at the White House, though everyone who knew about it – which wasn’t many – just called it the Basement.
‘Daniel, are you okay?’ Blake asked.
‘Never been better. What brings you here?’
‘We decided to come pick you up, though I should have guessed you’d be walking, even on a night like this. The hotel told us we’d just missed you.’ He surveyed the scene. ‘Looks like you’ve been having a little excitement.’
The two men were on their feet now and had retreated under the trees, a sorry sight. Clancy said, ‘I’ll call the police.’
‘No, don’t bother,’ Quinn told him. ‘I think they’ve got the point. Let’s go.’
He got in the rear of the limousine and Blake followed. Clancy got behind the wheel and drove away.
It was quiet, except for the whimpering of Shaven-head. ‘For God’s sake, shut up,’ the other one said.
‘He broke my nose.’
‘So what? It’s going to spoil your pretty face? Give me a cigarette.’
Half a block away, another limousine sheltered under the trees. The man who sat behind the wheel was of medium height, around thirty, handsome with blond hair. He wore a white shirt, dark tie, and leather Gucci overcoat. His passenger was of the same age, a very beautiful woman with jet-black hair and fierce, proud features. There was a slightly Arab look to her, which was not surprising, since she was half-Arab, half-English.
‘That was a poor showing, Rupert. You have a rather inferior class of employee, I’m afraid.’
‘Yes, very disappointing, Kate. Mind you, Quinn was impressive.’ Rupert Dauncey pulled on a pair of thin black leather gloves.
Lady Kate Rashid waved the thought aside. ‘We’d better get going. We’ll just have to try something else.’
‘Such as?’
‘I understand the President is dining tonight at the Lafayette Restaurant in the Hay-Adams. Perhaps he’d like some company.’
‘My God, cousin, you do like your fun.’ His voice was very pleasant, with a strong tinge of Boston. ‘Excuse me a moment. I’ll be back.’
As he got out, she said, ‘Rupert, where are you going?’
‘My money, sweetie, I want it back.’
‘But you’ve got money, Rupert.’
‘It’s the principle of the thing.’
He lit a cigarette as he crossed the avenue to the two men huddled under the trees.
‘Well, that was very entertaining.’
‘You told us he’d be a walkover,’ Shaven-head said.
‘Yes, life can be a bitch sometimes. But you two screwed up royally, didn’t you? I want my money back.’
‘Go to hell.’ Shaven-head turned to his friend. ‘Don’t give him nothing.’
‘Oh, dear.’
Rupert produced a .25 Colt from his right-hand pocket, a bulbous silencer on the end. He prodded Shaven-head’s left thigh and pulled the trigger. The man cried out and went down. Rupert held out a hand and the other got the bills out hurriedly.
Rupert said, ‘I noticed you had a mobile phone when we met earlier. I’d call the police if I were you.’
‘Jesus,’ the man said. ‘And what do I say?’
‘Just tell them you were mugged by three very large black men. It’s Washington, they’ll believe you. Terrible, the crime situation in the city, isn’t it?’
He walked back to the car. As he got behind the wheel, Kate Rashid said, ‘Can we go now?’
‘Your wish is my command.’
As they pulled up to the White House, Blake clicked off his cell phone. ‘I never heard Cazalet at a loss for words, but he is now. He’s shocked.’
‘I’m shocked,’ Quinn said. ‘Blake, I’m fifty-two years old. Vietnam was a long time ago.’
‘It was a long time ago for all of us, Daniel.’
‘But, Blake, what I did to those two back there. Where the hell did that come from?’
‘It never goes away, Senator,’ Clancy Smith told him. ‘It’s like being branded for the rest of your life.’
‘Is it the same for you? Does the Gulf War still affect you today?’
‘Ah, hell, I never think about it,’ said Smith. ‘We all cut throats on the right occasion, Senator, you just did it with style. That’s why you’re the legend.’
‘Bo Din?’ Quinn shook his head. ‘It’s like a curse.’
‘No, Senator, an inspiration,’ and they were inside the gate.
When the three of them entered the Oval Office, President Jake Cazalet was seated at his desk, which was littered with papers. The room was in shadows, a table light on the desk. Cazalet, like Blake and Quinn, was in his early fifties, his reddish hair peppered with grey. He jumped to his feet and came round the desk.
‘Daniel, what a hell of an experience. What happened?’
‘Oh, Blake will tell you. Could I possibly have an Irish whiskey?’
‘Of course. Clancy, will you see to it?’
‘Mr President.’
Daniel followed him out to the anteroom. He waited as Clancy poured, aware of the murmur of voices from the Oval Office. When he went back, Cazalet turned to greet him.
‘A hell of a thing.’
‘What? That I’ve just discovered I’m still a killer after thirty years?’
Cazalet took his hand. ‘No, Daniel, that you still have what it takes to be a hero. Those two lowlifes made a mistake. They won’t be trying that again for a while.’
‘Thanks, Mr President. I hope that’s true. Now – what can I do for you? Why did you want to see me?’
‘Let’s sit down.’
They drew chairs up to the coffee table. Clancy stood against the wall, as always, dark, taciturn, and watchful.
The President said, ‘Daniel, you’ve done a fine job so far in your new role, especially your work in Bosnia and Kosovo. I can’t think of anybody who could have done better in the
