Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [114]
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“Like I said, go bird-watching with you.”
She stared at him.
“Only you’re not going to bring any pictures, or anything else, back,” he said, turning onto the narrow road leading to the covered bridge.
Chapter 43
That Night
Pittsburgh
Roseann and Senator Jackson talked music on the limo ride from the Cedars, in Penn Hills, Pennsylvania, to the airport in Pittsburgh. He wanted to know everything about her—her childhood, her musical training and ambitions, and her influences.
She felt embarrassed talking so much about herself and after a while began asking him questions.
“I considered staying at the Cedars an extra day to get in some golf,” he said, “but I’ve got to be back in Washington in the morning. I’m the ranking member of the Judiciary Committee. We’re going to have an emergency meeting on this Jasper ranch fiasco. You’ve kept up with it?”
She swallowed and looked out the window. Knowing he was waiting for an answer, she said, “Yes, I have. I… the man in my life has something to do with it.”
“Oh? Who’s he?”
“Joe Potamos. He’s a reporter for—”
“You don’t have to tell me about Mr. Potamos,” the senator said. “He’ll be a prime witness before the committee.”
“He will?”
“Yes, he certainly will. He told a remarkable story on TV today. Do you know how accurate his account is?”
“Me? No, I don’t know anything about it, except that Joe is an honest person. He wouldn’t make anything up.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Jackson said.
The rest of the ride was consumed by his questions about Joe, and she was glad when they pulled up in front of the Pittsburgh terminal.
The senator and his aide, a young woman named Marie, and Roseann were escorted to a VIP lounge, where they were told the flight to Washington was delayed because of weather. “The equipment should be here in a half hour,” the pleasant woman at the desk said. “Sorry for the delay, Senator.”
“No problem,” he replied, smiling. “You can’t fight Mother Nature.”
He excused himself from Roseann. “I’m afraid Marie and I have some reports to go over before tomorrow.”
“That’s all right,” Roseann said. “I brought a book.” As the senator and his assistant went to a secluded corner of the lounge, Roseann settled into an overstuffed chair, opened her book, and picked up where she’d left off. She thought of Joe, wondered how Larry King had gone, and how he’d react to being a witness before a senate committee. She kept her smile from becoming a giggle.
How exciting; he’d hear it from her first. She couldn’t wait to get home.
The pickup truck was red and new. It was an extended-cab model, with a small bench seat behind the twin buckets used by a driver and front passenger.
Its driver was a small, wiry man wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt over well-worn jeans, and rubber, ankle-high boots. His hair was gray and matted, slicked down with some sort of gel, and pulled into a small ponytail.
His lights were off as he parked the truck in a heavily wooded area a mile from the southern end of the Pittsburgh airport’s north-south runway. He reached behind and pulled a heavy, five-foot-long canvas bag from the rear bench, grunting against the weight. He laid the bag on the passenger seat and unzippered it, began to remove the contents piece by piece, handling them with care, running his fingers over them, a gesture of admiration.
The sound of a plane taking off caused him to look up into a clearing sky. The plane passed directly above him, then banked to the east, the shriek of its engines fading into the night.
He got out of the truck, went around to the passenger side, opened the door, and lifted the missile and its shoulder launcher from the seat. He walked a hundred yards to a clearing in the trees that he knew well from having