mingling with visions of a wind brushing through trees and hews of gold and red autumnal leaves playing against her subconscious. But, with surprise, she realized her eyes were now open, adjusting to the blackness of her Berlin, New Hampshire, hotel room, and the rustling sound was real.
She sat up in bed and the sound stopped. It came from her door and her eye suddenly caught a shadow move across the thin plank of yellow light that shone under the doorframe. She rubbed her eyes.
“Hello?” she called quietly to the darkness. Then she felt foolish and laughed nervously. She reached over to fumble for the bedside lamp, which stood by a radio alarm that glowed with the time. 4:34 a.m. She switched on the light and looked back to the door. A sheaf of paper had been pushed under it. It was yellow and folded in on itself. For a moment, she thought it was just the hotel bill, shoved there by a maid. But there was something about the paper that did not look like a bill. She padded across the room to pick it up. She unfolded it and immediately frowned. It was a bank statement of some kind: a photocopy of a Western Union money transfer order.
“What the hell?” she said, assuming it was pushed under the wrong door.
She examined it and walked back to her bed and pulled the covers around herself. She put on her glasses and peered at the rows of figures. She looked at the depositing account and read the words “Banco Nacional de Gautemala.” She frowned and looked at the branch location. Livingston, Guatemala. For 9,995 dollars. In the name of Rodrigo Estrada Carillo. It made no sense. She scanned the figures again, looking for an indication about who sent it. Then she saw a name and she dropped the paper onto the bed with a little yelp.
Christine Maitland. Or, as Lauren knew her better, with the addition of a married name: Christine Maitland Hodges. Lauren stared at the paper again, making sure she was correct and that she was indeed holding a bank transfer agreement wiring almost 10,000 dollars to Guatemala from the account of Senator Hodges’ wife.
She jumped off the bed and flung open the door, realizing too late, how ridiculous it would be if someone was still there. Nevertheless she looked down the empty corridor and half-expected to see a figure, her mind racing with a mix of fear and excitement. But it was silent and empty. Nothing but the dull, aching, dead artificial light of an anonymous hotel. Just another slice of life on the road. But a road now changed beyond recognition.
* * *
MIKE JUMPED at the sound of the ringing phone and stumbled through the darkness of the room to answer it. He worried that Jaynie, lying on his bed, would awaken. But she did not even stir. Whatever substance she abused left her in a vice-like sleep. He picked up his mobile. He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened at the time.
“Hello?” he whispered.
It was Lauren. She spoke in a lightning quick babble that he couldn’t understand.
“Slow down,” he said.
He heard her take a deep breath and when she spoke again her voice was loud, calm and clear.
“Mike,” she said. “I’ve got a document that you should know about. It’s related to Christine Hodges. It’s a money order showing she has been sending money overseas. I think someone’s trying to play dirty tricks on you guys and I want to talk to you before I go public with it.”
Mike was awake now. Any trace of sleep was blasted out of his system by an adrenalin surge that coursed through his body at the mention of Christine’s name. He needed to stay calm though.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s meet downstairs. Ten minutes?”
“See you there.”
Mike hung up. Dirty tricks? If someone slipped Lauren information, he was sure it came from Stanton’s campaign. He pulled on some clothes, treading carefully so as not to make any noise that might wake Jaynie. But his mind raced as fast as his heart. He knew these things happened. Christ, he’d been the
She sat up in bed and the sound stopped. It came from her door and her eye suddenly caught a shadow move across the thin plank of yellow light that shone under the doorframe. She rubbed her eyes.
“Hello?” she called quietly to the darkness. Then she felt foolish and laughed nervously. She reached over to fumble for the bedside lamp, which stood by a radio alarm that glowed with the time. 4:34 a.m. She switched on the light and looked back to the door. A sheaf of paper had been pushed under it. It was yellow and folded in on itself. For a moment, she thought it was just the hotel bill, shoved there by a maid. But there was something about the paper that did not look like a bill. She padded across the room to pick it up. She unfolded it and immediately frowned. It was a bank statement of some kind: a photocopy of a Western Union money transfer order.
“What the hell?” she said, assuming it was pushed under the wrong door.
She examined it and walked back to her bed and pulled the covers around herself. She put on her glasses and peered at the rows of figures. She looked at the depositing account and read the words “Banco Nacional de Gautemala.” She frowned and looked at the branch location. Livingston, Guatemala. For 9,995 dollars. In the name of Rodrigo Estrada Carillo. It made no sense. She scanned the figures again, looking for an indication about who sent it. Then she saw a name and she dropped the paper onto the bed with a little yelp.
Christine Maitland. Or, as Lauren knew her better, with the addition of a married name: Christine Maitland Hodges. Lauren stared at the paper again, making sure she was correct and that she was indeed holding a bank transfer agreement wiring almost 10,000 dollars to Guatemala from the account of Senator Hodges’ wife.
She jumped off the bed and flung open the door, realizing too late, how ridiculous it would be if someone was still there. Nevertheless she looked down the empty corridor and half-expected to see a figure, her mind racing with a mix of fear and excitement. But it was silent and empty. Nothing but the dull, aching, dead artificial light of an anonymous hotel. Just another slice of life on the road. But a road now changed beyond recognition.
* * *
MIKE JUMPED at the sound of the ringing phone and stumbled through the darkness of the room to answer it. He worried that Jaynie, lying on his bed, would awaken. But she did not even stir. Whatever substance she abused left her in a vice-like sleep. He picked up his mobile. He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened at the time.
“Hello?” he whispered.
It was Lauren. She spoke in a lightning quick babble that he couldn’t understand.
“Slow down,” he said.
He heard her take a deep breath and when she spoke again her voice was loud, calm and clear.
“Mike,” she said. “I’ve got a document that you should know about. It’s related to Christine Hodges. It’s a money order showing she has been sending money overseas. I think someone’s trying to play dirty tricks on you guys and I want to talk to you before I go public with it.”
Mike was awake now. Any trace of sleep was blasted out of his system by an adrenalin surge that coursed through his body at the mention of Christine’s name. He needed to stay calm though.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s meet downstairs. Ten minutes?”
“See you there.”
Mike hung up. Dirty tricks? If someone slipped Lauren information, he was sure it came from Stanton’s campaign. He pulled on some clothes, treading carefully so as not to make any noise that might wake Jaynie. But his mind raced as fast as his heart. He knew these things happened. Christ, he’d been the
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