On the way out, Silva pointed to a framed photograph of herself hanging on the wall. She was wearing a black leather bustier and a bikini bottom. Much of her body was exposed. She looked good, Addis thought.

“My cousin’s a fashion photographer in New York,” she explained. “Shoots lingerie catalogs.”

“It’s nice,” Addis said.

Silva smiled at him. “Good luck,” she whispered.

Dunne and Addis stood in front of the group house.

“So now what, Clarence?” Addis asked. “You’re not about to tell the task force about this interview, are you?”

“I may … eventually. Is that okay?”

“I don’t know. Been a while since I checked the criminal code about screwing with a federal investigation.”

The two walked toward campus. A car passed by. A man was driving; another was in the passenger seat. Through the tinted windows, Dunne could not make them out.

Surveillance? If so, Dunne knew how he would do it. Three teams mobile, one stationary and tracking, rotations every fifteen minutes—

“So you want to keep this to yourself for now?” Addis asked.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Don’t have a good answer for you.”

“Trying to save the day all on your own?”

“Probably.”

“And what else?”

“Can’t really tell you. Something’s off with the way they’re handling this investigation. Don’t know what. But it is.”

“Fuck it, Clarence, you want me to withhold information from the task force and a presidential commission because something feels wrong?”

Addis put on his sunglasses. Shit, he thought, is this how a cover-up starts? Will conspiracy buffs—or, worse, congressional aides and federal investigators—one day be examining accounts of this conversation now occurring on a lovely Georgetown street on a sunny afternoon? Earlier in the day Addis had heard on the radio that the most popular Internet sites this week were those devoted to conspiracy theories on the Hanover assassination. One theory referred to a budget memo—leaked last month—that raised the possibility of cutting spending for the Pentagon and the intelligence community. Addis knew that idea was DOA and that the memo, written by a low-level analyst in the budget office, posed no threat to the generals and the spies. Yet that did not stop hundreds—or thousands?—of his fellow citizens from drawing a certain conclusion.

“It’s all I have right now,” Dunne said.

“Okay—for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while,’ Nick?”

“I can’t say. But I’ll let you know when it starts to run out, if you let me know what you’re doing.”

“Sure.”

“You’re lucky I’m in a don’t-give-a-good-god-damn mood these days.”

Dunne looked at him for more of an explanation.

“My secret,” Addis said.

19 - White House June 26

19

White House June 26

The President would like to see you.