enough to ask the right questions. I didn’t.

  Maggie was in the office before me, of course. I told her about

  my call to Cheryl, feeling lucky when she didn’t throw anything at

  me. Cheryl was not included in Maggie’s social register. But when I

  explained what I was up to, she agreed that Cheryl would be perfect.

  “All right, but don’t get too close. I don’t buy for a minute that

  you’re through with little Rock women, and Cheryl Cole has them all

  beat by ten furlongs. She’d love to get her fangs into you. Why can’t

  you go for a woman with a little class, like that schoolteacher in ver-

  mont? What was her name?”

  “Marion South. And it would take a stick of dynamite to get her out

  of vermont. Believe me, I tried.”

  “You didn’t try hard enough.” Maggie almost never backed down.

  “Yes, I did—how would you know? And what about Micki? She has

  class.”

  “She’s spoken for, or have you forgotten?”

  I was never going to carry this debate. Bless her; Maggie Hen was

  nothing if not protective, sometimes a little too protective if you

  asked me.

  “Back to my point. You be careful around Cheryl.” She smiled

  easily, knowing she’d won. She also knew how far she could push me.

  We got down to business—foundation business. I had to reschedule

  meetings, take a first look at the new stack of proposals and grant

  requests on my desk, and an ominous-looking envelope from the IRS,

  which told us we were being audited. I wasn’t worried. We relied on a

  good CPA firm who made sure we dotted every “I” and crossed every

  “T,” but it would be a distraction. Walter had shown a sudden interest

  in meeting my economist friend, so we were set to join him for lunch

  at The Bombay Club. My afternoon was still free, but I hoped to hear

  from Cheryl.

  The man lounging against the meter outside the Bombay Club kept

  one eye out for the parking cops. All in all he felt pretty good—Maggie

  was lunching with her friend from the FTC, but she would learn

  nothing. Patterson and Mathews were clearly engaged in foundation

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  business—why else meet with an economist? Nevertheless, he had

  reported the meeting to his boss, and he’d soon know if the meeting

  had anything to do with Dr. Stewart. Jones was another story. He was

  a tough nut to crack. His boss had told him to pull out all the stops

  and spare no expense, and he couldn’t help but wonder who was the

  client writing the checks.

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  D

  I was late for lunch, couldn’t help it. Tag Bettis was an economist

  I often called upon in antitrust cases. He and Walter were already

  engaged in a lively discussion about the current state of the economy,

  economic theory, and what role the Feds should be playing. They man-

  aged to order lunch and enjoy excellent tandoori trout with almost no

  interruption in their conversation. I waited until the waiter brought

  coffee to focus on the issue at hand.

  “Tag, I want to pose a hypothetical. I realize this is new to you,

  and I’ll be happy with an educated guess. What would happen to

  the economy if a reliable cure for cancer suddenly dropped into the

  marketplace?”

  “Well, since you’re buying, I’ll give you an answer that’s worth the

  price of this lunch. The answer is—very little. Whatever the drug com-

  panies lost on old cancer treatments would be offset by the cost of

  marketing and selling the new drug. Some companies would suffer,

  but others would reap the rewards of a miracle drug. Given the time

  it takes to bring any new drug to the public, the economy would have

  plenty of time to adjust. Is your question even feasible?”

  “Probably not, but let me add to the hypothesis. What if the science

  was available to anyone, and the cure was free or relatively so, without

  the need for drug manufacturers, doctors or pharmacies—sort of like

  an aspirin or heartburn medicine?”

  “The government won’t let that happen. You’re talking about

  drying up a huge sector of the economy. Clearly the world would be a

  lot better off, but such a discovery would have to be phased in over a

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  long period of time in order to maintain stability. otherwise, it could

  be an economic catastrophe.” Tag looked troubled. “Jack, you’re

  talking about trying to balance the value of life with the likelihood of

  economic chaos. The FDA makes these types of decisions every day,

  though they would never admit it. economics are a major factor in

  their decisions, although they hide behind phrases like ‘Protecting

  America’s Health.’”

  Walter asked, “Do you think a comprehensive study of Jack’s hypo-

  thetical could minimize the uncertainty?”

  Tag looked even more uncertain. “Well, to do it right would be very

  expensive—I’d have to create new computer models—but yes. The

  right study, done by the right people, would help significantly. I’d have

  to know how far along the company is in the drug’s development.”

  I looked at Walter, unsure of where he was headed. He was way

  ahead of me.

  “Technically, this is Jack’s decision, but we want to hire you and

  your firm to produce such a study on behalf of Bridgeport life and

  the Matthews Foundation. For everything you learn to remain within

  the privilege, my law firm will actually hire you. It’s imperative for you

  to begin this work as soon as possible.” Tag’s eyebrows shot up, and his

  mouth dropped open.

  “Wow. You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. We don’t have the time,” Walter replied firmly. “If

  you’re not interested, I’ll find someone who is.”

  They agreed to meet again later that afternoon, and we all left, Tag

  still looking shell-shocked.

  Walter dropped me off at the office, and I met Maggie walking in

  the door. She had lunched with a friend at the Federal Trade Com-

  mission, hoping to gain some insight into who might profit from a

  potential cure for cancer.

  “How’d it go?” I asked.

  “Well, we had a very nice lunch—you know, catching up on friends,

  trading a little gossip. oddly, it was Ruth who brought up the busi-

  ness, not me. She said she’d heard her boss talking about how you’d

  gotten involved in a case that looked like a simple drug bust, but was

  actually a matter of national security. She told me very politely that we

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  should butt out. The White House is handling whatever’s going on,

  and everyone else had been told to stay away. Sounded to me like she

  knew a lot more than ‘I heard my boss talking . . . ’”

  “And . . . ?”

  “Well, I managed to change the subject, and she seemed to get

  more comfortable. I used one of your old tricks—kept her glass full.

  As we were about to leave she said, ‘Maggie, be careful.’ I nodded

  without thinking and asked for the check. Then, out of the blue, she

  leaned across the table, ‘I understand Jack is involved in an antitrust

  investigation of Akron Drugs.’ I assured her we weren’t. She gave me a

  quick kiss and left before I could say a word. Jack, is there an ongoing

  investigation of Akron?”

  “Not as far as I know. Think she was trying to tell you otherwise?”

  “It certainly seemed so. Shall I handle it, or do you have any special

  instructions?” She knew I’d have to put my two cents in.

  “Yes, don’t go through normal channels. Call David Dickey and ask

  him to give you an opinion on Akron. He’ll get it when you tell him

  you don’t want our foundation’s possible investment to raise any flags.”

  David handled all the investments for the foundation. He’s Walter’s

  favorite financial advisor and a great guy to boot. We’d have a full

  report on Akron Drugs within a matter of days, and no one would

  know we were interested.

  Rose stepped into the office. “Jack, Cheryl Cole is on the phone. Says

  she’s returning your call. Should I tell her the check already went out?”

  “No, Rose, I really did call her this time. I’ll take it.” Maggie gave

  me a scowl and left to call David.

  “Cheryl—how nice to hear your voice!”

  “I hope you’re calling to say you’ve increased my allowance.”

  “Nope, same amount. I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Jack Patterson is asking me for a favor? This is a first. It must be a

  whopper.”

  “I think you might find it intriguing,” I replied, hoping to pique

  her curiosity.

  “Hmm . . . then it’s going to cost you drinks at a very public place.”

  She wasn’t above milking speculation. She was probably dialing the

  Washington Post as we spoke.

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  “I’m happy to buy you drinks, but our first meeting needs to be at

  least a little private. Surely you know a nice place where we won’t be

  noticed until you decide to break the story.”

  “There’s a story in this favor?”

  “only if you’re intrigued.”

  “I know the perfect place. People will recognize me, but if they know

  who you are, I’ll just say you’re bringing me up to date on Woody.”

  Her perfect place was one of those new hot spots near the New-

  seum. It was hardly private, but Cheryl had a plausible story. We agreed

  to meet at six.

  Clovis arrived and collapsed onto the office couch. He’d spent the

  whole day with “computer geeks” and was “just plain wore out.”

  “By the way, Stella puts Walter’s geeks to shame. She’s now got Micki

  and Debbie set up at the ranch with a system that should be impreg-

  nable. Apparently, everyone’s been hacked, and Micki’s phones were

  bugged, but the intrusions were so well disguised it was almost impos-

  sible to discover. She isolated the spyware in Micki’s computer system

  in a way the hackers won’t know we’re on to them; same for the bugs.

  Walter’s flying her here to do the same thing for Bridgeport and the

  Foundation.

  “So who’s behind all this? Who has this level of sophistication? And,

  sorry to ask, but Stella’s not a Moira, is she?”

  “No, she’s not. of that I’m sure. I don’t think she can figure out who

  the bad guys are, but she can take care of our computer security issues.”

  “okay, the sooner the better. I’m sorry—I had to ask,” I said. “What

  about Walter getting the line of credit? Do ‘they’ know about that?”

  “No. Walter is handling the letter the old fashioned way—in person.”

  “okay, good. I’m off to see if I can stir up some trouble with Cheryl

  Cole.”

  “That woman’s nothing but trouble. You sure you know what you’re

  doing?”

  “Not exactly, but I figure it’ll come to me.”

  The warm sunshine of the late spring afternoon felt luxurious on

  my face as I walked down Pennsylvania Avenue. Washington is a beau-

  tiful city if you can ignore the traffic and don’t fall prey to the intense

  backstabbing that’s part of its culture.

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  I was the first to arrive—no surprise. If you’re on time, that means

  you’re not busy and therefore not important, the ultimate DC sin. A

  few heads turned as I was seated, but I was last year’s news, so interest

  quickly died. I was content to enjoy an oregon Pinot Gris I hadn’t

  seen before on a restaurant wine list. Cheryl arrived twenty minutes

  later, and I had to admire the way she worked the room. It took her a

  good ten minutes to cross, stopping at every table. I first met Cheryl

  when she was Woody’s college girlfriend. Back then her unruly hair

  had been as scruffy as her faded jeans. Now every bit of her package

  conveyed power. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her skin was flawless,

  and her clothes radiated class. Her trademark silk blouse was always

  unbuttoned one too many. Cheryl couldn’t be called beautiful, but

  she was attractive enough, and she could sell her song.

  She greeted me with a kiss square on the lips that took me aback.

  Maggie’s warning light was glowing. She beckoned to the waiter and

  smiled easily.

  “Paul, I’ll have my usual: a large bottle of Pellegrino, a glass of ice,

  and a cup of decaf.”

  Pretty soon the waiter returned bearing the Pellegrino, a glass of

  ice, and a coffee cup filled with bourbon. She noticed me staring as

  she dropped a couple of ice cubes into the cup.

  “What one eats and drinks in this town is fair game to anyone

  who notices. If I were to order a bourbon and water, it would be all

  over town that I was soused on the air. Be sure to reward Paul well.

  Your tip will be in the Post tomorrow—heaven forbid—if you aren’t

  generous.”

  The Post relishes celebrity comings and goings, whether they’re

  movie stars or politicians. Come to think if it, everyone in DC does—

  in some ways it is a very small town.

  “First, tell me what you know about Woody, so I won’t have to lie if

  someone asks.”

  “Actually, not much at all. Micki sees him more often than I do.

  His quarters are pretty small, but you know Woody; he doesn’t need

  much. Sam says he’s doing well.”

  Cheryl waved across the room at someone. I could tell she was

  already bored. I needed to get her attention and keep it.

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  I raised my glass, smiling. “You look really good, Cheryl. I’m glad

  you’re so successful. So is Woody.”

  I watched as she measured her response. “I’m tempted to turn on

  my charms and seduce you, Jack. You’re still one good-looking man.

  But I have a feeling you’re that rare breed of man who wouldn’t take

  the bait. So let’s cut the crap. You need a favor and, since I owe you

  about a hundred, tell me what it’s all about. let’s say I’m intrigued.”

  No warm-up pitches. lock and load.

  “I want you to come to little Rock under the pretense of doing a

  story about what has happened since Senator Robinson was shot.”

  “Could be a good story, but not my cup of tea.” She lifted her cup

  in a toast and tossed down the liquor without a hiccup, signaling the

  waiter for a refill.

  “I know it’s not, but it’s an excuse to interview Dub Blanchard, the

  U.S. attorney, and to get him to tell you about his task force.”

  “He’s asked twice to come on my show, claims some chemist is

  abusing children or something like that. Disgusting man, your Mr.

  Blanchard. Besides, what’s one more drug bust?”

  “Nothing, but Dub’s a star-fucker, ready to appear on every talk

  show he can to talk about his big drug bust. His pitch isn’t what your

  show’s about, but I want you to do it anyway.”

  “What’s in it for you? More to the point, what’s in it for me?”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Micki and I represent the defendant in Dub’s drug bust. My client

  also happens to be one of the world’s top chemists. Dub’s gone all

  hard-ass, won’t let me see him, claiming ‘national security.’ Next

  Wednesday, the U.S. marshal is going to conduct a civil forfeiture auc-

  tion of Dr. Stewart’s assets, and I thought you might want to be in the

  courtroom when it happens.”

  She took a sip of bourbon. “Jack, you never change. You aren’t

  telling me shit. You want me to go to little Rock, pretend like I’m

  doing a story, but in reality cozy up to Dub to find out why he’s keeping

  you from talking to your client. To top it all off, you want me in the

  courtroom next Wednesday.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself, except Dub can’t know I

  asked.”

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  She was quick. “Why in the world would I do this? You’ve got to give

  me more.”

  “I forgot to ask. We are off the record, aren’t we?”