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Hansen looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I know about his son’s murder and the attempts on his daughter. And the Senator was injured by that nutcase. You think they’re connected?”
Rachel eyed him for a minute then took a chance. “Look, the Senator likes you and I think he trusts you so I’m going to as well. The Senator’s work in the drug investigation has planted a big red bullseye on his back. You should know that, since you’ve been called in to work on that assignment.”
“I knew he wanted to delve into the drug distribution in the military more deeply. He’s planning something big in the way of investigation and we’re,” Hansen pointed at her and then himself, “are his boots on the ground, so to speak. But I didn’t think he was in that much danger.”
Rachel didn't bother to hide her derision. "You just gave the case for him being in danger. Both of his children were involved, even peripherally, in the investigation and suffered because of it. Anyone that has read a newspaper in the last decade knows the Senator isn't someone who will take that lightly. So, let's cut the bull. You're more than a speechwriter." When he started to speak she held her hand up. "Right now, I don't care if you're the stage manager for the off-Broadway revival of Hair. We have to work together so at least let's be truthful with each other, okay?"
He grinned, “Stage manager for Hair?” His grin widened at her blush. “You’re a closet Broadway fan, aren’t you?” He pushed the monitor up to its original position and gestured at it.
“Pull your chair around. I’ll fill you in on what I’ve been doing.”
She hid her surprise and pushed the small chair to his side of the desk and sat near him. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him as their shoulders brushed. She shook off the answering flow in her arm and concentrated on the screen.
Several windows were up and running. What appeared to be code filled one screen and she lamented the fact she'd never learned it. Another had a list and the last two showed hallways in the building with people walking, standing, and chatting and even one coming from a bathroom adjusting his pants. "Surveillance?"
“Of a sort. The building already has some security surveillance and I’ve tapped into that.” At her look of surprise, he continued, “I’m good with computers and even better with being sneaky. Anyway, I’ve tapped into the existing security, but I wanted to get a little deeper. I’m developing a program that will recognize certain words and phrases, pick up on them and record the speaker.”
“So, you’re looking for an infiltrator?”
He nodded. Her heart bumped a bit at the possibilities and she gestured toward the program. “When will it be ready? And do we need to do anything like plant microphones?”
He laughed, “No, we’re not secret agents.” He was silent for a minute, tapping at the computer then deleting something. “We’re tapped into the mics the building already has in place. Don’t look surprised. The security is pretty good here and the police have learned, probably from embarrassing experience, not to listen in on personal stuff.” He tapped again.
“Anyway, we’ll be set by morning, I think. I’m going to try it out with some innocuous words like dinner, meeting, that sort of thing this afternoon. By the evening, I should know if it’s going to work or not.”
She sent him a look of admiration then straightened and glanced at the time on the top left of the monitor. “I need to grab something to eat before I meet the Senator for his afternoon schedule.”
He glanced up from his monitor. “Mind if I join you?”
She hid her pleasure and nodded then waited while he went through the process of shutting down the laptop and pocketing the sim card then locking the computer in its little safe. They walked down the hall toward the exit. “We’re walking,” she said and pushed open the door.
“Wouldn’t want to do anything else.”
Lunch with Rachel Paynewas comfortable, entertaining and something Gavin wanted to do again. He'd laughed more with her in half an hour than he'd done in months, he realized. She told him the story about her breaking an arm the very day she learned to maneuver her rollerblades around curves in the park, about going to see Broadway shows instead of going to the beach with her friends on vacation, and of her old cat, who'd lived to be nearly twenty years old and whose picture she still had framed in her apartment.
He’d shared a little, his childhood dream of being a race car driver, his parents’ idea of a perfect vacation, touring wineries with a ten-year-old, and of the scar he’d gotten when he tried out his new skill of skating a rail with his skateboard. He’d even admitted to never riding again to which she said her mother had sold her inline skates at a yard sale. But he’d never shared anything past his teens and he could see the realization in her eyes as he settled the check and they readied to leave.
The walk back to the office building was silent for the most part, due to the fact they were in a time crunch. He noticed Rachel glancing at her watch several times and then speeding up. “We’ll make it,” he said and opened the door for her. She fairly jogged down the hall and bypassed the elevator, heading to the stairway.
“If you know him at all, you know Senator Mitchell is a stickler for time management. If he said he was leaving at fifteen til, he’s leaving at fifteen til.”
Gavin glanced at his own watch, noting they had three minutes to make it up four flights. He didn’t bother talking anymore, just concentrated on not noticing Rachel’s rear as she jogged up the stairs in front of him.
They blasted through the door as the Senator shut his office door down the hall. Rachel heaved a breath and started walking rapidly, her open jacket flapping. The Senator, blast him, started walking toward them and evenly said, “Think I’ll take the stairs to the basement.”
Gavin’s program was a success.Rachel sighed and leaned back in her chair at the kitchen table that evening, pushing away the remainder of her pie. She’d gone with the Senator to a dinner meeting, sitting in the rear of the room and picking at a warm salad and cold chicken for two hours while he equally tolerated his dinner with his party’s head donors. Reelection was coming up soon, he’d said and he had to go through the motions. She’d nodded wearily, already regretting the low heels she'd worn that day. Now, the heels were off, her yoga pants and a t-shirt were on and she had pie.
She read her message again and smiled. “Meetings all over the place.” He’d finished the tests, apparently and the program worked, at least in the testing. It gave her a sense of security, knowing that someone else the Senator trusted was on the job. And he was, at ten o’clock in the evening.
She thought of lunch and the pleasure she’d had in his company. He hadn’t been pushy or condescending, her experience with the politicos in Washington so far. Instead, he’d drawn her out to talk about her childhood, her love of Broadway shows, innocuous things that didn’t make her uncomfortable. And though he’d been very careful about what he talked about, he’d given her a glimpse of the kid he’d been, fun-loving but also a little repressed by parents who didn’t understand kids.
She sent back a smiley face and laid her phone down. A wistful glance at the half-eaten pie later, she stood and tossed the remains in the trash. She’d not exercised that morning and she couldn’t afford any more calories without another session. Instead, she got a glass of water and walked to her bedroom, where she pulled out a book on the history of Broadway and opened it. Enough work, she’d get a good night’s sleep and in the morning, tackle the crimes of the world.
The next morning, Rankin was behind the wheel of the car and they were on the road to the Capitol when the senator's phone rang. He glanced at the viewscreen and then toward Rankin as he held the phone to his ear. "Mitchell."
As she watched the Senator from the corner of her eye, she could tell Rankin was attending as well. His speed, usually five to eight miles over the limit, had decreased and he was staying behind cars he'd normally pass. She wondered about the man. He was a new hire, yet he'd been able to get this prime job? With very little exception, herself for one, security personnel had to go up a ladder of positions, just like in the military. And Rankin wasn't ex-military. Unlike the Shadow Ops agents and the Brotherhood Protector personnel she'd come into contact with, Rankin didn't have the look, the stance, or the manners of a soldier. Especially the ability to cover his curiosity, she thought wryly as he glanced back in the rearview mirror for the fourth time. "Something wrong, Rankin?" She said.
“No, nothing.” His eyes darted back to the front and his speed picked up. The Senator’s call, filled with one syllable responses on his end, finished with him pushing the end button and replacing the phone in his pocket. Rachel noted the set of his mouth, indicating something amiss.
