“I wish I’d found you before George did.”

She glanced over at him and smiled.

He was not sure what that meant.

They reached his building and she pulled up on the left side of the one-way street. “Thanks for the ride,” Jasper said. He got out. Leaning back into the car, he picked up her shoes from the floor and placed them on the passenger seat. “Great shoes,” he said. He slammed the door.

He walked around the car to the sidewalk and came to her window. She lowered the glass. “I forgot to kiss you good night,” he said. He leaned into the car and kissed her lips. She opened her mouth immediately. The kiss became passionate in an instant. Verena reached behind his neck and pulled his head inside the car. They kissed with frantic eagerness. Jasper reached into the car and pushed his hand up inside the skirt of her cocktail dress until he could cup the soft cotton-covered triangle between her legs. She moaned and thrust her hips upward against his grasp.

Breathless, he broke the kiss. “Come inside.”

“No.” She moved his hand away from her groin.

“Meet me tomorrow.”

She did not reply, but pushed him away until his head and shoulders were outside the car.

He said again: “Meet me tomorrow?”

She put the shift into gear. “Call me,” she said. Then she put her foot down and roared away.

• • •

George Jakes was not sure whether to believe Jasper Murray’s TV show. Even to George it seemed unlikely that President Reagan would support a government that murdered thousands of its own people. Then, four weeks later, The New York Times sensationally revealed that the head of El Salvador’s death squad, Colonel Nicolás Carranza, was a CIA agent receiving $90,000 a year from American taxpayers.

Voters were furious. They had thought that after Watergate the CIA had been whipped into line. But it was clearly out of control, paying a monster to commit mass murder.

In his study at home, George finished the papers in his briefcase a few minutes before ten. He screwed the cap back onto his fountain pen, but sat there a few more minutes, reflecting.

No one on the House intelligence committee had known about Colonel Carranza, nor had any member of the equivalent Senate committee. Caught off guard, they were all embarrassed. They were supposed to supervise the CIA. People thought this mess was their fault. But what could they do if spooks lied to them?

He sighed and stood up. He left his study, turning out the light, and stepped into Jack’s room. The boy was fast asleep. When he saw his child like this, so peaceful, George felt as if his heart would burst. Jack’s soft skin was surprisingly dark, like Jacky’s, even though he had two white grandparents. Light-skinned people were still favored in the African American community, despite all the talk about black being beautiful. But Jack was beautiful to George. His head lay on his teddy bear at what looked like an uncomfortable angle. George slipped a hand under the boy’s head, feeling soft curls just like his own. He lifted Jack’s head a fraction, gently slid the bear out, then carefully rested the head back on the pillow. Jack slept on, oblivious.