But that was what Pasta would have done.

"Sure. I'd love one."

"Great. I know just the place. We'll take a shortcut." He took her arm and led her toward the rear of the Hart Building. "A celebratory drink, I hope."

"No, " she said slowly.

"I'm afraid not."

"You're kidding. Whar, ? ' "I"II tell you about it." * * * Gerry clenched and unclenched his fists under the table as Gin told her story.

They sat at an isolated table near the window. He'd broughr her to the Sommelier, a little wine bar on Mass, because he'd learned that she preferred wine to liquor, and had a fondness for Italian reds.

Gerry preferred Irish sipping whiskey, preferably Black Bush. But if wine was the only thing, he usually toughed it out with white zinfandel.

No wine snob he.

He could see Gin was hurt. She spoke softly, almost matter-offactly, over her glass of valpolicella, swirling then sipping it, swirling and sipping. Her voice was steady, as were her hands, she looked perfectly composed. But Gerry sensed the pain.

As his mood darkened, he wished he hadn't brought her here. The gleaming surfaces of the polished brass and chrome and marble of the Sommelier were too clean, too bright for the story she told. They should have been in a seedy cocktail lounge.

No. This was better. Clean and shiny suited her. Here it was only the third time they'd been together and already he was feeling protective.

And so attracted. He hadn't felt this way since college, when he and Karen had started dating and getting serious. A good, warm feeling.

Thoughts of Gin were beginning to intrude on his work. He'd find himself thinking about her at the most inconvenient times, wondering what she was doing, wondering if she was thinking about him.

And now he was sharing her anger, her anguish. She had expected better of a U. S. senator's office. She deserved better.

Sometimes he hated this goddamn town.

"That's the way it is here, " he told her after she finished. "Not just with you. With everything. It's a mindset."

"So I shouldn't take it personally? ' Her eyes flashed. "Is that what you're saying?

" . "Yes and no, " he said slowly. Had to choose his words carefully here. He didn't want to wind up a lightning rod for that anger. "You should be offended, angry, even feel humiliated, but realize too that Blair is simply doing what comes naturally on the Hill. He's just playing by the rules as he's learned them." '"Hill rat, " she said, shaking her head. "Boy, if ever a term fit someone. But aren't there laws, ? " "Yeah, probably written by the Hill rats themselves, and passed by their bosses. But for other people, for the constituents.

They don't apply up here on the Hill. You've entered an ethical Twilight Zone."

"You seem so casual about it." Was he? Was she right? Had he been investigating political corruption long enough to take it for granted?

Maybe. He didn't like that answer.

But he wasn't talking about blatant graft here. No, it was more of an atmosphere, an ambience. A different set of values.

"I can't be casual about you being hurt." She gave him a little smile. He loved the way her lips curled up at the corners. Her eyes said thank you.

He reached across and gripped her hand. She didn't pull away.

"Look, Gin, " he said. "If you want to be a part of the doings on the Hill, you're going to have to play by their rules. The people up here aren't going to change for you."

"I never expected them to, but, " "Think of yourself as having entered the world's largest bazaar, where everything is for sale but no prices are marked. The currency is influence, and the best hagglers walk away with the fullest shopping carts."

"That's pretty damn grim, Gerry."

"Gin, " he said, leaning forward, "I'm sure you see influence peddling in hospital politics, but that's penny-ante stuff. This is the major leagues. This Blair guy, he's got influence with his senator to get you something you want, you, in turn, have got something he wants.

Sounds as if he's experienced at the game, very circumspect in his hallway negotiation, and that's just what it was, a negotiation. And don't think that it occurred in an empty hallway by accident. No quid pro quo proposition, just a generous offer to help you deal with a possible hitch in your appointment. And no witnesses. Very smooth."

"You sound as if you almost admire him."

"I will admire my fist in his face if I ever meet up with him, " he said.

Gerry was rewarded with another smile, this one big enough to reveal the glistening white of Gin's teeth.

"Don't get yourself in trouble on my account."

"It's a good account.

" "Does that mean I can make a professional request? " " Professional?

" "Yes. Police-type stuff. I'm trying to find out about Duncan Lathram's daughter." Gerry felt his insides tighten as they always did at mention of Lathram's name, but he remained impassive. Obviously she was tired of talking about Joe Blair.

"What about her? She in trouble? " "No. She died in an accident five years ago." "What kind of accident? " "A fall at home."

"You're suspicious about something? " "Oh, no. Not at all. I just can't find out anything about her. Nobody's talking."

"It's just idle curiosity, then? " He could tell from her manner it was anything but.

She was holding something back.

"No. I don't know what it is, really. I was just wondering if you could get hold of a copy of the death certificate." Now there was an odd request. But not a difficult one if you knew who to call. And perfectly legal. Death certificates were public records.

"No biggee. Just have to know where she lived at the time The rest is easy."

"Alexandria, I believe. Northern Virginia for sure."

"Okay. Have it for you in a day or two." And he would. But first he'd give it a thorough going over himself. His curiosity was piqued.

"Unless there's a rush." He watched her closely as she answered.

"No. No rush. ' That settled, he could almost see her drift away as she lapsed into silence. She sighed.

He said, "What are you thinking? " Was it about Lisa Lathram, or about this Blair character, or something else?

"Maybe you and Duncan are right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this town.

" So . . . it was back to Blair. An ache grew within him as he sensed the disappointment in her voice, watched discouragement etch lines around her frown. He wasn't sure what, but he was going to do something.

"Don't give up hope, " he said. "Things have a way of working out. ' '"Maybe sometimes, " she said. "Not this time" He drained the white zinfandel.

"You never know, Gin. You never know." Gerry stood in the wide, fresh-smelling, brightly lit hallway outside the apartment door in the Watergate-at-Landmark, a high-rise condo complex in northern Virginia, and waited for his ring to be answered.

He knew Blair was home, a hang-up phone call had confirmed that. Maybe he was eating. Gerry hoped he was alone. If he wasn't, Gerry would have to improvise. But one way or another, he was going to make this creep see the light.

As soon as he'd left Gin at her car he'd hustled up Pennsylvania to the Bureau. He ran a check on Blair, but no criminal record. Too bad.

That would have made things easier.

So he'd have to bluff.

Gerry shrugged some of the tension out of his tight shoulder muscles.

This sort of unofficial visit could land him in a serious load of official trouble if Blair called his blu*.

But Gerry knew how these highly placed Hill rats operated. They couldn't vote, but lots of times they had control of the line by line wording of a bill, and that could be more important than a Yea or Nay.

The lobbyists courted them with trips, gifts, and honoraria for speaking engagements, just like their bosses. Gerry remembered one case, still mentioned by Hill rats in awed tones, of two staffers, Michaels and Bill Patterson, who netted a total of twenty eight thousand dollars from a host of lobbyists in forty-eight hours.