Home Free - Fern Michaels [76]
Gus grappled to find the words. Finally, he blurted out, “I’m in love. I met the woman I’ve waited all my life for, and she doesn’t care what condition I’m in. I’m going to write a book. I always wanted to do that, so I’m going to try my hand at it. Then I’m going to breed dogs. I’ve been researching real estate on the Net, and I came up with a few possibilities.”
“Sounds like a plan. What kind of book?” the general asked curiously.
“Espionage, spy stuff, illegal funds. I guess you could say political.” Gus sucked in his breath as he waited for the general’s response.
“That stuff sells. My wife loves thrillers. How do you plan on doing your research?”
“I haven’t gotten that far in my thinking. Any idea who I should be talking to? I’m not up on Washington politics. The flip side of that is, why would anyone even talk to me? I’m a nobody.”
Gus was surprised when he felt the general’s hand on his arm. “Son, I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re a nobody. You are somebody. You’re a soldier who almost gave his life for his country. And you’re suffering and undergoing unbearable pain as a result. You get a résumé in order, and when you call around to make appointments, you toot your own horn. I can steer you in a few directions.”
Gus felt his heart start to pound in his chest. Careful, careful, he warned himself. “Which agency should I start with, sir?”
“There is no such thing as full disclosure among agencies, so you’ll have to talk to all of them, depending on what it is you’re going to write about. In other words, your plot, son. I’ve never written a book, so I don’t know if this is good advice or not.”
“You should think about writing your memoirs, sir. When you retire.”
“That’s what my wife keeps telling me.”
The worms crawling around in Gus’s stomach settled down. He heard noise from out in the hall. The therapists must have arrived. Before he could change his mind, he blurted out the question Maggie had told him to ask. “Who would I need to talk to about the different money funds that are not controlled by Congress? I read, so I know that they’re out there and that the general public doesn’t know about them. There has to be a person or a committee or a group of some kind that controls huge amounts of money. Do those people have control of the money, or do they report to the president?” There, he’d said the words out loud. He stared at the general to see his reaction.
“Sounds like you know what you want to write about, son—money and power. You can never go wrong with that. I’m thinking you might want to talk to JJ, but I’m not sure he’d give you the time of day. The man is like a phantom, from what I’ve heard. He answers to no one, not even the president. Or so the story goes. This is Washington, son, and stories abound. Quirky kind of guy and, by the way, this is just scuttlebutt.”
Gus felt a surge of panic when the door opened and a gaggle of people entered the room. One of the therapists clapped his hands and said, “Okay, let’s get to it!”
“Sir, who is JJ?”
The general pierced Gus with a look Gus couldn’t define. He held his breath as he waited for the general’s response.
“Jody Jumper. He knows where all the bodies are buried, or so I’ve been led to believe. And you didn’t hear that from me, son.”
Gus thought he was going to faint. “Hear what, sir?”
“Okay, Sullivan, you’re up!” his therapist said as he held out his hand to pull Gus to his feet. “You okay? You look a little . . . white.”
“Forgot to eat, that’s all. I’m ready.”
Back in Georgetown, Nikki Quinn Emery was staring at her husband, a wide smile on her face. “I can’t believe we’re standing here like this on a Sunday afternoon, both of us. And that you just invited me out to brunch. I accept, Jack. And we need to do this more often. You do know the weather is pretty shitty out there, right?”
“I really don’t care. I’ve been cooped up with Harry and Bert so long, I don’t know what it’s like outside. Let’s just bundle