Dance with the Dragon Read Free Page A

Chihuahua?”
    “Chauncy is taking care of the situation up there. At least for the time being, I want you right here in Mexico City.”
    Gloria gathered the files and rose to leave.
    “I need to see something in writing on my desk no later than eighteen hundred hours Friday,” Perry told her.
    She laughed. “You’re dreaming.”
    “Eighteen hundred hours, Ms. Ibenez. Let’s see just how much of a hotshot you really are.”

THREE
    CIA HEADQUARTERS
    Chauncy had returned from San Antonio late Thursday with the results of the autopsy on Updegraf’s body, and Gloria Ibenez had turned in her brief report exactly on time yesterday afternoon. And then the weekend had turned into an absolute disaster.
    As Perry drove out to the Building in a rental Taurus a few minutes before five on a stiflingly hot and humid afternoon, his palms were sweaty and his stomach was sour. Handling Updegraf’s widow was one of the worst jobs he’d ever had to accomplish. Even with the help of Dr. Carol Zywicki, a Company shrink who’d flown aboard a private Gulfstream IV down from Andrews Air Force Base Friday morning, the evening had been a mess until Zywicki had sedated the blubbering cow.
    “God save us from hysterical women,” Perry mumbled to himself. His own wife was no mental giant, but she’d come from good Ivy League stock—her father was a prominent Boston attorney and her mother was still a society maven—and she knew when to keep her mouth shut. Being the wife of an important CIA officer demanded her discretion, as well as an ask-no-questions-expect-no-lies attitude when it came to her husband’s extracurricular activities.
    Janet Updegraf, on the other hand, had begun screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs the moment she’d found out that her husband had been shot to death in the line of duty sometime late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning.
    “You son of a bitch!” she’d screeched. “You knew all this time and yet you didn’t have the common decency to tell me.” She’d come off the couch in their expensively furnished downtown condo and physically attacked Perry, slamming her fists into his chest and trying to slap him in the face.
    On the way up to Washington, the cow still sedated, strapped in one of the rear seats, Perry had debated putting the incident in his situation report. In the end his good sense had won out and he’d written a complete Sitrep with the recommendation that the Company be more thorough when it vetted the wives of its field officers. If she hadn’t been brought under control she could have created a potentially embarrassing incident for everyone involved.
    It was one time in which Perry had been totally at a loss trying to figure out a way to turn a situation to his advantage. And he had to admit to himself that he was becoming concerned. If they took another hit, the situation in Mexico could very well unravel.
    A pair of babysitters from Security had met them at Andrews with an unmarked van that was set up as an ambulance, and had taken Janet Updegraf off his hands. The strange thing was that Dr. Zywicki had refused to shake his hand when they parted. It was damned odd, he thought.
    And, if dealing with Louis’s widow wasn’t enough, he had to face McCann when all he wanted to do was return to Mexico City and do his job.
    He presented his credentials at the main gate and was directed to the Visiting Employees parking lot. On the drive up he could see himself coming this way each weekday morning. Only, as the deputy director of Central Intelligence, he’d be riding in the backseat of a chauffeured Cadillac limo, and he would be dropped off inside the underground garage at the VIP elevator. It was a happy thought just now.
    He wasn’t carrying a weapon, but he was required to step through the security arch and on the other side open his attaché case for a security guard. But he didn’t mind. These sorts of routines were a comfort.
    Upstairs on the seventh floor,