The young woman didn't reply. She struggled to find a reaction, like I was embarrassing her with too much information. I said, 'They were supposed to leave my ticket here.'
'Your ticket?'
'My invitation.'
'Who was?'
'Elspeth,' I said. 'Mrs Sansom, I mean. Or their guy.'
'Which guy?'
'Their security person.'
'Mr Springfield?'
I smiled to myself. Springfield was a manufacturer of auto- loader rifles, the same as Browning was. The guy liked word games, which was fun, but dumb. False names work better if they're completely unconnected with reality.
I asked, 'Have you seen them yet this morning?' It was an attempt at finesse. I was guessing Greensboro wasn't in Sansom's own congressional district. A Senate campaign needed state-wide funding and exposure. I figured Sansom's own patch was already sewn up tight, and that by now he would be trawling farther afield. Therefore he had probably stayed in the hotel overnight, to be ready for the early start. But I couldn't be sure. To ask if he had come down from his room yet would make me look like an idiot if he lived five minutes away. To ask if he had arrived yet would make me look just as bad if he lived two hundred miles away. So I aimed for neutrality.
The woman said, 'They're still upstairs, as far as I know.'
I said, 'Thanks,' and walked back into the lobby, away from the elevators, so she wouldn't have anything to worry about. I waited until her phone rang and she started tapping on her keyboard and concentrating on her computer screen, and then I drifted around the edge of the room and hit the up button.
I figured that Sansom would be in a big suite, and that the big suites would all be on the top floor, so I hit the highest number the elevator had to offer. A long moment later I stepped out in a hushed carpeted corridor and saw a uniformed cop standing
easy outside a double mahogany door. A patrolman, from the Greensboro PD. Not young. A veteran, with first dibs on some effortless overtime. A token presence. I walked towards him with a rueful smile on my face, like Hey, you're working, I'm working, what's a guy to do? I figured he must have processed a few visitors already. Room service coffee, staffers with legitimate reasons to be there, maybe journalists. I nodded to him and said, 'Jack Reacher for Mr Sansom,' and leaned beyond him and knocked on the door. He didn't react. Didn't complain. Just stood there, like the window dressing he was. Whatever Sansom was going to be next, right then he was still only a congressman from the sticks, and he was a long way from getting serious protection.
There was a short delay, and then the suite door opened. Sansom's wife stood there with her hand on the inside handle.
She was dressed, coiffed, made up, and ready for the day.
'Hello, Elspeth,' I said. 'Can I come in?'
TWENTY-FIVE
I SAW A FAST, EXPERT, POLITICIAN'S-WIFE CALCULATION RUN behind Elspeth Sansom's eyes. First instinct: throw the bum out. But: there was a cop in the corridor, and probably media in the building, and almost certainly hotel staff within earshot. And local people talk. So she swallowed once and said, 'Major Reacher, how nice to see you again,' and stood back to give me room to pass.
The suite was large and dark because of draped windows and full of heavy furniture in rich and muted colours. There was a living room with a breakfast bar and an open door that must have led to a bedroom. Elspeth Sansom walked me to the middle of the space and stopped, like she didn't know what to do with lie next. Then John Sansom stepped out of the bedroom to see what the fuss was all about.
He was in pants and a shirt and a tie and socks. No shoes. He looked small, like a miniature man. Wiry build, narrow through the shoulders. His head was a little large compared to the rest of his body. His hair was cut short and neatly brushed. His skin
was tanned, but in a creased, active, outdoors kind of a way.
Rugged. No sun lamps for this guy. He glowed with wealth, and power, and energy, and charisma. It was easy to see how he had won plenty of elections. Easy to see why the news weeklies were in love with him. He looked at me and then looked at his wife and asked, 'Where's Springfield?'
Elspeth said, 'He went downstairs to check on things. They must have passed in the elevators.'
Sansom nodded, not much more than a fast up-and-down with his eyelids. A practised decision maker, and a pragmatic man, not much given to crying over spilled milk. He glanced at me and said, 'You don't give up.'
I said, 'I never have.'
'Didn't you listen to those federal boys in Washington?'
'Who were they, exactly?'
'Those guys? You know how it is. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. But whatever, they were supposed to warn you off.'
'Didn't resonate.'
'They copied me on your record. I told them they'd fail.'
'They talked to me like I was a moron. And they called me too old. Which makes you way too old.'
'I am way too old. For most of this shit, anyway.'
'You got ten minutes?'
'I can give you five.'
'You got coffee?'
'You're wasting time.'
'We've got plenty of time. More than five minutes, anyway. More than ten, even. You need to lace your shoes and put a jacket on. How long can that take?'
Sansom shrugged and stepped over to the breakfast bar and poured me a cup of coffee. He carried it back and gave it to me and said, 'Now cut to the chase. I know who you are and why you're here.'
'Did you know Susan Mark?' I asked him.
He shook his head. 'Never met her, never even heard of her before last night.'
I was watching his eyes, and I believed him. I asked, 'Why would an HRC clerk be coerced into checking you out?'
'Is that what was happening?'
'Best guess.'
'Then I have no idea. HRC is the new PERSCOM, right? What did you ever get from PERSCOM? What did anyone? What have they got there? Dates and units, that's all. And my life is public record anyway. I've been on CNN a hundred times. I joined the army, I went to OCS, I was commissioned, I was promoted three times, and I left. No secrets there.'
'Your Delta missions were secrets.'
The room went a little quieter. Sansom asked, 'How do you know that?'
'You got four good medals. You don't explain why.'
Sansom nodded.
'That damn book,' he said. 'The medals are a matter of record, too. I couldn't disown them. It wouldn't have been respectful. Politics is a minefield. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Either way around, they can always get to you.'
I said nothing. He looked at me and asked, 'How many people are going to make the connection? Besides you, I mean?'
'About three million,' I said. 'Maybe more. Everyone in the army, and all the vets with enough eyesight left to read. They know how things work.'
He shook his head. 'Not that many. Most people don't have inquiring minds. And even if they do, most people respect secrecy in matters like that. I don't think there's a problem.'
'There's a problem somewhere. Otherwise why was Susan Mark being asked questions?'
'Did she actually mention my name?'
I shook my head. 'That was to get your attention. I heard your name from a bunch of guys I'm assuming were employed by the person asking the questions.'
'And what's in this for you?'
'Nothing. But she looked like a nice person, caught between a rock and a hard place.'
'And you care?'
'You do, too, if only a little bit. You're not in politics just for what you can get out of it for yourself. At least I sincerely hope you're not.'
'Are you actually my constituent?'
'Not until they elect you President.'
Sansom was quiet for a beat and then he said, 'The FBI briefed me, too. I'm in a position where I can do favours for them, so they make a point of keeping me in the loop. They say the NYPD feels you're reacting to this whole thing with a measure of guilt. Like you pushed too hard on the train. And guilt is never a sound basis for good decisions.'