The Devil's bed

It wasn’t a new idea. Bo knew the CIA had been operating that way for most of its history. He found a government Web site that gave a long list of individuals whose service to the nation included sitting on NOMan committees. Among them were representatives of the FBI, CIA, NSA, IRS, WHCA, as well as a number of well-known congressional leaders.

He stumbled across a discussion of Woodrow Gass, former director of NOMan. Woody Gass appeared to be a feisty son of a gun. A marine commander in the Philippines during World War II, he’d been taken prisoner on Bataan, been on the infamous Death March, survived a year of prison camp at a place called Cabanatuan, escaped with several other prisoners, and had made his way to the Australian forces on Borneo in a stolen boat. He’d continued to serve in a distinguished manner for the rest of the war. Afterward, he was outspoken about the blundering in the Philippines. To quiet him (the discussion implied), he was put in charge of an insignificant new division that dealt with communications.

The information was interesting, but what was more interesting to Bo was the name of one of the men who’d escaped from the Philippines with Gass. Private William Dixon.

“Still at it?”

Bo looked up from the screen. Robin was back. She had her blazer slung over her arm, and there was a slight gloss to her skin.

“Good workout?” he asked.

“Great. But I wilted walking back through that damn humidity.” She eyed her desk and the chair in which Bo sat. “Get what you needed?”

“I’m not sure what I got.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No. I’ll figure it out.” He allowed himself one final, approving look. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“I do. Jamie’s a lucky guy, and he knows it.”

Bo laughed. “I’ve got to go, Robin. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too. And if you see Chris, tell him I wish him well.”

“Will do.”

They hugged briefly, then Bo headed off.

Robin was right. It was hot and humid outside the building. Bo was dripping by the time he reached the cool sanctuary of his hotel. He went to his room and laid out everything he had so far.

He had a suspicion that Senator William Dixon was involved in something darker than mere back room politics. He’d found a strong connection between Dixon and NOMan, a very low profile organization with a finger in every branch of the government. He’d discovered a wartime link between Dixon and the man who’d organized and headed up NOMan for several decades. But how this information fit into the death of Robert Lee, if it fit at all, was still unclear.

Bo checked his watch. It was still early enough that he could make one more visit.

The receptionist gave him an odd look when he stepped in.

“Mr…” She thought a moment. “…Lingenfelter.”

“You’re good,” Bo said.

“We don’t get many visitors. And almost no one who comes twice in one day.”

“I’d like to see Ms. Hansen again. And no, I still don’t have an appointment.”

“I’ll see if she’s available.” She punched in a number on her phone. “Dan, Mr. Lingenfelter is here again. He’d like to see Laura. Again.” She flashed him a playful smile. “Uh-huh. All right. Thanks.” She hung up. “Someone will be right up.”

Bo checked the fish again. They were darting around now, as if looking for something in that empty water. Bo figured it must be close to feeding time.

The door behind the receptionist opened. Ms. Laura Hansen was not who appeared. But the man who did come out was someone Bo had seen before. Although they’d passed only briefly in the Stillwater hospital after Tom Jorgenson was attacked, the man’s damaged face, the bubble of burn scars that welted his right cheek, his reconstructed right ear, all made him impossible to forget.

Bo hoped his own face was really as forgettable as Lorna Channing seemed to think.

“I’m Hamilton Gaines, Mr. Lingenfelter. An assistant director here at NOMan. I understand you have quite an interest in our office.”

“It’s an interesting office,” Bo said.

“Not many people share your view. Ms. Hansen is unavailable at the moment. I wonder if there’s something I could help you with.”

“I hope so,” Bo said. “As I explained earlier to Ms. Hansen, I’m on a little fact-finding mission for the party folks back in Pueblo. She was kind enough to give me some minutes of a meeting that our Senator Dixon attended last week. But it’s my understanding that the senator had to leave that meeting very early. In fact, I understand that he often leaves early. I was just wondering what might pull him away while he’s here at NOMan.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Gaines replied.

“You don’t know the answer?”

“It’s more a security issue, Mr. Lingenfelter. Senator Dixon has been associated with this office for a very long time. We rely on his expertise significantly, particularly in areas that deal with sensitive information and security. If we know he’s here, we often ask him to sit in on a meeting when such issues are being considered.”

“Ms. Hansen seemed to be under the impression that there weren’t any meetings like that last week.”