Power Play (FBI Thriller 18)

Arliss cocked her head to one side, sending her chic bob sliding across her cheek. “Of course I believe you, Natalie. But don’t you see? What I believe simply isn’t relevant; it doesn’t matter. What matters is what the public believes. Since no one was there with you to verify what you said, since there was no evidence to back up your claims, you know the public leap toward the titillating, the scandalous.”

Natalie saw a high, thick brick wall rising in front of Arliss’s face, and knew she would never scale it. Still she couldn’t help herself, she had to try. “Since you believe me, Arliss, I will tell you that someone tried to kill me again last week. They tried to run me over while I was jogging in Buckner Park.”

The Meissen teacup rattled. Arliss stared at her, shaking her head. “Oh, Natalie, no, that’s horrible. But you weren’t hurt, were you?”

“I was lucky” was all Natalie said. She didn’t want to go through it again, didn’t want to feel the same fear, the same hot rage. Did Arliss believe her?

Arliss set her cup and saucer down on the beautiful Regency end table, once again poised and calm. “Thank heavens you’re all right. There hasn’t been anything in the press. Did you make a police report?”

“I wasn’t about to do that again, not without proof. Only you and the FBI know, and my own staff, of course.”

“How did you manage to get the FBI involved?”

Natalie smiled. “It was happenstance. I believe if anyone has a chance of discovering the truth, it’ll be Agent Sullivan and Agent Savich.”

“It’s also wise that you’ve hired bodyguards,” Arliss said. She looked at the Walther. “Though you’re carrying that pistol on your belt.” She took Natalie’s hand, squeezed it. “Natalie, what you’re doing, it’s smart, it’s what I’d do in your place. You know I’ll have to tell the president about this.”

“Good. I want him to know.”

Arliss leaned toward her again and lightly laid her hand on Natalie’s arm. “I am so sorry this is happening to you, but you must keep in mind that Thorn has immense responsibilities, not only to you, but to a great many other people he cares for, and of course to his office. He has to make his decisions based on political realities, not on what he thought of a twenty-year-old girl at Yale.

“He is the president; it is not my role to dictate to him, but surely you see that you must take the decision out of his hands.”

Arliss sat back in her chair again. She studied Natalie’s face, then said, “Do not wait for Thorn to ask for your resignation. I think you should offer me your resignation right now. It’s best for Thorn, you know it is, and best for the country, and perhaps it’s also the best for you.”

But it’s not best for me! It’s not right, not fair!

“Are you saying you think the attempts on my life will stop if I resign?”

Arliss slowly rose. “I don’t know, Natalie, but listen to me. We’ve been friends since the ark landed. I remember those years we spent together at college as the best years of my life. What I’ve had to say today doesn’t change that. What we’re facing is a political imperative, and politics, as you know, is never fair. I can see you’re not ready, that you’ll have to think about this. Take a couple of days, but no longer. I will expect to hear from you on Saturday, all right? My private cell is still the same.”

She turned and left Natalie in her study, her heels sounding sharply on the marble tiles.

Georgetown

Thursday, late afternoon

Savich and Sherlock spotted the stolen Kia on a quiet residential street six blocks from Metzer’s Grocers, neatly parked between two big SUVs. Savich called it in. He was certain there’d be no fingerprints. Blessed had never been stupid.

“Blessed is long gone,” Sherlock said. “I’ll bet when Ben Raven’s people canvass the neighborhood, they’ll find another car’s been stolen close by. I forgot to tell you, Blessed mentioned a man he called a bum. We need to check with Ben, see if they’ve found a homeless person murdered very recently either here in Washington or in Atlanta.” She mumbled something under her breath and looked like she wanted to holler.

“What?”

She shook her head at herself. “Blessed got my Glock. I can’t tell you how angry I am about that.”

“The first rule is to stay alive. I’d say what you did was brilliant. Forget the Glock.”

Savich was on the phone to Ben Raven when they walked through their own front door. Gabriella and Sean were in the kitchen, Sean still flying high after a hard-fought basketball game with Marty next door, quite an accomplishment, since Marty was a killer. Sean was dirty and sweaty and kid-happy about winning, and so they let him regale them with a play-by-play until it was time for him to wash up for dinner. Then he wanted to talk about Marty’s little brother, who was a real pain in the patoot.