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“After you’ve had twelve hours sleep and a couple of days off. Go home, see your father and his girl and Daisy. I’ll see you Monday morning. Merry Christmas.”
Holly got up and went home.
FIFTY-EIGHT
BOB KINNEY CAME HOME from the Bureau at midnight. Nancy was waiting up for him.
“Want some eggs?” she asked, kissing him.
“Love some,” he said. “I didn’t get any dinner.”
“Can you tell me what was going on?”
“You know I never tell you Bureau secrets.”
“Of course not.”
“Teddy Fay is dead.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“You know it. I expect that opinion is being voiced at a number of residences around the city, including the big white one on Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“Is there going to be an investigation of all this?”
“You can’t investigate something that never happened.”
“That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it?”
“You got it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I hope so, too, baby.”
“You want bacon or ham with your eggs?”
“I want you with my eggs.”
“Done.”
FIFTY-NINE
WILL LEE WAS IN BED, watching a DVD of Casablanca, when Kate came home from work.
“You’re pretty late,” he said. “I didn’t know people at your level of government service worked after midnight.”
Kate dropped her clothes on the floor and crawled into bed with him, snuggling her warm body against his. “Why, Mr. President, you’re not wearing any clothes.”
He groped around. “Why, Madame Director, neither are you.”
“Hang on,” she said. “I’ve got some news that will put you in the mood.”
“I don’t need any news to get in the mood,” he said, turning toward her, “but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“You’re right. It was Teddy Fay who shot Ali ben Saud this morning, then blew up an office building under construction across the street from the U.N.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
