Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

“Because the attorney general said so? Jesus Christ, Harry, what’s he thinking?

“I understand. Well, if it’s out of your hands, it’s out of mine. I’ll send Mr. Abrego on his way.”

He put the handset into its cradle and looked at Grosch.

“You heard that, Dutch?”

Grosch nodded.

Leon shook his head in disgust. “Waters said, ‘The question is not open for debate,’ and that this is one of those times when I have to smile and say, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”

“Jesus, what the hell?”

“Give Abrego to the Marshals, Dutch, as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leon watched as Grosch left the office, and then rose from behind his desk and walked to the door, called “No calls, Doris” to his secretary, and then closed the door.

He knew what he wanted to do but had learned it was always better to think things over for two or three minutes when he was really pissed.

He took off his wristwatch and laid it on the desk in a position where he could see the sweep of the second hand. He watched as the hand made three revolutions.

Then he went to his laptop computer, clicked on his address book, found the name he wanted, and punched the number in his personal cell phone.

“Roscoe,” he said into the phone a moment later, “this is Bill Leon, the warden of the ADMAX prison in Colorado. Do you remember me?”

[THREE]

Apartment 606

The Watergate Apartments

2639 I Street, N.W.

Washington, D.C.

1615 18 April 2007

Roscoe J. Danton, of the Washington Times-Post Writers Syndicate, and John David Parker, the newly appointed director of public relations of the LCBF Corporation, had tested their theory that the President’s firing of his press secretary was now old news and that it was therefore safe for Porky to move about Washington without having to dodge the White House Press Corps by having a drink at the Old Ebbitt Grill.

There had been half a dozen members of that elite body in the bar refreshing themselves after Mr. Clemens McCarthy’s afternoon briefing. Only two of them had even acknowledged Porky’s presence with so much as a nod.

Porky was indeed yesterday’s news.

That test had told them that it was safe for Porky to go back to his apartment in the Verizon, which had the added benefit that he would no longer be Roscoe’s roommate.

It wasn’t that Roscoe didn’t like Porky. Surprising to both of them was the fact that they had become quite close since President Clendennen had ordered Porky off his helicopter and Roscoe had offered him a ride home from Langley. But Porky’s presence in the apartment obviously prevented Roscoe from entertaining overnight female guests.

As Roscoe thought of it, he was a lover, not an exhibitionist.

So after having a second Bloody Mary in the Old Ebbitt, they had taken a cab to Roscoe’s apartment in the Watergate so that Porky could pick up his things.

The phone was ringing when they walked in.

“What the hell was that all about?” Porky asked when Roscoe had hung up.

“I was about to say I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”