Sex Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 6) (19 page)

The
shooting
at George Washington University, as the event almost immediately became labeled, was a different matter.

It would have been big news had no political figure been involved.

As it was..

Protests and marches sprang up again, with Lissies shouting and singing and screaming support for Nina Bannister, who had come within a split second of being a martyr for the cause of women’s rights.

The thing was all over the Social Network.

Students who had been in the hall were being interviewed, and were telling, of course, wildly differing accounts of what had actually happened.

By seven o’clock in the evening, Nina and her roommate were sitting in the kitchen of their apartment—somehow this had become their favorite place of all—having a glass of white wine.

They had, they decided, earned it.

The apartment was surrounded by security personnel.

Her entire life, Nina now assumed, would be surrounded by security personnel.

They were surprised then to hear a knock at the door.

Nina looked at Laurencia:

“Reporters?”

Laurencia shook her head:

“Reporters are banned. The security people won’t let them come up.”

“Then who?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea”

“Should we open the door?”

Laurencia got to her feet:

“I may,” she said, “be a target, and people may be shooting at my new friend with deer rifles. But I will not be too damned frightened to open the door of my own apartment.”

So that is what she did.

Revealing Sylvia Morales, who stood just outside the door.

“Sorry to bother both of you.”

“Come in, Sylvia!”

In a minute’s time, all three of them were seated at the table, and another glass of cold wine had been poured.

“I’m not supposed to be up here. But I knew someone on the detail down below, and I bribed him.”

“Why,” asked Nina, “are you not supposed to be up here? You’re our security detail.”

“Not any more.”

“What?”

“No. I was removed.”

‘Removed from what?”

“From being on your protection team.”

“That’s ridiculous! You saved my life! That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen! I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you!”

But Sylvia merely shook her head and said:

“None of it should have happened. A huge open window like that, with a massive building next door, lots of offices—it’s Protection 101. You were a sitting duck.”

“So they’re firing you?”

She shrugged:

“We’ll see. The main thing is—well, it’s just sad. Because I like both of you. And I’d like to have continued working with you.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Nina. “Surely we have some say in who our agent is! And we want you! We’ll call Stockmeyer and insist!”

A shake of the head:

“Not the Secret Service. He pretty much does as he wants.”

But Laurencia was taking out her cell phone and dialing it.

“Perhaps we can change his attitude.”

“I appreciate it, Senator, but if you’re calling Stockmeyer on my behalf…”

“I’m not calling Stockmeyer.”

A pause while she listened, the phone to her ear.

Finally, she said:

“This is Laurencia Dalrymple. Is he available?”

A pause. Then:

“Excellent. I’m so fortunate. Please tell him I’m calling in a favor. Give him this number. Tell him I’ll be waiting. Thank you.”

She flipped the phone shut.

“Now. Let’s wait a bit. I believe I’ll have some more wine. Nina?”

“No, I’ve had plenty.”

“Sylvia?”

“On duty.”

“Just as you wish.”

She had finished pouring her second glass when the phone rang.

She flipped it open and said into it:

“Thank you so much for calling me back. I have a favor to ask, especially if you have any pull with the Secret Service.”

She was silent for a time, then smiled and said:

“Well I would think so too. We have a wonderful agent assigned to us. Sylvia Morales is her name. She saved Nina’s life today, and, for that, as a reward, she has been replaced.”

Silence.

Then:

“I know. It’s insane. But the bottom line is we love her, and we feel safe being in her protection. We don’t want another agent. So if you could…ah. Ah, yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

And, so saying, she hung up.

“Who was that?” asked Nina.

“A friend with some power. I’ve been in Washington a good bit longer than he, and so I’ve been able to do several favors for him. Now perhaps he can do one for us. At any rate, we shall see. Let’s simply enjoy our wine for a bit. And while we do so…”

The phone rang.

Laurencia handed it to Sylvia:

“I feel certain it’s for you, honey.”

Sylvia took it and said into it:

“Agent Morales here.”

Silence.

Then:

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I understand. And I appreciate it greatly. Yes. Yes, of course.”

She hung up, then turned, and, beaming, said to Nina:

“I’ve been reinstated! That was Stockmeyer! He’s decided to give me a second chance!”

“Wonderful!” shouted Nina.

And the phone rang yet again.

Laurencia:

“Yes. Yes, she’s back. Thank you so much!”

Pause.

“Oh yes, she is here. I’ll let you speak to her.”

Laurencia handed the phone to Sylvia, who listened for a moment and finally said:

“Thank you, sir. I was just doing my job.”

Pause.

Sylvia:

“Nina, he wants to talk to you.”

“Who…”

“Here. Just listen.”

Nina took the phone.

She did listen.

Finally, she said:

“No, sir. I’m quite all right. And yes, sir. I’m proud of the
Lissie
movement too.”

She listened for a time longer, said a few words, she hardly remembered what they were.

Then she hung up.

Laurencia and Sylvia were both smiling at her.

“That,” she said, smiling back at them, “was the President of The United States.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ROLL DOWN LIKE WATERS

There was no sleep for either of them, of course, but there was a decision made. Nina made it at around four in the morning, while she was thrashing around in bed, reliving the previous hours.

She told it to Laurencia over a very early breakfast—for her roommate could not sleep either––while they were eating bran flakes covered with milk and blueberries, and drinking coffee.

The sun had not yet risen, nor had gray flakes begun to appear in the sky.

The neighborhood was relatively quiet. A siren in the distance; a dog barking somewhere down the street.

Outside, the security vehicles had made themselves invisible.

But they were there.

And they would always be there.

For—how long, for God’s sake?

“I have to quit,” Nina was saying.

Laurencia looked at her, but did not seem surprised.

“Quit and do what?”

“Go home.”

“Why?”

Nina looked back and did seem surprised, but only because she was.

“What do you mean, ‘why?’”

“Just what I asked.”

“Laurencia, this idiot shot at me.”

“Yes, I know. I was there.”

“The bullet could have blown up my head! “

“But it didn’t.”

“No, but next time…”

‘You’re sure there’s going to be a next time?”

“That’s just it, Laurencia. Maybe if I quit, there won’t be. This nut obviously thinks I’m doing something against the will of God. If I stop, maybe he will, too.”

“Then he will have won.”

“And I’ll still be alive.”

“Yes. You will be.”

Nina leaned forward on the table:

“Laurencia, I don’t want to be a martyr. I’m not meant to be. I’m not a famous person, or at least I haven’t lived my life that way. I came here to Washington because a lot of people asked me to, and because I thought I could make a difference, just a little difference.”

“A little difference.”

“Yes, and that’s all. Now people are beginning to look at me as some kind of Gender Messiah.”

“Because to them you are.”

“But why can’t somebody else be, for a while? Why do I have to spend the next part of my life, for I don’t know how many months, terrified to sit by a window, and diving under the bed every time a tire blows out?”

Laurencia thought about that for a time and then said:

“You have a point. If you went back to Bay St. Lucy, maybe the guy would be satisfied. Maybe all the guys would be satisfied, and maybe the Lissie movement would just die out for lack of a leader.”

“I don’t think…”

“Tell you what, Nina. Let me take you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“One of my favorite places in Washington. We have the limo here that the Secret Service has assigned to us. They’ll take us now if we want to go.”

“So early?”

“This place never closes. I go there often before sunrise, to experience the dawn. Come on: I’ll show it to you.”

So Nina finished dressing, and, five minutes later, she was driving down West Basin Drive, to the Martin Luther King Memorial.

She had not seen it close up, but it astonished her on being let out at the limo.

It was more impressive in the dark, both it and the granite blocks it had been hewn from, glowing white in searchlights installed at its base.

“It’s like Rushmore,” she whispered to Laurencia. “That massive white statue, carved out of the limestone mountain behind it, containing it.”
     

Laurencia shook her head:

“Not limestone. No, the sculpture was carved from 159 blocks of granite that were assembled to appear as one singular piece. The whole thing is meant to convey the three themes that were central throughout Dr. King’s life. Democracy, justice and hope. The statue is thirty feet high and known as the Stone of Hope.” Dr. King is carved gazing out over the horizon—where the sun will come up, actually—and concentrating on the future and the hope of humanity. To the side is a 450-foot inscription wall, made from granite panels. It’s inscribed with fourteen excerpts from Dr. King’s sermons and public addresses. Come on. Let’s just walk around the memorial, and read.

They did, Laurencia leading, Nina a step or so behind.

They were alone at the memorial. To their left loomed the Washington Monument, and directly across the Tidal Basin, the Thomas Jefferson Memorial.

But these things seemed almost unimportant compared to the words carved into white granite in front of her:

“Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

And:

“Out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.”

And:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”

And:

“Make a career of humanity. Commit yourself to the noble struggle for equal rights. You will make a better person of yourself, a greater nation of your country, and a finer world to live in.”

And finally, Laurencia said:

“I think this is my favorite, here on the North Wall. It’s from,
Strength to Love
, and he made the speech in 1963. He had five years left to live. Then he was shot. He probably knew he was going to get shot. It had to happen. And so he said:

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of convenience and comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

After a time, they both sat down on the moist granite stones.

The sun was coming up now, and they could see faint streaks of saffron gold coming up over the Jefferson Memorial, and reflecting in the wading pool.

“Of course,” Laurencia said, quietly, “he said ‘a man.’ He probably wouldn’t have meant for the sayings to apply to you and me.”

Nina shook her head slowly, and smiled.

“No. Of course not. We’re just women.”

They were silent for a time longer.

Then Nina said:

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home, of course. I have to change and get to work.”

And they left.

By the time Nina had arrived at the Rayburn Building, the corridors had already begun to fill up with other congressional staff personnel.

She had to fight through them to get to her own office and push open the door.

The room in front of her seemed, at first, deserted.

Then she saw movement at a desk in a cluttered corner.

Dicken Proctor arose and stared at her.

He said nothing.

All of the three rooms of her office were deathly silent.

“Dicken, what is it?”

He continued to stare.

She stepped into the office, then repeated:

“What is it? Where is the rest of the staff?”

He shook his head slowly:

“I sent them home. They started arriving about half an hour ago. And I sent them home.”

“Why?”

He circled around to the center of the room.

He took another step toward her.

His mouth was gaping.

“I got here at six. Before everybody else. And I found this letter, on the desk back in your main office.”

He handed it to her.

She read:

I’M SORRY I MISSED. I WILL NOT MISS AGAIN.

Nina took a deep breath and said:

“He got in here again.”

“Yes. He did.”

“How is that possible?”

Dicken looked even more horrified and whispered:

“It’s possible because he was able to get a key. He has a master key to all the offices. He told me that once.”

“What? Dicken, what in God’s name are you talking about?”

“It’s not in God’s name. It couldn’t be!”

“What are you
talking
about?”

“Nina—I saw him! When I got here, the man writing these letters—he was here! In here, back in your office! He was laying the letter gently on the desk. And when I walked in—he looked up at me! I saw him!”

“But Dicken…why didn’t you try to stop him?”

“I…I couldn’t.”

“And so you just let him leave?”

“Yes. It was as though I couldn’t move.”

“That’s crazy! Why didn’t you call security?”

“I..I..”

“Have you called security now?”

“No, because he…”

“He’s what, dammit?”

Another step forward, then:

“Because he’s dead!”

“
Who
is dead?”

“The man who left the letter.”

“That’s insane!”

“Nina…”

And then a slow shake of the head:

“The man who left the letter…is Jarrod Thornbloom.