Girl of Lies (21 page)

Bear felt a little better prepared, then, as he walked into the Russell Building. He didn’t know the connection between Senator Rainsley and Richard Thompson, but he knew that at least as far back as 1984, the two men knew each other. He knew that on at least one occasion, Senator Rainsley sat in the same room as Thompson and the future heads or deputy heads of intelligence of three different nations.

There was no longer any question in Bear’s mind that Richard Thompson had been CIA.

What did the new Secretary of State, Perry, have to do with all of this? He’d also been on the Armed Services and Foreign Relations committees in the Senate, and was known to be a good friend of Rainsley’s, despite the fact they sat on opposite sides of the political aisle. Perry was a Democrat and had served in the Senate from Massachusetts for twenty years. Rainsley was a Republican from Texas. But the two of them had worked together for decades. So what would Rainsley have to say that Perry couldn’t tell him?

Bear was annoyed he had to turn in his weapons at the entrance to the building. But he needed to get upstairs. He made his way down the gleaming white hallway toward the stairs, watching as men and women, legislators, aides, lobbyists, and tourists wandered the halls.

It was quieter on the third floor—only those people who had actual business came here. His shoes echoed off the marble floor as he walked down the hall, and he felt an urge to whisper.

Halfway down the quarter mile long hallway, he found the seal of the state of Texas: a lone star, circled by olive and oak branches. The door itself was thick polished wood and had gleaming brass handles. Bear reached out and opened the door.

Inside, it took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright white marble hallway to the dark wood paneling inside the office. A receptionist sat at a desk—young, pretty and earnest. She smiled at him and said, “May I help you?”

“Jim Wyden, Diplomatic Security. I have an appointment with Senator Rainsley.”

“Yes, sir. If you can wait right here, Senator Rainsley will be right with you.”

It wasn’t a long wait. Less than a minute later, Senator Chuck Rainsley appeared in the doorway of the anteroom. Bear’s first impression: Rainsley would make a good candidate for the father of Carrie and Andrea Thompson. At six foot six, he towered over Bear. A good looking affable man with an easy smile and a broad hand, he clasped Bear’s hand and said, “Mr. Wyden, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Secretary Perry told me to expect you. Please come in.”

Bear followed Rainsley into the office, his thoughts racing.
Could
Rainsley be the father? He’d have to look at dates. He muttered a curse at himself. He should have checked their birth dates. But it didn’t make any sense, really. It didn’t explain why Andrea Thompson was kidnapped. It didn’t explain anything really.

“Have a seat,” Rainsley said, gesturing toward a leather chair in front of a huge, highly polished desk. Bear’s shoes sank into the thick carpeting of the office as he walked to the chair and sat down.

Rainsley’s office was spacious. Memorabilia and photographs covered the walls. Rainsley in his Marine Corps uniform, as a young Lieutenant in Vietnam, on an aircraft carrier, at an Embassy, in Lebanon. Later photos of him in the Washington uniform, a dark suit and tie, or on the campaign trail in Texas. On the wall, a mix of items. A Bronze Star medal. A plaque from the city of Dallas. A photograph, black and white, of a twenty-year-old Chuck Rainsley in a basketball uniform with the letters USNA. Naval Academy.

Rainsley slid into the seat across from Bear. Even seated he was an imposing, impressive man.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Wyden?”

“Bear, sir.”

“Right. Bear. What can I do for you?”

“Sir, you’re probably aware that the night before last, the daughter of the Secretary of Defense was kidnapped at BWI airport. A foreign national with known intelligence ties was involved in the kidnapping.”

Rainsley nodded. “I’ve been following the story. Please don’t take this as nitpicking, but just a reminder, Thompson’s confirmation hearings aren’t until next week. He isn’t the Secretary of Defense yet.”

Bear nodded. “I stand corrected, Senator. I’m running the investigation into Andrea Thompson’s kidnapping. And—to put it bluntly—I’ve got some unanswered questions that don’t make sense, and Secretary Thompson is being less than cooperative.”

Rainsley grimaced. “That’s no surprise.”

“Sir, what can you tell me about Richard Thompson?”

Rainsley grimaced. “First of all, I want to make it clear, this is not on the record.”

“Fine, Senator.”

“All right, then. Richard Thompson is a snake and a liar. He’s one of the most dangerous men in government, and if the President thinks Thompson’s nomination as Secretary of Defense is going to fly he is out of his mind.”

Well, that was clear enough, Bear thought. “Can you be, um… a little more specific, Senator?”

“All right. First of all—you know Thompson’s not really State Department, right? He’s CIA, through and through.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“We held closed hearings in 2001 when he became ambassador to Russia. His CIA assignments were the reason for the closed hearings.”

“I see. I understand you were responsible for the delay in that appointment?”

Rainsley grimaced. “I tried to stop it entirely. We held the nomination up for two years, and it cost me a lot of political capital.”

“Tell me why.”

Rainsley leaned across the desk. He held up one finger. “First… early 80s, when Thompson was in Afghanistan, he got up to some very shady stuff.
Criminal
stuff. And then he did everything he could to prevent any oversight or control from Congress.”

“He was officially assigned to Pakistan, I believe.”

Rainsley sneered. “So was half the Central Intelligence Agency. The Russians were in Afghanistan, and we had a lot of operatives in there. Secret little wars. Crazy stuff.”

“Okay. What else?”

“All right. Second…

and this you can’t quote me on. But Thompson had a cruel streak. Power games in his personal and professional life.”

“What sort of… power games?”

Rainsley looked disgusted. “Let’s just say I feel sorry for Adelina Thompson.”

“You know her.” It wasn’t a question.

Rainsley gave a vague answer. “We’ve met a few times. She’s a lot younger than Richard Thompson.”

“They’ve been married since… 1981?”

“That’s right.”

“I thought it was unusual. His assignment to Spain was only a few months.”

Rainsley leaned close. “The agency ordered him to marry her to prevent an international incident.”

That didn’t make any sense. Unless… “Was she raped?”

The Senator shrugged. “I don’t know all the details. But they married them off and got him the hell out of there.”

Bear sighed. “Sir, this is all interesting, but it doesn’t really tell me anything. Did you know… there’s a photograph of you with Thompson? And his wife?”

“I’m not surprised.”

“The picture also has some interesting people in it. Prince Roshan from Saudi Arabia. Leslie Collins. Prince George-Phillip.”

Senator Rainsley nodded. “That’s right.”

“All three of them ended up very high in their intelligence establishments.”

“What does that tell you?”

“That I’ve got unanswered questions. That none of this makes sense.”

Rainsley smiled. “That’s all I’m going to say for now.”

“Senator, one last question.”

“Yes?”

“Who is Carrie and Andrea Thompson’s real father?”

Rainsley raised his eyebrows. Then he said, “That’s not a question for me to answer. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Wyden.”

The Army Sergeant who led Carrie down the hallway wore dress blues like Ray had worn to their wedding. He’d been in the Army a
lot
longer than Ray had, though. Three strips on top, three on the bottom, a dozen diagonal yellow hash marks on his sleeve and dozens upon dozens of ribbons. She recognized the Combat Infantryman’s badge. Of all Ray’s decorations, that one had been the most important to him.

“In here, ma’am,” the Sergeant said.

The door opened into a small anteroom. A woman in her forties sat behind a desk. Two younger sergeants sat in chairs across from the woman. One read on a Kindle, while the other played a handheld video game. She wondered what they were doing. At a second desk, an Army Colonel sat. He stood up as Carrie entered the room and said, “Miss Thompson-Sherman? I’m Colonel Billingsgate, your father’s aide-de-camp. He’ll be available in just a few moments, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Carrie said.

The secretary, still behind her desk, said, “Can I get you a drink? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“Please feel free to have a seat.”

Carrie sat down. She was uncomfortable. Beyond uncomfortable. Her father was a lifelong diplomat, and while his appointment as the new Secretary of Defense might make sense in some political sense she didn’t know about, what she did know was that her experience with the Army as an institution was not good. Not good at all. Ray had been practically persecuted, called back up by the military on a pretext because of a crime someone else had committed. He’d been put on trial, dragged through the mud, and then murdered.

She’d just as soon not spend a day here, in the Pentagon, where her husband’s death had effectively been engineered.

So while she waited, she played solitaire on her phone and tried to calm her nerves. Carrie was protective of her daughter—obsessively so. And leaving her in the hands of the nanny, even for a few hours, was excruciating. She’d had to do that several times in the last couple of days.

The main door to the office opened. She looked up. Her father stood in the doorway, a politician’s smile on his face. Something was wrong. Her father had always been distant. He’d always been… baffling. A little cold. But his recent behavior had been almost bizarre. She didn’t understand it, and it seemed to have started right around the time they figured out that Rachel was sick.

“Carrie, darling. Please, come in.”

Her father put his hand on her arm as he led her into the office.

“Have a seat. Lunch will be served in just a moment.”

She walked to the indicated seat, a small table not far from the desk. White tablecloth and lunch settings. Was he kidding? She’d asked to meet her
father
for lunch. Instead, she was getting the
Secretary of Defense.

A steward—an Army sergeant—in a white uniform entered the room and filled the water glasses at the table.

“Something to drink, ma’am?”

“Thanks, just water, please.”

“And you, Mr. Secretary?”

“I’ll have a vodka-tonic, please. Light.”

The steward disappeared.

“How are Andrea and baby Rachel?”

Carrie winced a little. Something was really wrong here. She’d never been close to her father—but of all of his daughters, she’d been the closest. But right now she didn’t feel close at all. His question seemed as superficial as possible.
How are Andrea and baby Rachel?

She blinked at her father and said, “Andrea is terrified. She was kidnapped at the airport, and neither one of her parents could be bothered to be there for her.”

“Carrie, surely you’re aware that my confirmation hearings begin next week.”

She leaned forward and said, “Father. What in God’s name is
wrong
with you? How could you treat her like this?”

“You don’t understand how—”

Her father’s mouth closed suddenly when the side door to the office opened. The steward returned, with two enlisted men behind him. One carried a tray with two covered dishes, and the other brought drinks. Quickly, lunch and drinks were arrayed on the table in front of them. Carrie sat uncomfortably as the soldiers bustled around arranging the table.

Lunch was roast lamb.

As the stewards left, her father coughed into his napkin. “Carrie… there are things you don’t understand.”

“Right,” she said. “I don’t understand how you can be so cold to your own daughter.”

He closed his eyes, visibly trying to contain his patience.

“Please relay to your sister my love, and let her know that the moment my confirmation hearings are complete, I’ll be available.”

God, she missed Ray.
The grief that ran through her at that thought was overpowering, almost as if she’d been run over. “Do you know what she thinks?”

Her father leaned forward, spreading his napkin across his lap. Then, with careful motions, he cut a piece of lamb and speared it on his fork, bringing it to his mouth. Only after he’d chewed and swallowed did he say, “What does she think?”

Carrie felt a tightening in her chest, knowing that once she said it, she wouldn’t be able to recall the words. Knowing—believing—for the first time, that Andrea’s suspicion might be true. Believing that everything she’d ever been told by her own father was a lie.

“Andrea believes that she and I are sisters. But that you aren’t our father.”

He raised his eyebrows then wiped his napkin across his lips. “She does?”

Carrie nodded once.

He sighed. His face looked closed off. No emotion. No… nothing. He looked like someone about to walk into court, not her father.

Carrie pressed forward. “Is that why she’s spent most of her life in Spain?”

“You’ll have to discuss that with your mother,” he said. His tone of voice was irritated, clipped.

“Why did Andrea get sent off and not me?”

“Again, you’ll have to speak to your mother about that.”

She shook her head. “Is it true?”

He didn’t answer.
He didn’t answer.
Something in her was cut adrift. She’d lost her husband already. Now she had to lose her father too?

Her voice ragged, Carrie asked, “Who… who is my father, then?”

Her father—no, Richard Thompson—closed his eyes. Then he shrugged, as if to say it was of little importance to him. His tone of voice was disgusted when he spoke. “Unfortunately, your birth father is Senator Chuck Rainsley.”