Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [117]
It’s still too early for support staff to be in, so the whole place is silent. A phone rings in the distance. One or two offices have people sipping coffee. Other than that, the only sounds we hear are our own feet thumping against the carpet. The drumbeat quickens the faster we run.
“You sure you even know where you’re—?”
Two steps past the black-and-white photo of the White House, I make a sharp right into an open office. On the black lacquered desk, there’s a keyboard with a braille display, and no mouse. You don’t need one if you’re blind. There’s also a high-definition scanner, which converts his mail to text, then gets read aloud by his computer. If there were any doubt, the Duke diploma on the wall tells me I’ve got it right: Barrett W. Holcomb. Where the hell are you, Barry?
He wasn’t home when we went by last night—during the day, he’s trolling the Capitol. We spent the last few hours hiding in a motel a few blocks away, but I figured if we came here early enough . . .
“Why don’t you just beep him and ask him to meet you?” Viv asks.
“And let him know where I am?”
“But by coming here . . . Harris, this is just dumb! If he’s working with Janos, they can—”
“Janos isn’t here.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“For the exact reason you said: It is dumb for us to be here.”
From her look, she’s confused. “What’re you talking about?”
There’s a tapping sound behind us. I turn just as he steps through the door.
“Harris?” Barry asks. “Is that you?”
61
YOU SCHEMING PIECE of shit . . . !” I yell, lunging forward.
Barry hears me coming and instinctively tries to sidestep. He’s too late. I’m already on him, shoving him in the shoulder and forcing him backwards.
“A-Are you nuts?” Barry asks.
“They were our friends! You’ve known Matthew since college!” I shout. “And Pasternak . . . he took you in when no one else would hire you!”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Was that why it happened? Some business deal that went wrong with Pasternak? Or did he just pass you up for partner, and this was your easy shot at revenge?!” I shove him again, and he stumbles off balance. He’s struggling to get to his desk. His shin smashes into the wastebasket, sending it wobbling to the floor.
“Harris!” Viv shouts.
She’s worried because he’s blind. I don’t care.
“How much did they pay you?!” I yell, staying right behind him.
“Harris, please . . .” he begs, still searching for balance.
“Was it worth it? Did you get everything you wanted?!”
“Harris, I’d never do anything to hurt them.”
“Then why was your name in there?” I ask.
“What?”
“Your name, Barry! Why was it in there?!”
“In where?”
“In the damn lobbying disclosure form for Wendell Mining!” I explode with one final shove.
Staggering sideways, Barry slams into the wall. His diploma crashes to the floor as the glass shatters.
Locking onto the wall, he presses his back against it, then palms the surface, searching for stability. Slowly, he picks his chin up to face me.
“You think that was me?” he asks.
“Your name’s on it, Barry!”
“My name’s on all of them—every single client in the entire office. It’s part of being the last guppy in the food chain.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Those forms—filling them out—it’s grunt work, Harris. All the forms are done by support staff. But ever since we got fined ten grand because a partner didn’t fill his out a few years back, they decided to put someone in charge. Some people are on the recruitment committee . . . others do associate benefits and staff policy. I collect all the disclosure forms and put an authorizing signature at the bottom. Lucky me.”
I stop right there, searching his eyes. One of them’s made of glass; the other’s all cloudy, but locked right on me. “So you’re telling me Wendell Mining isn’t your client?”
“Not a chance.”
“But all those times I called—you were always there with Dinah . . .”
“Why shouldn’t I be? She’s my girlfriend.”
“Your what?”
“Girlfriend. You still remember what a girlfriend is, don’t you?” He turns to Viv. “Who else is here with you?”
“A friend . . . just a friend,” I say. “You’re dating