Standing in the living room were two men, one of whom he recognized as Howard Fensterman of the State Department, dressed in his rumpled suit.
The guy he didn’t recognize wore a blue blazer, khaki pants, and a button-down shirt. He had a bright-red handkerchief flowing out of the breast pocket of his blazer, which whispered “stylish” and screamed “asshole!”
Brodie thought he knew who this guy could be. But that couldn’t be.
Howard Fensterman said, “Welcome, Scott. And thank you for coming.”
Brodie didn’t respond, and Taylor took his arm and steered him into the room, saying, “Scott, this is Trent Chilcott.”
She didn’t add, “The guy I used to fuck,” but everyone was saying it in their heads.
In fact, Chilcott said, “Ms. Taylor and I are old acquaintances, as you probably know.”
Brodie looked at Trent Chilcott. He was tall, tanned, toned, and well-coiffed. Brodie wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he got weekly pedicures.
More importantly, the only good thing about this case so far was that the CIA didn’t seem to be involved. Now there was nothing good about this case. But when you saw the CIA, that at least told you things about a case that you suspected but couldn’t prove. I.e., there was more going on here than anyone was saying. But he already knew that.
Chilcott fixed his eyes on Brodie’s right hand in his pocket, then looked at Brodie. “Is that a gun?”
“Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
Chilcott pulled open the left side of his blazer, revealing a holstered gun clipped to his belt.
Brodie drew his pistol half out of his pocket, then shoved it back and kept his grip on it.
Chilcott said, “Howard is armed only with his intellect.”
“So he’s unarmed.”
Chilcott smiled. Fensterman didn’t, but asked Brodie, “Where did you get the gun?”
“Not from the embassy, which should have issued me and Ms. Taylor sidearms. For our personal safety.”
Fensterman didn’t respond and didn’t pursue the question.
Brodie, of course, wondered what the hell this was about, but he wasn’t going to ask. Because they would tell him. But he did say to Chilcott, “The last time I had to deal with the CIA, after Venezuela, I had the distinct feeling I was being threatened.”
Chilcott replied, “I know nothing about that. And I’m sorry if you felt that.”
Taylor chimed in, “You know all about that, Trent. And you’re not at all sorry. Intimidation is what you do best.” She added, “Stop the bullshit.”
Chilcott, who’d probably heard something similar a few times, remained cool, then said, “Really sorry.”
Well, thought Brodie, these two had a history. And he knew part of it. And it was interesting that Maggie Taylor was signaling to Scott Brodie that she was loyal to her partner, and not to her former lover. She’d also done that in Venezuela. Though that had turned out to be a lie. He wondered if Chilcott had asked Taylor about her relationship with Scott Brodie. Probably. He hoped Taylor had told him that she and Scott were burning up the bedsheets.
But, back to more important things. Brodie said, “I don’t respond well to threats. I don’t know why you want to talk to me, or to Taylor, but if you cross the line, Chilcott, or cross me, like you did in Venezuela, I swear you’ll meet with a serious accident.” He looked at Fensterman. “And you too, Howard, because anyone who works with this guy is guilty by association.”
Fensterman looked a little pale and said, “Let’s ratchet this down. Allright?” He explained, “We’re here to talk about the Vance case, not… whatever happened between you in the past.”
“Let’s start by you telling me who you are.”
Fensterman glanced at Chilcott, then said, “I’m not actually with the State Department. I’m with the National Security Agency.”
Brodie said, “I assume you work for the Special Collection Service. Correct?”
Fensterman seemed surprised that Brodie knew of his department. He replied, indirectly, “I monitor internal threats to the German government, as well as threats to U.S. national security.”
Taylor said, “Actually you eavesdrop on everyone, including U.S. citizens.”
