Deceived (3 page)

Though Nick
passed it every day on the way to work, Nick had never before entered the Royce
building. Its lobby met his expectations: marble floor, marble walls, marble
colonnades, ceiling frescos. The lobby, like the exterior, was an anachronism,
a hold out against the sleek mirror-sided buildings that had claimed much of
the neighborhood.

Nick's
footsteps echoed as he crossed to the elevator bank. He pushed the UP button,
and instantly pulleys whirred and a gold dial above the doors tracked the
elevator's slow descent.

The doors
opened on a proper, white-haired man in uniform. "What floor, sir?"
he asked as Nick entered.

Nick shrugged. "The
Stanton Club."

"That
would be the top floor, sir."

No button, not
even a number, marked the floor, just a key hole the operator accessed with a
key fished from his pocket. When was the last time he had seen an elevator
operator, Nick wondered. He realized, with the exception of old movies, he
probably never had.

An ante room
with dark paneling and over-stuffed leather chairs grouped in tight circles
around tables laden with carefully folded copies of the
Wall Street Journal
and the
London Financial Times
preceded the dining room proper. It
looked out of the nineteen twenties, just as Nick imagined it would. The dining
room itself, on the other hand, surprised him
—
not its decor, as staid
and sober as the ante room, but the diners themselves: all women. A mix, from
their sixties to their thirties, some dressed conservatively, some dressed not
so conservatively, but all dressed expensively.

A white-haired
man, a twin of the elevator operator but for the uniform, in this case a black
tux, intercepted him before he could enter the dining room. "May I help
you, sir?"

"I'm
meeting Carolyn Reed for lunch."

The man bowed
his head slightly. "This way, sir."

Nick wondered
if a few heads might turn, if he'd garner a scathing look or two; he was strangely
disappointed that the women, engrossed in discussions, paid him no attention
whatsoever.

The maître d'
led him toward a circular table fronting a large window overlooking the city. Carolyn
sat there, a cup of tea in front of her, a newspaper open in her hands. She
looked as she always looked: a leanness born of activity, auburn hair given
over almost completely to gray. She was sixty-four, sixty-five, something like
that, but people rarely took note of her age
—
her mind was timeless. Smart
and savvy, she never took a back seat to anybody. A woman who established her
career at the GAO at a time when
Father Knows Best
topped the television
ratings.

Carolyn saw him
approach, dropped the newspaper, and stood. "
Nick
," she said,
clearly happy to see him.

He returned the
greeting using her given name, a habit carried forward from when they worked
together. She gripped his hand warmly before gesturing to a chair. "Sit. Sit,"
she said.

Was he the only
man who liked lines on a woman's face? Deep lines, radiating from the eyes,
across the brow, bracketing the mouth. Character lines, they said of men. Carolyn
Reed had them, and they added character and more: thoughtfulness, intelligence,
experience. The ones around her eyes deepened as her mouth broke into a broad
smile. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Thank you
for the invitation." He scanned the dining room. "Nice place."

Carolyn leaned
toward him across the table. "Pretentious is the word," she
whispered, "but useful. Of course you've noticed it's all women
…
"

Nick nodded. "Hard
to miss."

"I hope
you don't mind; I had to see someone else here earlier. Besides, I thought
you'd get a kick out of it. It's really not fair, is it? Women have screamed
for years that men's clubs are exclusionary, then the first chance we get, out
with the men. Personally, I couldn't give a damn one way or the other. I belong
to three different clubs
…
there aren't more than a half-dozen women in
one of them
…
but as I said, this club serves its purpose. Every woman
here, it's almost as if they're on a mission to out-network their male peers. That
has its advantages."

Carolyn's
famous logic: advantages, disadvantages, everything a cost-benefit analysis. Nick
said, "I'm not the least bit offended."

"Good.
…
How's
everybody in Special Investigations?"

"Just
fine. Scott and Judy send their best. We all still miss you."

Carolyn looked
down, obviously embarrassed.

It had been
four years since Carolyn had jumped from the directorship of the Special
Investigations Division to deputy comptroller general, and two since her
Presidential appointment to comptroller general. The staff of Special
Investigations still remembered her fondly not because she used to pat them on
the back or go easy on them, but because she was fair, honest, and damn good at
her job
.

Nick remembered
her fondly for an additional reason: as director of the Special Investigations
Division she had appointed him her senior aide. He had leap-frogged a dozen and
a half more experienced staffers in taking the position, but Carolyn's judgment
was sacrosanct. She backed Nick to assume the responsibility and, young as he
might be, that sufficed for most people. Carolyn had never made a secret of the
respect she had for Nick professionally. The respect was mutual, though from
Nick's perspective it bordered on awe.

Unfortunately,
Carolyn had moved on not long after, and Nick didn't get along nearly as well
with her successor, Dennis Lindsay. Then again, who did? By mutual assent,
Dennis was a jerk, and in comparison to Carolyn, a disaster.

As they ordered
and then ate their lunch, they talked office gossip. Not that either of them
cared overly much for the subject, but protocol demanded light conversation
before moving on to business. And there
was
, Nick knew, a business
purpose behind the lunch
—
Carolyn had a reason for everything she did.

They discussed
staff, who had retired, who had married, who had had children.

"So
Michelle had twins," Carolyn exclaimed at one point. "Does that make
three?"

"Four. Real
cute kids."

"I'd love
to see them."

A lie, Nick
knew, unless things had changed dramatically. Carolyn and Jack, her husband who
died of cancer a few years back, had no children
—
whether by choice or
circumstance Nick didn't know. That might explain why Carolyn had never been
comfortable around kids, but Nick had developed his own theory: if a child
wasn't old enough to reason logically, the child didn't rate Carolyn's time. That,
in Nick's mind, wasn't a criticism of Carolyn, almost the opposite. It was just
the way she was
—
she took life seriously and, perhaps because of it, was
always treated seriously.

When their
plates had been cleared, Carolyn shifted into more familiar territory.

"Nick,
it's a pleasure catching up on old times, but I do have something else on my
mind."

Nick nodded,
expecting as much.

Carolyn dropped
her eyes and played with her tea spoon. "I believe I've always made it
clear I thought you had a great future in Special Investigations. That's why
this is sort of hard for me."

Nick's chest
tightened.
Hard for her? What the hell did that mean?

Carolyn left
Nick's stare unmet. "I'm not happy with the way things are going
…
in
Special Investigations I mean."

Nick racked his
brain. Hadn't he done a good job,
at least
a proficient job?

"I
know," Carolyn went on, "that you and Dennis have had your run-ins
over the years."

Dennis
,
that explained a lot
.

"I thought
maybe, given time, you two would work out your differences. I no longer believe
that's possible. The problem is, Dennis, for all of his
…
let's call them
idiosyncrasies
…
is an extremely valuable employee. Bottom line, he's a
loyal assistant who's done an admirable job in a tough position; I don't care
to lose him, not right now."

But you,
Nick, I can afford to lose—
Nick imagined her thoughts. "Carolyn,"
Nick started, then swallowed involuntarily, "are you about to ask me to
quit Special Investigations?"

"Yes,
Nick. Yes, I am
…
"

Yes?
Just
like that. Nick thought too highly of Carolyn's judgment to object. She had her
reasons
—
she always did. Instead, he hung his head and bit his lower lip.

"Of course,"
Carolyn said, "I do have something, another position, that I think you
might be interested in."

Another
position?
Great. He'd have to start over, prove himself to new people,
climb the ladder all over again
—

"In
fact," Carolyn added, "I think you might be
very
interested."

Nick looked up
to see a grin steal Carolyn's face. She said, "As you've probably heard,
Burt Knowles had a heart attack a few months ago. What you've probably
not
heard is Burt plans on announcing his retirement by the end of the year. I've
got six months to find his replacement."

Burt Knowles,
Assistant Comptroller General for the General Government Division
—
Carolyn
was looking to fill
that
position? And she was talking to him? Nick's
mouth gaped open, his emotions flipping a hundred and eighty degrees.

Carolyn
continued to grin. "I think, maybe, I've found a way to replace Burt and
keep two talented young men from wasting effort butting heads."

Nick wasn't
sure what to say. "Are you offering me Burt's position?"

She nodded. "I
take it you're interested?"

"Are you
kidding? For a second I thought
…
"

"I
apologize
…
it was a dirty trick. Seriously, are you interested?"

"Of course
I am."

Carolyn held up
her hand. "Okay, but before you say any more, I want to provide full
disclosure. For six months, until he retires, you'll do Burt's work but won't
have his title
—
you'll keep your own. After the first of the year,
that'll change,
if
you work out, that is. No promises: you prove your
worth and you're in; you wash out and I pick someone else. Anytime in that six
months, the work gets too tough, you find the position isn't what you hoped,
you can have your old job back. That's the deal. You understand?"

Nick, in shock
at his good fortune, nodded dumbly.

"Another
thing, if and when you officially become an assistant comptroller, your salary
will go up significantly, not before. And Nick, you're going to earn every damn
cent. Being the head of a division is a lot harder than it may sound, and Burt
hasn't done a thing since his heart attack. I don't even expect him to set foot
in the office for the rest of the year, his condition is that serious. The
backlog is incredible."

"I've
never been afraid of hard work, Carolyn." Of course she knew that; the
whole GAO knew that.

"Good,
because that's what you'll get. All the assistant comptroller positions demand
long hours, but the Government Division
—
well just don't expect to have
much of a personal life any time soon. Republicans
and
Democrats,
everybody, is pushing the government to do more with less. Developing,
implementing, and reviewing efficiency plans, that would be your department. There,
now you know the downside as well as the up. Still interested?"

"I can't
believe it."

"I'm
guessing that's a long form of yes."

"Yes. I
don't know what to say
…
I'm honored
…
surprised."

"You
shouldn't be. You've done a great job in Special Investigations. Your
co-workers agree. No one's had anything but glowing praise, and that
includes
Dennis."

Nick raised his
eyebrows and Carolyn nodded, reading his mind. "That's right," she
repeated, "
including
Dennis. In fact, he first brought up your name
when the position opened
…
couldn't have given you a better
recommendation. We had a few people in mind, but, frankly, you grabbed the best
reviews by far. My decision became quite easy. You have talent, Nick, nobody
seems to have any doubt on that score."

Nick felt his
face go red. He bowed his head modestly. "Thank you."

"We'll see
if you're still thanking me six months from now." Carolyn glanced at her
watch, then signaled to the waiter who hovered near the table. The waiter took
a slip of paper from his pocket and set it on the table in front of Carolyn and
offered her a gold pen. She signed the slip and he took it away; neither spoke
to the other.

"Unfortunately,"
Carolyn said, as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin, "I'm late for another
meeting and have to run. Tomorrow and the next day I'm out of the office, that
means we can't meet until Friday. I'll give you a call to set a time
—
we'll
go over job responsibilities. In the meantime, I'm going to need you to hit the
ground running. Burt had been reviewing the National Direct Student Loan
Program. The Department of Education had asked us to do an evaluation with a
view toward streamlining overhead expenses. Burt's deputy has been pinch-hitting,
but frankly, the guy just doesn't have what it takes. I'm going to have him
stop by your office; he'll brief you." She paused for a moment, then said,
"I'm afraid I've promised the Department of Education a preliminary report
by the 27th, that's the Friday after this."

"How far
along is Burt's deputy?"

"From what
I've looked at, my guess is you'll be starting pretty much from scratch."