The Old Enemy Henry Porter (best black authors txt) 📖

better and an expression of contentment had replaced the agonised rictus that froze his features after the attack. A fan in the corner of the bedroom ruffled his hair when it swung round to face him. ‘Good luck, dear husband,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’

She had to admit Speight was an accomplished media performer. Half a dozen TV crews had gathered at the hospital’s main entrance after being tipped off by Matthew, yet he managed to feign surprise that a private visit would attract so much attention. Asked by CNN why he had dropped in on the wife of the man he was in the process of trying to destroy, he replied that his thoughts now were only with the victims and their families. He sent a particular message of condolence to Mr Steen’s loved ones and co-workers. Then, gesturing to Anastasia, who stood a little distance from him, he said he’d been pleased to be able to deliver a message to Mrs Hisami in person and was, he confessed with a warm smile in her direction, honoured that she had received him during her painful vigil. On the larger scale, he said, this shocking attack was an outrage against American democracy and intended to thwart all those who were engaged in the sacred conduct thereof. ‘An act like this reminds us that we must answer hatred, division and violence by reigniting the spirit of common purpose. And that’s what I am doing here, expressing solidarity with Mr and Mrs Hisami.’

Anastasia briefly answered questions about Denis’s condition and her own experience of watching Stewart Steen and her husband collapse. She thanked the hospital for saving her husband’s life and those in Congress who had acted so promptly to contain the effects of the attack and to help her husband. She glanced at Speight and added that everyone in Congress had reason to be grateful to the Ranking Member, whose chemical warfare training had allowed him to correctly identify the symptoms as being those caused by a nerve agent. This had undoubtedly saved her and her husband’s colleagues from contamination, as well as many others. Warren Speight was, she said, the true hero of the hour.

‘That was gracious of you, Mrs Hisami, and I thank you for it,’ he said to her as they moved to his car.

Reporters shouted out, ‘Where are you going now?’ Speight waved and smiled and said that he and Mrs Hisami had busy schedules and he hoped they’d forgive the brevity of the interview.

The congressman’s driver dropped her at the entrance of the Signature Flight Support Center, the reception for those using private aircraft, about ten minutes’ walk from the main terminal building of Dulles International. The Ford hybrid SUV that had followed them from the hospital to the Capitol then the airport, and made no bones about it, pulled up just after Speight’s Lexus. The driver and her male companion, both wearing sunglasses, watched her take her bag from Speight’s driver and go inside. Then they parked just twenty metres from the door. At the very most, she had half an hour to reach the main terminal, check in and pass through security before the flight closed, but there was only one door and she couldn’t leave the private-jet terminal without being seen. She went to the reception to say that she had arrived then passed through to the lounge and at the snack bar poured herself a coffee, which she had no intention of drinking, then mimed forgetfulness and returned to the lobby to see if the car had gone. It had not. One of the agents was standing beside it on his cellphone, looking in the direction of the building. She glanced at the time on her cellphone. Unless she went now, she would miss the plane.

But then a voice called the name she never ever used. ‘Ana! My, what a surprise!’ She hadn’t noticed Marty Reid come through the door, accompanied by a man carrying his bags.

‘Marty! What a pleasure!’

‘Well, I’ve already seen you once today.’

‘That was yesterday.’

‘No. I saw you on Fox with Speight. You’re keeping some strange company if you mean to protect your husband. Warren Speight is not – most definitely not – a good man. He’s the guy who wants to cut Denis into pieces and feed him to the dogs.’

‘He came to see how Denis was and say how sorry he was.’

‘What else did he want? Speight never does anything without a reason. I hear he’s running around with a theory that Denis had something he was going to reveal to the committee.’

‘Really,’ said Anastasia. ‘Where did you get that from?’

‘I keep my ear close to the ground. Always have done.’

‘And according to your source, what was he about to reveal?’

‘I don’t know, but maybe it has something to do with the money I was talking about. No one ever got to the bottom of where it came from. Maybe he was going to name names to demonstrate that people were conspiring against him and the allegations made by Speight and his associates were all false.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, wondering why the old buzzard was still banging on about the money, and now reconciled to missing her flight. ‘Yet I was in a meeting before the hearing with my husband and Mr Steen, and nothing of that nature was discussed.’

‘That was with Congresswoman Ricard, right?’

‘Yes.’ How did Reid know about that meeting? ‘I thought you were helping us, Marty, not investigating us.’

‘It would just be helpful to know what your husband was going to reveal, if indeed he was planning to reveal something. Has the FBI asked any questions along these lines?’

‘No, Marty, they haven’t. The Bureau is interested in finding the people who organised and paid for the attack. What Denis might or might not have said in the hearing now seems beside the point, does it not?’

‘Where are you going?’ he asked abruptly.

‘California.’

‘Then why are you out here? Why aren’t you with your plane?’

‘Marty,