Rail Black 01 - City of War by Neil Russell

Author:Neil Russell [Russell, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-10-23T05:00:00+00:00

24

Safe Houses and Spitters

Hollywood usually depicts safe houses as grubby apartments in a seedy part of town. Sometimes they are, but not very often. Slum residents know who belongs in their neighborhood and who doesn’t. They also know a lot about each other’s business, and they get suspicious when they can’t determine where somebody fits in. Not a conducive environment for strangers coming and going at odd hours, or for someone who might have a houseful of strange equipment or be running people in and out.

In reality, safe houses are usually in respectable communities, where, as long as you pay your rent and don’t make noise, people will generally leave you alone—if only out of politeness. And for serious operations, swanky is always best. There’s nothing more anonymous than a Park Avenue co-op or a New Jersey horse farm. Most of the time, you can come and go without seeing anyone, and if you do happen to bump into a neighbor, when was the last time a rich stranger struck up a conversation with you? Money can get you attention, but it’s particularly useful when you want to be invisible.

My real estate agent, Jhanya Devereux—exotic names are de rigueur in Beverly Hills real estate—called five of her high-end counterparts in Washington, D.C., and told them she had a client who was looking for a luxurious building where he could spend a month. Jhanya said her client was doing some consulting at the White House, and if he found the right place, he’d be open to purchasing a floor as his Washington residence.

“What he’s really looking for,” she breathed into the phone, “is a place to give parties and showcase his art collection.” She added that there was no cap on the budget, and, of course, the agent stood to receive a handsome fee plus a bonus for being discreet.

Four of the five got back to her within an hour, and I chose the Watergate. It had several things going for it. First, its location in Foggy Bottom and a steady stream of cabs make it easy to get around. Second, its labyrinthine layout is difficult to surveil. And third, it was a place I knew. There have probably been more clandestine operations run out of the Watergate than any comparably sized plot of land on the planet.

I also know a lobbyist who lives just up the road in Georgetown. Freddie Rochelle’s a horse’s ass, but he’s so greedy and unscrupulous that, for the right price, he’d roast his pet toucan for hors d’oeuvres. Hell, for a little extra, he’d chew it for you. As a rule, I try to avoid lobbyists because it takes a month to bathe them out of your pores, but I’ve come to appreciate that if you need something unconscionable done, guys like Freddie can be useful. Look in the phonebook under “Weasel-Fucks.”

I called Eddie and told him to get the plane ready and file a flight plan to Reagan National for Monday—three days away. I also asked him to book rooms for us at the Hay-Adams—under our real names.

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