Point of Contact

As they ate, Jack decided to pick up where they last left off on the flight to London, hoping Paul’s defenses were finally down.

“I never did thank you properly for that Singapore Sling.”

“I had two. Knocked me out cold.”

“I take it you and Senator Rhodes have a history.”

Paul chewed a crumbling biscuit. “We worked together a long time ago.”

“Just like you and that Virgin Atlantic captain.”

“Something like that.”

Jack cut another piece of sausage. “What was Rhodes like to work with?”

Paul set his fork and knife down and wiped his mouth with the heavy cloth napkin. “Everybody loved Weston Rhodes where we worked, especially the ladies. I think even Carmen had a little schoolgirl crush on him. He was just so darned handsome and charming. You know how he is.”

Jack had to give him that. Even as a middle-aged man, Rhodes still turned younger women’s heads.

Paul chuckled. “He never met a stranger.”

“A natural political talent.”

“We all knew he was destined for great things. I wasn’t surprised at all when he was elected to the Senate. I was shocked that he didn’t run for reelection. I just assumed he was setting himself for a run at the Oval Office.”

“The Senate doesn’t pay as well as Wall Street.” Jack decided to press his luck. “Neither does the Company.”

Paul frowned. “He told you about his past?”

“Didn’t have to. He was born and bred to clandestine service. It’s practically a family business. But a man like Rhodes has a hard time with authority, unless he’s the one in charge.”

Paul smiled but didn’t comment. He picked up his silverware again and went after his potatoes.

Jack pushed a little deeper. “Were you and Rhodes close back in the day?”

“Not really. I was downstairs, he was upstairs, both literally and metaphorically. Ivy League and all of that.”

“I know the type.” Jack attended Georgetown University, a first-rate academic institution, and his dad was a Boston College grad. Jack was grateful for his education. He didn’t care that he didn’t have the Ivy League connections. Like the Jesuits taught him, it was character — not pedigree — that determined one’s destiny.

“I met your dad once,” Paul said.

“Really?”

Paul continued. “A few months ago, Gerry asked me to drop off some paperwork at his place out in the country. I had to wait on his front porch with the Secret Service detail because your dad was inside. But when Gerry came out, he invited me in for a beer. He grabbed one for me from the fridge and told me to follow him into the den, where your dad was. We all just sat around and drank a beer together, and talked about college football for a few minutes. Nice guy. Not stuck-up like most politicians.”

“I’m a fan, too.”

Paul finished the last bite of buttery eggs, licked the fork, and set it down on the tray.

“So, I have to confess. I wasn’t completely honest with you back in Gerry’s office yesterday.”

“How so?”

“When I said I knew you by reputation, that was true enough. But I also know you through Susan Styles.”

Jack struggled to remember the name. “Sorry, drawing a blank.”

“She’s an executive assistant in my department. Older woman, heavyset, plain. A real hard worker and smart, but not the kind of woman a man pays much attention to. Anyway, she told me the whole story.”

Now Jack was squirming. Had he done something wrong to this woman?

“It was raining cats and dogs one night and she was driving way too fast when her tire blew. She almost lost control but managed to pull over on the side of the road, shaking like a leaf. Just as she threw on her emergency lights, an SUV pulled up in her rearview mirror. The guy jumped out, got soaking wet, and asked her if she was hurt. She said she wasn’t, then he offered to change her tire. She didn’t have Triple A and she didn’t know how to do it herself. So the guy changed her tire. He was muddy and drenched when he finally got done. She offered him twenty dollars for his trouble and he refused it. Even insisted on following her home to make sure she got there okay. When she pulled up in her driveway he honked the horn and waved good-bye. Who does that kind of thing anymore?”

Jack shrugged, a little embarrassed. “It was no big deal. Just a tire.”

“So when I said you did good work back in Gerry’s office, I was really talking about the tire.”

Jack smiled, accepting the half-compliment. “Did you finish catching up on your other work?”

“Not yet. In fact, I need to get back to it.”

As soon as their trays were carried away, Paul broke out his laptop and dove into his spreadsheets. Jack opened up his, too, connected to the onboard Wi-Fi, and started doing research on the Dalfan corporation. He wanted to hit the ground running.

An hour before they landed, the flight attendant passed out customs declarations cards. Jack glanced at it. Standard stuff.

Except for the big bold red letters in an extra-large font at the bottom of the card:

WARNING

DEATH FOR DRUG TRAFFICKERS

UNDER SINGAPORE LAW

15

CHANGI AIRPORT

SINGAPORE