Deceived (5 page)

General Soong
adjusted the wand to the blinds, widening the gap between the slats. Light fell
in harsh stripes across his face. "You say you have dealt with the
situation?"

"Yes,
general. I apologize for not informing the deputy ambassador of my plans, but I
felt it in our benefit to act quickly and decisively. I am happy to report
success, of course I have incurred certain expenses
…
"

General Soong
nodded. "Your expenses will be taken care of." His voice turned
reflective. "Deputy Ambassador Jiang is a product of the new openness. He
does not see, the leaders in Beijing do not always see, that sometimes the old
ways are best. Sometimes we must take matters into our own hands."

Li had taken
matters into hand for the benefit of General Soong many times, within the last
few months, in fact. When more subtle forms of persuasion failed, Li had
dispatched his lieutenant, Pu-Yi, to convince a reluctant Hong Kong businessman
to sell a minority stake in his aeronautics firm to a front corporation owned
by General Soong. Pu-Yi, as always, had been very direct and very persuasive. The
businessman lost the use of a hand, but gained a silent partner.

"You and
I," General Soong continued, "we are very much alike."

Li bowed his
head. "You honor me, general."

"If things
are as you say, you've honored yourself."

General Soong
circled the ambassador's desk. He opened the liquor cabinet and removed a
bottle of cognac, a favorite drink among the Chinese elite. He poured a splash
in two glasses, and held one out to Li. "Now tell me, my friend,"
General Soong said, "what exactly have you done to Mr. Ford?"

"Done to
him? Done for him would perhaps be better phrasing. Hopefully he will have the
sense to accept his good fortune, or"
—
Li shrugged
—
"as
you say, I am not afraid to employ the old ways." Li drained his glass
before explaining.

"I really
don't need another shot," Nick repeated as Scott Johnson waved a twenty in
the direction of the bartender, ignoring Nick's protests.

"It's a
party in your honor," Scott insisted, his voice slurred. "Participation
is required." He reached for the knot on Nick's tie and pulled down. "Loosen
up, huh? Here, maybe this will help. You ever hear the one about the
constipated accountant?"

"No,"
Nick dead-panned.

"He worked
it out with a pencil."

Nick looked to
Meg and made a face. "That's a little sick."

"No,
that's humor." The twenty finally caught the bartender's attention. "Jack
Daniels," Scott said, then looked at Meg. "Will you be joining
us?"

She looked at
her watch. "I should be getting home."

Scott let his
head fall to the bar. "
Two
of you. Where do you people come from? No
one's going home until I say so." He lifted his eyes to the bartender and
held up three fingers. "Make it three, to the brim."

The bartender
set a shot glass in front of each of them; Nick and Meg both grimaced
.

The party had
started at six
—
a Friday night get together with three dozen or so GAO
employees to celebrate Nick's promotion. By eight-thirty only a dozen remained,
by nine, when Meg arrived after a late night at the office, only a handful. It
was now ten-thirty, and all but Nick, Scott, and Meg had filtered home
.

There had been
plenty of pats on the back, a jealous face or two, and numerous rounds in
Nick's honor. Too numerous, in Nick's opinion
—
he felt sloppy. Time to
pack it in for the night; he faced a long weekend of work.

Scott raised
his glass; Nick and Meg reluctantly followed suit
.

"To
Nick," Scott said, weaving slightly on the bar stool. "Whenever the
occasion arose, he rose to the occasion. Congratulations."

Meg chuckled,
then added, "Here, here."

All three
emptied their glasses; Meg's face soured on swallowing
.

"That was
really good," Nick commented sarcastically, eliciting a cough, then a
laugh from Meg.

Scott's eyes
lit up. "Another?"

"No. There's
such a thing as work, remember?"

Scott motioned
again for the bartender, pointed to their glasses. "For you, Nick, work
comes around an average of six point five days a week, but a promotion to
assistant comptroller, that's a bit rarer."

"So is a
liver," Nick said, cupping the top of his shot glass. "One a life is
the allotment. Besides, for the foreseeable future my work week will be an even
seven
days, dusk to dawn
—
a hangover won't help." He turned
to the bartender. "Make it three light beers."

Scott puckered
his face in distaste. "
Light
beer?"

Nick nodded,
then draped an arm over Scott's shoulder. "And then, regardless of how
much I enjoy your company, buddy, I'm out of here."

Nick sulked for
a moment, then stuck a thumb in Nick's direction. "You know, I've
seen
this man loaded," he said to Meg. "When we first started with the
GAO, I got him to close up a few bars with me. Believe it or not, the guy's a
pretty damn good drunk. He can actually be funny."

"Hey,"
Nick said, feigning offense, "I'm funny all the time."

"Right. You've
been cracking us up so far tonight." Scott imitated Nick's voice. "'Have
to go now. Gotta work tomorrow, dawn to dusk.' I don't know about Meg, but it
was all I could do to keep from rolling on the floor. Could you tell us another
one?" Scott put his hands together in prayer. "Please."

Nick laughed as
the bartender set three beers on the bar. "Okay," he said, accepting
the challenge and instantly regretting the decision
—
his repertoire of
jokes was thin; his delivery weak at best. "Let's see, I must know a
couple of
—
Okay, here's one. Ready? How can you tell you're talking to
an extroverted accountant?"

Scott drummed
his fingers on the bar, leaving Meg to ask, "How?"

"They'll
be staring at your shoes instead of their own."

Scott's
reaction was a half chuckle, half snort; Meg, on the other hand, rewarded Nick
with a hearty laugh. "That's cute," she said. "I like that
one."

Nick smiled. "Unlike
you," he said, pointing at Scott, "this woman appreciates real humor.
Now, on a high note, I'll excuse myself for a moment. Carolyn said she might
call
…
better check my messages."

"Carolyn
Reed
?"
Meg guessed, watching Nick's retreating figure.

"Yep,"
Scott confirmed. "You're looking at her protégé." Scott took a long
chug from his beer bottle. "You want a prediction. Write it down. That
man"
—
he gestured in the direction Nick had disappeared
—
"is
going to take Carolyn's job someday."

"Might you
be a bit biased?"

Scott nodded
emphatically. "Hell, yes, I'm biased. Nick and I started at the GAO the
same year
…
the same week. We shared an office for two years. He doesn't
have any siblings; I don't either. We've sort of adopted each other. But forget
all that
…
I stand by my prediction. He's that good at what he does."

"You make
him sound like Superman."

Scott paused
for a moment, then shook his head. "Hey, we all have problems,
right?"

Meg raised her
eyes; in response Scott leaned into her, lowered his voice. "C'mon. You
can see it. The guy's got to get away from work more. He's been living in a
land of spreadsheets, balance sheets, and income statements for so long that if
you make him smell the air, kick the tires
—
he's a lost soul. That's the
one thing
—
the only thing
—
I've got over him. I can find my way
through most accounting thickets, but I know the whole thing's a lot of
bullshit make-believe. You know what I mean?"

Meg nodded
uncertainly, and Scott continued.

"He almost
broke out of his shell before Carolyn got her hooks into him." Scott
shrugged. "The job became everything for him. Not that it was all for the
worst
—
look where he is now. Heck, maybe I'm the one who needs the
counseling."

"You both
seem like pretty stable individuals to me."

Scott sat up
straight and frowned. "I've been called a lot of things, but
stable…
I'm
not sure I like that."

"Take it
as a compliment. I'm impressed, with both of you. You work well together."
Meg paused. "Though I meant to ask you
…
and please tell me if it's
none of my business
…
you and Nick were going at each other the other day.
Something about field work. You said you were on probation?"

"Yeah. Nick
thinks I may have cut a few corners during an investigation."

"What
corners?"

Scott shook his
head. "I hate specifics. Hate them. But I'll tell you this: my dad was a
cop, my grandfather was a cop, back in the day when Boston cops didn't follow
every nicety. It could be that family traditions die hard."

"Doesn't
sound so good, Scott."

"Hence,
the probation. I admit, I'm not a Boy Scout. Nick, on the other hand
—
"
Scott cleared his throat. "Look at me. About to start on Nick again. I
must be more loaded than I thought. What I really want to do is learn more
about you. Now tell me, how
—
"

Meg caught
Nick's approaching figure from the corner of her eye. She called out him,
interrupting Scott. "Any messages?"

Nick nodded
glumly as he neared the bar. "Not going to worry about them tonight."
He indicated Scott with his thumb. "Sorry for abandoning you to this guy. Lousy
thing to do."

Scott dropped
from his bar stool, hands in the air. "Hey, I know when I'm not
appreciated. She's all yours. My turn to make a quick detour
…
have to
piss so bad my back teeth are starting to float."

"Nice,
Scott," Nick called after Scott's retreating figure. "Real
nice."

Meg turned to
her beer and took a sip. "You two really start with the GAO at the same
time?"

"Uh-huh. Eleven
years ago. Surprised?"

She bobbed her
head. "Scott seems
…
younger, I guess."

"Thanks,"
Nick said, in mock annoyance.

"No, I
didn't mean it like that. It's just that you seem more
…
Who knows, I'm
surprised, that's all."

Serious was the
word she thought, but didn't say, Nick knew. He'd heard the word often, always,
it seemed to him, said with an edge to it
—
part accusation.
What was
wrong with serious, anyway?

"It must
be sort of strange," Meg went on, "you two started out together, now
you're his boss."

"Whatever
you do, don't let Scott hear you say that. As far as he's concerned I make
suggestions, that's all."

Meg grinned,
then said earnestly, "You two make an odd pair."

Nick shrugged
his shoulders. "Maybe, but we agree on most things. We just have slightly
different
…
styles is the best word, I guess."

"Yeah, slightly
different," Meg agreed sarcastically.

Nick looked to
his beer.Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of conversation, he jumped
subjects. "So, how do you like the GAO so far?"

"To be
honest, right now it's sort of overwhelming. Less than a week and already I'm
staffed on four different projects. I thought government work was supposed to
be easy?"

"Everybody
feels a bit overwhelmed at first. After a couple of years, you'll be amazed how
many things you can keep up in the air at the same time."

Nick's eyes, as
if on their own, ran quickly down the length of Meg's body
—
toned, slim
—
and
for the first time in a very long time he wondered if it was worth it. Juggling
a couple of dozen projects but no personal life. He turned from her and pushed
his beer away across the bar
—
he'd definitely had enough.

They sat a few
moment in awkward silence until Scott reappeared.

"Meg's
been telling me how hard you've been working her," Nick said.

Scott ignored
his stool and leaned heavily against the bar. "Can't help it. It's the
curse, Meg. You have it, Nick has it. Not to brag, but I do to. You're smart,
logical, you use common sense. The makings of a good accountant. But you know
what your reward is going to be? More fucking work, that's what your reward
will be. There's so much dead wood in our department that when someone comes
along who can actually think, they get one hell of a lot loaded on their
shoulders."

 "Lucky
me," Meg said.

"That's
not the worst of it. Maybe if they left it at that, dumped the work on your
shoulders and let you go about business, you could live with it. But they won't
do that. Control, egos, and politics
—
they get in the way every time. Nick
here is an exception. Want to a take a look at the mold? Set up an appointment
to see Dennis."

Nick frowned,
indicating Meg's presence with a quick glance. "C'mon, Scott."

"The hell
with it, Nick. Dennis's an asshole
—
she's going to find that out soon
enough. We've got the Monday meeting with him on the Yünnan Project audit
—
if
I know Dennis, he's not going to disappoint."

"Maybe you
don't know Dennis as well as you think. According to Carolyn, Dennis pushed me
for the promotion. Gave a great recommendation."

Scott's eyes
widened. "No offense, but if Dennis did that, he's got a reason, and it
has everything to do with helping Dennis-fucking-Lindsay."

Nick shrugged,
not altogether in disagreement. "Maybe.
…
Hey, look it, I've reached
my limit for tonight. Time for me to crawl under the covers."

Scott looked at
Meg expectantly. "What do you say, want me to show you the late night
haunts? Turn it up a notch or two?"

Nick felt
strangely pleased when Meg shook her head. "I don't think so."

"All
right, you're all party-poopers," Scott complained. "I'll be a good
boy and head on home. Where do you live, Meg
…
want to share a cab?"

"Georgetown.
Off Wisconsin and O."

Nick and Scott looked at each other. Scott lived to the west of Dupont
Circle, not exactly on the other end of town, but hardly close to Meg's. Nick,
on the other hand, lived just off O, within three blocks of Wisconsin.

On the ride to
Meg's apartment, the cab's windshield wipers kept a rapid beat, as if to
compensate for the lack of activity within. The driver, stiff and impassive,
guided the vehicle smoothly. In the back seat Nick and Meg sat silently side by
side, her face turned to the window and the dabbled world passing beyond.

Meg's breath
had fogged the window, and she wiped it clear with her fingertips. "City
looks pretty when it rains," she said.

Nick nodded, then
realized she wasn't looking his way. "Yeah," he said finally. He
inhaled, surrounded by her scent
—
a light perfume. His heart began to
drum loudly, and he worried he'd never be able to say anything intelligible
now, even if he wanted to.

Meg turned to
him. "You like Georgetown?"

"Yeah."
He looked out the window, finding it easier to talk with her out of his field
of vision.
Why was she having this effect on him?
"You get onto the
back streets, walk by some of the old houses
…
they're beautiful. The red
brick, the landscaping. I almost bought, a few times, but
…
" He
kicked himself.
You started it, now finish it.
"
…
But it
seems sort of wasteful somehow: a house, a yard, when there's only me."

God, what a
sap
. Must be the drinks.