Capitol Murder by Phillip Margolin Read Free Book Online Page A

can listen in on your calls. You’ll ask for pizza, and I’ll say you have the wrong number. Then I’ll come right over.
    “This house is pretty isolated. The nearest neighbors are a quarter mile away. You shouldn’t get visitors. If you do, tell them you’re students, and use the cover story you were given. Any questions?”
    Steve showed them around the house and got them set up. There were clothes in the closets in everyone’s size and food in the kitchen.
    “You’ll receive instructions soon,” Steve said before he left. “Be patient and trust in Allah. You will make history.”
    Despite the sleep he had gotten during the drive, Ali was logy when they arrived at the house. His initial elation in the harbor was gone. Before he’d gotten out of the car, he was beset by doubts that depressed him. Things could go wrong. They could fail. The CIA and FBI were not fools. What if they were caught?
    Steve’s last words elated Ali and erased his doubts. Allah was great, and he would see to their success. Steve closed the door behind him. Ali heard the car start. He looked through the slats in the Venetian blinds in the living room and watched the station wagon drive off. It had a Virginia license plate, and Ali memorized it when it passed beneath a streetlight. There was no reason for him to do it. He was just good with numbers and had an excellent memory, and the license plate number was filed away without much conscious thought.

Chapter Seven
    T he weather in Portland was unseasonably warm, and Jack Carson kept his window rolled down as he drove to Dunthorpe, eschewing air conditioning for the breeze that drifted off the Willamette River. In the distance, Mount Hood loomed, the setting sun tinting its snowy coat to a lovely rose color, but Jack was too on edge to take in the beauty of his surroundings. Normally, he would have had an aide drive him, but he’d given his staff the night off. He’d convinced himself that he’d done this because they’d been working hard and needed some downtime, but his subconscious was rife with images of Jessica Koshani naked and in bed, something he’d never see if a young staffer was waiting in his car or camping out in some part of Koshani’s house.
    Carson followed Koshani’s directions and turned toward the river onto a narrow street that wound between large homes surrounded by expensively landscaped grounds. The house he was looking for was guarded by a gate that swung open moments after he announced himself through an intercom. Jack drove into a courtyard and parked near the front door of a house that was similar to Italian villas he’d seen during a family trip to Tuscany. Jessica Koshani was waiting for him at the front door, her jet black hair falling loosely across the shoulders of a yellow blouse that was tucked into tight jeans that emphasized her long legs.
    “I’m so glad you could make it,” she said when the senator got out of his car.
    “This is very nice,” he answered.
    “We’ll go around back to the patio. It looks out on the river. It’s wonderful being outdoors at this time of night. Can I get you something cool to drink? I make a mean martini, and I’ve got a full bar.”
    “Gin and tonic would be great.”
    “What brand of gin do you prefer?” she asked as she led him through a large living room toward French doors that opened onto a wide terra-cotta patio.
    Koshani left the senator with the view while she went inside to fix his drink. His heart rate was up and his mouth was dry. He tried to calm himself and hoped that the gin would help. Koshani walked out of the house with two drinks. His glass felt cold and damp against his hand. He took a quick sip and the cool lime taste chilled him.
    “This is a great spot,” Carson said.
    “As soon as the weather turns, I’m out here every chance I get.” Koshani smiled. “But you’re not here to talk about the view.”
    Carson had noticed a manila envelope lying on a glass end table at