The Woman (27 page)

“In part, I guess. But, hey, give me a break here. In Vegas I was guilty of nothing more than you’ve done many times when you bar hopped looking for a man.”

“Okay. Okay. I forgive you.”

“Thank you. But the truth is there’s nothing to forgive me for.”

“Hey, leave me a little something. I was shocked to find you . . . your bed occupied by any woman, let alone one you had pointed out as an example of female abundance.”

“She had nothing on you.”

“Yeah, right. I’m ordinary, maybe plus a little. That woman was huge. Too huge.”

“She was 38-DD.”

“You checked?”

“Well, her bra was lying around my room all morning. I pride myself on being a very good judge, so I confirm my opinion whenever possible.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Her bra was lying around all morning.”

“You know what I mean. That you were right before you looked at the tag in her bra.”

“All right, I accept your challenge. I got you pegged as 34-D”

“Another gift?”

“Same gift. Different judgment.”

Their meals came and Ryan spent a minute lathering his buffalo burger in Thousand Island dressing which he had ordered on the side. After he cut the burger in half, he glanced up at Linda who was looking at his face.

“You have good eyes,” she said. “Easy and gentle. You never look away, yet your stare isn’t intense, and you seem to miss nothing.”

“What you miss can get you killed. But, thank you.”

After chewing her first bite, Linda asked, “You figure I’m still being followed?”

“Not counting me?”

“Not counting you.”

“No. You aren’t. Not at the moment. Webster has five men in his private security force. Me, Mr. Blue, the man you left in the Sea Crest surf, and Charlie, the one I took out just after you left Weed, California.”

“I went all creepy when you told me that earlier. I never saw anyone.”

“Actually, Charlie and his man followed you all the way from Sea Crest after you met with Chief McIlhenny.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because I was following them while they were following you.”

“They didn’t spot you?”

“Their focus was forward toward you, not backward toward me.”

“How did you take out this Charlie after we left Weed?”

“Not important.”

Linda cut another bite from her rib-eye steak. Then she said, “I’m obviously not very good at this stuff.”

“Would you like me to cut your steak for you?”

“Don’t be a smart ass. I meant this stuff about knowing if you’re being followed.”

“Don’t feel bad. We’re pros. You’re not.”

“You said Webster has five men? You’ve mentioned three, you, Blue and Charlie.”

“Webster thinks of me and Blue and Charlie as his security team. The other two work mostly as bodyguards.”

“There’s no one else?”

“There are others, but they don’t know Webster’s identity. They work for me or Charlie or Blue, although Blue mostly works alone. So when Charlie and Blue were eliminated, any others working for them were simultaneously split off from the herd.”

“The two in the alley, they worked for you?”

“Yes.”

“So you sent them after me. Then saved me from them?”

“Yes.”

“Why send them if you were going to stop them?”

“It gets complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.”

“I hadn’t made up my mind. Okay? Not definitely anyway.”

“Well. That’s honest. Thank you. And especially thank you for having made up your mind to save me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, tell me about this Webster guy.”

“Rich. Politically connected. A fixer. He takes money from big business and others and passes it on to some members of congress to get a loophole into the law, or to a regulator to not do their job. To look the other way or sign off on something that’s supposed to have been prevented through the regulatory process. Think Bernie Madoff or the BP oil spill. I don’t have any direct knowledge of those two specific instances, but it’s the kind of thing I’m referring to. Often regulations we think are designed to protect us, are really designed to bring money to those in power, political campaigns and the like. While the conned public, particularly those who think that more government is always the answer, sits back and thinks, oh, boy, they’re protecting us. Then when the shit back-flushes on one of the paid-for favors, the politicians and regulators squeal that there isn’t enough regulation or the regulators don’t have enough funds. The public then demands more. The political process provides more and the result is there are more rules that one can buy their way around. Not always, but often, the real problem is not lack of new regulation, but lack of enforcement of existing regulation. Sometimes that is because congress fails to provide adequate funds. Satisfy the public clamor by creating regulations, then starve the charged agency so they can’t staff adequately to enforce. Everyone uses names like lobbyists or special interests. Webster runs interference for his clients, saves them gobs of money and gets paid very well. But Cynthia’s letter told you about that.”

“And sometimes those efforts lead to people getting killed, assassinated. Is that when you and the others you mentioned come into play?”

“Sometimes, but mostly we set up situations, ah, temptations. Sex. Drugs. Gambling. Whatever our surveillance tells us will make a given regulator or member of congress vulnerable.”

“And you’re okay corrupting the system like that?”

“Don’t be naive. We live in a day of collapsing institutions. The church. The government. The independence of the news media. The integrity of many major corporations. Even the discipline in the public school classroom. The altruism of medical care. All of it is putrefying.”

“And what has replaced it?” Linda asked.

“The twin altars upon which all of it is sacrificed: votes and money. We don’t have time to raise our children, to teach them to make their beds. Mow lawns. Share a family meal. We’ve surrendered our children to television, video games, cell phones and text messaging.”

“Is it your contention that parents no longer love their children?”

“No, no. I’m not speaking of love, and obviously not speaking of all families, just that parents are human. Two parent households are carrying too many demands, even more so for one-parent households. To a large extent, they simply don’t have enough time for their children. Something has to give. They make it work by surrendering their children to TV programs that largely foster the thought that adults know nothing. That other teens, not parents, have all the answers. Am I sounding cynical here?”

“Yes,” Linda said, “and old fashioned I’d say. We can’t go back to the world of Norman Rockwell. If in truth we ever lived in it.”

“I agree, but am I wrong about the decay of Americana?”

“Not entirely.”

“Even right and wrong has been replaced by legal and illegal. We no longer say I can’t do that it’s wrong. We say I can do that, it’s perfectly legal.”

“I agree with that point,” Linda admitted, “as far as it goes, but to bring us back to the here and now, when all else fails, you murder people, or entire companies like Cynthia’s.”

“Bribery or blackmail is so effective, that murder is rarely needed. But sometimes one of our resources turns unstable, or one of them needs someone permanently removed. When we take care of those situations, we increase our control over those whose mess we cleaned up.”

“And you can live with that?”

Ryan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and put the second half of his burger back on his plate. “Look. I’m not one of the good guys.”

“Apparently not. So, why me? I mean, why haven’t you just . . . killed me? Or why didn’t you let your two goons in the alley finish me off that first night?”

“When I find that answer, I’ll tell you.”

“I suspect the answer has little to do with me,” Linda said, “and much to do with you. Your drinking. The uncertainty you’re feeling. I think you are one of the good guys, or that you once were. I think you’re getting sick of no longer living as one of them.”

“I’ll admit it wasn’t the work I expected when I signed on.”

“You don’t strike me as a man who would take a job without knowing what it was.”

“I got introduced to Webster by a retired Special Forces commander and a member of the congressional committee with national security oversight. It was made to sound like intelligence work outside the government.”

“Black ops,” Linda said. “I’ve read about those.”

“It’s been called that. Subcontracted. Off the books stuff. Private security. Lots of names. But yeah, there is a good amount of intelligence and paramilitary work done by experts no longer directly employed by the CIA or the official military. It gives the government a measure of plausible deniability.”

“But you eventually learned Webster wasn’t part of even that.”

“Affirmative, I mean, correct.”

“Why did you stay in his employ?”

“Cynthia told you in her letter, money. Webster pays enough to buy your soul. Well, your convictions anyway. So, like Cynthia, I started thinking about how much longer I needed to do the work to fund a rest-of-my-life plan. Isn’t that the American dream?”

“And you’re not there yet?”

Right then the waiter came into view. “Did you two save some room for dessert?”

“No,” they said as a duet. Then, before the waiter could leave, Ryan ordered another double Martini. Linda shook her head and said, “Not for me.” The waiter left.

“And you’ve not yet funded this rest-of-your-life plan?” Linda repeated.

“Not all the way. No.”

“And then I came along?”

“And then you came along.”

“Why me? How did I tip over your greedy gravy train?”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe you were just one too many. Maybe any
next one
would have been one too many. But I don’t think so. I think it’s you in particular.”

“I don’t mean to push this, but, pleased as I am by it, I wonder why I’m the target you can’t execute?”

“You’re everything that represents America to me. I hope this doesn’t sound . . . well, too corny. I joined the military. I became a sniper and then worked counterintelligence, all of it as a wide-eyed adventure-seeking young man. Defend my country. Protect its people. All that patriotic mumbo jumbo. Over the years, it soured. I became more familiar with the inner workings, and my allegiance gradually swung from country to cash. When I personally had you under surveillance for a couple weeks, you became all the reasons we had started our military careers. If I kill you, I’ve killed who I’d like to be again. I’ve killed what I ever believed in.”

Chapter 42

Linda lay beneath him, but not in surrender. She had welcomed him into her, taking her pleasure and, hopefully, giving as much in return. She had closed her eyes as she climaxed. Something she had always done since her divorce. But this time, unlike all the others, she had not seen her ex-husband’s face. This time she had seen Clark Ryerson’s face.

What am I doing? I’ve carefully avoided relationships. Now I’m experiencing one with Ryan and imagining a second with Clark. God protect me from me.

* * *

Ryan woke immediately when Linda did, her head on the bicep of his left arm. He put his nose into her hair. Despite the passing of the night and having made love, the fragrances of shampoo and soap remained, a clean smell. He longed that one day he could again think of himself as clean.

“Good morning, Linda,” he said, “let me apologize for last night.”

“What for?” Linda said, turning her face toward Ryan.

“I was out of line. You might have thought you had to make love with me because you needed my protection.”

“You want us to forget it? It’s forgotten.”

“I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“What is it with you men?” Linda grabbed one of the extra pillows she had dropped beside the bed, propping it under her head along with the one she had used to sleep. “Why do men always think they took advantage of the woman? Like we’re weak and can’t control our own legs.”

“I don’t want it to confuse things.”

“Oh, please. I’m a big girl. But it’s forgotten, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let me start over. Good morning, Linda, last night was another reason I like older women.”

“That’s starting over? I suppose you’re going to say it’s the way we older gals look in the morning?”

“You look wonderful in the morning, all day for that matter. But, no, it’s because older women know how to make love.”

“The same thing can be said of men,” Linda said. “The younger man is concerned with his own satisfaction. The mature man turns his attention to pleasing the woman.” She smiled. “Thank you,” she said, “I needed last night.”

“It was great for me, too.”