Hidden Prey

west, in the mountains, where there is not so much TV. Perhaps Alaska. With a prepared identity, he would be hard to find.”
    “But what’s he gonna do, be a drunk?” Lucas asked. “He’s got no real skills that we know of. He was a car salesman for about six months . . .”
    “There are no car stores in Alaska?” Nadya asked.
    Andreno leaned in from the backseat. “Wal-Mart, man. Home Depot. There are all these places that hire and fire hundreds of people every day. They don’t know who the fuck they are. Half of Mexico used to work for Wal-Mart.”
    “All right, he can get a job.”
     
    N OBODY WAS HUNGRY , but they stopped in Virginia for coffee, and helped Nadya buy two pounds of magazines for her flight to Washington. At seven o’clock, they drove to Eveleth, got lost, drove around aimlessly for a while, and eventually found the place by a process of elimination.
     
    T HE DANCE WAS an AFL-CIO affair with a polka band and an acre of sheet cake and Jell-O molds, a cash bar, and balloons on the ceilings. The polka band was hot, and the governor not only liked to dance, he was good at it.
    Elmer Henderson was a willowy man, narrow shouldered, with short blond hair going gray at the temples, a man who wore handmade suits and shoes and a different Hermès tie each day. His clan was one of Minnesota’s richest, and Elmer was a typical product of money: conservative, mild, polite.
    But he could dance a polka about as well as anybody Lucas had seen, and when he got going, the other dancers fell back into a circle and clapped with the band, and Lucas and Nadya laughed out loud.
    He was dancing with a very fat lady—also a good dancer—when he spotted Lucas and waved. Lucas waved back and a man who’d come up behind him said, “Don’t interrupt him. I’ve got six photographers shooting their ass off for the next campaign.”
    Lucas turned and found Neil Mitford, the governor’s chief political operator. “Heck of a dancer,” Lucas said.
    “Hard to believe, huh? Look at the motherfucker go . . .”
     
    A WHILE LATER , the governor got loose and said, “Let’s find a spot.”
    They found a spot and Lucas introduced Nadya and Andreno, andthe governor nodded and said, “Rose Marie briefed me, and I see it’s leaked onto TV. Is there anything in it? For us?”
    Lucas shook his head. “You should stay clear on this one. If that tape gets out—and it may, there’s a whole question of probate, because he made it his last will—you can’t help feeling sorry for the old guy. I’d say, take the credit for doing the feds’ job for them, but then say it’s up to them to carry the ball the rest of the way.”
    “How about the Russians?” the governor asked Nadya. “You okay with this?”
    “Yes. Thank you very much. I go back home tomorrow, I will ask them to send you an official thank-you for Minnesota’s help.”
    “Excellent. Always happy to help.”
    Nadya held up her camera. “Is it permitted to get a picture of you? With me?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Lucas took the picture, one of Henderson and Nadya shaking hands, and one of Henderson with his arm around her shoulder, giving her a little hug.
    “Like old comrades,” Lucas said.
    Mitford said, nervously, “Not comrades , for Christ’s sake.”
    “I’ve got to get back to the dance,” Henderson said. He leaned into them, his head between Lucas and Nadya and said, “I really like to dance with the big fat ones. Even if I look like Jack Spratt. Not only that, Neil says you can tell that I like it, when you see it on TV. Did you know that twenty-two point four percent of Minnesota women of voting age are officially obese?”
    “Plus-sized,” Mitford said.
    “That’s what I meant.” Henderson beamed. “Plus-sized.”
     
    H E LEFT THEM , and Nadya looked at Lucas and said, “What is this Jack Spratt?”
    “Just a guy,” Lucas said.
    “Who could eat no fat,” said Mitford.
    “And his wife could eat no lean,” Lucas continued.
    When they were done, she said, “You are joking me again.”
    When she’d gone to the ladies’ room, Mitford looked after her and asked, “You getting any of that?”
    “No, I am not. I am a happily married man,” he said, thinking of Jerry Reasons. If he’d been an unhappily married man, like Reasons, he might be dead.
    “Looks pretty good.”
    “She is pretty good. If you put her on your staff, she’d fit right in. She’d be one of your top guys in a week.”
    Mitford squinted at