Chapter 3

When Francine got back to her desk, Lee was still hanging around the bullpen. "Don't you have any work to do?" she asked, but he knew she was teasing.

"As soon as you tell me how your first date with my uncle went."

"I went for iced coffee and we talked. That wasn't a date."

"Oh, really? Well, some of us would disagree."

"Well, some of you are welcome to disagree, but it wasn't a date. Now tonight at the O-Club at Bolling, that's a date."

"Dinner at the Club? Oh, wow, wait 'til Amanda hears about this! She's coming into National at 10:45 tonight, by the way."

"That's great! At 10:45, I expect Clay and I will still be 'cutting a rug', as he puts it; they have live music for dancing at the club on Friday nights there. He's picking me up at 6:30, sharp."

"Which in his world means he'll arrive at about 6:25. Be prepared."

"Oh, I will be. I have this dream of a cocktail dress that I bought from Magda Petrak's shop when she closed it last year. I've worn it a couple of times, but of course he's never seen it."

Following Addi Berol's arrest and the destruction of the Karbala cell the previous October, Magda Petrak and her sister Mara had been given new identities and relocated as a precaution against reprisal by other terrorists.

"Well, have a wonderful time."

"Oh, I will, believe me."

The dress was midnight blue with a full, flirty skirt and a fitted bodice that accentuated Francine's curves without being too revealing; the last thing she wanted to do was show up on Robert Clayton's arm in what she called her 'Happy Hooker' outfit. Strappy sandals with spiked heels that flattered her legs and filmy dark blue hose completed the outfit; she put her hair up with a rhinestone clasp, added a pair of earrings and a diamond pendant her parents had given her when she turned twenty-one, and spritzed on just a dash of some very expensive perfume she'd picked up in Paris the previous year. At a quarter past six, she put the finishing touches on her makeup and sat down to wait; ten minutes later, the door buzzer sounded.

"Yes?"

"Good evening, Francine. May I come up?"

"Of course. I'll buzz you in."

When she opened the door about a minute later, he was standing on her doorstep in a tuxedo, and there was a clear florist's box in his hand.

"Oh, my. Black tie and flowers, Colonel?"

"Only the best for a lovely lady, Francine. You're ready; I thought you might be, because you seemed like the sort of woman that wouldn't keep a man waiting just because she could," he said. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you. Do you always travel with a tuxedo on these jaunts, Colonel?"

"I never know what's going to come up when I'm in Washington, so I come prepared. I'm glad I did, since it goes well with what you're wearing. These are for you," he said, as he presented her with the florist's box, which contained an orchid wrist corsage. "I wasn't sure about what you'd be wearing, so I guessed."

"They're perfect," Francine said as she slipped the wristlet on. "Thank you."

"I was glad to see that your building has controlled entry, and that you checked the door before you opened it. I know you're a highly trained intelligence agent with superior self-defense and weapons training, but I'm glad to see you're taking sensible precautions as well."

"It would be foolish not to, C-Clay, and I hope I'm not that."

"Oh, much better," he said with a smile. "I was beginning to think I was going to be "Colonel" for the rest of the evening."

Francine laughed. "Well, if you will show up in a tuxedo looking very, very dignified, Clay, you have to expect to be addressed accordingly."

"Dignified? Is that code for 'old'?" he asked.

"No, it's code for 'dignified'. I'm ready; just let me get my evening bag."

The bag, a vintage find in midnight blue velvet, was big enough to hold the essentials and her badge, which she never traveled without, but she'd chosen to leave her weapon locked in the safe in her bedroom. This was a social occasion, after all. Clayton measured the size of the bag visually and said, 'Thank you."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't possibly fit even the smallest pistol in that bag, which means you're trusting me with your safety – well, that and your own skills. So, thank you."

"You're very, er, candid."

"I'm blunt and tactless, in fact, but I'm honest. Shall we go?"

The car he'd rented was a Lincoln Town Car; he saw her into the passenger seat and went around to slide behind the wheel. As he pulled out into the early evening traffic, he said, "I did a little digging on your background, Francine."

"A little digging? You have contacts in the CIA, Clay. I suspect it was more than a 'little digging'."

"Are you offended?"

"No, I'm impressed. You probably know just about everything there is to know about me, including how many men I've been involved with over the years – Lee Stetson being one of them- and you still showed up tonight."

"Yes, I did. I'm fifty-four, Francine, and although I wouldn't call myself world-weary, I'm certainly not naïve, either."

"Far from it, in fact."

"That being the case, I look at the world from a very pragmatic viewpoint, while still retaining a certain amount of what I can only describe as chivalrous idealism."

"However you describe it, Clay, I like it."

"Good. The files tell me when you got into the intelligence business, but they don't tell me why. May I ask that question?"

"You may. I wanted to do something unconventional, and this is about as unconventional as it comes, you'll have to agree."

"Yes, but that's only part of the answer. If you'd just wanted to declare independence from your wealthy family, you'd have tired of the job in the first five years, yet you've been on the job for more than ten. What else?"

"I like the challenges. I'm good at what I do, and I like the people I work with, most of the time. And I guess I like the idea of doing something worthwhile. Not that other jobs aren't worthwhile…."

"I understand. "

"Clay, I don't talk about myself, at least not to people I've only just met. How did you get me to tell you all this when I only met you today?"

"I'm no threat to any part of your world, Francine; I'm not competing with you on the job, I know how to keep a secret – and everything you've told me goes no further than this car – and I genuinely admire who you are and what you've done with your life. In short, you can trust me, and you know that. If you didn't know that, you'd have shut me out in short order."

"Yes."

He turned onto the road leading to the main gate of Bolling Air Force Base and said, "Got your badge ready? I can VIP you through if you prefer."

"No, I'd rather go in under my own credentials. Thank you for asking."

He pulled up to the gate and lowered the power window. "Good evening, Senior Airman." He passed over his military identification card and Francine's Agency badge, waited while the security policeman checked them, accepted them back, and then returned the young woman's salute.

"Have a good evening, sir, ma'am," she said.

"Thank you."

As he pulled away from the gate, Francine tucked her badge away in her evening bag and said, "Clay, you are probably the most unusual senior officer I have ever met, and I mean that as a compliment."

"Then obviously, Miss Desmond, you've been hanging around with the wrong sort of senior officer."