CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Buchanan Club was in the capitol area of Washington, a couple blocks off Pennsylvania Avenue, not far from the National Mall. The buildings here were more modern, rather than the brick townhouses in her neighborhood. But they were like all D.C. architecture: pressed together on the sides.
The Buchanan Club sat on a corner. In the shadows across the street from their front door, Alyssa lurked and pondered her strategy.
In the pre-dawn gloom, the club wasn't open yet, of course, which meant the front doors were locked – with a keycard. Not a problem for her when she had all her toys available but at the moment, getting past it was a challenge.
Matt was asleep back in the hotel. It had taken all of her will power to waste time until she could go raid the Buchanan Club without him knowing, but she didn’t want him to realize she had talked his secret out of him.
Alyssa casually walked across the street, as if she had nothing in the world to hide. She sauntered down the walk, past the front door of the club, and turned into a narrow service alley. She walked down the alley toward the back of the club.
As a lifelong member and a frequent guest, she knew some details about the club that an ordinary thief wouldn’t know. For example, in the ladies room was a small privacy window about six feet off the floor. Years of poor maintenance combined with Washington D.C. humidity had swollen the wood frame of the window until it would no longer shut fully. As entrances went, it wasn’t super. But for a very small woman in prime physical condition, it would do.
She stood on the ground beneath the window, ready to leap up and grab the sill, when she heard the sound of a vehicle on the street. She froze and smashed herself flat against the wall, grateful she still had her black stolen FBI fatigues. A black and white patrol car rolled by on the street.
Chambers held her breath until it passed. Then she leapt up to grab the sill, pushed the window up, and began to worm her way in. It was a tight fit, even for her, but after a few scrapes she made it.
Inside, she tiptoed down the hall from the back where the restrooms were located to the front where visitors were received. A podium stood in front of the main entrance, and Alyssa knew it was where the wait staff would stand to greet members and their guests and walk them in.
On the angled face of the podium sat a black leather binder. In it, Alyssa knew, would be the names of everyone who had reserved a table here for the past few weeks.
She started on Friday, the day that Wheeler said he’d gotten the call from the reporter. And she didn’t have to look far. There on the line for an 11:30 lunch was a name she recognized from her past. It was the name of the only person she had ever voluntarily trusted, other than Matt.
Representative Michael Vincent.
Alyssa was about to casually walk out the front door, as if she had every right in the world to be here, when she barely heard the sound of a footstep.
At once she whirled, dropping into a guard stance, just barely in time to see someone's leg kicking the air in the exact spot where her temple had been less than a second ago. She threw up a block and dodged to the side, sending her own kick straight at the groin of the man who had sneaked up on her.
He blocked, dodged, and shuffled back, and they faced each other at guard. When she saw him full on, everything fell into place.
"Harris! You shot Gunter! You killed Rich West!"
His slicked-back hair was only the tiniest bit out of place from the exertion of their first blows. His scar was hard to see in the nearly complete darkness, but his grin was readily apparent.
"In my defense, your friend Mr. Hauptmann was only an accident. I was aiming for you."
"How would that help you? The whole plan was for me to be blamed as the assassin. If I’m dead, there's no one to take the blame."
He smirked. "That’s the danger of need-to-know planning. No one ever told me they had a plan for a patsy. I just discovered the signature little spy software you left behind on West’s computer. Oh yes, Chambers. I know you always leave that little key logger behind on a victim’s computer. When I found it on West’s I realized you must have been in there, too. I figured there was a risk you had seen me and acted out of self-protection. I trailed you from your home down to the waterfront and took the shot. Just Hauptmann’s bad luck he died instead of you. Boy, was the client ever angry when he found out, too."
Chambers used her back foot to push the podium to the side, giving her a little more space if she had to fight. Then she replied, "The client?"
Harris just laughed at her.
"Yeah, right."
She tried again.
"Mike Vincent?"
Harris laughed even harder.
"That guy? He was always a Dudley Do-Right, and he’s only gotten worse since he got married. Him hire a plumber? He’d sooner shoot West himself, and he loved West like a father."
"Lance Reeder?"
The only reply was a sudden lightning charge and a hail of fists.
Block, dodge, block, block. She tried to fight back with a hook aimed at the jaw, only to have it blocked and to meet a kick in reply. Alyssa barely blocked that, shuffling backward to buy space and time.
Harris wouldn’t give her any. A flying front kick launched as she was moving, and Alyssa had to dodge to the left to avoid it.
But as he passed her, Harris threw an elbow strike. It connected squarely and solidly with her temple. She fell to the floor, groggy and moaning. She tried but couldn’t make her limbs work to push herself up.
"I’ve been trying to leave you unconscious for the police for four years," Harris said. "Third time’s the bloody charm, isn't it?"
As he casually exited the building via the front door, he pulled the fire alarm. That was the last thing Alyssa remembered before she passed out.
♦
The next thing she saw was the small of someone’s back. She tried to ask, "What’s going on," but all that came out was a moan.
"Shh," was the reply.
She faded into unconsciousness again, and when she once again woke her first sensation was a terrible smell. Her eyes didn’t want to come open and when they did, the light made matters worse. A bright rising sun hurt painfully, and she squeezed them shut again. Alyssa tried to rise to her feet, but her body wasn’t quite ready to cooperate yet. Legs and arms would move, but they had almost no strength.
"Just rest for a second, but not for too long. We don’t have much time."
A sip of water. A cool, wet sensation on her forehead. The voice was Matt Barr’s.
"What are you doing here?"
"Later. We’ve got to get you ready to walk again and then clear out. We’re only about six blocks from where the police are swarming all over the Buchanan Club."
That acted like a shot of espresso to Alyssa. She rose to her feet and said, "Let’s go."
"We’ve got a seven-block walk from here to the nearest Metro station," Matt replied. "That seems like the fastest way to get far away from the scene of the crime."
She shook her head. "Too obvious. Agents will be all over the subway right now. If they realize they’re close to catching me, they’ll probably stop the trains and buses running, so I can’t use them to get away."
"Then what?" Matt asked.
"The Mall. We’re not far. And it’s a lot harder to pull one guy and girl out for special questioning when the entire place is crawling with tourists who want to see the Washington Monument at dawn."
The walk to the mall itself was hair-raising. Eight different patrol cars drove by, plus several unmarked sedans of the kind used by federal agents. Somehow or other, Harris had clearly made it known that the alarm at the Buchanan was connected to the assassin.
Each time a car went by, Alyssa reached out to grab Matt’s hand and pull him close, walking like any other man and a woman enjoying their nation’s Capitol in the summer. She held him close, keeping an arm around his waist, turning to walk into shops every time a law enforcement presence came too close.
As they walked, Alyssa could not keep herself from thinking about her relationship with this man. He had just saved her life, but it was more than that. In the silence of self-reflection, she could be honest. She had spent her life looking down on Matt. He wasn’t as strong as she was, he wasn’t as rich as she was, and he wasn’t as sophisticated as she was. He didn’t come from a family with connections to presidents and senators. He came from a family that consisted mainly of a bible-thumping minister with an attitude. She had always thought of him as a charity case.
But today, her strength wasn’t enough. It was Matt Barr who got the job done. She failed. She lost the fight. But Matt had known enough to be where she needed him. Matt had been strong enough to carry her out of danger.
She looked sidelong at him and wondered, What if I’ve been wrong? What if I’ve been wrong my whole life?
They stopped at the first tourist-oriented kiosk they saw, and bought replacement clothing. Ball caps and sunglasses for each, Shorts with "Capitol" written on the butt, and t-shirts aplenty. Matt gave Alyssa a weird look as she bought small, medium, and large versions of "It’s Monumental" t-shirts, so she explained after they paid and walked away.
"Makes me look bulkier," she said. "If the feds are putting out a description of a very fit woman, three shirts make me look less skinny."
Then they found public restrooms to change in, and then proceeded with the plan of losing themselves in the crowd of summer tourists.
At last, they reached the relative safety of the mall. They found a few square feet of grass among all the other tourists laying out picnic blankets there and settled down to sit for a while. Matt tried to ask her how her head was and got a shake of the head in reply. This close to other people, even a whispered conversation was too great a risk.
Gradually, the law enforcement presence died down. The two of them felt safe to move around again and went looking for as much privacy as they could get. Eventually, they found a poorly-lit bar and grill with deep booths where Alyssa could feel like she was out of sight. The wood-paneled walls and brass railings gave the place a clubby air.
Chambers ordered a beer as a poor man’s painkiller for her headache, and they began to talk.
"So where do we start?" Matt asked.
She hung her head. Matt had saved her life. She wanted to hear the whole story, but she knew enough before the conversation even started. Harris had left her unconscious for the police to find and then pulled the alarm. He had also done something to make sure they knew the burglar alarm was connected to the assassination, though she didn’t know how. He probably just called in an anonymous tip.
If nothing had intervened, the cops would have picked her up, there would have been a very swift, very public trial, and eventually she would have had a lethal injection.
But instead, the next thing she saw was Matt’s butt – a viewpoint made possible only if he was carrying her over his shoulder. And then he had given her water, revived her, and helped her escape the dragnet.
Matt Barr saved my life.
The conclusion was inescapable, as was the overwhelming guilt over how little she deserved it.
She had ruined his first confidential source.
She had set fire to his office and his biggest story.
She had tricked him into revealing something that he said he had serious reasons not to reveal.
She gave him nothing but pain. And in return, he saved her life.
"I should start by saying I’m sorry."
He had asked her just to drop it. He had told her there was more going on than she understood. And yet, she had gotten a hint out of him anyway, and then gone after the full story. He had to be angry.
"It’s past Alyssa. Forget about it. It’s gone. Forgiven."
Alyssa did a double take. She stared at him.
"Gone? Matt, it can’t be gone. I deliberately sniffed out what you asked me to leave alone."
He smiled at her.
"Alyssa, please. You’re feeling guilty because you didn’t do as I asked and let it be. Well, here’s your chance to make up for it; here’s what I’m asking now: forget it. Don’t feel guilty. It’s gone. I forgive you."
She sat silently. Matt has been in love with me since he was old enough to know what it meant to want a girl to like you. All my life, he’s followed me around like a puppy. So I guess I should have expected this.
But if he knew everything else I’ve done to him…
She bit her lip and tried to fight back tears. She looked away and wiped her eyes with a bar napkin.
I hurt him all my life, and he tells me it’s all forgiven. But he only knows about one thing, one moment. If he knew the rest…