The January Zone Read online

  ‘You don’t sound like a government man,’ I said.

  He drove for a while, then he wound down his window and dropped his gum out. I did the same. He grinned. ‘Speaking my mind? That’s just my cover. Your journey’s end, folks. The Lincoln Hotel.’

  I don’t spend a lot of time hanging around fancy hotels, but I’ve taken the odd gambler back to the Hilton in Sydney so I know what they look like. I’ve even had a drink in the bar of the Wentworth. The lobby of the Lincoln reminded me of Government House—all deep, dusty carpet, heavy furniture and too many surfaces to keep polished.

  Spinoza and the other driver opened the trunks but the hotel staff unloaded the bags. Trudi and the others joined us in the lobby. She was looking tired and she kept shooting glances at Gary who was looking frightened.

  ‘What do you think of it?’ she said.

  I shuffled my feet. ‘Let’s do the time warp again,’ I said.

  ‘They say Malcolm liked it because he could see the White House from his window.’

  ‘That’ll be Peter’s room,’ I said. ‘We’ll get to see the winos in the park. Oh, Billy Spinoza, this is Trudi Bell. She keeps score for our boss.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Spinoza said. ‘Look, Cliff, you get your boy settled in and do what you have to do and give me a call.’ He handed me a card. ‘Anytime and the sooner the better.’

  ‘It could be late.’

  ‘We never sleep. Glad to have met you, Ms Bell.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Trudi responded to January’s impatient wave and we went up floral-carpeted steps to the reception desk.

  ‘The Feds,’ I said.

  We had five rooms at the end of a corridor on the fifth floor. Martin and Bolton shared, Gary, Trudi and I had separate rooms and January had a suite. The hotel looked out across Lafayette Square to the White House. That is to say, January’s rooms on the west side did. He could also choose to look at the inspirational sights of the Washington Monument and the Capitol, if that was his pleasure. The rest of us had grey government buildings to look at. Trudi came into my room and stood with me at the window. The day was clearing and blue patches were spreading across the sky.

  ‘That’s Georgetown,’ she said. ‘Where the rich folks live.’

  I squinted. ‘And I do believe I can see a freeway in the distance.’

  She snorted. ‘You’re a Sydneysider, you should be looking for water. See it through there?’

  I was struck by the low level of the buildings. The Lincoln was only seven or eight storeys and I couldn’t see many higher ones around. I did see a pale gleam that could’ve been water.

  ‘What’s that, the mighty Mississip?’

  ‘Idiot. It’s the Georgetown Channel. How d’you like the decor?’

  ‘It reminds me of Aunt Maude’s parlour in Punchbowl. What’s on Peter’s plate for today?’

  ‘First, he has a nap, then he’s got two short meetings before dinner and a long meeting afterwards.’

  ‘Christ. I suppose I have to stand at the door with my hand inside my jacket throughout.’

  ‘I don’t think so. From what I’ve heard, everywhere he’s going’ll be bristling with security men. You’ll just have to sort of get him there and check him in and out.’

  ‘Like a hat and coat. Can I go and get laid then?’

  ‘You can do what you like. I’m the one who needs the sympathy. I have to sit in on the meetings. They’ll be 90 per cent bullshit.’

  I put my arm around her. She’d taken off her shoes and, barefoot, she wasn’t much above my shoulder. The afternoon sun shone strongly through the window and it was nice standing there with a warm woman who smelled good. She rested there and put her arm around my back. I could feel her bicep roll under her skin, bunch up and stretch out.

  The knock at the door was hard and urgent. ‘Trudi,’ Gary Wilcox yelled. ‘Peter wants you.’

  She pulled away but I held her arm. ‘Don’t let him run you ragged. He’s not Jesus Christ even if the television people here think he is.’

  ‘No, but he could save the world, or our bit of it.’

  I said. ‘I doubt it,’ but I was talking to myself. I unpacked, tested the bed and rang room service for a sandwich and a bottle of beer. I was almost asleep when it arrived. I had no American money to tip the waiter with; he accepted Australian but he wasn’t happy about it. The sandwich was thick and good; the beer was Budweiser. I drank half the bottle and fell asleep.

  ‘Five minutes, Mr Hardy!’ It was Trudi trilling and banging on the door. I cursed, rolled off the bed and threw myself under a cold shower which would guarantee I wouldn’t take long. I was dry and dressed close to five minutes later when January knocked and walked in.

  ‘You need a shave,’ he said.

  ‘My razor won’t fit in the plug.’

  He picked up the phone. ‘Use mine while I phone. Make it quick, Cliff.’

  I went out, down the passage and into January’s suite. Trudi was flicking through papers at a desk set by the window with the Presidential view.

  ‘Shaving,’ I said. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’

  She pointed. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Phoning.’

  ‘I wonder who.’

  January’s cordless razor was almost silent. I came out shaving and talking over the sound. ‘Did he hear from Karen?’

  Trudi shrugged. She’d changed into a conservative-looking suit and blouse with dark stockings and medium heels. Her hair was shiny and her face was rested and composed. It was an impressive transformation in 45 minutes but then, she didn’t have to shave. ‘If he did, he hasn’t told me. Now, you’re off to the Senate Chairman’s chief aide and then…to Commodore Brewster, he’s some sort of Pacific naval attache.’

  ‘I hope he’s quick.’

  She looked up, puzzled, as I switched the razor off. ‘What?’

  ‘I hope the attache makes a brief case—get it?’

  ‘Shit,’ she said.

  ‘You’re the first to hear it. I was hoping to take Washington by storm with my wit.’

  January walked in patting his pockets and frowning. ‘You ready, Cliff? Right, let’s go.’

  We collected Bolton and rode down in the lift in silence. Trudi and Bolton carried folders and notebooks; January and I were unencumbered, ready to catch bullets in our teeth. We reached the lobby and I let Trudi and Bolton out of the lift first.

  ‘Have you heard from Mrs Weiner?’ I asked Peter quietly.

  ‘No. And you’re not doing your job. You should get out of lifts first.’

  ‘Elevators,’ I said. ‘I’ll do better next time.’

  ‘Just don’t clown. All this is serious.’

  His face was set in a worried frown and the aggressive, bouncy Peter of the press lounge had disappeared. He wasn’t going to impress the bigwigs like this.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I said. ‘Bad news…?’

  ‘Tell you in the car. Trudi and what’s-his-name can get a cab.’

  ‘Bolton.’

  ‘Bolton.’

  The Minister wasn’t happy. He snapped at Trudi as we got into the waiting car and could barely contain his impatience as we waited for a taxi to collect her and Bolton. When we were moving he leaned back and sighed. ‘It’s having too many things to worry about that does it.’

  ‘You have heard from Karen.’

  ‘No, not a fucking word. That’s one thing. And I got a phone call.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Man’s voice, educated, told me to ring a certain number in five minutes. I did that from your room—didn’t want to worry Trude.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Different voice—rougher, older. It was a public phone. I could hear the noise in the background.’

  ‘What did he say, Peter?’

  January shivered although the air conditioning in the car made for a comfortable temperature. ‘He got to me. I’ve seen a lot of things, in Vietnam, you know? Not much human mess you didn’t see there at one time or another, b
ut he got to me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He talked about how embalming fluid works. How it fills the cells of the body and the way it…preserves.’

  There was a clinical sound to the words and I was beginning to feel some of the chill myself. I looked out at the long rows of government buildings—the kind that would survive the neutron bomb when all the people in them would die.

  January ran his hand exploratively over his smoothly shaven face as if he was feeling a death mask. ‘He said we’d be dead within 48 hours.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘His exact words were, “You and the hard-on with the broken nose and the gun.” ’

  15

  I’D never seen so many three-piece suits in all my life. Almost every man around the government building we entered was wearing one. I had on a leather jacket over an open-necked shirt. The jacket was missing a button but in one respect I was right in style—like quite a few of the other men, I had a bulge under my left armpit where my gun was hanging. I comforted myself with the thought that my bulge looked more natural, blended in with my casual style. I’ll swear some of them had two bulges.

  Trudi looked suspiciously at January and me as we waited at a desk which looked like a jumbo jet’s control panel. Lights flashed as buttons were pressed.

  ‘What’s up?’ she said.

  I glanced around the steely eyes and blank faces. I would’ve told her but Bolton was within earshot. ‘Trouble,’ I said. ‘I’m glad I had that 30 minute sleep. Now I’m ready for anything.’

  ‘Ready for what?’ she hissed.

  ‘Go up to the fifth stage, please,’ the desk attendant said. He was pale as if he never went out in the sun. The way his fingers flashed over the panel suggested he never left the desk. He handed each of us a different coloured plastic tag. ‘You’ll have to check your weapon if you’re going into the conference room, sir.’

  ‘He isn’t,’ Trudi said. We marched across to the elevators. I flattened myself against the wall like a man on a window ledge 10 storeys up, reached out slowly and pressed the call button.

  ‘I told you not to clown, Hardy,’ January snapped.

  Trudi laughed. She opened her handbag, pulled out two envelopes, and gave them to Bolton and me. ‘Greenbacks,’ she said.

  I bowed. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  We went up to the fifth stage along with a selection of the non-security people. These wore trench coats or carried them and they were mostly pale, as if they worked inside all day, seven days a week. Maybe they did. Discreetly lit, heavily carpeted, the fifth stage featured a lot of polished wood veneer. Trudi checked her plastic tag and pointed to the far door which had a red light burning over it.

  ‘Be here in an hour, Cliff,’ January said.

  ‘Yessir.’

  He strode, as well as a five foot seven and a half man can stride, towards the door with Trudi and Bolton following. She shot me a sympathetic look over her shoulder and I got a flash of what it had been like standing by the window with her. I wondered if we were going to make any progress from there.

  An hour wasn’t long enough to do any business with Billy Spinoza. I went out of the building, told the driver he had an hour to wait and went for a walk. It was late afternoon and the clouds and rain had cleared completely. It would have been warm in the bright sunshine except for a breeze that seemed to be there as a reminder that winter would be along as usual.

  I was hoping to find a bar to spend a greenback in but there was nothing of the kind around. It was all government buildings and carparks. A large shopping mall suddenly appeared at the end of a concrete path but it specialised in fast food, photocopying, instant printing and dry cleaning. Looked like this was an area where people came to work, and anything else they had to do got done on the run. Not literally on the run; I was almost the only person I saw who walked more than 50 yards. The cars moved along at a steady pace and pulled in and out of the parking bays, and people made short, stabbing rushes to where they were going. Not very aerobic.

  From long habit I ran my eyes over the cars parked outside the building where January was having his meeting. Nothing unusual—a red Buick Skylark, several big Japanese jobs, a white Volvo with a red stripe, taxis and limos. Nothing familiar in grey; no freak trucks; no obvious mobile bombs. Our driver was deep in the sports section of a newspaper when I went into the building. He wasn’t worried, why should I be?

  I was five minutes early on the fifth stage but January and party were already out and waiting for me. January looked accusingly at me but he didn’t say anything as we went back to the desk and handed in our tags. We all took the one car this time, me in the front. Trudi gave the driver his instructions and nothing more was said. I arranged my face in a broad smile and turned around.

  ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘He’s a cretin,’ Peter said.

  ‘I got a message before we left,’ Trudi said. ‘The dinner’s cancelled. We’ve got two hours between this meeting and the later one.’

  ‘Thank Christ,’ January said. ‘Trude, see if you can find out a decent place to eat tonight. Martin, you can…’

  ‘Bolton,’ Bolton said.

  ‘Yes. You can go back and talk to…’

  ‘Martin,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. At the hotel. Get something together for the speech tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘Sure. After the naval bloke?’

  ‘Mm. What d’we know about him?’

  Trudi flicked some papers. ‘I think he was born on a nuclear warship. Probably got married on one, too.’

  ‘God.’ January sounded tired and dispirited. ‘Well, this is all just crap anyway. It’s the speech tomorrow and the Senate hearing that count.’

  ‘When can we leave?’ I said.

  Trudi raised one of her plucked eyebrows. ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you after we go to the decent place to eat.’

  The procedure at the next place was much the same except that there were a lot of uniforms about and they wanted to confiscate my weapon if I was to take a step past the desk.

  ‘It’s not worth the grief,’ January said. ‘Meet us down here in an hour.’ He flashed a grin that had some of the old charm in it. ‘From what I hear of him we might be back before you have time to take a piss.’

  They went up and I sat down—on a long padded bench beside a low table piled with magazines. I turned the pages of a few copies of Time and the National Geographic but it seemed like I’d read it all before—peace talks, famines, lost stone age tribe in Indonesia. I was in a waiting room adjacent to the reception desk; I sat so I could see out at the people who passed the desk but I soon got bored with that. I changed my seat so I could see out into the car-park. The light was fading; most of the traffic looked to have that going-home feeling to it, but there were still a few cars arriving.

  I was practically asleep when two thoughts hit me—I hadn’t sent my postcard to Helen and I was facing the prospect of going out to dinner with a man whose life was threatened. Not only that, but I was a threatened man myself. I couldn’t do anything about the postcard where I was but I could do something about the threat. I took out Billy Spinoza’s card and approached the desk.

  ‘Could I use your telephone, please?’

  The young man at the controls looked at me suspiciously. He wore a crisp white shirt with blue and gold epaulettes and a dark blue tie. His cheeks were pink and his teeth were very white. ‘It’s for government business only, sir, I’m sorry.’

  ‘This is government business. I’m on Mr January’s security staff and I want to call a number I’m pretty sure is government too.’

  I showed him the number on the card. He examined it very carefully, holding it in his scrubbed hands. ‘I guess it’s okay. I can’t give you privacy, though. I can’t leave the desk.’

  ‘Just give me the phone, that’ll be enough. How do you get a line?’

  ‘Here, I’ll get it.’ He stabbed the buttons and handed the phone across. �
�Sure hope we don’t impose those sanctions.’

  ‘What?’ I could hear the dial tone.

  ‘Against South Africa. I’m against it.’

  ‘Do you have Mr January down as a South African?’

  He consulted the sheet in front of him. ‘What it says here.’

  ‘Christ!’ I said.

  ‘Watch your language, sir!’

  I stared at him and felt his discomfort. He moved his hand on the desk and I could see the edge of the National Enquirer slip inside the pages of the Washington Post. I turned as far away from him as I could and called the number. Billy Spinoza came on the line immediately.

  ‘Spinoza.’

  ‘This is Cliff Hardy. A hole has opened up in my man’s schedule. We’re going to be running loose for a couple of hours. I thought I should talk to you about it. Also there’s been a…development.’

  ‘Can you tell me now?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Okay, where are you?’

  I glanced around the reception lobby. ‘It says Navy 10, G6, by the door. That mean anything to you?’

  ‘Yeah. I can be there in 30 minutes.’

  ‘That’s about when he’s due out.’

  ‘Okay. Anything else troubling you? I mean as of right now?’

  There was but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something vague—something I’d seen or something less definite, like a smell. I told him no and he hung up.

  I handed the phone back. ‘Thank you.’

  He nodded and went back to sitting still. He was faintly flushed; he knew he’d said something wrong but he was too polite to ask. I went back to the waiting room and waited.

  January stormed out of the lift; Bolton was gabbling at him and being ignored; Trudi’s face was set in a grimace of anger. If he thought he could use his bodygard as a punching bag he changed his mind when he saw my face. He stopped a few feet from me and jammed his fists into his jacket pocket which ruined the cut.

  ‘Well, are we ready?’

  ‘We’re waiting.’