Might want to slow down for that turn, the voice suggested.
Hayes hazarded a glance over his shoulder, saw the beast preparing for a lunge, and knew there was no way in hell he was slowing down. Instead he reached out, hooked the last pylon with his hand, and, using it as a pivot, swung his body into the turn.
The dog tried to stop, but the wooden planks were slick, and that plus the weight of its dead handler slingshotting past it while it skittered to a halt sent it flying into the water with a colossal splash.
With the dog off his ass and running parallel to the trawler, Hayes focused everything on his makeshift springboard at the end of the dock. He poured on a last burst of speed, praying that the captain kept the boat close to the docks, and then he was clambering up the crates, flinging himself into the air.
12
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It was almost noon when Shaw emerged from the Congressional Visitors Center, the unfamiliar navy-blue tie tight as a garrote around his throat. He clawed at the knot and after tearing the tie free, unbuttoned his collar and started down the stairs.
The four hours he’d spent before the committee had taken their toll and Shaw was exhausted—his body stiff from the uncomfortable chair, his mind wrung out like a dish towel after the verbal judo session with Senator Miles.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, his driver, Luke Carter, already hustling around the car and opening his door.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Boring,” Shaw lied, shoving the tie into his pocket and handing over his attaché case.
“That’s good, right?”
“Listen, kid, why don’t you head back to the office? I think I’m going to take a walk, maybe grab some lunch while I’m at it.”
“You want me to come with you, sir?”
“No, head back to the office. I’ll give you a buzz when I’m done.”
“Yes, sir,” Luke said.
Shaw watched the Town Car pull out and waited until it was out of sight before turning east, toward the National Mall.
It was a shit day for a walk, the sky over Capitol Hill was sullen gray, the winter wind that blew in from the east sharp as a blade across his bare skin. But he was too busy thinking about his next move to care.
That Senator Miles was out for blood was no surprise; he’d been wanting his pound of flesh from Hayes since the moment he became chairman. And while Shaw had done everything he could to protect his star recruit, he was slowly beginning to realize that all he had accomplished was to put his own neck on the chopping block.
He skirted the White House, hands shoved in his pockets as he started across Lafayette Square, the senator’s parting words echoing in his mind.
“If you don’t give me Hayes, I promise you, this committee will find someone who will.”
Shaw stopped at the intersection of H and 16th, the sight of the Hay-Adams hotel making him realize how badly he could use a drink.
He glanced at his watch, saw that it was a quarter to one, and then thought about the work waiting for him back at the office.
The hell with it.
Shaw started across the street, angling for the front door, confident with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be the only one at the hotel enjoying a midday cocktail.
The Hay-Adams was more than a Washington icon—it was an institution, the meeting place of choice for ranking senators, senior aides, and political dilettantes to plot and scheme over trays of East Coast oysters or plates of Dover sole.
Shaw stepped inside, the warm air of the lobby thawing his face as he crossed to the stairs leading down to the aptly named Off the Record. He hit the landing, cold hands still in his pockets, the only thing on his mind the lowball of Blanton’s waiting for him inside—so close that he could taste it.
He was almost there when a whisper of fabric followed by the scrape of a shoe against tile sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Shaw turned, alerted by the premonition of danger, hand darting to his sleeve and the carbon fiber blade hidden inside.
Shaw jerked the blade free and whirled to face the threat, muscles taut as a bow at full draw, ready and willing to kill when he saw his would-be attacker’s face.
“Easy, killer,” the man said, hands held palms open in front of his chest.
“Mike?” Shaw asked, the tension easing from his muscles. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Figured if even half of what I heard about this morning’s hearings were true that you’d be needing a drink.”
“And you decided to greet me by waiting out here in the shadows?”
“Old habits,” he shrugged.
“Good way to get yourself killed,” Shaw said, returning the blade to its sheath while he studied the man.
As the deputy director of operations, Mike Carpenter wasn’t just the CIA’s chief spy, he was also the Agency’s heir apparent, the man tapped to take over for the director when she left at the end of the year, a role that made him the second most powerful man at the Agency.
“You following me, Mike?”
“Nope, just in the area.”
“Is that a fact?” Shaw asked.
“Yep. Now, how about that drink?”
“Lead the way,” Shaw said.
Carpenter nodded and headed for the entrance, where the host stood waiting.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “If you will follow me, I have a private room already set up.”
In the neighborhood, my ass.
“What would you gentlemen like?” the host asked, after seating them.
“Blanton’s Single Barrel,” Carpenter said.
“Make it two,” Shaw said.
“Right away, gentlemen.”
Shaw waited until the man was gone and then pulled a black box the size of a deck of cards from his jacket pocket.
“An RF scanner? Seriously?” Carpenter asked, a hint of a smile twisting the corner of his lips as Shaw wanded the room. “Where’s the trust, Levi?”
Satisfied that the room wasn’t bugged, Shaw adjusted his chair so he could keep one eye on the door and the other on Carpenter.
“Trust, Mike?” he sneered. “You’ve got to earn trust.”
The two men had history, not the good kind, but Shaw was too well trained to ask why he was here. So he sat and studied the room in silence, searching the crown molding around the ceiling and the joints of the walls, anywhere the cagey cold warrior could have hidden a camera or some other device the scanner hadn’t picked up.