He opened the closet door and scanned the condo. It had large windows that ran from floor to ceiling, the view overlooking Dupont Circle. The place was sparsely furnished, minimalist—straight lines, glass tables, postmodern art on the walls. He began his search, phone at his ear waiting for Emily to warn him to flee. Where would a J. Edgar Hoover wannabe hide his dirt files? He decided to start somewhere private—somewhere most guests wouldn’t venture. The bedroom.
He wandered down the hall and into a spacious bedroom, which featured a king-sized bed with a plush backboard built into the wall. It was a clutter-free space, all sleek and no warmth. Inside the walk-in closet were several suits, expensive, neatly aligned. There were boxed shirts and rows of shoes, all appearing freshly shined. All designer stuff. Finkle was quite the clotheshorse.
And then he saw it. At the back of the closet, built into the wall. A safe. It was about two feet square with a digital keypad.
“Unless you also learned how to crack a safe on the Internet,” Sean said into the phone, “we have a problem.”
When Emily didn’t respond, he said, “Em? You there?”
“Get out, Sean!” There was a panic in the whisper. “He’s coming!”
Sean darted from the bedroom. Stay calm. It had taken them several minutes to get from the lobby to the tenth floor. He had plenty of time. He was about to open the front door when he heard the jingle of keys and a rattle from the lock.
He slid into the coat closet again, pulled the door closed leaving a crack, and held his breath. The condo door opened, then shut, and someone shuffled about. Sweat poured from Sean’s forehead, dripping into his eyes. He put a hand on his leg to prevent it from jack-hammering.
From the crack in the door he watched as the person paced into the living room. The man’s back was turned, but he was dressed in a suit, not Finkle’s ball cap and jeans.
Emily’s voice pierced the silence: “Sean … are you there?… Sean?” Her voice reverberated through the stillness, but the man didn’t seem to hear it. Sean disconnected the line with a click of his thumb. He risked another peek. The man turned toward the closet and threw his suit jacket across the leather couch. Sean got a clear view of him.
Senator Mason James.
The senator went to a drink cart that was filled with thin bottles and shiny metallic bartender tools. He poured himself two fingers. Sean heard the door open again. Someone else was in the condo, but the visitor was out of his line of sight.
Senator James looked toward the door. “Hey there.”
“Hey. You got in okay without anyone seeing you?”
“No problems,” the senator said. “Ditched the security guys and came into the building from the back entrance.”
Sebastian Finkle walked into Sean’s field of vision from the crack in the closet door.
“How’d it go today?” the senator asked.
“Not bad. Got the final package delivered.”
“You were careful?”
“Of course. The staff still thinks I’m visiting with my father at the nursing home in the afternoons, so no one has seemed to miss me. Airtight alibi for visiting hours.”
That explained Finkle’s routine of leaving the office every day at the same time.
James continued. “No violence this time, I trust? We can’t have another—”
“Don’t worry,” Finkle said, “nothing happened.”
“And Justice Carr?”
“You were right. He actually showed up. He was pissed. Said I could go fuck myself.”
Senator James smirked. “He’ll come around. They always do. But if not, we don’t really need him.”
“Yeah, I wondered about that. The others I can understand, but not sure how Carr can help with your nomination.”
“It always helps to have support from someone inside the building,” the senator said. He took a pull from his drink and studied the glass. “But with Carr, I’m really thinking more of the long game. I wanted to send a message that, when I am confirmed and we’re on the bench together, he’ll be my bitch.”
Finkle let out a dry laugh and clinked glasses with James.
And then something unexpected happened. Senator James and Finkle kissed passionately.
CHAPTER 67
In the smothering air of the closet, Sean’s mind raced. Senator Mason James was gay. Married to a woman and gay. The cheating alone could derail his nomination to the Supreme Court. Sean watched as James and Finkle began to undress one another.
Sean realized that a photo of James and Finkle could be valuable. He could make a trade—evidence of the senator’s affair for the evidence against Ryan. A secret for a secret. Sean slowly raised his phone and toggled his thumb to the camera app. Was he really going to stoop to this? In the cramped closet it was hard to position the phone to get a visible shot of the men who were now breathing loudly and clawing at one another on the couch. Sean held in a breath and tapped a button on the phone. He hadn’t expected the flash or the loud click.
Finkle’s head snapped up. His eyes widened, and he pounced over the couch toward the closet. Sean burst out and scrambled for the door.
“Stop!” Finkle yelled as Sean darted out of the condo.