"No. Their representatives didn't know what we were doing. As I said, the money didn't go directly to the governments. And it's not like CARE or the Catholic Relief Services or UNICEF would ever condone bribery. Danny was their unofficial and unpaid lobbyist-in-residence but they had no idea what he was doing. He represented about fifteen such organizations. It was tough going. They all had their agendas, took a scattergun approach. They typically proposed hundreds of single-issue bills, instead of a few comprehensive ones. Danny got them organized, working together, sponsoring a small number of bills containing more comprehensive legislation. He taught them what they had to do to be more effective.
"So tell me exactly who were you going to testify against, then?"
"The politicians we paid off," she said simply. "They did it just for the money. It's not like they gave a damn about children with dead eyes living in Hepatitis Heaven. I saw it every day in their greedy faces. They just expected a rich reward-thought it was their due."
"Don't you think you're coming down a little heavy on these guys?"
"Why don't you stop being so naive? How do you think people get elected in this country? They get elected by the groups who organize the voters, who shape citizens' decisions on who and what to vote for.
And do you know who those groups are? They're big business and special interests, and the wealthy who fill the coffers of political candidates every year. Do you really think ordinary people attend five-thousand-dollar-a-plate dinners? And then do you really think these groups give all that money out of the goodness of their collective hearts? When the politicians get into office, you better believe they're expected to deliver."
"So you're saying all politicians in this country are corrupt. That still doesn't make what you did right."
"No? What congressman from the state of Michigan would vote to do anything to seriously hurt the automobile industry? How long do you think she'd be in office? Or high-tech in California? Or farmers in the Midwest? Or tobacco in the South? It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy in a way. Business and labor and other special interests have a lot at stake. They're focused, they have big dollars, they have PACs and lobbyists blasting their messages to Washington nonstop. Big and small business employ just about everybody. Those same people vote in elections. They vote their pocketbooks. Voila', there's your big, dark conspiracy of American politics. I see Danny as the first visionary ever to outsmart greed and selfishness. ""But what about the foreign aid? If this story came out, wouldn't that kill the pipeline?"
"That's the thing! Can you imagine all the positive attention it would get? The poorest countries on earth forced to bribe greedy American politicians to get the help they so desperately needed because it was unavailable any other way. You get stories like that in the media, then maybe some real, substantive changes would be made."
"That all sounds pretty far-fetched. I mean, come on." "Maybe so, but my options weren't exactly flowing over. It's real damn easy to second-guess, Lee."
Lee sat back as he mulled this over. "Okay, okay. Do you really think Buchanan would try to kill you?"
"We were partners, friends. Actually, more than that. In many ways he was like a father to me. I .. . I just don't know. Maybe he found out I went to the FBI. He would think I betrayed him. That could have driven him over the edge."
"There's a major problem with the theory that Buchanan is behind all this."
She looked over at him curiously.
"I hadn't reported back to Buchanan, remember? So unless he has someone else working for him, he doesn't know you're dealing with the FBI. And it takes time to set up a professional-caliber hit. You can't just call your local shooter and ask him to pop somebody for you and charge it to your Visa."
"But he might have known a hired killer already, and then he planned to somehow set you up for the murder."
Lee was shaking his head before she finished. "He would have had no idea I would be there that night. And if you had been killed, he'd have the problem of me finding out about it and maybe going to the police with the result that everything gets traced back to him. Why bring all that misery on himself? Think about it, Faith, if Buchanan was planning to kill you, he would not have hired me."
She slumped in a chair. "My God, what you're saying makes perfect sense." Terror seeped into Faith's eyes as she thought about what all this meant. "Then you're saying .. . ?"
"I'm saying that somebody else wants you dead."
"Who? Who?" She almost shouted this at him.
"I don't know," he said.
Faith abruptly stood and stared into the fire. The shadows of the flames lapped against her face. When she spoke her voice was calm, almost resigned. "Do you see your daughter much?"
"Not much. Why?"
"I thought marriage and kids could wait. And then months turned to years and years to decades. And now this."
"You're not in your golden years yet."
She looked at him. "Can you tell me I'll be alive tomorrow, a week from tomorrow?"
"Nobody has that guarantee. We can always go to the FBI, and now maybe we should."
"I can't do that. Not after what you've just told me."
He stood and gripped her shoulder. "What are you talking about?"
She moved away from him. "The FBI won't let me bring Danny in. Either he goes to jail or I do. When I thought he was behind trying to have me killed, I probably would have gone back and testified. But I can't do that now. I can't be part of him going to prison."
"If there hadn't been an attempt on your life, what were you going to do?"
"I was going to give them an ultimatum. If they wanted my cooperation, then Danny would have to be given immunity."
"And if they turned you down, like they did?"
"Then Danny and I would have been long gone. Somehow." She stared directly at him. "I'm not going back. For a lot of reasons. Not wanting to die being right at the top."
"And exactly where the hell does that leave me?"
"This isn't such a bad place, is it?" Faith said weakly.
"Are you crazy? We can't stay here forever."
"Then we better think of another place to run to."
"And what about my home? My life? I do have a family. Do you expect me to just kiss it all good-bye?"
"Whoever wants me dead will assume you know everything I do. You won't be safe."
"That's my decision, not yours."
"I'm sorry, Lee. I never thought anyone else would be dragged into this. Especially not someone like you."
"There has to be another way."
She headed for the stairs. "I'm very, very tired. And what else is there to talk about?"
"Dammit, I can't just walk away and start over."
Faith was halfway up the stairs. She stopped, turned and looked down at him.
"Do you think things will look better in the morning?" she asked.
"No," said Lee frankly.
"Which is why there's nothing left for us to talk about. Good night."
"Why do I think you made your decision not to go back a long time ago?
Like the minute you met me."
"Lee-"
"You sucker me into going with you, pull that stupid stunt at the airport and now I'm trapped too. Thanks a helluva lot, lady."
"I didn't plan it like this! You're wrong."
"And you really expect me to believe you?"
"What do you want me to say?"
Lee stared up at her. "Granted it's not much, but I like my life, Faith."
"I'm sorry." She fled upstairs.
CHAPTER 33
LEE GRABBED A SIX-PACK OF RED DOG from the refrigerator and slammed the side door on his way out. He stopped at the Honda, wondering whether he should just climb on the big machine and run until his gas, money or sanity were gone. Then another possibility occurred to him. He could go to the Feds alone. Turn Faith in and claim ignorance about all of this. And he was ignorant. He hadn't done anything wrong. And he owed the woman nothing. In fact
, she had been a source of misery, terror and near-death experiences. Turning her in should be an easy decision. So why the hell wasn't it?
He went out the rear gate and onto the walkway leading past the dunes.
Lee intended to go down to the sand, watch the ocean and drink beer until either his mind ceased to function or he came up with a brilliant plan that would save them both. Or at least him. For some reason, he turned to look back at the house for a moment. The light was on in Faith's bedroom. The mini-blinds were down but not closed.
As Faith came into view, Lee stiffened. She didn't close the blinds.
She moved through the room, disappeared into the bathroom for a minute and then reappeared. As she started to undress, Lee looked around to see if anyone was watching him watching her. The police responding to a Peeping-Tom call would put the finishing touches on a spectacular day in the charmed life of Lee Adams. The other homes were dark, however; he could safely continue his voyeurism. Her shirt came off first, then her pants. She kept shedding clothes until all the window was filled with skin. And she didn't slip into any pajamas or even a T-shirt.
Apparently this highly paid lobbyist-turned-Joan-of-Arc slept in the raw. Lee had a fairly clear view of things the towel had only hinted at. Maybe she knew he was out here and was putting on a peep show for him. What, as compensation for destroying his life? The bedroom light went out and Lee popped a beer, turned and headed for the beach. The show was over.
He had finished the first beer by the time he hit the sand. The tide was starting to roll in, and he didn't have to venture far to be in water past his ankles. He cracked another beer and went in farther, up to his knees. The water was freezing, but he went in farther still, almost to his crotch, and then stopped, for a practical reason: A wet pistol wasn't particularly useful.
He sloughed back to the sand, dropped the beer, slipped off his water-logged sneakers and started to run. He was tired, but his legs moved seemingly of their own accord, his limbs scissoring, his breath coming in great chunks of foggy air. He did a quick mile, one of his fastest ever, it seemed to him. Then he dropped to the sand, sucking oxygen from the damp air. He felt hot and then chilled. He thought about his mother and father, his siblings. He envisioned his daughter Renee when she was young, falling off her great horse and calling for Daddy, her cries finally dying away to nothing when he did not come. It was as though his flow of blood had been reversed; it was all backing up, not knowing where to go. He felt the walls of his body giving way, unable to hold everything inside.
He stood on shaky legs, jogged unsteadily back to the beer and his shoes. He sat on the sand for a while, listened to the ocean scream at him and downed another two cans of Red Dog. He squinted into the darkness. It was funny. A few beers and he could see clearly the end of his life at the edge of the horizon. Always wondered when it was going to happen. Now he knew. Forty-one years, three months and fourteen days and the Man upstairs had pulled his ticket. He looked to the sky, waved. Thanks a lot, God.
He rose and moved on to the house but didn't go inside. Instead he went to the enclosed courtyard, put his pistol on the table, stripped off all his clothes and dived into the pool. The water temperature, he figured, hovered around eighty-five degrees. His chills quickly disappeared and he went under, touched bottom, did an awkward handstand, blowing freshly chlorinated water out his nostrils, and then floated on the surface, staring at a sky smeared with clouds. He swam some more, practiced his crawl and breast strokes and then drifted over to the side and downed another beer.