Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [44]
He spent the afternoon swimming in the pool he’d had installed shortly after purchasing the house and lolled poolside reading Sun Tzu and the Art of Modern Warfare by Mark McNeilly. A pile of books on military tactics and practices was beside his bed, and his collection of war films on DVD was extensive.
He napped late in the afternoon. After spending a few hours going through his CD collection, he got into the Porsche and drove to the 701 Restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue, where he enjoyed his favorite dishes there, its renowned clam chowder and steak tartare.
He was home by nine. At ten his driveway alarm signaled that a car had arrived. Dressed in his red kimono and flip-flops, he went to the door and greeted his visitor, a tall, statuesque blonde with slightly oversized facial features and wearing a miniskirt, knee-length black boots, and a scoop-neck yellow T-shirt. She followed him to the bedroom, where he put a CD of operatic arias on the sound system, and sat in an overstuffed chair. Without any instruction she removed her clothing and stood naked.
“Go on,” he said, “walk around.”
She paraded about the large room until he told her to stop directly in front of him.
“I told you not to wear perfume,” he said.
“I’m not, sugar. I never do when I’m with you.”
“I smell it.”
“Maybe it’s the soap I used,” she said, sensing a rising anger in his voice. “I bought a new soap and used it just before I came. I thought—”
“I don’t pay you to think,” he said. “I don’t like that soap.”
“Sorry, sugar,” she said. “I won’t use it again.”
“Go on, walk,” he said as he opened his kimono.
Fifteen minutes later, after she’d sashayed around the room and struck a series of provocative poses, he relieved himself.
“Feel better?” she asked.
“I always do when you’re here,” he said. “Go on, get dressed, I have things to do.”
She went downstairs and found the usual envelope containing five hundred dollars on a table near the door.
CHAPTER 16
The man known as Dexter pulled into the parking lot of his favorite McDonald’s and went inside. He ordered what he always ordered, a cheeseburger, fries, and a soft drink. He’d just settled at a table and removed the wrapping from his burger when the man he was to meet walked in and joined him. This particular McDonald’s had been the chosen scene of their infrequent clandestine meetings for the past six months. Was it time for a change? Probably.
“Aren’t you eating?” Dexter asked.
“I’m not in the mood. I just came from a meeting at the White House.”
“The president?”
“No. Some of his intelligence people. They say the old man is furious at how things went down with Mutki.”
Dexter had just raised the burger to his lips. He paused, lowered it, and said, “Why would he feel that way? It went smoothly.”
“It isn’t a matter of how it went, Dexter. It’s a matter of where it happened.”
Dexter took a bite, chewed, and said, “We chose the ideal place for it to happen. We researched it thoroughly before he came.”
“It shouldn’t have happened here in the States, not in Washington, D.C.”
“You should get something to eat,” Dexter said. “It looks strange for you to be sitting here without eating.”
His luncheon companion drummed his fingertips on the table.
“You were well aware,” Dexter said, “that the method, timing, and location were our choice, just as it’s always been. It can be no other way.”
“It may be necessary to reevaluate that, Dexter.”
Dexter shrugged, finished his burger, and dipped a fry into ketchup. “That, of course, is up to you and your people,” he said in a casual tone that mirrored his lack of concern. “But I remind you that the process put in place by the highest echelons of your agency has served you well.” His smile was thin. “Get something to eat. I’m uncomfortable sitting with