“That’s classified.”

“Did they get him?”

Kennedy nodded.

“Good.” McMahon settled back into his spot on the couch. “So what’s the deal with the meeting this morning?”

“Do you know Cap Baker?”

“The Republican strategist.”

“Yes.”

“He’s the mystery person you dragged me out here to see?”

“He assured me it was in your best interest.”

A scowl of irritation fell across McMahon’s leathered face. “Why in the hell would I want to spend two minutes with a political whore, especially a Republican one?”

Kennedy looked at her watch and ignored the question.

“Why the hell didn’t he just come see me at the Hoover Building?”

Before Kennedy could answer, there was a knock on the door. A second later it opened and Cap Baker entered. If it weren’t for his signature shock of gray hair they might not have recognized him. They were used to seeing him on TV wearing suits, expensive shirts, and fancy ties. He was rumored to charge eight hundred dollars an hour for his advice and lobbying skills. This morning he was dressed in boots, khakis, and a plaid flannel shirt. A puffy winter jacket was held under his right arm. A second man, wearing a suit, followed him into the room.

“Sorry we’re late,” announced Baker in his deep baritone voice. “The roads are horrible.”

Kennedy stood to meet the visitors. “That’s all right.” She extended her hand. “Cap.”

Baker took it. “Thank you for seeing me. I know this is a bit unusual.”

McMahon stood but stayed silent. Baker turned to the FBI man. “I promise you, Special Agent McMahon, this will not be a waste of your time.” As if he could sense McMahon’s disdain, Baker didn’t bother to offer his hand. Instead, he gestured to the man who had followed him into the office. “This is my attorney, Charles Wright. He won’t be staying long. Sit.” He motioned with his hands. “Sit.”

McMahon and Kennedy took their seats, and Baker and his attorney grabbed two smaller chairs opposite McMahon. Kennedy gestured to the tea and coffee service on the table, but before she could speak, Baker declined.

“No, thank you. I have a plane waiting to take me to Vail. I need to get the hell out of this town before all the crazies start showing up for the inauguration.”

“Vail,” McMahon said with feigned excitement, “I would have taken you for an Aspen man.”

Baker smiled. “ Aspen is a Democratic ski town, Agent McMahon. Vail is where us Republicans go.”

“Life must be rough,” replied McMahon.

Baker stared at the FBI man for a moment. The smile on his face was one of amusement. “I like you. You’re an open book. You don’t know me, but you don’t like me, and that’s fine because in about five minutes I’m going to walk out that door and we’re never going to see each other again.”

“Is that right?” asked an amused McMahon.

“Yep…and you’re never going to forget this meeting.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because what I’m about to give you is going to change your life.”

“Is that right?” McMahon didn’t sound too convinced.

“Yep, but before we get started, there’s one piece of business we need to take care of.”

Baker looked to his attorney and nodded. The attorney opened his large briefcase and extracted a file. He handed the file to Baker, who opened it and grabbed three contracts. He kept one for himself and handed the other two to Kennedy and McMahon.

“What’s this?” asked McMahon.

“Confidentiality agreement,” answered Baker. “I’d tell you to read it, but I don’t have that much time. Just turn it to the last page and sign and date. Charles will notarize each signature and then we can get this over with.”

“This is bullshit.” McMahon tossed the contract on the table. “I’m not signing anything.”

Baker looked to Kennedy, who was speed-reading through the document. “Irene?”

Without looking up, she asked, “Cap, tell me why it would be in my interest to sign this.”

“It’s not in your interest. It’s in mine. But if you want to see what I have inside that briefcase, you’re going to have to sign this contract.”

“Why us?” asked McMahon.

“Good question.” Baker placed his hands on his knees and thought about it for a second. “Three reasons where you’re concerned, Special Agent McMahon. The first, as far as feds are concerned, you’re someone who is known for his discretion. The second, what I’m about to show you will have a direct impact on your current investigation.”

“And your third point?”

“You’re a son of a bitch, you hate politicians, and you can’t be bought.”

“That’s five points,” McMahon said flatly.

“Yeah,” Baker grinned, “but the last three kind of go together, so we’ll just count them as one.”

“He’s hard to argue with,” smiled Kennedy. She then turned to Baker and asked, “Why me?”

“That’s easy. I lived in awe of Thomas Stansfield and so did you. He was a good friend…a mentor. This town has never had anyone who worked so effectively behind the scenes. Before he died he told me to keep an eye on you. He also told me that you were someone I could trust.”

Kennedy pulled off her reading glasses and looked at Baker. Thomas Stansfield had occupied this very office until cancer took his life two years earlier. He had also been a mentor to Kennedy. He was the greatest man she had ever known and he had told her the same thing about Baker. Without further thought, Kennedy flipped the contract to the last page and signed above her printed name.

“What are you doing?” asked McMahon.

Kennedy slid the contract in front of Baker so he could sign. “Skip, just sign it so we can get this over with. I don’t think Cap would have gone to this effort if it wasn’t something serious.”

“But I need to run this by Justice. I can’t just go around signing confidentiality agreements while I’m on the government dime.”

Kennedy glanced at him sideways. “Since when do you care about what Justice thinks? Just let go of your control issues and sign it.”

Kennedy handed him her pen. McMahon hesitated for a second and then took it and signed his name.

“If this comes back and bites me in the ass, I’m going to make someone’s life miserable.”

Baker laughed as he took the contract from McMahon. “Don’t worry, in about two minutes this contract is going to be the least of your worries.”

The attorney finished notarizing the contracts and placed them back in the briefcase. Baker stuck out his hand and Wright gave him a legal-size manila envelope.

“Thank you, Charles. Why don’t you wait for me down in the car.”

The attorney left without saying a word, and when the door closed behind him McMahon said, “This better be pretty fucking good.”

“That’s going to depend on how you look at it.” Baker stared at the mysterious envelope in his hands. “Let me ask you something, Agent McMahon. How is your investigation going?”

“That’s confidential.”

“I hear it’s pretty one-dimensional.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Baker shrugged. “You guys are only looking at this one way.”

“When all the evidence points in one direction, that’s pretty much the way it works.”

“All the evidence? From what I’ve heard there is very little evidence.”

“You know what? I didn’t come here to talk about my investigation with you. This meeting was your idea, and I think it’s time you put your cards on the table.”

“Fine.” Baker nodded. He opened the sealed envelope and extracted a series of 8x10 black-and-white photographs. He turned the first one over and placed it on the coffee table so both McMahon and Kennedy could view it. It was a close-up of a woman. The photograph had the slightly grainy quality of a surveillance photo taken from a distance and then blown up.

“That, if you didn’t know it already, is Jillian Rautbort. President-elect Alexander’s deceased wife.”

Baker grabbed a second photo and set it down next to the first. This one was not blown up. It showed Jillian Rautbort and a man. It was evening and they were standing on a terrace. Jillian was in a halter dress and the man was in a suit. Baker put down the next photo. This one was of just Jillian from the waist up. She had a very mischievous look on her face and she was reaching behind her neck with her hands.