Blowout

press conference demanding to know what was really going on. He wondered if Director Mueller would tell her.
    Savich’s cell phone rang. His first thought was Giffey. But it was Callie, who said immediately, “How is Giffey?”
    “I don’t know anything yet. Did you do it?”
    “Oh yeah. I just faxed Coombes a note about how badly the FBI screwed up in trying to protect Fleurette, how Director Mueller was trying to keep it all quiet. I told him I thought Fleurette was the one shot and they’d taken her to Bethesda. Old Jed will eat it up, bet he’s claiming he knew Director Mueller was covering his ass by not admitting she’d been shot at Quantico. Made me sick to give that slant, but I did it, as you asked. Jed will write it up as a scoop and make it really contemptuous of the FBI. He and I will both be in trouble when Fleurette shows herself safe and in one piece. So I hope this was worth it to you.”
    “I hope so too. I owe you one, Callie.”
    Not three minutes later, his cell rang again, and this time he knew it was about Giffey. He didn’t want to answer it. He stared down at it like it was a snake about to bite him. Sherlock’s hand suddenly covered his. She didn’t say anything, smiled up at him, and nodded.
    “Savich here.” He listened for some time, then said, “Great news. Thank you, Dr. Peterson. We’ll be here.”
    There was silence in the conference room, only the movement on TV, muted now, by Sherlock.
    Savich said, “That was Dr. Peterson. He said that Giffey’s got Dr. Edward Bricker operating on her. He’s one of the best thoracic surgeons in the world. They’ve got the bleeding stopped, and Giffey’s hanging in there. Dr. Peterson thinks she’s going to make it. She still has to pull through surgery, and the next twenty-four hours will be critical, but I could hear the optimism in his voice. She’s got a good chance.”
    “Thank God,” Fleurette said. “Oh, thank you, God.”
    An hour later, Savich walked back into his office to see Ben and Callie in close conversation. When they saw him, they stepped quickly apart, and looked embarrassed. Well, well, Savich thought, and smiled at them. He could think fast on his feet, and he did so now. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you guys, that is, if you’re both free tonight.”
    “Sure, no problem,” Ben said. Callie nodded.
    Savich studied his thumbnail a moment, then said, “I’d like you and Callie to go to a pretty nice restaurant in Georgetown this evening—how about Filomena’s on Wisconsin?”
    “That’s a real fancy place, Dillon,” Callie said. “It’s one of my mom’s favorite restaurants. I can’t imagine we could get in on such short notice.”
    “Who’s paying?” Ben asked.
    Savich laughed. “The FBI will reimburse you. When you call, mention my name to the maître d’. He knew my grandmother, Sarah Elliott, and he’s still impressed that I’m her grandson. He’ll get you two a table, probably a really good one.
    “Spend some time at the bar first. All I want you to do is listen to what’s being said. I want your opinions on whether or not people saw through Director Mueller’s fancy excuses. And if they’ve read the Post, does everyone believe that Fleurette is at Bethesda. Talk to people, see what they think. What you don’t want to hear is that Fleurette isn’t the one who was shot here at Quantico, or that she’s dead. We want speculation on that. What do you guys think?”
    Callie shot a look at Ben, but nodded. “All right.”
    When Savich met Sherlock a few minutes later, she said, “I ran into Ben and Callie. They said something about dining out on the FBI this evening, and then Callie sort of looked confused and said she really didn’t understand why this was so important to you.”
    He grinned at her. “Yeah, well, we’ll see what comes of it. Now, I need to deal with Bethesda.”
    F ILOMENA ’ S
W ISCONSIN A VENUE ,
N.W. G EORGETOWN ,
W ASHINGTON , D.C.
S UNDAY EVENING
    C ALLIE TOOK A BITE of her beautifully prepared swordfish, looked up, and saw Ben staring at her. “What?”
    He shook his head, but didn’t look away. The fact was she didn’t look like he was used to seeing her, and he couldn’t quite get himself used to the transformation. She was wearing a little black dress that had long sleeves and no back to speak of, and high heels that put her nearly at six feet tall. He’d picked her up earlier at her mother’s house, she’d waltzed down the stairs,