Termination Orders(89)
She was startled by Poole’s voice, coming from a mere few feet behind her. “Come,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.”
He ushered her out of the locker room, locking the door behind him, and then walked with her out to the field. Half of the verdant sports turf was covered with folding chairs sectioned off with rope, and an open stage had been erected in the middle of it. On the sidelines was a well-dressed woman surveying the scene, flanked by a couple of men in suits.
“Dennis!” exclaimed Natasha. “Is that . . .?”
“The one and only. She arrived a bit early, so I thought I might bring you around to meet her.” He called out to Senator McKay. “Lana! Lana, good to see you made it. How do you like the setup?”
“You’ve done a hell of a job here, Dennis.”
He beamed. “I’m glad you like it.” He pulled lightly on Natasha’s hand. “Lana, I’d like you to meet Vera Blackburn.”
The Senator extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Vera. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, smiling warmly.
“It would be a great understatement if I said the same about you,” said Natasha, ebulliently. “I am a great admirer of your work, Senator.”
McKay smiled graciously. “Thank you, Vera. I’ve tried to do my best to serve the people of this country. But I owe many of my accomplishments to Dennis.”
“Oh, please,” said Poole bashfully.
“He’ll deny it, but it’s true. You have a fine man here, Vera. This one’s a keeper.”
“Don’t worry, Senator. I’ll treat him right.”
Natasha looked at her watch. She had to extricate herself if the plan was to stay on schedule. She pretended to dig through her purse for something and made her phone ring.
“Oh!” she said. “I’m sorry, Senator, would you excuse me please? I need to take this.” She walked a few feet away, took the phone from her purse, stopped the ringing, and put it to her ear. “Hello?” she said. “Oh, you’re kidding. No, in DC. Yes. Yes. Listen, is there anyone else you can call? Howard? Ugh. Okay, fine.” She huffed and put the phone back into her purse.
“I am so sorry, but I need to go,” she said to Poole and the senator. “Work emergency, and apparently there’s no one who can deal with it except me. Please excuse me, Senator. It was such a pleasure to meet you, and I so wish I could stay.”
“It was nice to meet you too, Vera. Pity you have to go.”
She stepped aside, and Dennis walked with her.
“I am so sorry, Dennis,” Natasha reiterated.
“It’s the peril of being indispensable,” he said with a good-natured shrug.
“You are sweet.”
“Can you find your way out okay?” he asked, and he planted a kiss on her lips.
“I’ll manage, I’m sure.”
She walked into the bowels of the stadium, and whatever softness had been there before left her eyes. She was Natasha again, coldly alert, and the lightness in her step was replaced with steely determination.
This whole show was all Nickerson’s idea. If she had had her way, she could have already killed McKay a hundred times over. And now Cobra knew about it, and if she knew him, he would be here, trying to stop her. But Nickerson wanted to make a splash, a goddamn spectacle. She wished she could dispose of him and be done with it, wipe that grin off his face for good.
Patience, she told herself. Even he would outlive his usefulness, sooner or later. She wished it could be sooner rather than later, but Nickerson played a long game. And so she would, too. She could wait.
Meanwhile, she had to get everything ready for the night’s show.
Morgan sat in the back of an unmarked white van in the RFK Stadium parking lot, dressed in a stiff black suit and tie. He looked into a small pocket mirror, checking his hair, now all black, and his matching fake mustache, which looked like the one he’d had when he had just started work as an operative.
“Damn it,” he said. “Where’s Cougar”
“In the parking lot,” said Grant Lowry, who was hunched over a keyboard in front of four computer screens, as he motioned distractedly toward one of the monitors. The van had been fitted with cutting-edge surveillance equipment and an impressive array of computers, all according to Lowry’s exacting specifications. “He’ll be here in a minute or two.”
Morgan had approached Lowry as the man had arrived home, walking from his car to his front door, on the day after he had failed to convince Boyle to help them. Lowry had fumbled ineffectively for the pepper spray until Morgan assured him that he wasn’t there to hurt him. Morgan briefly explained the situation and asked for help.