Gone Tomorrow

The sixty minute deadline came and went and I got no staffers and no campaign workers, neither young nor old. Instead I got Sansom’s wife, and his head of security. Ten minutes after the hour was up, I saw a mismatched couple climb out of a Town Car and pause at the foot of the steps and look around. I recognized the woman from the pictures in Sansom’s hook. In person she looked exactly like a millionaire’s wife should. She had expensive salon hair and good bones and a lot of tone and was probably two inches taller than her husband. Four, in heels. The guy with her looked like a Delta veteran in a suit. He was small, but hard and wiry and tough. The same physical type as Sansom himself, hut rougher than Sansom had looked in his photographs. His suit was conservatively tailored out of good material, but he had it all hunched and creased like well-worn battledress.

The two of them stood together and glanced around at the people in the vicinity and eliminated one possibility after another. When I was all that was left I raised a hand in greeting. I didn’t stand. I figured they would walk up and stop below me, so if I stood I would be looking about three feet over their heads. Less threatening to stay seated. More conducive to conversation. And more practical, in terms of energy expenditure. I was tired.

They came up towards me, Mrs Sansom in good shoes, taking precise delicate steps, and the Delta guy pacing himself alongside her. They stopped two levels below me and introduced themselves. Mrs Sansom called herself Elspeth, and the guy called himself Browning, and said it was spelled like the automatic rifle, which I guessed was supposed to put it in some kind of a menacing context. He was news to me. He wasn’t in Sansom’s book. He went on to list his whole pedigree, which started out with military service at Sansom’s side, and went on to include civilian service as head of security during Sansom’s business years, and then head of security during Sansom’s House terms, and was projected to include the same kind of duty during Sansom’s Senate terms and beyond. The whole presentation was about loyalty. The wife, and the faithful retainer. I guessed I was supposed to be in no doubt at all about where their interests lay. Overkill, possibly. Although I felt that sending the wife from the get-go was a smart move, politically. Most scandals go sour when a guy is dealing with something his wife doesn’t know about. Putting her in the loop from the start was a statement.

She said, ‘We’ve won plenty of elections so far and we’re going to win plenty more. People have tried what you’re trying a dozen times. They didn’t succeed and you won’t, either.’

I said, ‘I’m not trying anything. And I don’t care about who wins elections. A woman died, that’s all, and I want to know why.’

‘What woman?’

‘A Pentagon clerk. She shot herself in the head, last night, on the New York subway.’

Elspeth Sansom glanced at Browning and Browning nodded and said, ‘I saw it on line. The New York Times and the Washington Post. It happened too late for the printed papers.’

‘A little after two o’clock in the morning,’ I said.

Elspeth Sansom looked back at me and asked, ‘What was your involvement?’

‘Witness,’ I said.

‘And she mentioned my husband’s name?’

‘That’s something I’ll need to discuss with him. Or with the New York Times or the Washington Post.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Browning asked.

‘I guess it is,’ I said. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Always remember,’ he said. ‘You don’t do what John Sansom has done in his life if you’re soft. And I’m not soft either. And neither is Mrs Sansom.’

‘Terrific,’ I said. ‘We’ve established that none of us is soft. In fact we’re all as hard as rocks. Now let’s move on. When do I get to see your boss?’

‘What were you in the service?’

‘The kind of guy even you should have been scared of. Although you probably weren’t. Not that it matters. I’m not looking to hurt anyone. Unless someone needs to get hurt, that is.’

Elspeth Sansom said, ‘Seven o’clock, this evening.’ She named what I guessed was a restaurant, on Dupont Circle. ‘My husband will give you five minutes.’ Then she looked at me again and said, ‘Don’t come dressed like that, or you won’t get in.’

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