The Raven's Assignment

“You won’t want to be part of Phillips’s staff?”

“I won’t be asked. Same party, Samantha, but each man comes in with his own people. And, frankly, I think I’ll be glad. The NSA is where I really want to be. I’m not all that political. I’d rather think I’m serving my country, not just the current administration. Since the president agreed, and really wants more of an outsider’s opinion on national security, we’re fine. This was, hell, this was an ego thing as much as anything else. But enough about me. Why do you want to be part of Phillips’s staff?”

The waiter approached, and they both gave their orders, then were silent as the wine—compliments of the owner—was opened and poured.

“Nice touch, even if I am going to have to pay for it. We’re not allowed to accept gifts, you know. Still, I could get used to this,” Jesse said, sipping the wine. “So, Samantha, are you going to tell me? Why do you want to be part of Phillips’s staff?”

“Because he’s right for America,” Samantha said, and then she grimaced. “Okay, okay, the truth. Not that he isn’t right for America. He’s a wonderful man. But to get the chance to walk into the West Wing? Stand inside the Oval Office? Be even a small piece of the power behind the man in that office? You’ve admitted it, so I can say it. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“True, true. Fifteen-hour days, constant emergencies, news leaks, congressmen who need their hands held. It’s great.”

“You’re just saying that. I don’t think you’d ever be anywhere you didn’t want to be.”

Jesse didn’t answer her. He just lifted his glass in salute and took another sip of wine as the waiter placed large bowls of salad in front of them.

Oh, he liked this woman. He really, really liked her. And she was correct. He was right where he wanted to be. Across the table from a very interesting woman.

By the time they’d finished their steaks, Jesse was feeling pretty mellow.

Mellow enough to ask a question he probably shouldn’t have asked.

“Have you ever been to the Chekagovian embassy?” he asked, because it seemed as if she’d been everywhere else in the District, and most parts of Virginia. She knew everybody, probably through her parents or Senator Phillips, and had been invited to all the right parties.

Samantha sat back and rolled her eyes. “Oh, the Chekagovian embassy! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.” That much was true. He’d only gotten the fax from the local law firm yesterday, and was still trying to grasp the idea that he and his relatives owned the pricey mansion…and the rest of it.

“You’ve never seen it? Oh, you have to see it. I mean, I’ve never been inside, but from the outside? The grounds are magnificent, just for starters. I was there for a photo op with the senator’s wife, but we didn’t get to go inside. Gorgeous gardens, with flowers all over—”

“I’ve heard that. Gardens, with flowers in them. Very unique.”

“Don’t be funny,” she said, then waited until their plates were cleared from the table. “And it’s not just the gardens. The mansion is truly extraordinary. Federal style. Wonderful old redbrick. A million windows. Exterior wood all painted creamy white, and definitely handcrafted by experts. It’s…it’s a slice of American history. Really.”

“And it serves as the Chekagovian embassy.”

She nodded. “That’s what happened to so many of the best old houses. It’s the price we pay for being the center of the political world. Of course, if we weren’t, who knows what would have happened to those lovely old mansions.”

“They’d never have been built.”

“Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. Anyway, I’d love to get inside that place, just for a look around. Why did you mention it?”

Jesse drew back, knowing he’d probably already said too much. “Oh, no real reason. I’d just heard it was a…a nice place.”

Her gorgeous blue eyes narrowed. “Liar.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said as the waiter poured coffee for them. “I never lie.”

“Oh, the new millennium’s George Washington. You cannot tell a lie. This city hasn’t seen another one like him, until you, of course. I’m so impressed. Really.”

“All right, all right,” Jesse said, holding out his hands. “But only because you dragged it out of me at fork-point.”

“I did not,” she told him. “That was next.”

Jesse laughed. He didn’t know if the good food had made him feel so comfortable, or the good wine…or the great company. What he did know was that if he didn’t soon tell someone what he’d learned in that fax, he was probably going to burst. Just like a little kid with good news.

“First I have to swear you to secrecy,” he told her.

“Certainly,” she said, then held up her right hand. “I, Samantha Cosgrove, do solemnly swear that I won’t breathe a word of what Jesse Colton is about to tell me, so help me spit. There. Is that good enough?”

“Pretty good. Although I’ll still have to kill you once you know everything.”

“That seems only fair. You were Secret Service. Does that mean you could kill me with a rubber band or pencil sharpener?”

“We don’t do those anymore. Now we use Post-it notes. I’m hell with a Post-it note.”

“I’ll bet you are. Now, come on, tell me. What do I want to know about the Chekagovian embassy?”

“That I own it?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“That you…that you…oh, you fibber you. You own it? Well, that makes us even. I own the Washington Monument. Oh, and we rent out the Lincoln Memorial. Tax reasons, you know.”

He smiled, shook his head. “I know, it’s hard to believe, but I own it. Really. Well, I own some of it.”

“Some of it,” she repeated, spooning three sugars into her coffee.

“Hey, easy on the sugar.”

“Never mind me. You’d better take yours black, because I think you’ve had too much wine, and you’ll need to sober up before you drive home.”

“You think I’m handing you a line?” he asked, tipping his head to one side as he looked at her. God, she had a wise mouth. He loved to hear her talk. He’d love more to shut her up…with his own mouth.

“If you are, I have to admit I’ve never heard this particular one before tonight. So, if I promise to be good, and not laugh too hard, why don’t you tell me why you own part of the mansion?”

“That would take until tomorrow morning,” Jesse said, wincing. “So we’ll leave that for another time, if that’s all right with you.”

“There’s going to be another time?”

“If you want, yes. But it’s getting late, and I’ve got a six-thirty meeting at the White House. So…”

“So I should tell you my reason for contacting you in the first place? For…for stalking you?”

“What a good idea,” he said, grinning. “You can tell me part of it, the way I told you part of mine, and then we’ll go on from there. If you want to.”

“I shouldn’t. You’re much, much too sure of yourself, Jesse Colton.”

“It’s a failing, I agree. So? Do we have a deal?”

She nodded. “We have a deal. But not here, there are too many ears. Pay the check, and I’ll tell you once you drive me home. At the curb, Colton—I’m not inviting you into my house. Agreed?”

He eased his wallet from his slacks pocket and pulled out a credit card. “Agreed. Spoilsport.”

They left the restaurant after Samantha was kissed on both cheeks by the maître d’, two interchangeable Anthonys and a plump woman who came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron as she called out, “Bella! Sweet Bella!”

“Are you this popular in all the District restaurants? If so, I think ours could be a beautiful relationship, at least until my credit card maxes out.”

“I’ll bet everyone in every gym in town knows you,” she said as he tried to open the car door for her, only to be beaten out by Anthony Number One.

When he slid in behind the wheel, he said, “Actually, they know me at most of the museums. I’m big on museums.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” she said as he pulled away from the curb. “Head toward Dupont Circle, and I’ll give you directions from there.”

Fifteen minutes later he pulled the sedan over to the curb in front of an old redbrick town house. “Apartment?” he asked, looking at the well-kept building.

“Mom and Dad’s place, for when they come to the city. We never sold it. Juliet doesn’t stay here, not that she’s ever in town, but I’m the younger daughter, and part of my permission to come here to work hinged on my agreeing to stay at the old homestead. Mom’s a worrywart,” she told him, fishing in her purse for her key and not finding it. “Now, remember that sworn-to-secrecy stuff?”

“Hope to spit,” he said, turning off the ignition, knowing the windows would fog up within minutes. But if he didn’t turn off the ignition, the chances were lower that he’d be invited in for a nightcap. Hope to spit, yes. And hope springs eternal—that was Jesse’s motto, or at least it was since meeting Samantha Cosgrove.

She took a deep breath, then stared through the rapidly steaming-up windshield, her fingers nervously opening and closing the snap on her purse. “I have fairly varied duties at campaign headquarters. I handle press releases sometimes, organize fund-raisers, help write some of the lesser important speeches. Even lick stamps if we’re shorthanded. I do everything.”

“All right,” Jesse said, and that’s all he said, because he could tell that Samantha was nervous and still might change her mind about talking to him.

“In the course of my…duties,” she went on after a moment, her cheeks pale in the light of a strong street-lamp across the way, “I learned a few names. More than a few names. I learned yours, for instance.”

“But not my whereabouts, because you tried to reach me through the OEOB.”

“I used an old directory,” she said with a wave of her hand. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have a reputation, Jesse.”

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” he said, then winced. “Sorry. It was getting a little tense in here. I thought I’d try to lighten the mood.”

“That’s all right. I’m not saying this very well. This is embarrassing, because I’m usually very good with words. But you do have a reputation, Jesse. For honesty. For being a straight shooter. For being intensely loyal and definitely trustworthy.”

“Now I’m embarrassed.”

She shifted on the seat, turning to face him. “Last week,” she began, then closed her eyes for a moment before looking at him again. “Oh, this is so hard.”

“Just say it fast, Samantha,” he advised her, taking her hand in his. Her fingers were icy cold, nearly bloodless. He didn’t know what was wrong, but whatever it was, she wasn’t only worried, she was scared.

“All right. Last week, Thursday, I think, I…I was licking stamps. I mean, not really licking stamps, but I was there late, and there was mail to go out, and since I was there and had no plans, I stayed to do it.”

Jesse’s radar switched on. Mail. Mail leaving a senator’s campaign office. The possibilities were endless. “Go on,” he urged when she stopped speaking.

“I can’t. I can’t do this. Senator Phillips has been so good to me. And my father? He adores the man. They were in the army together. I mean, I used to call him Uncle Mark. I still do, in private.”

“Samantha, sorry, but you can’t stop here. What was in the mail?”

“Outgoing mail,” she clarified, then sighed. “It had to be a mistake. I mean, he wouldn’t do anything wrong, I know he wouldn’t.”

“What was in the mail?” Jesse repeated, squeezing her fingers.

“Something…something that shouldn’t even have been in there, in the campaign office,” she said quietly, pulling her hand free. “You know he chairs the Senate Ways and Means Committee, and they deal with some very sensitive material…”

“Money, Samantha. They deal with a lot of money. In Washington, money equals power, and power equals money. Now, one more time, Samantha. What was in the mail?”

“Tomorrow,” she said quickly, one hand on the door handle. “Come to the office tomorrow evening. Around seven. Everybody else should be gone. I…I’ll show you then.”

“You didn’t send it out?”

She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t. I’m sure that information should never have been released. I shouldn’t even have seen it.”

“Did you also save the envelope?” Jesse asked, thinking ahead.

“Yes. That’s how I got to see the contents. The envelope wasn’t sealed correctly and the glue was all gone. I wanted to tape it shut but couldn’t find any tape—sometimes our office is a real mess—so I slipped everything out of the envelope to put it into a new one and I saw…I saw…” Her voice was so quiet he had to lean over to hear her above the sound of rain pelting the roof of the sedan. “I’ll…I’ll show you everything.”

She opened the car door, then turned back, grabbed his arm. “But you can’t tell anybody. Not until we know exactly what’s going on. I mean, it was the senator’s mail, but that doesn’t mean that he—”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Samantha,” Jesse said, putting his hand over hers. “It’s probably nothing.”

“That’s what I think. It’s nothing. Just a…a mistake. Good night.”

And then she was gone, running through the rain to the steps of the town house. She knocked, and a few moments later a uniformed maid opened the door, spilling mellow yellow light out onto the brick sidewalk.

“Nice work if you can get it,” Jesse muttered, putting the car in gear to head home to a sleepless night.

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