Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [119]
Fondly, Elena
“Who’s it from?” Jessica asked from the bedroom.
“Bill Lerner’s lady in Moscow. She’s living in London now. A good woman.”
The phone rang.
“Hello?” Jessica said.
“Jess, it’s Annabel Reed-Smith in Washington.”
“Annabel, how are you?”
“Just fine.”
“And Mac?”
“Tip-top. Still working, officially and unofficially, still partly nuts, partly wonderful. Catching you at a bad time?”
“No, but I will be leaving in a few minutes. I’ve joined a bird-watching group here in Albuquerque and we’re going up into the mountains this afternoon…”
Her voice faded into the background as Pauling picked up the book he’d been reading, The Vipers, a nonfiction account of the FBI’s deadly mistaken assault on the Jasper Project in Blaine, Washington, and the role played by an undercover FBI agent, Skip Traxler, in this tragic episode in American history.
He turned the book over in his hands. Looking up at him was a photograph of the author, Joseph Potamos, whose brief bio read: “Veteran print journalist with The Washington Post, now a political reporter for CNN, Mr. Potamos lives in Washington with his wife, Roseann, a professional pianist, and their mixed-breed dog, Jumper.”
He placed the book on the table, closed his eyes, and allowed his thoughts to wander along the lines of Joe’s story. The reporter was good, had gotten most of the story, but not all.
Traxler had been indicted for providing false information to a government agency, and for the kidnapping of his former wife. He was awaiting trial.
The surviving members of the Jasper Project had filed a massive civil lawsuit against the FBI and related agencies for the assault on the Jasper ranch.
A Senate hearing on the event had uncovered the FBI’s attempts to cover up what had really happened at the Jasper ranch. Director Russell Templeton, while maintaining his innocence of any knowledge of the cover-up, retired.
Retired.
Pauling, too, had walked away, along with Jessica, who’d decided to move with him to New Mexico and give their relationship a serious try. He’d had to promise that his days working undercover were behind him, and he meant it—when he said it. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, although it hadn’t been that long since he walked away from life on the edge. As far as Jessica was concerned, going up each day with student pilots in a small, single-engine plane should be danger enough. Maybe so.
His reverie was interrupted by a kiss on the forehead.
“I have to go,” Jessica said.
“Yeah, I know. Be careful, huh? You don’t know these mountains. Might be snakes.”
“Wouldn’t be anything new. Plenty of them in Washington—and elsewhere. Odd birds, too.”
He laughed gently, brought her head down with his hand, and their lips met.
“Annabel and Mac send their best.”
“That’s nice. Great pair. He’s a top-drawer lawyer— and occasional undercover man himself. She’s a beauty, and brainy.” He sighed. “Know what I wish?”
“What?”
“I wish we’d been the ones to blow the whistle on that guy with the missile in Pittsburgh. Kind of a wasted exercise, wasn’t it, driving like a madman in the rain looking for a phone when the Bureau already had the info from those wackos in Plattsburgh?”
She smiled and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t. There’ll be more.”
“More what?”
“Terrorism by domestic groups. That they were able to work together the way they did—Idaho, California, New York, Pennsylvania, even Canada—doesn’t bode well.”
“I don’t want to think about it, Max. I just want to think about peaceful things, like birds, the mountains, the clean air and blue sky…”
“I know. Go. Soak it up.”
“I will.”
She started to leave, paused at the door, and looked back. He’d closed his eyes again, and she wondered what dreams he would have this day. She knew the sort of reckless life he’d led was a powerful narcotic, not easily conquered. Like the alcoholic, you took it a day at a time, hoping tomorrow wouldn’t provide temptations too powerful to ignore. And like