The Devil's bed

She led the way. Behind the door, the office widened into a large area partitioned into dozens of cubicles where staff seemed diligently at work. The noise in the area consisted mostly of the click of keyboards, the ringing of phones, and the hum of voices. Laura Hansen guided Bo through the maze and into a real office with a real door, which she closed.

“Senator Dixon,” she said as she sat behind her desk. Bo took the chair opposite her. “He’s played a very important role in NOMan. In fact, he cosponsored the legislation that created our office. Over the years, he’s functioned in many capacities. Currently he serves as an adviser to several committees. Around here, he’s known as Senator Bill.”

“What does he do as an adviser?”

“Offers opinions, his expertise. He no longer has a voting role in committee decisions, but he often sits in on meetings of particular interest.”

“Are the minutes public?”

“Some. Not all. Sometimes the meetings deal with security issues, and for obvious reasons those minutes aren’t available to the public.”

“He was in a meeting here last week. Wednesday. Was that a secret meeting?”

“Last week?” She thought a moment. “I don’t think so. But then I’m not privy to everything here.”

“Would it be possible to get a copy of the minutes? If they’re a matter of public record.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She made two calls, and within five minutes, a man stepped into her office with a folder. “Thanks, Hank,” she said. She glanced at the contents, then handed the folder to Bo. “It’s not very exciting, I’m afraid. Mind-numbing, in fact. Discussion of revising a document that’s used when departments purchase from one another. But you’re welcome to it.”

“Any chance I could get a tour of things here?”

“That would have to be arranged, cleared at a higher level.”

Bo stood. “Thank you, Ms. Hansen. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll mention you to Senator Dixon when I see him and to the folks back home.”

She escorted him to the reception area, shook his hand, and Bo left.

He got a cup of coffee at the Old Ebbitt Grill and took a look at the minutes of the meeting Dixon had attended the day after Robert Lee began his investigation of the senator. It was, as Ms. Hansen had characterized it, a mind-numbing subject. Reading through the minutes, Bo had two big questions. First, why would a busy man like Dixon waste his time with a meeting that discussed a cross-payment document? And second, why had Dixon made no comments whatsoever during the meeting?

When Bo looked up, he saw that the television behind the bar was tuned to news coverage of the funeral of Robert Lee. The scene was graveside in Richmond, Robert Lee’s hometown. The president was there with Kate, both of them standing next to Lee’s widow. Flanking the woman on the other side were her sons. Everyone appeared to be weeping. Even President Andrew Clay Dixon wiped at tears. Bo could understand why. Everything he knew about Bobby Lee told him a good man had died. And that probably he had died unjustly.

In the minutes of the NOMan committee meeting, the name Donna Plante was among those listed as attendees. Bo tracked her down at the Department of Agriculture in the Whitten Federal Building. He caught her at her desk just as she was preparing to leave for lunch. When she saw his Secret Service ID, she agreed to delay her meal.

“I just want to ask a couple of questions about NOMan,” Bo said.

“Sure.”

Donna Plante set a small brown sack on her desk. Bo could smell the tuna sandwich inside.

“You sit on a NOMan committee.”

“Yes. Lots of employees from various departments do. It’s part of our assignment.”

“You were in a meeting last Wednesday with Senator Dixon, yes?”

“I was there.”

“I’ve looked at the minutes, and I find it odd that the senator offered no comments during the meeting.”

“Not odd. He wasn’t there.”

“In the minutes, he’s listed as an attendee.”

“He showed up, was noted, then he left. He sometimes does that.”

“Where does he go?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I envy the fact that he gets to skip out. Those meetings.” She gave an exaggerated yawn.

“Do you ever participate in meetings that discuss security issues?”

“Right. They’re going to let a clerk in USDA listen in about security issues.” She looked at her watch.

“Thanks,” Bo said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“What does all this have to do with Secret Service.”

“You know those meetings you don’t get to sit in on because they’re about security?”

“Yeah.”

“So’s this.”

In the Secret Service Memorial Building on H Street, Bo checked through security and received a temporary access ID. As he made his way to the Technical Security Division, he bumped into several agents he knew from previous assignments. All congratulated him on his work at Wildwood.

Robin Agnew was at her desk, deep in the reading of a thick report. She was so engrossed that she didn’t notice Bo. He was glad, because it allowed him, for a moment, to watch her without worrying about what his face might betray.