Trust But Verify Page 10

  “I don’t want to be on the program. The more I think about it, the more depressed I get.”

  “Have you tried Cymbalta?”

  Samantha’s smile grew a little as she looked at her friend.

  Angela continued. “It won’t be so bad. You give great speeches. You’re a natural. And think of the great contacts you’ll make. Besides, it’s a pretty place. I’ve seen pictures. All those mountains and rivers and log houses with big stone fireplaces. One was featured in Architectural Digest.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never really been into antler chandeliers,” Samantha said.

  Angela grinned and cocked her head. “All the financial guys will probably have some sharp, younger staffers with them. You might meet someone.”

  “Can’t say I’d be in the mood to meet someone in the same place I lost someone.”

  Angela softened her gaze. “I hear you. Let’s try and think about other things tonight.”

  “Here’s your pinot noir,” Mark said, sidling up to the table with a wine glass he placed in front of Samantha. “Have you had a chance to check out our menu?”

  “We’ve been here a bunch of times,” Angela said. “I’ll have your Niçoise salad.”

  “Got it. And you, miss?”

  “The turkey sliders would be great. Thanks,” Samantha said.

  He nodded and walked away.

  “By the way,” Angela said, taking a sip of her wine. “Have you gotten any updates on the Naples case?”

  “Looks like they’ve hit a dead end. Every time I check the news, I see the guy with the best hair saying, ‘Good Evening.’ Then he goes on to tell me why it isn’t.”

  “Right,” Angela said. “At least some of them are nice to look at.”

  “As for the case, the FBI is still analyzing everything, talking to all the hotel staff again, and hoping for a tip from someone. They said it doesn’t look like terrorism, not in a town like Naples. No group has taken responsibility, and they haven’t found a disgruntled employee with a motive. So, they’ve got no suspects.”

  “What about that one guy who disappeared?”

  “He disappeared. There are no leads on his location. Anyway, let’s talk about something else. I don’t really want to think about that night. It was the last time I was with Tripp, and I still have nightmares about the explosion.”

  “No word from him in a while, huh?” Angela asked with a concerned look.

  “I get an occasional email about his business trips. That’s about it,” Samantha said.

  “Okay, we’ll forget about him. For now.”

  “Any new talent in your playbook?”

  “I did see a cute guy at the fitness center,” Angela said, her eyes lighting up.

  “He must be new. You go there all the time.”

  “Actually, he’s in my class.”

  “What class?

  “I decided to sign up for spinning classes. I figured they’d be much better than yoga, which is so, well, slow.”

  “Ladies, your entrees,” the waiter said, setting their plates down. “Kitchen’s not too busy tonight. Seems everyone is just hanging at the bar watching the Cubs game, so the chef got these out super fast.” He smiled and hurried toward another group of diners.

  “By the way, that threat at Wrigley Field turned out to be a hoax. Probably just some irate fan,” Samantha said. “Oh, wait. I forgot to ask for water,” she said, turning around and searching for Mark. Suddenly, she stopped and stared. What was that? At the window? She quickly turned back to Angela.

  “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Maybe I have,” Samantha said in a low, shaky voice. “Don’t look there now, but I think I saw a guy outside the front window who was staring right at us. He was kind of tall, skinny, and he was wearing a black sweatshirt or jacket. I couldn’t see his whole face. He had a hood on.”

  Angela leaned across the table. “And?”

  “And—no, I must be imagining things. There are a ton of students around here. Could be anyone.”

  “Who do you think you saw?” Angela asked. Her voice was sharp.

  Samantha took a deep breath. “It looked like that waiter in Naples.”

  “You can’t be serious. You have to look again,” Angela said. “Why don’t you go ask for water at the bar? You could just sort of glance toward the front again.”

  Samantha nodded and slowly stood up. She walked over to the bar and wedged between two couples. While she was waiting to catch the bartender’s eye, she glanced at the window. Whoever he was, he was gone now. She got two tall glasses of ice water and returned to the table.

  “He left,” Samantha said, setting the glasses down and sliding back into her chair.

  “But what if it really was him? What if he knows who you are, and he’s stalking you?” Angela whispered.

  “I don’t know. You think he’d follow me all the way to Washington? That’s just too weird,” Samantha said, frowning.

  “Strange or not, you should call it in.”

  “I can’t call the Secret Service because I thought I saw a waiter who may or may not have been involved in an attack.”

  “Why not?”

  “Wait a minute.” Samantha reached into her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed a number.

  “Who are you calling?” her friend asked.

  “This may be crazy, but I have an idea.” Samantha sat back and listened.

  “Agent Keating here,” the baritone voice answered.

  “This is Samantha Reid. From the White House, remember?”

  “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you so late.”

  “It’s not late for me. Are you still at your office?”

  “No, I’m actually in Georgetown having dinner with a friend. But I just saw something, and I wanted to tell you.”

  “Saw something? What?” Brett asked.

  “I looked out the window and thought I saw that waiter from Naples. The one whose drawing you had.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. Not really. But he seemed to be about the same height and build. He looked like he was wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up, so I couldn’t get a good look. It’s just . . . ”

  “Where are you?” Brett asked.

  “Chadwick’s. It’s in the 3100 block of lower K Street.”

  “Stay right there.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Stay put. Don’t go outside. I’m on my way,” he said.

  Samantha clicked off. Now she was shaking. If that really was the missing waiter, what could she do? She had a horrible thought that he might be setting another explosive nearby. She glanced nervously out the window again. No one was there. She turned to Angela. “I’m going to speak to the manager.”

  She got up, walked to the kitchen, and asked a server to get the manager. She was standing in front of the swinging doors, shifting from foot to foot, when he walked up.

  “Hello, I’m Armand, the night manager. May I help you?”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m Samantha Reid, White House, Homeland Security.”

  “Yes, Ms. Reid. I’ve seen you here before. Is there a problem?”

  “I hope not. But I need you to check the back of the building where the electrical boxes, air conditioning units, and any other equipment is stored.”

  “Check for what?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “I realize this sounds far-fetched, but I need to go with you and make sure there isn’t some sort of explosive there.”

  “Explosive?” the man said. “What the hell?”

  “Just take me back,” she said, pointing through the kitchen.

  “Should we be calling the police or something?” he said, staring at her.

  “The FBI is on its way.”

  “God!” He quickly guided her through the swinging doors. “Do you have information about an attack or something? We need to get our custo
mers out.” He was almost shouting. Two cooks and a few waiters stopped to listen.

  “No. It’s a precaution. I’ll explain later. Let’s go,” Samantha said.

  They rushed past stoves, serving counters, doors to a large refrigerator, and finally arrived at a dimly lit walkway. The manager stomped outside and ripped open the circuit breaker box. “Nothing here,” he called out and then sprinted to a large storage closet. He turned on its overhead lights as Samantha charged in and began examining the equipment. They scoured the entire area.

  Finally, she turned and said, “Thank you for the quick work. I’m sorry for the alarm. I was afraid a suspect known for setting explosives might be in the area. As I said, the FBI is on its way.”

  The manager rubbed his forehead. “Well, thank you for the warning. This is unbelievable. At least we’re okay for now. Right?”

  “I think so. I’m going back inside to wait for the special agent.”

  “You do that,” the manager said, leading her back to the main room with his hand on his chest. “Please keep me informed. I’ll stay right by the bar.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  THURSDAY LATE EVENING;

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  BRETT HAD ONLY BEEN HOME for fifteen minutes when he got Samantha’s call. He put a lasagna TV dinner back into the freezer then grabbed his wallet and keys. Rushing into his bedroom, he shoved a gun into his shoulder holster and slung on a light jacket. Then he rushed to where he had left his briefcase lying near the front door. He rummaged through it, stuck a piece of paper into his pocket, and bolted to the parking garage.

  He was still fleshing out his mental picture of the city’s layout, but he had a vague idea of where the restaurant was. Brett jumped in his car and drove as fast as he could, grateful the commuter traffic had died down for the day. Georgetown was more crowded. Students from nearby universities clustered outside trendy bistros and leaned against old fashioned street lamps decorated with colorful flower boxes.

  He hung a left on Thirty-First Street, drove to the bottom, and turned right. A block away, he saw an elderly couple slowly backing out of a spot. He turned on his blinker. While he waited, he scanned the area under the Whitehurst Freeway. People flooded out of a movie theater. Others gathered in groups in front of the Washington Harbour entrance. No one in a black sweatshirt. No one with a hood on. He pulled into the slot, locked the car, and hurried to Chadwick’s.

  He quickly spotted Samantha and another woman at a small table and walked over. “Hello, Miss Reid,” he said.

  “Oh, Agent Keating,” Samantha said, looking up at him.

  “It’s Brett, remember?”

  “Sure. This is my friend, Angela Marconi. She works at the White House too. She’s with presidential scheduling.”

  He nodded to Angela then dragged a chair over from a nearby table. Sitting down, he said, “Now, tell me again. What exactly did you see?”

  Samantha took a sip of her wine and glanced at her watch. “I will. But wait. Have you had any dinner? I appreciate you coming so quickly, but I don’t want you to starve because of us.”

  “I haven’t—”

  “Food’s great,” Angela said, waving at a passing waitress. “You should get something.”

  “May I help you?” a young woman said.

  “Mark’s been our waiter. Is he still around?” Samantha asked.

  “He’s in the kitchen, but I can take your order.”

  “Anything that’s quick and easy,” Brett said.

  “Hamburgers are good,” the waitress suggested.

  “That would be fine. Medium rare, and whatever comes with it. Thanks.” He turned and focused on Samantha. “Now. Again. Tell me what you saw.”

  “I was looking out that window, the one right by the front door, and there was this guy, all dressed in black with a hood like I said. And he seemed to be staring in. Right at me. Immediately, I thought he looked familiar. Then it hit me. He might be the guy I saw in Naples working the banquet.

  “I got so nervous that I had the manager show me all the places in back where someone might be able to hide an explosive. Well, maybe not all. But I was thinking that if it was the same guy, he had experience putting C-4 in an electrical box. We talked about evacuating the place, but we didn’t find anything. He’s anxious to talk to you if you think he should take any action. That’s him standing near the bar,” she said, pointing.

  “That was good thinking,” Brett said. “But how would the guy have known you would be here tonight? He wouldn’t have had time to set up an attack.”

  Samantha thought for a moment. “Guess you’re right. I have to admit I was frightened . . . I am frightened. I just wanted to check it all out.”

  “I get that,” Brett said. “Back in a minute.” Pushing away from the table, he walked over to the bar and spoke with the manager. When he returned, he said, “I believe the restaurant is safe for now. But don’t come back here for a while in case the man you saw really is trailing you.” He pulled the paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out on the table. “This the guy?”

  Samantha and Angela both examined the mock-up of a young man with a mess of black hair and a narrow but good-looking face. “Yes, that’s the guy I think I saw tonight. I can’t be sure, but you said to call if I thought of anything,” Samantha said.

  “You were absolutely right to call. Glad you did. Now, how long was he out there?”

  “I have no idea when he arrived. I only saw him when I turned around. Then when I looked again, he was gone.”

  “He saw you looking at him and ran,” Brett said.

  “Evidently. But do you really think someone went to Naples to find me and then came here to find me again?” she asked.

  “Best lead we’ve had so far,” Brett said. He pulled out his cell and punched in a number. After a moment he said, “Dom, Brett here. We’ve got a situation that might tie into the Naples attack. I’m at Chadwick’s in Georgetown. I’ve got Samantha Reid here, and she may have seen the Naples suspect. Can you get over here?” He listened and then said, “Great. See you in a few.” He turned back to Samantha. “Any more thoughts, recollections, anything?”

  “Guy looks kind of innocent in a way,” Angela said. “But you never know. Lots of people look harmless. Until they’re not.”

  “Exactly,” Brett said. “Our Florida field office has been working this case from every angle, but as of now, we’re going to take the lead.”

  “This is like hide and go seek,” Angela said. “I don’t mean to make light of it, but if this guy is stalking Samantha, can you find him? And more importantly, can you protect her?”

  “Here you are, sir. Burger and fries. Ketchup is on the table. Anything else I can get you?” the young waitress asked, setting his food in front of him.

  “A Coke would be great. Thanks,” Brett said and then looked at Angela. “You can be sure that we are going to do our best to find this guy. And we will protect Miss Reid.” He took a bite of his burger.

  “Please just call me Samantha,” she said. “What are you proposing? A bodyguard?”

  “Yes,” Brett said. “We need to make sure you’re safe outside the White House.”

  “Here’s your Coke, sir,” the waitress said.

  “Oh, thanks.” Brett took the glass from her and faced Samantha. “We’ll have an agent drive you to and from work, and we’ll coordinate with the Secret Service during your normal working hours. I’m sure you use White House drivers when you have appointments or meetings outside the compound, right?”

  “Yes. Assistants to the president and certain directors get drivers during working hours. The Chief of Staff and NSC advisor get one for commuting, but not me,” Samantha replied.

  “Whoever this guy is, there’s no way he’d be stupid enough to hang around the White House, not with security around the periphery and cameras and microphones along the fences,” Angela said.

  “Unless this is his first time in Washington,” Brett said.
“Could be foreign. The name he used, Otto Kukk, is an Estonian name. It was obviously an alias, but it still indicates a foreign source. To us anyway.”

  “Well, at least he’d never get inside the White House grounds,” Samantha said.

  “No, but if he’s following you, he might get inside your home,” Brett said. “Where is that, by the way?”

  “Just down the street,” Samantha said. “That’s why I come here a lot. It’s a short walk.”

  “Did you walk here alone tonight?” Brett asked.

  “Sure. But Angela met me here.”

  Brett lowered his eyes and finished his hamburger. He took a final swig of Coke and then motioned to the waitress for a check. When she returned to pick it up, he said, “Please keep the change.”

  “Hey, Brett. Got here as fast as I could,” Dom said, hurrying over and pulling another chair up to their small table.

  “Samantha, Angela, this is Special Agent Dom Turiano. He’ll be working with me on this case,” Brett said.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Dom said, extending his hand. “So, you saw the Naples waiter?” he asked Samantha.

  “Right outside that window. But I’m not positive.”

  “That means stepped-up action for our D.C. task force,” Brett said. “We have to strategize about focusing the search on the city and the surrounding area.”

  Brett and Dom chatted while Samantha and Angela paid their checks. When everyone stood up to leave, Brett asked, “Angela, where is your car?”

  “Just down the street. I got lucky and found a spot,” she said.

  “Same here,” Brett said. “Dom, why don’t you walk Angela to her car? Samantha, I’ll take you home. I don’t want you out alone from now on.”

  “Got it,” Samantha said. She pulled out her cell phone again. “I’m going to give my boss a heads-up on this.”

  “Good idea. We would have done that for you, but please go ahead. Who’s your direct report?” Brett asked.

  “Ken Cosgrove, NSC Advisor.”

  “Of course. He needs to know what’s going on here.” He turned to Dom. “Work on your plans. I’ll do mine and call you later. Right now, I need to check out Samantha’s place.”