The Broker

Joel really didn’t care. He’d never see her again.

She turned the white into gray and added enough brown to take five years off his face. Vanity was not at stake here.

Youth didn’t matter. He just wanted to hide.

His last guests in the suite made him cry. Neal, the son he hardly knew, and Lisa, the daughter-in-law he’d never met, handed him Carrie, the two-year-old granddaughter he’d only dreamed about. She cried too, at first, but then settled down as her grandfather walked her around and showed her the White House just over there. He walked her from window to window, from room to room, bouncing her and chatting away as if he’d had experience with a dozen grandkids. Neal took more photos, but these were of a different man. Gone was the flashy suit; he was wearing chinos and a plaid button-down. Gone were the bluster and arrogance; he was a simple grandfather clinging to a beautiful little girl.

Room service delivered a late lunch of soups and salads. They enjoyed a quiet family meal, Joel’s first in many, many years. He ate with only one hand because the other balanced Carrie on his knee, which never stopped its steady bounce.

He warned them of tomorrow’s story in the Post, and explained the motives behind it. It was important for him to be seen in Washington, and in the most visible way possible. It would buy him some time, confuse everyone who might still be looking for him. It would create a splash, and be talked about for days, long after he was gone.

Lisa wanted answers as to how much danger he was in, and Joel confessed that he wasn’t sure. He would drop out for a while, move around, always being careful. He’d learned a lot in the past two months.

"I’ll be back in a few weeks," he said. "And I’ll drop in from time to time. Hopefully, after a few years things will be safer."

"Where are you going now?" Neal asked.

"I’m taking the train to Philly, then I’ll catch a flight to Oakland. I would like to visit my mother. It would be nice if you’d drop her a card. I’ll take my time, eventually end up somewhere in Europe."

"Which passport will you use?"

"Not the ones I got yesterday."

"What?"

"I’m not about to allow the CIA to monitor my movements. Barring an emergency, I’ll never use them."

"So how do you travel?"

"I have another passport. A friend loaned it to me."

Neal gave him a look of suspicion, as if he knew what "friend" meant. Lisa missed it, though, and little Carrie picked that moment to relieve herself. Joel was quick to hand her to her mother.

While Lisa was in the bathroom changing the diaper, Joel lowered his voice and said, "Three things. First, get a security firm to sweep your home, office, and cars. You might be surprised. It’ll cost about ten grand, and it must be done. Second, I’d like for you to locate an assisted-living place somewhere close to here. My mother, your grandmother, is stuck out there in Oakland with no one to check on her. A good place will cost three to four thousand a month."

"I take it you have the money."

"Third, yes, I have the money. It’s in an account here at Maryland Trust. You’re listed as one of the OAvners. Withdraw twenty-five thousand to cover the expenses you’ve incurred so far, and keep the rest close by." ”I don’t need that much."

"Well, spend some, okay? Loosen up a little. Take the girl to Disney World."

"How will we correspond?"

"For now, e-mail, the Grinch routine. I’m quite the hacker, you know."

"How safe are you, Dad?"

"The worst is over."

Lisa was back with Carrie, who wanted to return to the bouncing knee. Joel held her for as long as he could.

Father and son entered Union Station together while Lisa and Carrie waited in the car. The bustle of activity made Joel anxious again; old habits would be hard to break. He pulled a small carry-on bag, loaded with all of his possessions.

He bought a ticket to Philadelphia, and as they slowly made their way to the platform area Neal said, "I really want to know where you’re going."

Joel stopped and looked at him. "I’m going back to Bologna."

"There’s a friend there, right?"

"Yes."

"Of the female variety?" Oh yes.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Can’t help it, son. It was always my weakness."

"She’s Italian?"

"Very much so. She’s really special."

"They were all special."

"This one saved my life."

"Does she know you’re coming back?"

"I think so."

"Please be careful, Dad."

"I’ll see you in a month or so."

They hugged and said goodbye.