Storm said, “What about the FBI?”
Jones shrugged. “What about them? They’re on the case. The special agent in charge is a woman named April Showers.”
Another player enters the game.
“April Showers? Is that her real name?”
“Yes, it is. Her folks must have had a sense of humor. Or they were hippies from the sixties. Either way, she’ll be at the senator’s office when we get there.”
“And who am I supposed to be?”
“You’re a special advisor. You’re name is Steve Mason. That way Derrick Storm can remain dead.”
“And if something goes wrong, there’s no Steve Mason to be found.”
“Exactly,” said Jones.
“It seems like a lot of trouble-bringing me back and giving me a false identity-just for a kidnapping.”
Jones blew out a series of perfect smoke rings. “It’s sad really,” he said. “Smoke rings. With everyone banning smoking, it’s becoming a dying art.”
Chapter Three
Through the bullet-resistant windows of the black limousine, Storm saw the U.S. Capitol dome rising before them as they rode east on Constitution Avenue. It was an impressive sight, especially brightly floodlit at night.
The car passed the Russell Senate Office Building (SOB), which was the first of three ornate office buildings used by the nation’s one hundred elected U.S. senators. In a city obsessed with acronyms, Storm had always thought the shorthand SOB seemed a fitting description for where senators did their business.
The Dirksen SOB was next. Opened in 1958, it had been known for nearly two decades simply as SOB Number Two, until Congress decided to name it after the late Illinois Republican Senator Everett M. Dirksen, an orator so famous that he’d been awarded a Grammy for an album of his patriotic speeches called Gallant Men.