Mistress

He pauses. “Thank you, Mr. Casper.” His English is precisely delivered, the thick Russian accent notwithstanding. “Where are you?”

“Did you come alone, Alex, as I asked?”

“Of course.”

Of course not. But it doesn’t matter. I’m more than a mile away now, in a cab. “Did you bring what I asked, Alex?”

“I did.” He’s being cautious over a cell phone, as I’d expect him to be. He won’t say what it is, but I told him to bring a baseball glove and to stuff ten thousand dollars in cash into the finger holes of the glove. And to write my name on the glove.

“Turn it in at the lost and found at the guest services office. It’s right by you at the center field gate.”

After another pause, he says, “Then I will not be meeting you tonight?”

“We need trust,” I say. “If the glove is in the lost and found, we’ll have trust.”

And I’ll have some spending money.

“This arrangement is unacceptable,” he says.

“Well, okay, Alex, if that’s how you want it. I have another buyer.”

Yet another pause. Face-to-face, Kutuzov probably gets far with piercing stares and long silences. It’s not as effective over a phone, but it still works for him, I hate to admit.

“And what assurances do I have, Mr. Casper, that I will receive the only copy? How do I know you will not give another copy to your superiors, once I give you the money?”

My superiors? Who does he think my “superiors” are?

“You have only my word,” I say. “But you do have that.”

Another pause, but this time it’s so long that I begin to think he hung up on me. I consider asking him what he means by my “superiors,” but better I stay as mysterious to him as possible.

“Mr. Casper,” he says. “You are…living in fear, yes?”

Very much so, but I was beginning to feel like I had the upper hand. This guy’s confidence is making me second-guess myself.

“Do I sound afraid, Alex?” I say.

“Yes, you do. You sound very afraid. You sound like a man who is trying very hard to act as if he is not. But I can hear it in your voice. I am…accustomed to recognizing such things.”

I’ll bet he is. “I think you’re the one who’s afraid, Alex.”

“Do I sound afraid, Mr. Casper?”

I wish he did, but he doesn’t. Not the least bit.

“You went to a lot of trouble getting here on short notice, Alex.”

“Oh, I do not deny that I want the item you have. And I will pay you handsomely for it. But do not mistake that for fear, Mr. Casper. And it is critical that you and I understand each other on one particular point.”

“Please, Alex, I’m all ears.” I’m trying to keep up my bravado, but this guy’s a serious customer. I’m just a goofy reporter.

“Until you give me what I want,” he says, “you should remain in fear. Nothing has changed.”

“Your goons will still come looking for me? Is that what you’re telling me?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to admit something like that over the phone, I assume. But that’s what he means. Until my copy of the video is in his hands, I still have a target on my back.

Boy, I wish I actually had a copy of that video.

“And Mr. Casper, if I learn that another copy has fallen into the hands of your superiors and you have played me for the fool, then believe me when I say I will not be pleased.”

“Fair enough, Alex. We understand each other.”

“You will find the glove at the lost and found,” he finally says. “And I shall look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Casper.”

“Sounds like a plan, Alex.”

“But do not test my patience,” he says.

I was really hoping that this conversation would end with me feeling good and him feeling worried. But he doesn’t sound worried. And I don’t feel so good.

“And until you deliver that item to me,” he adds, “you should sleep with your eyes open.”

Chapter 84

Another restful night of sleep on a mattress about as thick as a piece of cardboard and only slightly less comfortable than sandpaper. I only had to wait about an hour to use the toilet and shower down the hall. I didn’t mind standing in line with my towel and toothbrush next to a mangy guy who kept asking me if I had any hemorrhoid cream (I didn’t), laxatives (nope), dental floss (sorry), or hemorrhoid cream (still no). I was just glad I got to use the bathroom before he did.

Now I’m back at the National Mall-maybe not the most creative choice, but I like it because there are so many people around and I’m close to the metro, where I can hop aboard and go in any number of directions on a moment’s notice. Even if they triangulate the call and figure out where I am, I’ll be long gone before they can get here.

I dial the number and assume-hope-he’ll answer, that he wants me to call.

“Hello, this is Craig Carney,” he says.

I glance around me but don’t see anyone pivoting in my direction or brandishing a firearm.

“Mr. Deputy Director!” I say into the phone. “It’s your old friend. How are you today?”

Nobody ever uses the word brandish unless it’s in connection with a weapon. Why is it you can brandish a sword or a revolver but not, say, a set of keys you just found in the couch cushions? I would brandish keys.