Chapter Two
Zoey took pride in her ability to walk fast, but the Marine escorting her through the Pentagon was next level. Of course, he wasn’t wearing heels and a skirt, so there was that. “Where exactly are we going and will we still be in country when we get there?” she asked.
The sergeant laughed. “First time at the Puzzle Palace?”
“You’re quick.”
“It’s a little overwhelming until you get used to it. End to end, the building will hold the Statue of Liberty, but you can move between any two places within ten minutes. We don’t have time today, but grab one of the honor guards and get the nickel tour when you have a chance.”
Zoey nodded but figured that wouldn’t be happening. Once she got her in-person scolding for violating code and testified before the Senate, she’d probably be shipped off to serve out the rest of her career in some remote outpost. In the meantime, she drank in every detail she could about the enormous building. They’d passed a row of shops that carried goods ranging from fancy candy to jewelry and a food court with every unhealthy fast food option imaginable, and she was beginning to feel like she was at a shopping mall instead of a military complex.
“Here’s your stop, Major.”
Zoey glanced at the door and back to the Marine waiting to be dismissed. She nodded, squared her shoulders, and pushed through. “Major Granger, reporting to see General Bloomfield,” she announced to the soldier manning the desk.
“Good afternoon, Major.” He pointed at the door behind him. “Go on in, the generals are expecting you.”
Generals. Zoey wondered if she’d misheard the plural, but didn’t bother asking since she’d find out soon enough. She rapped on the door to signal her entry and the door swung wide. “General Sharp!”
She immediately regretted the exclamation, but it had been years since she’d seen her first CO and she didn’t expect him to be here. David Sharp had been her champion from the moment she’d graduated from boot camp, and she took some measure of comfort at the sight of a familiar face.
“Major, good to see you,” he said. “Come on in.” He swept an arm toward a couple of chairs in the center of the room, and she did a quick recon to see if there were any other surprises waiting, but there was only one other person in the room who she assumed was Bloomfield. After Sharp sat, she followed suit.
“Major Granger, I’m General Bloomfield. I appreciate you getting here so quickly. The Armed Services Committee is about to chew their own arms off if they don’t get a uniform in the hot seat on this Nine Tech crap. I’m afraid you’ll be raw meat to the hungry beast, but it can’t be helped. The first hearing is tomorrow afternoon, and you’ll meet with counsel’s office to prepare. Tell the truth, nothing more, nothing less. Sharp has volunteered to make sure you’re situated and to escort you to the Capitol. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Zoey hesitated for just a second as she spoke the words. She was relieved to know she’d have a friendly face with her at the hearing tomorrow, but she’d expected a little more of a dressing down about dragging half a platoon through this ordeal.
“I heard a but, Major. You have something to get off your chest?”
Zoey resisted the urge to glance at Sharp for guidance. For the first half of her career, he’d been a careful mentor, guiding her in and around bureaucratic minefields as she escalated up the ranks to achieve her own command. Much of the way she exerted authority was based on the lessons she’d learned from him. Relying on everything she’d learned under his command, she took a page from his book and asked what she really wanted to know. “Permission to speak freely?”
“Say what’s on your mind.”
“I fully expected a chewing out and a little more ‘here’s what we want you to say…’” She paused. “I understand the issue with Nine Tech is likely to cause a lot of problems with the Senate, especially with regard to budget.”
“Are you asking for a script, Major?”
Bloomfield’s tone was gruff, but his eyes were kind, urging her to get it all out. “No, sir. Just letting you know I understand how difficult this situation has become. I assure you I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice, soldier, but in this case, you made the right one.” He jabbed a finger in Sharp’s direction. “I’ve known that man since he was a ninety-day wonder, still wet behind the ears,” he said, referring to Sharp’s stint in Officer Candidate School. “If Sharp says you’re a good soldier, I trust him. Don’t get me wrong, you created a shit storm, but you’re going to help us find our way out of it. Understood?”
She nodded even though she knew he expected a verbal reply. He was out of his seat and the implication was clear—she was dismissed. Sharp motioned for her to follow him, and a few minutes later, they were walking back through the building on a different concourse than the one the Marine had led her in on.
“Are you hungry?” Sharp asked as they passed by a Pizza Hut.
The idea of a greasy slice of pizza twisted her stomach in knots. “A little, but after airplane food, I could use something with at least the appearance of green. I can wait if there are meetings scheduled this afternoon.”
“One this afternoon with staff counsel, and one in the morning with some stiffs from the White House. Lawyers,” he said with disdain, “even when they aren’t billing by the hour, they’re looking for an angle. If you want to push through today, I’ll get you out of here in time for dinner. We’ve got you set up at a hotel in Alexandria. There’s a decent restaurant there.”
“I can wait.”
“There’s that ‘but’ again.”
She considered her next words carefully. “I’m just wondering why they have you escorting me around. Seems a little beneath your rank.”
“It is,” he said, “but I volunteered.” He slowed his brisk walk and turned to face her. “We all got the reports, and I know you’ve been taking a lot of flack out there for blowing the lid off this thing. Least I can do is make sure you scoot through this part of the process unscathed.”
She should be grateful Sharp was still taking a personal interest in her career, but a small part of her was offended at the idea she needed protection from the fallout of her decision to report members of her platoon when she learned of the scheme they were running under her command. “I expected pushback at the base, but even here?”
He nodded. “Bloomfield’s the exception. There are a few of the top brass who wish you’d gone through back channels to report what you found.”
“And you?” She asked the question before she thought it through, and once the words were out, she braced for his answer. If her mentor said she should have kept quiet, she wasn’t sure she could ever recover her respect for him.
“You did the right thing, no question. But you had to know there would be fallout.”
“What did you teach me? It’s a bureaucracy. There’s always fallout.”
“Fair enough.” He started walking again, double time. “Come on, soldier. The lawyers are waiting.”
Later that evening, Zoey emerged from a steaming shower, slipped into the courtesy robe, and contemplated the room service menu. After a grueling afternoon answering dozens of practice questions, all she wanted was some real food, a stiff drink, and solitude. She placed her order and turned on the TV, hoping to escape into a mindless comedy or a thrilling adventure movie. She clicked quickly past the local channels and the Home Shopping Network, but when she landed on MSNBC, she froze. The screen filled with the image of her savior from the airport, Rook Daniels, standing next to a handsome couple at a podium, fielding questions from reporters. Based on the time, Zoey figured the news conference had taken place a few hours ago. New York City. So, that’s where Rook had been headed when she’d boarded the helo in the private terminal at National. Zoey turned up the volume.
“Well-known DC fixer Rook Daniels appeared with her client, US Representative Buster Jenkins and his wife, Farah Hamil, to answer questions about the breaking news that lewd photos of Jenkins showed up in an online chat room. We have a panel assembled to discuss the fallout, but first let’s go to our New York affiliate for the highlights of the press conference.”
The screen changed to show a tall blond reporter standing outside the St. Regis in downtown New York. Zoey had never been there, but she recognized the iconic building from movies.
“Good evening, Chris,” the reporter said. “The press conference was what we’ve come to expect from Daniels. She put her clients front and center for the camera at a distinguished locale and let them speak directly to the press, but there was no doubt they’d been well-prepped to field any questions lobbed their way. Jenkins denied the charges. Hamil stood by her man. No surprises here.”
“There’s been speculation that Farah Hamil has been planning to launch her own campaign for mayor of New York. Any word on that and whether her husband’s troubles will have an impact on her political future?”
“The question definitely came up, and I have a clip to show how it went down.”
Zoey turned the volume up, her gaze riveted on Rook who leaned into the microphone at the podium and called on a reporter from the New York Times.
“What impact will the pending charges have on Councilwoman Hamil’s expected announcement for the mayoral run?”
“Clever, Charlie,” Rook said with an engaging smile. “First of all, there are no pending charges, merely an investigation. Second, the only expectation Farah Hamil has right now is that you will report fairly and objectively about her husband’s case and give their family the space to deal with these troubling accusations. One more question,” Rook said, turning her attention to the other reporters in the crowd.
Zoey smiled at the screen, both charmed and annoyed by Rook’s evasive, yet telling doublespeak. If she were inclined to gamble, she’d lay odds that Farah Hamil would be divorced and running for mayor of New York within the year. But what really captured her attention about the coverage on TV was Rook. If possible, she looked even more handsome than she had at the airport. Clearly comfortable in front of the cameras, she assumed her role of “fixer” with ease. While normally Zoey would find the moniker abhorrent, Rook had certainly fixed things for her when she’d needed help, so she really couldn’t judge. Besides, even if she didn’t care for Rook’s chosen profession, she couldn’t deny Rook looked good doing it, and she certainly couldn’t deny she enjoyed watching the show.
* * *
Rook stood at the podium, well practiced at not blinking at the prolonged burst of shutter flashes or the onslaught of prurient questions about the naked photos of the congressman. Eyes focused on the press crowded in front of her, Rook still felt the palpable discomfort of her client, US Representative Buster Jenkins who was posed ramrod straight next to his steely-eyed wife. Rook had coached them well in the time they’d had since her helicopter had landed, but she still would have preferred better casting for this press conference. Unfortunately, while she was very selective about whom she chose to represent, her clients rarely came from central casting.
She’d first met Buster years ago, before he’d started his political career, when he married noted lawyer Farah Hamil. Farah was a long time acquaintance from law school, but the wedding invitation was the first time Rook had heard from her since their graduation. Rook attended the wedding, more for the opportunity to see other friends from their class than because she was invested in the couple’s future happiness, and she’d sensed from the beginning Buster and Farah were a typical power couple, destined to either promote or implode each other’s success. Like similar couples before them, they appeared to have entered a tacit agreement to escalate Buster’s political ambitions first, but the political gossip mill was already churning about Farah’s expected announcement to run for mayor of New York.
Until this week, when the pictures were splashed on the front page of the Enquirer, showing Buster in a compromising position with another woman, a much younger woman. Panicked about her own political future, Farah had contacted Rook’s office and implored her to do her magic to make it all go away as quickly as possible. After an in-depth conversation with Farah about the potential options and an intensive video conference with the couple last night, they’d agreed to a press conference to get in front of the story.
So far the questions had been probing, but Rook handled them with ease, deflecting where necessary and hitting the issue of privacy hard, but it was time to wrap this circus up. “One more question,” Rook said, pointing to the political reporter from Vanity Fair. “Diane?”
“Is there any evidence the photos have been tampered with in any way, so they are not what they appear to be?”
Rook nodded. “I’m not at liberty to share any such evidence with you at this time, but it’s clear someone is trying to impugn Congressman Jenkins’s excellent reputation for good character. I will say this.” She paused and met several key sets of eyes in the crowd of reporters. “Anyone can make anything look real on the Internet.” She glanced back at the troubled couple. “On behalf of Congressman Jenkins and his wife, I’d like to thank you all for being here. They are both anxious to put this nightmare behind them and return to serving the citizens of New York. You may contact my office for updates.” Rook ignored the continued chorus of shouted questions and walked away from the cameras. She placed an arm around Buster and escorted him and Farah through the private exit at the back of the hotel ballroom that had been designated for their use. The getaway plan brought up memories of rushing through the back halls of the airport with Zoey Granger at her side, and she wished she were with Zoey pursuing that chase instead of this one.
When Rook was certain they were alone, she motioned for the couple to stop.
“That was brilliant,” Buster said, “Ending with the assertion the photos are fake. That’s going to be the lead.”
“Except for one thing,” Rook said. She turned to Farah and fixed her with a stare. “Do you want to tell him or should I?”
“What?” Buster asked, looking furtively between the two of them.
Farah cleared her throat. “The photos aren’t fake and anyone with half a brain can figure that out.”
“Well,” Buster stretched out the word. “At least the assertion buys us some time to come up with a new defense.” He play-punched Rook on the shoulder. “Isn’t that why we’re paying you the big bucks?”
Rook shook her head. “There’s not enough money in the world to create fact out of fiction. Delay is all you get, but you’re right, I tossed out the idea to give Farah time to decide what she wants to do, and I think there’s something she wants to tell you.” She watched as Buster’s expression spun through a list of emotions, from surprise to shock, finally landing on denial.
“You can’t leave me,” he said to Farah. “Not now. Hell, you’re about to announce.”
“Rook thinks I’ll make a much more sympathetic candidate as the spurned, but strong wife who chose not to stand by her man, especially if it means I lose the baggage of an adulterer.”
Rook winced at the attribution. She’d merely pointed out the options and let Farah choose her future. She wholeheartedly agreed with the choice, but she’d have found a way to make other options work if Farah decided to salvage her marriage. She might choose her clients, but she was being paid to get the outcome of their choice, and no one was better at arguing both sides.
An hour later, Rook was back in her room at the Peninsula Hotel, lying back on the bed, contemplating the room service menu. Farah had invited her to dinner at Gramercy Tavern, but Rook knew no matter how well intentioned, downtime would quickly turn into more conversation about Farah’s marital woes and political prospects. Rook had had enough rescuing damsels in distress for the day, although she hardly considered Major Zoey Granger a damsel in distress. No, Zoey had been more like a soldier out of her battle zone. Rook closed her eyes and played back portions of the afternoon at the airport, running slow motion past the part where Zoey tugged her hair out of the tight bun and her auburn waves cascaded onto the shoulders of her crisp uniform. Uniforms were usually a no-go for Rook, but the sharp contrast of Zoey’s vulnerability with the hard edge of her insignias intrigued her, and she was in no hurry to brush Zoey Granger to the back of her mind.
Her phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID, instantly recognizing the White House exchange. She answered with a mock stern tone. “Tell the president I’m not interested,” Rook said.
“That’s what I used to say, but look at me now.”
Rook laughed at the sound of her old friend Julia Scott’s voice. They’d had a running joke since Julia had accepted the president’s offer to become his chief of staff. Julia had tried, on many occasions, to get Rook to join the administration as an advisor on strategy, but Rook had made it clear she wasn’t interested. “You whisper into the ear of the most powerful man in the free world,” Rook said. “Of course you had to say yes to the job. I, on the other hand, like being my own boss.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Pretty sure whoever pays you owns you.”
“Ouch.”
“The truth hurts.”
“Maybe so, but I’m still not coming to work for you or your guy.”
“‘My guy,’ she says. Whatever. I didn’t call to pressure you this time. I called to invite you to a party.”
“What? Are you finally making an honest woman out of Addison? Beltway rumors say you’ve been essentially shacking up for the last six months.”
“Between you and me, the rumors are true, but it’s been a little complicated trying to balance our jobs and our love life.”
Rook had no doubt it was true. The mix of president’s chief of staff with the chief justice of the United States resulted in a relationship fraught with trip lines. “I can see the headlines now. DC power couple tipping the balance of power. Couldn’t you find a nice nobody to fall in love with?”
“When you find someone and settle down, then you can tease me about my love life. Until then, button it up.”
“Fair enough. So what’s the occasion if not a wedding?”
“It’s Addison’s birthday. I’m having a thing. It’s kind of gotten out of hand, and now there are going to be way too many people coming, half of whom I barely know. Promise you’ll show up and keep me sane?”
“You know you can count on me even if I won’t be your White House lackey.”
“Someday, Daniels, someday. By the way, nice job with the press conference tonight. When is Farah going to divorce the creep?”
“No comment, even for you. You’ll have to hear about any fallout in the gossip columns just like everyone else.” Rook decided to fish for a little gossip of her own. “Hey, what do you know about the Senate hearing on Nine Tech?”
“Plenty. Why? Something specific you’re after?”
Rook started to tell Julia about meeting Zoey at the airport but hesitated. It had been a chance meeting and she’d done a good deed, but it was nothing more than that. Telling Julia felt like she was making more out of it. “Nothing. I saw an article in the paper this morning. Just curious.”
“I think it’s all in the dustup phase now. The hearings are just a way for the senators to show their constituents they’re guarding the coffers. They’ll grill the girl, shake a stick at the Joint Chiefs, and move onto the next drama du jour.”
“Woman.”
“What?”
“You were talking about the major who exposed the corruption and you said girl. Besides, shouldn’t you be calling her soldier or some other military thing? The patriarchy you’re part of is rubbing off on you.”
“Look who’s talking. Pretty sure you just stuck up for a man-creep of the highest order while making his wife stand at his side for the camera. If you want me to turn in my feminist card, you’re going to have to go first, my friend.”
“Touché.” Rook heard a knock at the door. “As fun as this little catch-up has been, my dinner just showed up and I’m starving. Count me in for Addison’s party and I’ll see you soon.” She hung up and answered the door to usher in the room service waiter impatiently waiting while he arranged the table with a T-bone, loaded baked potato, and a salad with more toppings than greens. When he started fiddling with the bottle of Cabernet, she shoved a twenty in his hand and told him to leave the bottle opener. Solitude, food, and the better part of a bottle of very expensive wine were the only things she wanted right now. As she settled in to enjoy them all, she wondered if Zoey was tucked away in a DC hotel room doing the same thing.