes. He was the one who exited Nordstrom by the same doors Paull had used to enter. He climbed into Paull's limo, which whisked him away. At the same time, Paull took a side door out to the mall, where an Empire taxi idled, waiting for him, its driver one of Paull's agents.
The taxi took off as soon as Paull climbed in, swinging onto Washington Boulevard, heading toward Arlington. On the corner of Fourteenth and North Wayne, Paull got out, walked around the block to make sure he was clear, then went up North Adams Street. Just past where it crossed Fifteenth, a Metro Police car sat waiting. Paull opened the rear door, got in.
"All clear," Paull said. "Do you have any news?"
"Yes, sir." The agent dressed as a cop nodded. "The captain of your boat reads lips."
"Damn it to hell!" Paull's fist struck the armrest. "Who's he reporting to?"
"It's a mobile number we can't get a handle on."
"That figures." He thought a moment. "How about a date and time the call was made?"
"That I can do," his agent said, then gave the information to him.
Paull stared out the window at the civilians hurrying past him on errands to buy fish or pick up flowers. Little People, the National Security Advisor called them, with an arrogance typical of this president's Administration. Of course, Paull himself was a member of the Administration, but right now he felt