Rolander didn’t like the man’s tone, but he let it go. “No, we don’t. How long do you think it will take him to complete the report?”

“A couple of hours, based on everything I have asked for.”

“Good. The last thing we want is for him to be out running around loose.”

“I agree, that’s why I’ve kept him here. Do you have any idea how lucky we are that he came to me?” asked Shaw.

“Extremely. You’re sure neither he nor this Martin nor Natalie Sperando has spoken with anyone else?”

“I’m pretty certain.”

“Good. I want you to keep him there until I call you back. Under no circumstances is he to leave. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rolander took down the address of the Radisson in Alexandria and hung up.

After dialing several different numbers, Rolander finally tracked down Senator Snyder on his cell phone.

“Russell, I’d love to talk right now, but I am extremely busy,” said Snyder.

Snyder could be busy with only one thing-looking for André Martin.

“Lost something, have you?” asked Rolander.

“Maybe.”

“Listen, David, quit fucking around. I need to talk to you and I don’t want to do it while you’re on a cell phone.”

“It’s digital and there’s no one here but us mices, so go ahead.”

Senator Rolander didn’t know what nobody here “but us mices” meant, but he assumed Snyder was referring to some of the contract men he sometimes hired for illegal operations.

Rolander continued, “You wouldn’t be hoping, as the commercial says, to bring a little André home for the holidays, would you?”

Snyder remained silent. He was stunned.

“Are you still there?” asked Rolander.

“Yeah, I’m here. How did you know?”

“To quote an old friend, ‘how I know is not as important as what I know.’ You fucked up big time. Remember how keen I was on the CYA factor? Well, my ass…who am I kidding?-all of our asses are out in the wind right now and it’s your fault. Digital or not, I want to have this conversation over some eggs, preferably scrambled, so get back to your place and call me.”

“Sorry, Russell. I still have that little lost dog, or should I say bitch, I need to find. I’ll have to call you when I get around to it.”

“Listen, you stupid bastard, I know where he is and will happily tell you, but arrangements need to be made quickly. Get home and call me back.” Rolander hung up the phone, severing the connection.

Turning to his driver, Snyder said, “Take me back to the town house. We may have caught a break.”

39

The hulking, black Chevy Suburban with its darkened windows crept quietly up Washington Street through Alexandria’s Old Town. This late at night, there wasn’t much traffic. Even with the windows rolled up, the scent of the nearby Potomac filled the inside of the vehicle. At Pendleton Street and a sign for Oronoco Bay Park, the driver turned right. Three blocks later was Royal Street and then Fairfax. The vehicle turned left and crept northward. The glowing sign of the Radisson was soon visible. When the Suburban came parallel with the main entrance, it turned in. The driver parked directly in front of the hotel’s main doors and left the engine running.

At this hour only a skeleton crew was on duty. An attractive Filipino woman, whose name tag read “Anna,” looked up from her paperwork and smiled as the man approached the front desk.

“Good evening. May I help you, sir?” asked Anna in her accented English.

“Yes, you can,” said the man, removing a black wallet from inside his suit coat pocket and showing her his credentials. “My name is Agent Scot Harvath, Secret Service. I am here to pick up a Mr. and Mrs…” The man pulled a notepad from his other pocket, flipped a couple of pages, and pretended to come to the name. “…a Mr. and Mrs. Cashman. I believe you have them registered here.”

The desk clerk glanced over the man’s shoulder and saw the blacked-out Suburban parked in front. It looked very official, just like the ones she had seen so many times on TV. She looked back at the handsome man standing in front of her and thought that he must have the bluest eyes she had ever seen. She tore her eyes away from his and tapped some keys on her computer. “Yes, sir. They are registered guests of the hotel.”

“Can you please tell me what room they are in?” asked the man.

“Is there a problem? Normally we are not supposed to give out that information,” said Anna.

“I understand, and that is a very appropriate policy. This is a matter of national security, though. As I told you, my name is Agent Scot Harvath, and I am with the Secret Service. I have been instructed to pick up the Cashmans. Surely…” the man said, leaning in and pretending to read the clerk’s name tag for the first time, “Anna, you wouldn’t want to interfere with a matter of national security.”

Concerned, she answered, “No, sir. Of course I wouldn’t. The staff has been instructed to always assist the police and other law enforcement should they ever come to the hotel. I will need to note this in my nightly report, though.”

“I understand. That’s no problem. Now, would you please tell me what room they are in?”

“Let’s see…” she said, glancing down. “Room two-fifty-seven. It appears as if they paid for the room in advance. Will they be checking out?”

“Yes,” said the man. “I am going to go up and help them with their bags. Would you please call their room and let them know that Secret Service Agent Scot Harvath is on his way up?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you,” said the man as he crossed the lobby toward the elevators.

Two minutes later, he knocked upon the door numbered 257.

“Who is it?” came a female voice from inside.

“Secret Service, ma’am. I am here to transport you and Mr. Martin.”

The door did not open.

“The desk clerk said that Agent Harvath was here,” said Natalie.

“She must have gotten confused. I asked her to call up to your room and tell you that a Secret Service agent sent by Agent Harvath was here to pick you up.”

After a few moments of silence, the chain slid back and the door opened. Both Natalie and André had their jackets on, ready to go. They followed the man into the elevator and down to the lobby. He had instructed them that time was of the essence and that they must move quickly. As they reached the front desk, he placed their two key cards on it and kept moving.

“Thank you for staying at the Radisson Old Town. We hope to see you again,” said the desk clerk as the trio exited the front door.

The man opened the side door of the Suburban. Natalie was relieved to see an agent sitting on the rear bench seat holding a shotgun. As they all climbed in and the man shut the door behind them, the vehicle, even though it was under the Radisson’s brightly lit canopy, quickly darkened due to the blacked-out windows. Another man, whom Natalie figured to be an additional agent, sat in the front passenger seat. They were taking this very seriously. That was good. She and André could finally relax.

The Suburban swung out of the driveway and headed back south toward the Capital Beltway. They were on their way. For the first time since his ordeal began, André breathed a sigh of relief. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you guys.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but not half as glad as we are to see you,” said the man in the front seat. The reassuring voice put Natalie further at ease until she saw the horrified look on André’s face. He was completely still.

Natalie couldn’t understand why his demeanor had so suddenly changed until the passenger turned around to look at them.

The man in the front seat spoke again, and this time, Natalie knew exactly who it was. “André, I was quite upset to come home and not find you waiting for me.”