Page 24 of Slow Burn

“Thanks.” He shrugged, eyeing her. He didn’t recognize her, and didn’t want to get caught out. In Washington, in bureaucracies, everything was political, even compliments.

“It’s all wrong, you know,” she finished.

“What makes you think so?”

She just smiled. Cold pink spots burned in her cheeks under smooth makeup. “You know, the administration’s buying your report, pork barrel and all. They’re committing resources. It’s a goddamn waste.”

“Look, lady—”

“Adrian Carling.”

“Ms. Carling, we should discuss this inside.” He gestured vaguely with his cigarette at the city spread out in front of them, the pedestrians hurrying past at the end of the walk, the armed guards at the gates. There was a knot of dispirited protesters waving signs across the street. She gave him a bitter smile and stubbed out her Marlboro with two or three puffs left in it. She was wearing some light lipstick, coral or peach or something; it left a shimmer on the butt.

“They can’t keep this thing buttoned up for long,” she said, and pulled her arms close over her chest. “You know that. A couple more public occurrences, and we’re going to have our faces all over CNN.”

Martin finished his cigarette and flicked the butt out into the fog in the general direction of the Pentagon.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got our orders.”

“The Bureau has a possible terrorist connection.”

“You’re shitting me.” There were a lot of bureaucrats, but only one Bureau. The Bureau was always following terrorist threats, like kids chasing balloons in the wind.

Carling turned away. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

Agent, not office worker. He slowly removed his hand, as if he’d stuck it into the bars of a tiger cage.

“We’re not wrong,” he told her. Carling cocked her head and brushed a strand of auburn hair back from her forehead. Under her tweed jacket he caught a glimpse of metal. “It’s not terrorists. It’s an environmental hazard.”

“Well, Marty.” She took in a deep breath of foggy air and gave him a cool brilliant smile. “You’d better be right, hadn’t you?”

Incident Three

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Ed Julian arranged the newspapers more carefully on the coffee table and stepped back to take a critical look at the arrangement. Casual, yet organized. Plenty of coffee, plenty of cream and sugars, plenty of croissants. He wondered if he ought to order a better assortment of jams, but no, everything looked just fine. Pity he had to use a hotel room, even this spacious suite. It was so—impersonal. He always liked to make a strong personal statement to potential buyers.

Still, he could hardly have this kind of meeting in his own office.

He checked his reflection in the big floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the fully stocked bar, smiled winningly, straightened his Jerry Garcia tie. Was the tie too much, or just the right touch of devil-may-care?

Too late to worry about it. Three strong knocks shook the door.

Showtime. Ed took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders, then grasped the knob and swung the door open.

“Gentlemen,” he said warmly. “And lady, of course.”

They stared at him with identical expressions of distrust, four men and one woman. The Nordic blond man wore a tailored suit. The greasy-looking darkhaired man wore blue jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and a worn green jacket with tweed patches on the elbows.

“Let’s get to it,” the dark-haired one said as Ed tried to introduce himself. Ed held on to his smile and closed the door behind them as they entered.

The sole African-American man shoved past the others and, very practically, poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down in one of the comfortable pastel chairs arranged near the coffee table. The other men silently followed suit, except for the last one, an Arab with cinnamon brown skin and warm dark eyes. A smiler, that one. He gave the woman a little bow and let her go first to the coffee server. She—a small, thin, dark-haired woman—seemed to neither notice nor care.

Ed made sure everyone had been served before he took his seat and made the meeting informal by loosening his tie. The unsmiling faces on the other side of the table failed to take the cue.

“Well, wonderful that you all made it. Anyone visit here before? Always something new to see, every time I come to town.”

“Let’s get to it,” the brunette repeated, with a little more menace. No one else spoke. Ed cleared his throat and smiled.

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