Duke said, “You know, one of these days I’d like to see you win a fight.”
Cools and Sidhu hefted Gibson by the armpits and dragged him to an idling limousine. They opened the rear door and dumped Gibson onto the floor. Sidhu got in behind him and shut the door. Gibson rolled onto his back, tried and failed to catch his breath. Calista Dauplaise gazed down at him. She wore a floor-length gown that pooled at her feet, and a chandelier of a necklace. She held a program from the Washington National Opera.
“I have been anticipating Lisette Christou’s debut for a year,” Calista said. “Her Violetta Valéry is said to be peerless. But rather than enjoying the pageantry of La Traviata, I find myself in the back of my automobile to witness an entirely different tragedy unfold. Which is perplexing, because I feel certain that I made myself clear to you. Should I go ahead and make that call to Langley now?”
Gibson moved to sit up, but Sidhu put one of his size fourteens on Gibson’s chest and pushed him down. From his back, Gibson said, “I just had to take care of a few things.”
“Yes, I am quite aware of all your unscheduled stops today. Between the two of us, you really must learn how to spot a tail.”
“Yeah,” Gibson agreed. “It’s been on my list.”
“Why were you at the power plant this evening?”
“I talked to him.”
“Did you, now? About what, precisely?”
“I told him I was going to let him go. Next week. After we get George back.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” Calista asked and nodded at Sidhu, who drove his foot into Gibson’s rib cage. “A detective spoke to the proprietor of the diner not two minutes after you departed. Did you pass the proprietor information from your hostage to give to the police? Are you actively attempting to sabotage me?”
“No. No, no, no,” Gibson said, seeing where Calista was heading with this. Calista expected to be betrayed so she saw betrayal. “Toby has nothing to do with this. He knows nothing. That detective investigated the arson at my old house. He thinks I’m a suspect and won’t leave me alone. That’s it. I swear. Toby is not involved.”
“So why were you at the diner tonight?” she asked.
“I had a box of . . .” Gibson didn’t know how to describe it.
“Personal effects?”
“Sure. Stuff I wanted my daughter to have. I asked Toby to keep it for her. He refused.”
“Why would you need him to do that?”
“Because I’ll have to go to jail,” Gibson said. Calista paled so he hurried on. “But not until after the plane. That’s what I told Ogden. I promised to let him go. But only after Jenn and I take the plane.”
Calista contemplated the premise of what he’d told her. He could see her testing the idea, looking for the lie. He shifted topics, trying to move the conversation further away from Toby Kalpar.
“The airport went totally smooth. We’re all set there.”
“Is that the truth?” she asked.
“I’ll have the credentials when I get back from Dulles tomorrow.”
“Well, you had better have, hadn’t you?”
Calista gestured to Sidhu, who helped Gibson up into the seat opposite Calista. The two old enemies faced each other. Only a few feet apart, it felt as though Calista were studying him through opera glasses from the safe confines of a private box. Her finery made him feel more acutely like a guy who’d just had his ass kicked on a sidewalk. Calista uncrossed and recrossed her legs, which seemed to indicate that she’d reached some kind of conclusion.
“When was the last time you saw your daughter?” she asked. “What is her name? Eleanor, if I am not mistaken?”
Gibson bristled. “Don’t. Don’t bring my kid into this. I’m doing everything you asked me to do.”
Sidhu leaned forward and put up a cautioning hand that said, Calm down or finish this conversation back on the floor.
Calista shook her head, trying to slow him down. “No, I apologize for the misunderstanding. That is not what I meant. I am not threatening Eleanor. Your daughter has nothing to fear from me.”
Calista opened a small bar and, using silver tongs, dropped a single ice cube into two cut-crystal tumblers. She filled the glasses with scotch and passed one to Gibson as a peace offering.
“Did you know that I have a son?” she asked conversationally.
The change in subject and tone threw Gibson. “The one in Florida?”
“Yes, the same. I suppose I must have been rather unkind about him.”
That was putting it mildly. Calista had talked about her son the way someone else might describe a mass murderer. His great offense had been shacking up with a woman and playing a lot of golf. And for living in Florida—Calista held a dim view of the entire state.
“What does your son have to do with anything?” Gibson said.
Calista puffed up ever so slightly. “I mentioned earlier that my circumstances had changed. Well, my son has been elected to Congress.”
“He is a Dauplaise. More of your handiwork?”
“No, I had less than nothing to do with it.” There was a note in Calista’s voice that Gibson had never heard before. It took him a moment to put a name to it: regret. “There was a vacant seat. Party leaders approached him with promises to back him should he run.”
“I thought all he did was golf.”
“Yes, well. Recharging his batteries, I think he called it. Before that, he had been with a law firm in New York. He had been a partner for less than six months when he resigned unceremoniously, sold his apartment, and moved to Fort Lauderdale. It was a scandalous decision. One that, in retrospect, I did not take with the grace with which I might.”
“Congratulations,” Gibson said, feeling proud that he’d kept the derision out of his voice. A Dauplaise back in Congress would mean everything to Calista.
“Thank you. He has received a rather plum appointment to Ways and Means. His party holds him in high regard and is grooming him.”
“Does your son’s new position have something to do with Eskridge?”
“Nothing,” Calista snapped. “And he never will. Of that, I assure you. My son has no part in my affairs. He now spends a good deal of time here in Washington. I have offered him the use of Colline, of course. It is the family home, and it is his. However, he prefers to rent a row house on Capitol Hill. To be closer to the action, he says. As if Georgetown were a suburb of Baltimore. His mother raised him to be diplomatic, you see. But he has not so much as set foot on the property. Nor have I been invited to meet my grandson.”
“That must be hard.”
“My influence is not what it once was, but I could have furnished him with introductions. Life is not easy for a freshman congressman, and I would have improved his lot dramatically. He is, however, intent on forging his own path and made it abundantly clear that neither I nor my counsel are welcome.”
“Does he know what you’ve done?”
A pained expression crossed her face. “Sidhu, please wait up front. Have Mr. Cools raise the divider.”