Page 13 of Casualties of War
“Then you’re fine.Not even the NSA can hear us right now.”
“Good. I’m trying to put pressure on the President, Nick. To get him to live up to his side of the bargain he made with you. Only, he’s not taking my calls right now.” The President’s staff were giving him a soft-shoe runaround Adán recognized as a delaying tactic, not a complete brush-off.
“He’s busy, I guess, with the bombing,” Nick said, making itsound is if he didn’t care.
“Have you spoken to Olivia since the bombing?” Adán asked.
“I try not to trip her up with useless phone calls,” Nick said. “She knows what she is doing.”
Adán sighed. “You won’t hear it in the news. They’re suppressing it. Her father was a victim, Nick. He’s in critical condition.”
Silence, rich with unspoken thoughts.
“Shit…” Nick sighed. “What was the President’sChief of Staff doing at the gala? The President is still in Washington, isn’t he?”
“That’s why they’re repressing it, I think,” Adán said. “I told you this thing was screwy.” He related how Serrano’s wife had cornered him and the photos already circulating on the Internet.
“I have no time for social networks,” Nick said. “Everyone who knows you even a little knows better than to think you’rein cahoots with the Insurrectos. It’s a laughable idea.”
“It’s the optics, Nick,” Adán said. “There are far more people who don’t know me than who do. Those are the ones you need to worry about. Perception is everything.”
Which was why he was doing what he was doing.
“How didyouhear about Callan Davenport, if no one’s talking about it?” Nick asked.
“The owner of the security company I usehas useful contacts.”
“Have you spoken to Olivia?”
“I left a message telling her she can crash here while her father is in L.A. They won’t move him back to Washington until he’s off the critical list. She didn’t call back. I won’t trip her up with phone calls, either.” Adán stirred and straightened up from his lean over the bar. “I gotta go,amigo,” he said, switching back to English. “The tidein the affairs of men and all that.”
Nick thanked him again, then Adán tossed the phone on the bar and looked around the house, trying to size it up the way his real estate agent, Laticia, had. He had been dealing with Laticia for years and she knew the value of the place better than he did. She had been doubtful about how much Adán would get for the estate, selling as quickly as he wanted to.
“You’ll take a hit,” she advised him.
“That can’t be helped,” Adán had replied. “I need the cash.” He didn’t explain why.
“Well, the house certainly has positive features,” she replied. “Only, it was designed to meet your requirements and that will lower the value.”
“It’s a house. It’s not a suit,” he argued. “It’s a prime location and the view alone is worth a million.” He could stand at thewindow and watch the Pacific rolling into Malibu, with not a single roof visible anywhere.
“Itisa nice view,” Leticia said, her voice cool in his ear. “Only, the house is a bachelor’s house, Adán. I’m sorry to be so frank. Most men with the income needed to buy it have families. Any mother would blanch at the depth of your swimming pool, for example.”
“It’s adivingpool,” he corrected her.
“I rest my case,” Leticia replied.
“Just see what you can do, huh?” Adán replied, his heart sinking.
He looked around the house now and snorted. “Bachelor pad!” he muttered.
The phone rang. He picked it up off the bar again and checked the caller ID. “Ariella,” he acknowledged.
“Ohmigod, Adán! I’ve been trying to reach you for ages,” Ariella Parent-Waters said breathily.
“I was talking tofamily.” Until today, he had always enjoyed taking a call from his agent for usually it meant work, or the possibility of work. Now, though, impatience gnawed at his temper. He had things to do. Play acting had become…well, not meaningless, but it had shifted to the bottom of his list of priorities. At least for now. “Has something happened?”
“God, yes!” She took a breath, calming herself. “Everyonehas been talking about Ridley Scott’s new one. The mutiny one, right?”
