The Trojan Sea (15 page)

“Politics is the very embodiment of self-interest. Maddy Turner—or any politician, for that matter—will sacrifice you in a moment if that’s what it takes to get them reelected. Never forget that.”

“So you think I should go and get my stomach patted?”

“Enjoy the moment. But it’s also a golden opportunity for the slow roll and to sidetrack some of the environmental legislation Turner’s pushing. We do need to buy time.”

“There may be a way,” L.J. replied. “Let me work on it.” They discussed a few other minor matters before she returned to her office. There she sank into the corner of her favorite couch and gazed out the window. From the soft look on her face, a casual observer might think she was daydreaming. But the observer would have been totally wrong. She reached for the phone and buzzed her secretary. “I need a detailed file on President Turner.”

The Pentagon

Colonel Priestly’s staff filed out of his office, happy to escape the Friday-morning meeting without being loaded down with crash projects designed to make Priestly look good and ruin their weekend. Only Stuart was shaking his head. “Hey, Mike,” a fellow lieutenant colonel asked, “how many projects did Ramjet lay on you?”

“Three,” Stuart answered. “All due Monday.”

“There goes the weekend,” the lieutenant colonel consoled. “Better you than me. What did you do to piss him off?”

“Beats me,” Stuart said, really knowing the answer.

He trudged down the hall to his office. The voice-mail light on his telephone was flashing at him. The young police detective from Homicide wanted to talk. Stuart closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It had been seventeen days since he’d been mugged and possibly exposed to HIV. His mouth compressed into a tight line. It was time to learn the bad news. He dialed the detective’s number. It was answered on the first ring.
What the hell?
he thought.
Bad news always travels fast.

“Mike Stuart returning your call,” he said.

“Mike, good news. The asshole tested negative for HIV. I thought you’d like to know as soon as possible.”

For a moment Stuart was speechless as his spirits soared, the heavy burden finally lifted. “Son of a bitch,” he finally managed.

The detective laughed. “That he was. Have a nice weekend.”

“Indeed I will” was all Stuart could think of saying. Then, “Thanks.” He broke the connection and looked at his notes from the staff meeting. The three research projects Priestly had laid on him had nothing to do with his normal duties. The pettiness and unconscionable harassment ate at him. He would be the only person working in the office over the weekend. The anger he felt was so real that he could taste it. “Fuck you, Ramjet,” he said out loud. He grabbed his hat and walked briskly down the hall. But to make his point he deliberately stopped at Peggy’s desk to sign out. She gave him a quizzical look. “If Colonel Priestly should ask,” he said, “tell him I’ve got an appointment I couldn’t put off any longer.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Very serious,” Stuart replied. Then it all broke through, and he smiled. “Have a nice weekend.” With that he was gone.

Peggy watched him leave. “Whatever got into
you
?”

Jane dragged her tired body back to
Temptress,
anxious for a hot shower and a chance to collapse. She was dog-tired after installing a new diesel engine. Still, she felt good at what she had accomplished and the marina’s manager was ecstatic at the business she was generating by word of mouth. She stiffened when she saw the unlocked hatch to the companionway. The word “robbery” flashed in her mind. She relaxed when she saw the open padlock. Only she and Stuart had keys. “Mike?” she called.

“I’m in the galley,” he answered.

She clambered down the steps and was ambushed by the smell of baking cornbread and simmering chili, her favorite meal. But she’d never told him. “How did you know?”

“I have my sources,” he said, handing her a bottle of Dos Equis, the amber-colored Mexican beer she loved.

She collapsed on the settee and took a long pull at the beer. “You certainly know the way to a girl’s heart.”

“That’s the idea.”

The look on his face and the tone of his voice told her all she needed to know. “You’re playing hooky, right?” she asked. A nod confirmed her guess. “And you’re supposed to be working this weekend?” Another nod. “And you’ve got good news.” The last was a statement, not a question. He grinned at her like the Cheshire cat and didn’t answer, wanting to savor the moment. She shook her head in mock disgust. “Be that way.” She finished her beer and stood up. “I’m the pits. I need to take a shower.”

“That’s what you get for working for a living. Go ahead. I’ll get dinner ready.” She squeezed by him, and he concentrated on cooking to give her some privacy. It had never been a problem when they were sailing in the Caribbean, because one of them had always been on deck.

“Mike,” she called, “there’s no soap. Check the middle drawer next to the sink.” He did and found a fresh bar. He knocked on the door, and a hand and bare arm appeared around the edge. He could also see a bare hip and leg that went with it. He blushed and went back to the stove. When she emerged, dinner was ready. While they ate, they talked about the weather and how it was unusually mild for the first of November. When they finished, he washed the dishes. “Well, are you going to tell me now?”

“Let’s go sailing,” Stuart replied. “I checked the weather and tide. All good to go.”

Jane never hesitated. She loved to sail at night and was out of the companionway and had the sail cover half off before Stuart could come on deck. They moved together like dancers in perfect unison getting
Temptress
ready, and in less than five minutes Stuart was casting off the bowline. He stepped aboard as Jane backed the big boat into the main channel. They idled out of the marina, and as soon as they were clear, Jane headed up into the wind and set the autopilot. Together they raised the mainsail. Jane was back at the helm and spun the wheel to fall off the wind. The sail snapped once, starting to draw, and Stuart unfurled the jib. Jane shut off the diesel, and
Temptress
was in her element, free of the land and all that went with it. Only the natural sounds of the boat working the wind and rushing water broke the silence as they ghosted down the channel in the growing darkness. Ahead of them the moon rose in the east and sent a ribbon of light across the water.

Stuart breathed deeply and was at peace with himself and the world. “It’s cold,” he finally said. “I’ll get your jacket.”

“Just a sweater,” she called as he disappeared into the cabin. He was back in a moment and took the wheel while she pulled the heavy sweater over her head. She relaxed into the wide seat beside the steering pedestal and savored the moment. The lights along the shore twinkled at them as the cares of the world disappeared into the darkness.

“Almost enough to make you philosophical,” Stuart said in a low voice, matching her mood perfectly. Then, “The police called. The tests came back. All negative.”

“Thank God,” she whispered reaching out for him. Their hands touched as she came to her feet. “I know you were worried about…” Her words trailed off. He nodded. Then she was in his arms, her face buried against his chest. “Oh, Mike, I was so worried.”

“That’s all behind—” He cut his words off in midsentence. He had almost said “us.”

“Behind us?” she asked, completing his thought.

“Behind us,” he agreed. She lifted her head and kissed him. For a moment they sat there as the moon rose higher in the sky, not saying a word. “Let’s go sailing,” he finally said.

“Sail hell,” she murmured. “I know a great place where we can anchor.”

Dallas

The wind was blowing when L.J. came out of church the first Sunday morning of November. She shook hands with the minister and, as expected, he was a shade more effusive with his richest, and now most famous, parishioner. “I understand you’ve been invited to the White House,” he said.

“The president called Monday,” L.J. replied. “I was quite surprised.”

The minister nodded. In Dallas it was common knowledge that L.J. Ellis and Madeline O’Keith Turner were on opposite sides of the political spectrum. “I know how you feel about her politics,” he said. “But she is a good woman.”

Now it was L.J.’s turn to nod. She said good-bye and looked for the assistant minister’s young wife. She found her in the social hall serving coffee and cake to the Senior Gleaners, the most active group in the church. Under the guidance of the young woman they had accomplished near miracles in providing food and clothing to needy families in the Dallas–Fort Worth area. L.J. waited patiently until she was finished. “How’s everything?” L.J. asked.

“There’s a young single mother who’s found a decent-paying job but needs a car to get to work. A good car will cost around eight thousand dollars. I know it sounds like a lot, but with reliable transportation she can make it on her own.”

“Anything else?”

“There’s a teenage boy, he’s brilliant but has a terrible family life. If we could get him into a prep school and into the proper environment…well, who knows? It’d be taking a chance.” She paused for a moment. “A very big chance.”

“Is he worth it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Call me with the details.”

The young woman beamed. “You know, you give more than the rest of the congregation combined.”

“It’s only money.”

“But you should get credit. They should know what you’re doing.” L.J. shook her head. “It must remain anonymous. That’s the one condition I insist on.”

“God will bless you.”

I doubt it,
L.J. told herself. “For some reason,” she admitted, “doing it this way makes me feel good. I don’t try to understand why.” She walked hurriedly to her car, hating the wind, and drove to her office, eager to work. As usual, the lights and heat were on, and someone had made coffee in anticipation of her arrival.
Lloyd
, she thought. Marsten cared for her like a father and had the uncanny ability to be there when she needed him. But for the most part his innate British reserve was always in place, seldom intruding. She kicked off her shoes and curled up on her couch. A pile of folders and binders filled the coffee table in front of her, all devoted to one subject: Madeline O’Keith Turner. She spent the next three hours working her way through the mass of material her staff had compiled. Eventually satisfied she had the measure of the president, she leaned back and dozed, setting her subconscious free.

“Don’t you ever go home?” Marsten said from the doorway, waking her.

The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Instead she said, “I’m worried.”

“About the elephant?”

“Of course. The risks are staggering.” She would never reveal all that she was thinking, but occasionally she had to vent her anxiety. Marsten alone could provide a sounding board.

“And so are the rewards,” he said.

“If I can pull it off.”

He almost asked her how she was gaming it, but that would have been overstepping their unspoken boundaries. He looked at his watch. “I need to check on Duke.”

“Is he in pain?” she asked.

“Only a little.” He closed her office door as he left.

Do what you must,
she thought.
Don’t let the poor animal suffer needlessly.
An image of her beloved teddy bear came out of its hidden niche. She had been six years old when the family German shepherd had playfully torn it apart when she had left it in the backyard. Afterward, she could find only about half of the stuffed animal, and her father had taught her a painful lesson: She had to let go of something she loved very much. Together they’d buried the remains of the teddy bear in the flower garden. “This is one of those times,” her father told her, “when you don’t have a choice.” She’d been happy then. But that was before she learned about her father’s mistress.

The image of the teddy bear changed into that of John Frobisher, the head of Front Uni.
Why does he remind me of Teddy?
she thought. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to cuddle him. “I don’t need a teddy bear at my age,” she said aloud.
Where in the grand scheme of things do you fit?
It was the same question she had asked about Mike Stuart. But unlike Stuart, John Frobisher was a variable she could control. She closed her eyes and dozed, putting her subconscious back to work.

Newport News, Virginia

Jenny and Grant were waiting for Stuart outside his parents’ home when he arrived. As usual, his mother was avoiding Jenny and nowhere to be seen. But the moment Martha saw Jane climb out of the Explorer, she came out of the house to meet them. Eric was right behind her, and he ran up to Jane. He skidded to a stop, not sure what to say.

Jane took his left hand and examined it. “I think you’re big enough,” she said.

“Big enough for what?” Eric replied.

“To learn to play the guitar.”

Eric was interested. “You can play the guitar?”

“A little.”

Jenny was anxious to leave and had Grant transfer their baggage to the Explorer while she and Stuart exchanged keys and paperwork. “Eric!” she called, “come say good-bye to Mother.” Her son came over and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before running back to Jane. Jenny gave Jane a quick look and then dismissed her out of hand. All she saw was a short, stocky woman who dressed like a refugee from the Salvation Army.

Grant slipped behind the wheel of the Explorer. “Nice wheels, man,” he said to Stuart. Jenny climbed into the passenger seat, and then they were gone.

“Good riddance,” Martha said in a low voice.

Shanker walked around Jenny’s old car and lifted the hood. He started the engine and listened for a few moments. “This thing is a wreck,” he announced. He gave Stuart a hard look. “When are you going to stop letting her run over you?”