CONNECTIONS
Chapter 4
On the morning after the reception, Morgan awoke sick and disoriented. The sunlight coming through the parted curtains hurt his eyes, as he looked around, trying to identify where he was. He was in a large bed, not his own, in a room decorated in rich cobalt and gold tones. His tuxedo was laid neatly across the overstuffed chair in a corner of the room, and he realized he was naked. He didn't remember getting undressed, and had no idea how he got to this room. Was this a hotel? It must be; he recalled Strauss telling him she had reserved rooms for them.
"I have a room at the hotel for tonight," she told him when she telephoned him on the morning of the affair, "and one for you. It will probably be a late night. You'll want to bring a change of clothes for tomorrow. The limo will pick you up at 7:00."
"Limo?" He questioned. "Why can't I drive?"
"This is hardly the kind of event you drive yourself to, Agent Morgan. We'll be sharing the car with Section Chief Wilson and his wife. Besides, he's someone you should get better acquainted with."
It was starting to grate on him, Erin's consistently condescending tone of voice, but he had never heard her speak any other way to anyone, so he tried to shrug it off. He did, however, feel another wave of sympathy for her ex-husband, and for a moment he thought of backing out. This was getting way too complicated, and he wasn't sure that making "connections" was something he really wanted to do. But, he enjoyed the idea of meeting the President, so he only said "I'll be ready."
He looked around for a clock in the room. The clock radio on the nightstand read 8:40. Good, he wouldn't have to checkout for awhile. Maybe if he could sleep a little longer he would feel better. He wished he had some aspirin or something, anything that he could take to ease the pounding in his head. Why the hell did he feel so rotten? He couldn't be hung-over. He'd only had two glasses of wine. He would never be so irresponsible that he would get drunk at an affair filled with FBI hierarchy.
He closed his eyes and tried to piece together what happened the night before. The President and First Lady did appear at the event for awhile, and he gave a short speech welcoming Director Gray to Washington. He remembered talking to Gray, who told him he was hoping to get the funds to add another team of profilers, and he commended Morgan on the fine work his unit does. During the evening, Strauss introduced him to many people, some of whom he had met the week before, and several people knew him as the heroic agent who drove a ticking time bomb into Central Park last year.
At the dinner, he and Strauss were seated at table with the head of the Los Angeles Division and his wife, and the Chairman of the WMD Commission and his spouse. Although Derek felt somewhat awkward being coupled with Erin Strauss, her behavior was impeccable. She properly introduced him as "SSA Derek Morgan of our Behavioral Analysis Unit, who was kind enough to accompany me tonight." Twice during dinner, she called him by his first name, but otherwise kept the conversation on a professional level.
Going over the evening in his mind made his headache worse, and he still couldn't grasp how he got to this room or why he couldn't remember…remember what? "Okay, Derek," he asked himself, "what is the last thing you do remember?" He recalled sitting at the table with Strauss, talking with the guy from the LA office. The party was breaking up, and he finished the glass of wine he had been nursing. He remembered feeling light-headed, and he excused himself from the table to step outside for some fresh air. After that, everything was a blank.
He was suddenly nauseated, and quickly had to find his way to the bathroom. When he recovered, he went back to bed with a cold cloth for his forehead. With the coolness against his face, he gratefully fell back to sleep.
It was three hours later when ringing phone beside on the nightstand awakened him from a sound sleep. Damn, he didn't want to answer it. "Yeah," he said, gruffly.
"Good morning, Agent Morgan. Are you ready to leave? Check out is in twenty minutes," Strauss told him.
"I can't leave. I'm sick."
"Oh, I'm sorry. What's wrong?"
He felt too miserable to make explanations. "Look, do me a favor. Tell them at the front desk that I'll need the room for another day."
"How will you get home?"
"I don't know. I'll call someone, or I'll rent a car. Don't worry about it." He couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. He only wanted to get off the phone and escape into sleep.
"Of course, I'll take care of it. You know, I'm not surprised that you're feeling ill. You were very intoxicated last night."
An alarm went off in his aching brain. What the hell is she saying? No, I wasn't drunk, not even a little bit. I had two glasses of wine. If he'd felt well he might have argued the point. She started to say something else, and he cut her off. "Thanks," he said, and hung up. He rolled over and went back to sleep.
xxxxx
It was just after seven that evening when Dave Rossi pulled up at the Four Seasons in his black Jeep Pathfinder. Morgan hung his tux in the back and got in. "Damn, you look like shit," Rossi told his younger friend. "What the hell?"
"Looked worse this morning," Derek replied. The lights in the city were just starting to come on. Ordinarily, he loved DC at night, the Capitol, the Monuments. When illuminated, Washington was one of the most beautiful places in the world. Tonight, he couldn't appreciate it. He felt lousy and just wanted to get home.
"You gonna tell me about it?"
"I went to the reception for Director Gray last night."
"Yeah?"
"Dave, this is going to sound crazy. I think I was drugged."
"At a gathering of FBI?" He laughed, but when he glanced at Morgan he saw that he was serious.
Morgan told him his story. "When Strauss called my room this morning she said she wasn't surprised I was hung-over. She told me I was drunk last night. Dave, I couldn't have been. There's no fucking way."
Rossi became quiet. After a moment, "I'm taking you to the ER for a blood test."