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Arlington, Virginia, Saturday morning
Steveken hadn't slept too well. It was the package. After his meeting with Brown he'd returned to his townhouse. He didn't call Rudin right away. He set the letter-size manila envelope on his coffee table and twisted the top off a cold bottle of Anchor Steam. No TV, no music, just him and the package of secrets. If Brown hadn't dished out his unsolicited advice, there was a good chance Steveken would have just passed the package along and left it at that. But the arrogant man had to dole out his wisdom. If he wasn't so full of himself, he might have realized that such a warning might only serve to entice him into looking inside the package.
It was during his third bottle of Anchor Steam that Steveken came full circle with his logic and pondered the possibility that Brown was using reverse psychology on him. After all, who in their right mind tells a former special agent not to look at something? It's in a fed's very fiber to want to find things out, to crack the unsolved case. By the time the eleven o'clock news came on, Steveken had pretty much decided that whatever was in the package wasn't worth knowing. This was the type of stuff that you could get subpoenaed over. And getting subpoenaed wasn't good for future business. There was also the chance that things could get really ugly. It was not outrageous to assume someone would be willing to kill to keep the information in the package from becoming public knowledge, and if he didn't know what was in the package, there was no reason for anyone to want to kill him. For a brief moment he had thought of looking into the envelope and then transferring the material to a new envelope, but decided against it. There was also the option of discarding the package into the nearest Dumpster and telling Rudin he'd come up empty. As far as Brown and Rudin were concerned, he was impressed with neither. A sense of professionalism, however, and his gratitude to Clark, made him decide not to dump the package. Finally, at 11:30 he called Congressman Rudin and told him he'd come up with something. Rudin wanted him to come over to his row house on Capitol Hill immediately. Steveken told him he'd meet him at 7:00 A. M. at the Silver Diner on Wilson Boulevard in Arlington. As he predicted, Rudin wanted to meet someplace closer to his house. Steveken, emboldened by the three beers and a growing dislike of Rudin, repeated the name of the establishment and the time and then hung up.
He arrived the next morning at 6:30 a. m. with a copy of the Post and the package. As was fitting for the meeting, he picked a corner booth and sat facing the door. Steveken was in jeans, a blue ski jacket and a Penn baseball cap. He was one of only eight customers in the place and the youngest by a good twenty years. When the waitress showed up he ordered a pot of coffee, a large glass of orange juice, a side of hash browns, a side of links and a tall stack of blueberry pancakes.
Steveken drank his orange juice and scanned the paper. Below the fold on the front page was a headline that read Historical Confirmation Hearing Begins. Under it was a picture of Dr. Kennedy with her right hand raised. The article was pretty standard background-type stuff. It said Kennedy joined the CIA after her parents were killed in the U. S. embassy bombing in Beirut back in 1983. It encapsulated her career with the Agency, and talked about her successes since becoming the director of the Counterterrorism Center. It mentioned that she had overwhelming support on the Hill with the noted exception of Congressman Albert Rudin of Connecticut, the chairman of the House Intelligence Committee. Fortunately for Kennedy, the article pointed out that Rudin had no say over whether or not she would be confirmed.
His pancakes and sides arrived and he went to work on the food. He intended to be done by the time Rudin arrived. Steveken came to the conclusion that Kennedy was probably a pretty decent person. Losing your parents to some crazed car bomber would be no fun at all. He found himself looking at the package and again wondering what was inside. His thoughts were interrupted by the obnoxious sound of someone loudly clearing his throat.
Steveken looked up and saw Rudin standing in front of the hostess stand, with a white handkerchief. He placed it over his large nose and began to blow. Every patron in the place turned to see who was making so much noise. Steveken shook his head and shoved another stack of syrup drenched pancakes into his mouth. He made no effort to alert Rudin to his presence. The man was ten minutes early, and Steveken hadn't finished his meal yet.
With only eight people in the place, Rudin eventually found him. He sat down in the booth and unzipped his puny down jacket. Not bothering to say good morning, he asked, "So, what do you have for me?"
Steveken ignored his request and asked, "Why do you hate Irene Kennedy so much?"
Rudin looked shocked. "What are you talking about?"
"Kennedy Dr. Irene Kennedy." He held up the paper and showed Rudin the photograph. "Why do you hate her so much?"
Rudin glared at the young man and said, "You told me last night you had something for me. Now hand it over. I'm a very busy man."
The waitress was headed their way so Steveken flagged her down. He pointed to Rudin. "What do
you want?"
"Nothing, I'm fine."
"Nonsense." Looking up at the waitress, he said, "Bring him the same thing you gave me."
"But I'm not-"
Steveken held out his hand and silenced the congressman. He repeated the order and shooed the waitress away. With an arched brow he looked at Rudin and said, "You don't do this much, do you?"
"Do what?" he snapped.
"Clandestine meetings. You come in the door and start honking your nose so everybody in the whole joint turns around to see who's making the racket. You sit down and tell the waitress you don't want anything. Well, if you don't want anything then why in the hell are you here?" Steveken waited half a second to see if Rudin had anything stupid to say and then added, "This is classified information." He held up the package and saw Rudin's eyes get as big as a pervert's in a strip joint. "Pull your head out of your ass, and get with the program." On the outside, Steveken looked very serious, but inside he was laughing.
Rudin had seen the treasure and couldn't take his eyes off it. He mumbled, "Sorry," and stuck his hand out for the envelope.
Steveken set it back down on the booth seat and said, "Under the table dummy. People are looking."
"Oh." Rudin put his hand under the table.
"Not yet," said Steveken. "We have to go over a couple things first."
"Like what?"
Steveken stabbed his fork into a sausage link and shoved half of it into his mouth. He washed it down with some coffee and asked, "Why do you hate Kennedy so much?"
It was obvious that Rudin didn't want to answer the question, but it was also obvious that he needed to play along until he got what he wanted. "She's a liar, and I don't like public servants lying before congressional committees. It's very bad for a democracy."
"You mean a republic."
"What?"
"Never mind." Steveken wolfed down his last two bites of pancakes and wiped his mouth. At he looked at Rudin he made a final decision concerning how he would handle things. "I want to be very clear about this. I don't know what's in this package. I haven't looked because I don't want to get involved." He flashed Rudin the inside of his jacket and said, "I'm taping this meeting as proof. Whatever you have up your sleeve, I don't want to be involved in it. I got this from Jonathan Brown. You have any questions, you go to him." Steveken slid the package under the table and Rudin eagerly snatched it. Sitting back, he watched the congressman tear open the top and sneak a peek at the contents. He wasn't actually taping anything, but that wasn't important. Rudin would believe the threat. He'd given Brown up out of a sense of fair play. If he wanted to destroy Kennedy he should have to show his face.
