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"I need to talk to you alone! I have something very important to show you."
"I'm in the middle of a massage," snarled Clark, still not quite awake.
"I don't care." Rudin stepped forward, thrusting the manila envelope in front of his face.
"Albert, whatever you have can wait until I have some clothes on. Now get the hell out of here!"
Rudin had never heard Clark so upset. Reluctantly, he retreated from the room and closed the door. He looked down at the envelope in his hand. He desperately wanted to show the contents to someone, and Hank Clark was the obvious choice. He'd been looking for him for the past two hours. He'd called his house, his office and his cell phone. No one at the house answered, no one at the office knew where he was, and he didn't answer his cell phone. The club was a lucky guess. Rudin saw the senator's gleaming Jaguar in the parking lot and practically ran into the building. The l
ocker room manager told him Clark was getting a massage. Without putting any further thought into it, Rudin had raced off through the maze of lockers like a rat in search of a piece of cheese.
Standing alone in the bright lights of the locker room Rudin now saw the error of his ways. He checked his watch. It was 9:55. Clark wouldn't be that much longer. Rudin began walking. He'd waited this long to destroy Irene Kennedy, he could wait a few more minutes.
there WAS A small lounge in the men's locker room; two couches, several chairs, a television and two phones. This was where Rudin had decided to wait. It was a good thirty minutes before Clark showed. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back and he was wearing a pair of dress corduroy pants, a button-down shirt and a cashmere sweater. Rudin popped out of his chair looking slightly low-rent in his wrinkled khakis, faded flannel shirt and overstuffed down coat.
Clark had decided to act as if the intrusion into his hypnotic massage had not happened. There was no sense in revisiting the issue. After all these years Rudin wasn't about to change. Clark did not greet the congressman. He simply said, "Let's grab a cup of coffee."
Rudin shook his head emphatically. "Let's talk outside. In your car." He looked around the small lounge like the walls had ears.
Clark understood Rudin's paranoia. He was the one who had encouraged it. "All right."
They left the club and went to the parking lot without speaking. Rudin took every step like he was on point during a patrol behind enemy lines, Clark played along and kept his mouth shut. He'd anticipated Rudin's behavior. From thirty feet away, he pressed the button on his keyless remote. The headlights flashed once. Clark climbed in behind the wheel and Rudin got in on the passenger side.
From the folds of his down coat Rudin extracted the envelope and said, "You're not going to believe what is in here." He offered the envelope to Clark.
Clark didn't take it. He instead asked, "What's in it?"
"The information I've been looking for," replied Rudin with glee.
Impassively, Clark nodded for him to elaborate.
"Have you ever heard of an organization called the Orion Team?"
Clark just shook his head no.
"It's a secret organization that was started by that bastard Thomas Stansfield, and headed by Irene Kennedy," Rudin spoke their names with great hatred. "They've been running covert ops in the Middle East for over a decade, and they haven't said shit to us." Rudin stabbed his finger into his own chest. and I've got the proof Right here! Look!" Rudin pulled some papers from the envelope. "I have a list of people they've killed. There's account numbers where legitimate money has been diverted to fund these operations. There's even mention of Special Forces units being used to support these fucking antics."
"This is absolutely shocking." "I told you she was no good. Just like her old boss Stansfield."
"I can't believe it," said Clark. "Where did you get this?"
"From your guy," said Rudin defensively. "That Steveken fellow."
"And where did he get it?" "That's the best part," said Rudin excitedly. "He got it from Jonathan Brown Judge Fucking Brown. Can you believe it?"
That was not the answer Clark was expecting. "Have you talked to anybody else about this?"
"No! You're the first person."
"Well, do yourself and Brown a favor and don't mention his name to anyone." Clark was trying to figure out how in the hell Rudin had got Brown's name.
"Why?"
"Because the second you mention his name they'll destroy his reputation." Clark was thinking quickly, trying to come up with a logical reason. "Think of his name as your ace in the hole. The longer you wait to show it, the more valuable it'll be."
"Or the longer you wait to play it." Rudin tried to pass the envelope to Clark.
"No. I believe you. When you get a chance make copies for me and send me the whole thing." Clark wasn't about to put his fingerprints on classified documents.
