Deceived (27 page)

Nick walked to
the doctor's side, fighting the urge to break into a run
.

"She woke
about two hours ago," the doctor said, then referred to the medical chart
he held in his hand. "Blood pressure, vital signs, all good. Her EEG
appears normal. We've asked her simple questions
—
she's answered
coherently. Her memory doesn't seem to be affected. We don't think there's been
any brain damage."

"She's
exhausted, Mr. Ford, and in great pain. Normally we wouldn't allow her visitors
—
she's
not out of danger yet
—
but she was insistent and
…
Please, keep it
short and try not to excite her."

Nick stopped at
the threshold to the hospital room as if to stall off a reality he didn't care
to face. Inside the room
—
the focus of the tangle of tubes, I. V.'s and
electronic monitors, all white and chrome with digital readouts and LCD graphs
—
lay
Meg, appearing very small.

"We
operated yesterday," the doctor whispered. "Three broken ribs where
she slammed into the steering wheel." The doctor pointed to a spot on his
own chest. "Her left kidney was severely lacerated
—
we had to remove
it. Some internal bleeding
…
nothing serious. I mentioned the head injury
already."

Nick ordered
his foot to move forward, but it didn't obey. Swirling in the back of his mind
were images from the past. His parents. Scott.

After a moment
of silence, the doctor said, "You may go in if you want, Mr. Ford."

By Meg's bedside,
Nick shut his eyes, forced his hands to fists to keep them from trembling
.

"Nick?"
The sound reached beyond his closed eyes, into his convoluted thoughts.. He
opened his eyes.

"Is that
you, Nick?" Meg asked from her bed, her voice weak and raspy.

Nick moved
quickly to Meg's bedside, ghosts of the past instantly supplanted. Her face,
that portion not covered by bandages or obscured by the respirator, looked pale
and waxy
.

"You had
me so worried. I thought
…
How are you doing?" Nick reached down and
wrapped his hand around Meg's. It felt cold
—
too cold for something
living. He squeezed lightly and her eyes opened wider
.

"I'm fine.
Just fine." Her smile seemed to come at great effort, and it disappeared
on her next words. "I talked to the police. Briefly. They told me what
happened. The man I hit
…
"

"You saved
my life, Meg."

For the first
time showing strength, she clutched his hand. "I saw you run," she
said, "and I didn't know what was happening, then he chased you. I got in
the front seat, started the car, followed, and when I saw he had a knife
…
"

Nick set his
hand on her shoulder. "You didn't have a choice."

"I
…
I
didn't want to kill anybody."

"Let's
worry about you, huh?"

"Who was
he? Why did he attack us?"

Nick glanced to
the doctor still standing behind him. "When you get better we'll discuss
it, okay?"

"Please,
Nick. I have to know."

Nick glanced
again to the doctor, then pulled a chair to Meg's bedside and sat down. "The
evidence we gathered
…
we were right. About almost everything. The FBI has
reached the same conclusions we did: John Li was smuggling hi-tech goods out of
the U.S. with the aid of J.T. Frasier. Li and Frasier found out we were on to
them; they wanted us silenced."

"How,
Nick? How did they find out we were on to them?"

Nick shook his
head, irritated with himself. "Stupidity, Meg. I didn't think. The user
logs you uncovered
…
"

"Yeah."

"The logs were
planted, just like you guessed, but that's not all. Our modems had been
replaced. Li and Frasier had access to our computers anytime they wanted: they
could either download the user log and review the record of our keystrokes, or
they could monitor us in real time. That's how they learned we'd accessed
Tremont's financials. Of course they didn't know exactly what we had learned,
or who we had told, so they sent someone to assess the situation."

"Sent
someone?"

Nick nodded,
then explained: "The wire transfers from Tremont...remember there were
four sets. One went to the account in my name in the Bahamas. The FBI traced
the other three. One went to Li through Kiajong Shipping, one to Frasier, as we
guessed.The last set of wire transfers..."

"Yes?"
Meg prompted.

"The wires
jumped around a bit but they ended up in Dennis Lindsay's hands."

"
Dennis?
"
The monitors above Meg reflected her shock
—
their easy rhythms spiked. She
struggled to a more upright position.

Nick nodded,
tight lipped. "Which explains what he was doing in the offices at three in
the morning. We told him what we'd uncovered; we told him everything. And
remember, you commented he turned white at the news. It had nothing to do with
his dislike for me, Meg, it had to do with saving his own skin. When he left my
office, supposedly to find Carolyn's number, he must have called someone
…
maybe
John Li...and reported on what we'd found."

"I
…
I can't believe that."

"He sent
us out on the street, Meg. He sent us out into an ambush. And now Dennis can't
be found. He's disappeared. It all adds up. Li or Frasier must have got to him
months ago, paid him to deflect the GAO's investigation. He tried so hard to
make me give up the Yünnan Audit, to take charge of it himself, to hinder my
investigation. Now I know why. " Nick's voice faded away in anger.

Meg's eyes
lowered as if in deep thought. Finally, she said, "Li and Frasier, they're
in custody?"

Nick shook his
head. "The FBI thinks Li's left the country. His apartment, his offices,
both were cleaned out. They raided Kiajong Shipping, found a couple of laser
target designators
—
part of a missile guidance system
—
packed in a
drum of bearing oil. Frasier's dead. His corporate jet went down yesterday, a
few hours after we were attacked, on its way out of D.C. The FBI's going on the
assumption Li silenced him
…
had an explosive placed on Frasier's
jet."

He looked at
her gaunt face, the bloodless skin. "Hey, enough. We can talk more
later."

Meg ignored
him. "What about you? The accusations?"

"All
dropped. Carolyn's reappointed me to assistant comptroller. I even got an
apology from Senator Whitford." Nick straightened, puffed out his chest
and looked down his nose, trying his best to look and sound like the senator. "Your
country owes you a great apology, Mr. Ford, and an undying debt of gratitude. I
will do all in my power to see that the full force of law is brought to bear
against the guilty."

At great
effort, Meg laughed. Nick joined her but stopped abruptly on feeling the
doctor's hand on his shoulder. "I think," Nick said, "the doctor
is telling me you need your rest."

Meg looked over
Nick's shoulder to the doctor. "Just a moment more."

The doctor
nodded and retreated to the doorway.

"They took
one of my kidneys."

"I'm
sorry, Meg. They had no choice."

"I know
…
severe
internal lacerations. A miracle the broken ribs didn't end up puncturing a
lung, that's what they told me."

"The ribs
will mend, and the kidney, you've got another one." Nick grinned grimly. "Hey,
your office is only a few doors down from the bathroom anyway."

Meg started to
chuckle again, then a wave of pain stole her face. "Oh, that hurts."

"I don't
want you to hurt."

"It's
really not so bad, if I don't move. They have me on drugs
…
some really
good ones."

"Lucky
you.
…
Hey, before I go, I've got a message for you."

"Hmm?"

"An order
to get better
…
it's from the Secretary of Defense."

"Of the
United States?"

Nick nodded. "Someone
from his staff will be calling you soon. To invite you to a reception the
President's hosting Saturday night. We're not exactly the guests of honor
—
there'll
be over two hundred guests
—
but we're on the A-list. With the President's
approval rating what it is, he can use all the heroes around him he can
get." Nick laughed at Meg's shocked expression. "Don't look so
surprised. We
are
heroes. Front page news."

"I don't
feel like a hero."

"There are
at least four reporters downstairs who would tell you otherwise."

Meg looked down
at her body, then up and to the right, following the length of I. V. tube
running from her arm. "A reception
this
Saturday night? Five days
from now?" She repeated.

Nick nodded. "I
told them we might not be able to make it."

"What do
you mean
we
?"

"I told
them we're a package."

Meg's face
turned stern. "You'll go without me if you have to."

"We'll
see."

"Not we'll
see
…
go. Really, I insist. I want a full report, what the President says
to you, what the First Lady wears, what's served for dinner."

"Meg
…
"

She continued
to look at him sternly
.

"Okay,"
he said, admitting defeat. "I'll go."

"Good. And
a word of advice, that old tux you own
…
replace it. One of these times
you're going to sit down and
…
Well, I don't think that's quite the
splash you wish to make at the White House."

Nick smiled. "I'll
buy a new one, promise."

Meg nodded,
satisfied. Her eyes sunk closed. "I'm so tired."

"You
should sleep now."

"Would you
stay, Nick? Just for a moment."

"Sure,"
he whispered.

"I'll just
close my eyes for a second
…
just a second." Her eyes closed and in a
few moments her breathing relaxed. Nick looked at the heart monitor; it showed
a steady, even blip.

The doctor
crept to Nick's side. "Mr. Ford, it's time to go."

Nick nodded
reluctantly and followed the doctor from the room.

Nick used his
bath towel to wipe the mirror clean of steam, then covered his face with
shaving cream. He shaved, relathered, then shaved again. It was a big day; he
wanted to look his best.

He had laid out
his tux before showering, and dressing went quickly, all except the cufflinks. It
took him a few minutes to master the necessary one-handed stab.

Nick turned,
judging his image in profile. The pants fell neatly, breaking just above the
shoe, his jacket didn't pull and displayed no trace of polyester sheen, the
shirt sleeves showed a half-inch below the jacket sleeves, and the bow tie was
small and classic. Most important, he'd jumped that hard to define line
—
he
wore the suit, not vice versa. The six hundred dollars he laid out for the new
tux had been well spent, Meg had been right about that
.

He had seen her
that morning, sat with her for over an hour before the doctor shooed him away. Thinking
of Meg, he smiled. She still seemed small and lost among the tubes and
monitors, but she no longer tired easily and the color had returned to her
face. The improvements were easy to see; she would get well quickly now.

He had again
mentioned skipping the White House dinner
—
they were just two of two
hundred guests
—
but Meg wouldn't hear of it. She had made him promise
.

He'd been to
the White House once before, a few weeks after he took the job with the GAO. He
had joined a tourist group. An almost too wholesome-looking youth had led them
on a brief tour. "This," Nick remembered the young man saying as they
entered a large oval room, its carpet a shade of royal blue, "is the Blue
Room. James Monroe ordered many of the furnishings. The Blue Room serves as the
main reception area for guests of the President
…
"

Nick Ford,
guest of the President. He liked the sound of that.

Nick stuck out
an arm, practicing. "Mr. President."

He'd been
briefed on protocol by the President's Chief of Staff's office earlier in the
day. "Dinner will be served in the State Dining Room
—
an usher will
show you to your seat. We ask that you remain standing until the President and
First Lady have entered the room and taken their appointed place at the head of
the table."

Was it all
designed to make you a bit nervous? Make you feel like a peasant about to rub
elbows with royalty?

Almost three
hours before he was due at the White House. Ridiculous to be ready three hours
early, then again how often did one attend a White House reception?

He again
admired his reflection. The ringing of the phone kept him from adjusting his
bow tie for the dozenth time. He lifted the receiver from the bedside table. "Hello?"

"Mr.
Ford?"

The voice
sounded familiar: female, with a Chinese accent. Before Nick had a chance to
place it, the voice came again. "This is Jing-mei. I am the girl from the
—
"

"I know
who you are, Jing-mei," Nick interrupted with warmth and surprise. The
girl from the sweatshop. He remembered that he'd given her his card. "How
are you?"

"I
…
I have a problem. I think you might be able to help me."

"Anything.
Anything in my power." He meant that
.

"Could you
come? Meet me now?"

Nick checked
his watch. "I'd like to meet with you, Jing-mei. Unfortunately, tonight I
have a previous engagement. But tomorrow my schedule's wide open. You name the
place, the time, and I'll be there."

"It has to
be today," Jing-mei persisted. "It won't take long."

Nick debated
for a moment. "Maybe if you came here, to my apartment?"

"I'm sorry
but I can't do that. I feel safer here."

At once
alarmed, Nick asked, "Are you in danger? Should I call the police?"

"No,
don't
call the police. Everything will be all right if I can talk to you. I helped
you, now I'm asking you to do the same for me."

That logic was
hard to defeat. He did a mental calculation, and determined he had an hour and
a half to two hours to spare. Time enough, if he rushed, to see Jing-mei,
return, freshen up, and still have time to get to the Capitol
.

"All
right," Nick said. "I'll come."

"Thank
you, Mr. Ford."

"I owe you the thanks, Jing-mei. Tell me where you are and I'll
leave right now."

The address
Jing-mei gave Nick led him to an apartment house in a rough neighborhood on
D.C.'s north-east side
.

The lobby door
was locked. Nick pushed the button next to apartment 503
—
the apartment
number Jing-mei had given him
—
on the building directory. A voice, too
distorted to positively identify, came from the speaker a few seconds later:
"Hello."

"It's Nick
Ford," Nick said.

In response a
buzzer sounded, and Nick gained entry to the small, dirty lobby. He took the stairs
to the fifth floor and knocked on the door to apartment 503. Jing-mei opened
it.

Nick tipped his
head. "Jing-mei." She greeted him with an odd expression. He tugged
lightly on his tux lapel. "It's for a dinner tonight. I'd already dressed
by the time you called."

She nodded,
though her expression remained fixed. "Thank you for coming," she
said, as she waived Nick in.

Nick entered
and Jing-mei closed the door behind him. "I said I owe you thanks,"
Nick said, "and I meant it. If it hadn't have been for you, I
—
"
Nick stopped abruptly; his head snapped to the rear of the apartment, to the
man who appeared suddenly from the back room.

Dennis.

Eyes hollowed
out and bloodshot. Clothes crumpled.

On seeing Nick,
a wry smile sprung to Dennis's lips. "Nice threads," he said.

Nick backed
toward the door. He didn't see a gun, but his hair bristled just the same. A
trap. A setup, and he'd walked right into it.

After a moment
of silence, Dennis dead-panned: "What's the matter, have you forgotten your
old boss? Out of sight, out of mind, is that it?"

"Dennis
…
"
Nick mumbled.

"Ding,
ding, ding. We have a winner."

Nick glanced
toward Jing-mei. She seemed dumbfounded by Nick's reaction. "Don't blame
her," Dennis said, reading Nick's mind. "She thinks we're
buddies."

"Why would
she think that?"

Dennis raised
his hands and smiled. "I can be fairly convincing when I want to be."
He walked to the center of the room.

"You do
not work together?" Jing-mei asked, confused.

"We
did," Nick answered, eyes glued to Dennis. "Not anymore." He
circled Dennis cautiously, inspecting his surroundings. A railroad apartment,
Nick guessed. He could see a kitchen beyond the room he stood in, and beyond
that what looked to be a bedroom, both empty
.

"
…
How
did you find her?" Nick asked.

Dennis
shrugged. "You told me quite a bit about her. Her name, the place she
worked. I waited for her to leave work, just like you did. I wanted
information; something that might help me. But she doesn't know much, does she?
So you're my last hope. I convinced her to call you and get you over here."

Jing-mei said, "He
gave me money and an envelope." She picked up an envelope from a table. "He
said I should call you and ask you to come here
…
give you the envelope when
you came. That you would be happy to get it. He didn't want me to mention his
name. He said after my phone call he would leave. But he didn't. He said he
changed his mind, and you would be glad to see him." She held out the
envelope to Nick
.

 "There's
nothing in it," Dennis said. "It was just a prop. Had to get you here
and I needed Jing-mei's help. Don't think you would have come if I called"

Nick started
for a cordless phone which lay on a coffee table. "I'm calling the
police."

Dennis beat him
to the phone and placed his hand over it. "Wait. Hear me out, Ford. I
brought you here for a reason."

"I don't
give a damn about your reason, not with Meg in the hospital."

"I'm sorry
about Meg. Believe me. I didn't know she would be hurt. I didn't know either of
you would be attacked."

"Bullshit."

"You've
got to believe me. You were supposed to be mugged. Nothing more. Your briefcase
taken at gunpoint; no violence. That's what I was told."

"You're a goddamn
traitor."

"No. I'm
not. And now I have to prove it. That's why I called you here, Ford. That's why
I want you on my side."

"I have no
interest in being on your side." Nick emphasized the point by sticking a
finger in Dennis's face.

"You owe
me, Ford. You fucked me over pretty good."

"I did
what?" Nick felt heat rise in his face. "
I
didn't put Meg in
the hospital.
I
didn't
betray the GAO's trust, betray my country.
You
did those things."

Dennis laughed
shortly before his face went blank. "You don't understand a damn thing, do
you?"

"Turn
yourself in, Dennis, or I will."

"Turn
myself in? That's not the kind of justice I'm interested in. I'd be dead within
twenty-four hours."

Nick tilted his
head.
Dead? Within twenty-four hours?
"What are you talking
about?"

Dennis sought
out the nearest chair. He sat for a moment before answering, his tone subdued. "I'm
an embarrassment, Ford. You've made me one. An embarrassment to people who
don't like embarrassments. But I'm alive, and with or without your help, I'm
going to stay that way. If I'm lucky, maybe I can even make my way out of the
country. Hell, who knows, I might even live to see my next birthday, but I
wouldn't put any money on it. That's how I'm fucked, Ford. You did that. Funny,
though, now you're the only one I can trust. The only one I can turn to."

"I don't
…
"
Nick cleared his throat. "I don't understand."

"Because
you're a boy scout. You always have been. A goddamn boy scout."

"If you
mean I know the difference between right and wrong
—
"

"Right and
wrong?" Dennis shouted. "Is that the only thing you get off on? The
terms mean
nothing—
labels to pen in the sheep. They had you pegged from
the start. You
never
would have understood."

Nick went
silent as he considered Dennis's words. "Who are 'they?'" he asked
finally. "The Chinese?"

Dennis ran his
free hand through his hair, then chuckled sarcastically. "The Chinese. The
goddamn Chinese were puppets from the start."

"You
worked for them," Nick said, his finger this time aimed at Dennis's chest.

"I
never
worked for the Chinese."

"I saw the
financials, remember, Dennis. John Li bought you."

Dennis shook
his head slowly. "I never met the man, never had any dealing with
him."

"What about
the money wired to your account?" Nick asked.

"Window
dressing. Part of the game. You should know that...they did the same thing to
you."

Dennis had lied
to him so many times, and yet
—
His words gave Nick pause.

Dennis said,
"You're curiosity's aroused, isn't it, Ford? I can see it in your face. I've
planted the seeds of suspicion, and that mind of yours is whirring
—
that's
what I need. You see Ford, you
are
my only hope. As it is, I know only
enough to be dangerous. Only enough to be silenced. I don't know the 'why.' And
until I do I'm expendable. You're going to help me get what I need. You're
going to dig out the truth."

Nick's eyes
narrowed. "Why would I help you?"

"Because I
know you, Ford
—
it's in your nature to follow up loose ends. I'll give
you names, dates, everything I know. You can do the rest."

"All
right," Nick said. "Let's say I willing to give you the benefit of
the doubt. Let's assume you really do have a story to tell. Fine, we go to the
police,
then
I help you."

Dennis shook
his head. "So I can end up a statistic like J.T. Frasier?
…
Maybe I
haven't been clear
—
the police
can't
protect me, not from the
people I'm involved with. I go to the authorities, I enter police custody, and
I'll end up dead. Maybe they'll say I tried to escape, grabbed a gun, or jumped
from a window, who knows, but the outcome will be the same. No, we uncover the
whole truth, then we blow the lid off it and no one will be able to touch
us."

Just as Dennis
had predicted, the investigator in Nick stirred. "You say you weren't
working for the Chinese, then who?"

"Powerful
people." Dennis shook his head again, in resignation this time. "You're
not going to believe me."

"Try
me," Nick snapped.

"I told
you your problem
…
you're a boy scout. I have my own problem: I'm the good
soldier. I followed orders." Dennis reached into his jacket. Nick
flinched, bringing a smile from Dennis. "Easy, Nick. I don't have a
gun." He removed a thin fold of papers and held them out to Nick.

Nick grabbed
the papers and gave them a perfunctory examination. Each was covered with
columns of dates and what looked to be telephone numbers. "What are
they?" Nick asked.

"Proof. Of
what I'm about to tell you."

Nick looked
again to the papers.

"Those,"
Dennis continued, "are the phone records for my office at the GAO, both
incoming and outgoing calls over the last week. An original, unaltered log. Look
at the phone numbers closely. Something should jump out at you."

Nothing did. After
a minute of review, Nick said, "If there's something here, I don't
—
"

Nick was interrupted by a loud rap on the door.