Page 22 of Casualties of War
“I’ll wait for you,” Adán called out.
“Thank you!” she said over her shoulder.
Doug Mulray shifted the heavy satchel he was carrying over to the other shoulder. “I gotta apologize for the fuss, Adán. Times like this, thingscan get a little crazy.”
“It’s better the lines are tightly held, than not,” Adán said, keeping his tone polite.
Doug grimaced. “Yeah, well…” He glanced into the unit. The agent still had the door open. “I’ll give Olivia a minute or two,” he said, almost to himself.
“I guess the West Wing must be going crazy now, huh?” Adán asked, still polite.
“It’s just another day,” Doug said. “Every daythere’s a crisis, it feels like. Freak accidents and boilers blowing up is far down the scale.”
Adán stared at him. “Freak accidents?” he repeated, unable to hide his amazement.
Doug’s eyes slid away from him. “Didn’t you hear the news this morning?”
“I was busy,” Adán said automatically. Busy turning down the role of the century. “That’s what it was? Aboilerblowing up?”
“That’s the FBI’sinitial assessment,” Doug said, his tone confident and official.
Too confident.
“A boiler doesn’t bring down a whole newly constructed wing,” Adán said. “You’re really trying to sell this?”
Doug’s face closed over. “I gotta go,” he said. “The President sends his regards. He’s glad you're safe. He saw you on the news reports.” He moved into the unit, walking fast.
The doors swung shut and thetwo agents took up their positions barring the doors once more.
Adán stared at Doug’s back, his red curls and the leather satchel, thinking hard. He made his way back to the empty waiting room and sat.
A boiler!
He had told Nick he thought the hospital bombing was hinky. Now he knew it was.
Hinky.
He’d learned the word from Parris. One of the few English words in exchange for all the Spanishhe’d taught her.
He didn’t reach for the pendant, not here in public where someone might witness him do it. He could feel the small weight of it around his neck, though.
Just as everything else had in the last couple of days, the thought led him back to the past.
Back to her.
* * * * *
The hysteria surrounding Adán didn’t die out the way he believed it would. Every year, the fuss seemed toincrease. The work flowed steadily and his bank accounts swelled, to the point where his financial advisor told him, “You need to blow cash on something expensive, Adán. Something that can be written off as a tax expense—for entertaining and pressing the flesh.”
Adán had reluctantly bought a boat, the first in a long line of boats he had bought and sold, trading up in luxury a little more eachtime. The first time, though, the extravagance felt wrong. It was only a few weeks after the 9-11 disaster, when Hollywood was searching for a reason for their work that didn’t feel like complete bullshit.
Parris had nailed it for him in a single off-hand observation. “Stories will be even more important now, Adán. They make sense, when nothing else does. They’re reassuring.” Then she added,almost to herself, “The worldneedsheroes, now.”
Adán bought a second-hand cruiser, a small one, good for gliding over to Catalina or up the coast. It was good for holding parties and meetings, too. The top floor of the boat was a lounge area. with a bar and wide, padded benches. A small master bedroom was beneath. The bathroom had a shower stall so small that bending to pick up the soap meantturning first, so his ass didn’t ram into the wall and shoot him out of the cubicle altogether.
It was a boat, though, and it was his.
As he grew more cynical about Hollywood and the true nature of fame, he had traded the cruisers for the sail boats hereallywanted. They weren’t as visitor-friendly as a cruiser but by then, he didn’t care. Ariella hosted the meetings and receptions in her grandhouse instead.
