structure that housed the bulk of the congressmen.
Each of the three buildings—Rayburn, Longworth, and Cannon— sat in a row just to the south of the Capitol building.
Quinn had never had a reason to enter any of them. In fact, he had never been inside the Capitol either. Though he’d made many trips to D.C., they’d all been on business, and usually involved meetings in generic-looking buildings far from the tourist areas.
One time, he had spent fifteen minutes at the Lincoln Memorial, then had walked over and taken in the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Both had been more powerful than he’d expected. He had finally pulled himself away from the black granite wall when he found himself staring at names he didn’t know, but realized could have belonged to his father or his uncles or any of a thousand men he’d met over the years if luck had broken differently.
After he had finished with his e-mail that morning, he’d called Congressman Guerrero’s office, pretending to be a reporter doing a feature piece on the congressman. It had been easy. Part of Quinn’s play-acting past. He could quickly fall into most any role. It was the one talent Durrie had admired in Quinn from the beginning.
His old mentor hated role-playing, and came more and more to rely on Quinn’s abilities as the need arose. “You’re a natural liar,” Durrie had said. “Keep it up and you’ll do all right.”
Quinn wasn’t sure he liked the compliment, but he couldn’t deny that putting on the identity of someone else was almost as simple for him as getting out of bed.
The person at Guerrero’s office had told him he’d be happy to set up a meeting with someone from the press office.
“I actually met one of your staffers when I was in town several months ago, and wonder if she might be available,” Quinn had said.
“I can check. Who was it?”
“Her name is...” Quinn paused like he was reading his notes. “Jennifer Fuentes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said, not missing a beat. “Ms. Fuentes is not in the office this week. But you’re in luck, the assistant press secretary, Dylan Ray, has an opening at two-thirty. Would that work?”
“That’ll be fine,” Quinn said.
At precisely 2:20, Quinn climbed the steps in front of the Longworth Building, then passed under a narrow archway into an alcove lined with several metal-framed glass doors. Quinn pulled one of the doors open and entered.
Security in the twenty-first century was not like that of Quinn’s childhood. Now everywhere you went, security guards and detection machines and pat-downs and bag searches and background checks were the norm. The innocence was gone and humanity had no one to blame but itself.
The Longworth Building was no exception. As Quinn expected, the first thing to greet him upon entry was a metal detector and X-ray machine. Hence the reason he’d left the SIG back at the hotel.
“Purpose of your visit, Mr. Drake?” one of the officers asked after Quinn had handed him the ID he was using as cover.
“I have a meeting with someone on Congressman Guerrero’s staff at two-thirty.”
“Who would that be?”
“Dylan Ray.”
The officer checked a computer screen, then nodded and returned the ID. “Have a good day, Mr. Drake.”
Quinn took an elevator to Guerrero’s floor, then made his way through the building, passing the offices of several other House of Representative members. Some of the names were familiar to him, from stories he’d read in the paper or reports he’d seen on TV.
After several minutes, he arrived at Guerrero’s office. Even from a distance, it was apparent the congressman’s suite was different from the others Quinn had been passing. Its entrance was more ornate. The dark wood façade was larger than those of the surrounding offices and shone like something out of a Pledge furniture polish commercial.
Two flags flanked the door. On the left was the Stars and Stripes, and on the right the state flag of
Each of the three buildings—Rayburn, Longworth, and Cannon— sat in a row just to the south of the Capitol building.
Quinn had never had a reason to enter any of them. In fact, he had never been inside the Capitol either. Though he’d made many trips to D.C., they’d all been on business, and usually involved meetings in generic-looking buildings far from the tourist areas.
One time, he had spent fifteen minutes at the Lincoln Memorial, then had walked over and taken in the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Both had been more powerful than he’d expected. He had finally pulled himself away from the black granite wall when he found himself staring at names he didn’t know, but realized could have belonged to his father or his uncles or any of a thousand men he’d met over the years if luck had broken differently.
After he had finished with his e-mail that morning, he’d called Congressman Guerrero’s office, pretending to be a reporter doing a feature piece on the congressman. It had been easy. Part of Quinn’s play-acting past. He could quickly fall into most any role. It was the one talent Durrie had admired in Quinn from the beginning.
His old mentor hated role-playing, and came more and more to rely on Quinn’s abilities as the need arose. “You’re a natural liar,” Durrie had said. “Keep it up and you’ll do all right.”
Quinn wasn’t sure he liked the compliment, but he couldn’t deny that putting on the identity of someone else was almost as simple for him as getting out of bed.
The person at Guerrero’s office had told him he’d be happy to set up a meeting with someone from the press office.
“I actually met one of your staffers when I was in town several months ago, and wonder if she might be available,” Quinn had said.
“I can check. Who was it?”
“Her name is...” Quinn paused like he was reading his notes. “Jennifer Fuentes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said, not missing a beat. “Ms. Fuentes is not in the office this week. But you’re in luck, the assistant press secretary, Dylan Ray, has an opening at two-thirty. Would that work?”
“That’ll be fine,” Quinn said.
At precisely 2:20, Quinn climbed the steps in front of the Longworth Building, then passed under a narrow archway into an alcove lined with several metal-framed glass doors. Quinn pulled one of the doors open and entered.
Security in the twenty-first century was not like that of Quinn’s childhood. Now everywhere you went, security guards and detection machines and pat-downs and bag searches and background checks were the norm. The innocence was gone and humanity had no one to blame but itself.
The Longworth Building was no exception. As Quinn expected, the first thing to greet him upon entry was a metal detector and X-ray machine. Hence the reason he’d left the SIG back at the hotel.
“Purpose of your visit, Mr. Drake?” one of the officers asked after Quinn had handed him the ID he was using as cover.
“I have a meeting with someone on Congressman Guerrero’s staff at two-thirty.”
“Who would that be?”
“Dylan Ray.”
The officer checked a computer screen, then nodded and returned the ID. “Have a good day, Mr. Drake.”
Quinn took an elevator to Guerrero’s floor, then made his way through the building, passing the offices of several other House of Representative members. Some of the names were familiar to him, from stories he’d read in the paper or reports he’d seen on TV.
After several minutes, he arrived at Guerrero’s office. Even from a distance, it was apparent the congressman’s suite was different from the others Quinn had been passing. Its entrance was more ornate. The dark wood façade was larger than those of the surrounding offices and shone like something out of a Pledge furniture polish commercial.
Two flags flanked the door. On the left was the Stars and Stripes, and on the right the state flag of
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