Read Online The Black List by Robin Burcell - Free Book Online Page B

smile, but it was close to one as he handed her a set of binoculars. “Sorry. I’ve had my mind on other things.”
    “Tex isn’t trying to set us up, is he?”
    “Not exactly. There is something I need to talk—”
    Tex’s voice sounded in her earpiece. “I’m walking in.”
    Griffin keyed his radio. “Copy.” He lifted his binoculars for a view.
    “There’s a sign directing all press members to check in at the silent auction table,” Tex told them.
    And Griffin said, “How much you want to bet that wasn’t there until after they sent us those tickets.”
    “Don’t want to lose track of your special invitees.”
    Music played in the background, and then she heard Tex introducing himself to someone. “James Dalton. I’m with the Washington Recorder.”
    “Welcome, Mr. Dalton,” came the man’s voice. “Let me just get you checked off. Are you here with anyone?”
    “Unfortunately my wife wasn’t feeling well,” Tex said.
    “Sorry to hear that. Looks like we don’t have your home address on file . . . One of the raffle prizes is an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii if you want to provide it. Might cheer your wife up if you win.”
    “Business address won’t do?”
    “I think they’re hoping to add to their mailing list,” the man said. “Every little bit helps, you know. Your ticket stub.”
    “Thank you,” Tex replied.
    Sydney lowered her binoculars as two men from the hotel exited the lobby, one leaning heavily on the other, staggering as they crossed into the parking lot in their direction. They stopped one row up, the man on the left bending down, probably puking his guts.
    “Little early to be drunk,” Griffin said, then adjusted the volume on their receiver. “Music’s louder. Tex is probably moving deeper into the ballroom.” He keyed the mike. “Anything interesting yet?”
    “Besides a half-full room of overdressed patrons and enough champagne to get a third-world country inebriated? I’d rather be in the van.”
    “That’s what happens when you lose the coin toss,” Griffin radioed back.
    About a minute of nothing but music followed, then Tex making the rounds, slipping into and out of social groups, and being introduced to one politician after the other. “They could hold a Senate meeting here,” he said to one bystander, who laughed. A moment later the man was introducing him to yet another person, saying, “Senator Burgess, this is James Dalton, Washington Recorder .”
    “Mr. Dalton . . .” came a woman’s voice; Sydney assumed the senator’s. “I’m sorry to say I don’t subscribe to your paper.”
    “Imagine it’s a bit conservative for your tastes, ma’am,” Tex said.
    Griffin reached over, turned up the radio, saying, “What the hell is she doing there?”
    “You know her?” Sydney asked.
    “More importantly, she knows Tex, and they’re not exactly buddies.”
    Someone laughed in the background, and then the senator asked, “Is it a coincidence you’re here, Mr. Dalton, or am I somehow supposed to believe you’re supporting the cause?”
    “The world is full of coincidences, Senator.”
    “Isn’t it. I—”
    “Ah, Senator Burgess,” came another man’s voice, this one filled with enthusiasm and admiration. “So good of you to come to my documentary.” Apparently Micah Goodwin, the man behind the fund-raiser.
    Sure enough, the senator replied with, “Micah. How very lovely to see you again.”
    “And who have you brought with you?” Micah asked.
    There was a hesitation, and then Tex saying, “I’m one of the reporters covering your event. James Dalton from the Washington Recorder. ”
    “Always glad to meet the press,” came his reply. “Especially for a cause as worthy as this one. Have you seen the documentary?”
    “Unfortunately not all of it,” Tex said.
    “Well, at least the senator has.”
    “A wonderful cause,” she said, the perfect politician. “Ah. But I see my husband waving to me across the room.