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“The sooner the better. I don’t want to venture out in daylight until I’ve made that photo in the papers useless. When I’m done, I want new passport photos taken, and the appropriate adjustments made in my travel documents.”
“I’ll take care of that myself,” he said.
“And I’m hungry. Let’s order in.”
“I’ll get some menus,” Habib said, heading for the kitchen.
—
Holly and Stone were having a sandwich in her office when the commissioner called.
Holly pressed the speaker button. “Good afternoon.”
“I’ve emptied out the police academy,” he said. “I’ve got every cadet on the West Side now, stuffing every mailbox with the photo of Jasmine, and they’re paying particular attention to Middle Eastern and Indian restau
rants.”
“That’s great news, Commissioner, and a good use of your available manpower.”
“We’re going to get her sooner rather than later.”
“I hope you’re right.”
The commissioner hung up.
“That’s a good idea,” Stone said.
“Yeah, the FBI would never have thought of that.” She looked at her watch. “The director should be here in an hour or so, along with my new secretary, who’ll be here for the duration.”
“You want me to put her up at my house? I’ve got guest rooms available.”
“No, there are rooms here, and if she finds that depressing she can use my apartment, which is just sitting there, biodegrading.”
“As you wish.”
—
Habib paid the deliveryman, brought the two paper bags into the apartment, and unpacked the containers on the dining table.
Jasmine helped herself to the various dishes. “I feel like I’m in Damascus,” she said.
“There are good restaurants in New York,” Habib said.
“Remember,” Jasmine said, “I’m a Londoner, I like northern Italian food.”
Scotty handed her bags to the copilot, climbed into the helicopter, and buckled up. She couldn’t believe it: she was in a futuristic helicopter, sitting next to the director of Central Intelligence, about to depart for New York. The machine lifted off the pad, climbed about a hundred feet, then headed northeast, gaining speed rapidly. Shortly she had a grand view of Washington, one she had never seen from an aircraft.
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” the director said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Scotty replied.
“I know we’ve met, but I don’t know much about you,” the director said.
“I joined the Agency four and a half years ago,” Scotty said. “Before that Georgetown, for a bachelor’s in public policy and a master’s in foreign studies, then eight years in the State Department, working for two assistant secretaries of state.”
“How are you liking the Agency?”
“Very, very much,” Scotty said, “and I think I have the best job in the building, except maybe Ms. Barker’s and yours.”
