Chapter 37
It took a month for Nash to spread the news that he was leaving Charlotte for a big job with the Department of Justice in Washington.
Using the playbook given to him by Rae Claire, he sent the appropriate emails to his family, friends, and colleagues.
He beefed up his social media presence a little, though he had never spent much time there.
Following instructions, he gradually posted more comments and worthless photos.
“Following instructions from the CIA,” he continually reminded himself in private. It was still hard to believe, and he often laughed at the absurdity.
Some of his colleagues at the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Charlotte were a bit jealous of what appeared to be a significant but strangely unwarranted promotion.
Others asked why anyone would want to leave Charlotte for D.C.
A few friends promised to visit the big city as soon as possible and see the sights.
Most of them, however, were already married and focused on either starting a family or taking care of their toddlers.
He was amused by the thought that many of his friends would scratch their heads in a few months when they were invited to his wedding in D.C.
His mother was protective and had never wanted him to leave North Carolina, but she was also worried because he didn’t have a serious girl at the age of thirty-one.
In her opinion, one she good-naturedly shared with him and the family, it was time for Stuart, her oldest, to settle down and start having grandkids.
All of her friends had them and talked of little else.
And if moving to a big city might present more opportunities, then give it a shot, though she would prefer a girl from the South.
Nash loved his mother but knew that one great advantage in relocating to D.C.
was getting away from her. He feared the weekend in the near future when he would be forced to drag Rae Claire home to be inspected by his mother, sister, and the rest of the clan.
What a nightmare—going through the charade of presenting a new girlfriend, who had no desire to be anywhere in the state, to a pack of relatives and friends she would never see after the wedding.
Of course the wedding would not be mentioned. The families would be informed of it in October, according to Rae Claire’s schedule. It would take place on December 10, in a small ceremony at a chapel in Georgetown. She had already selected her wedding gown. Paid for by the taxpayers.
But the wedding talk would come later. His next challenge was relocating to D.C.
, a move facilitated by Rae Claire. Without so much as a phone call to a landlord, Nash was presented with a small, furnished one-bedroom apartment near Nationals Park in the Navy Yard neighborhood.
Modest though it was, the big-city rent was $2,800 a month for only eight hundred square feet.
But he really wasn’t worried about the cost—someone else was covering the rent.
With the promotion, his salary had jumped to $98,000 a year.
He would start work on September 19 when he was to report to the Robert F.
Kennedy Building, the principal headquarters of the Department of Justice, also known as Main Justice.
He would join the ranks of hundreds of other young lawyers, all working diligently to protect the legal interests of the country.
He had not been assigned a division yet, nor did he care where they put him.
He would just go through the motions for a few months, then move on to a far more exciting assignment.
He had a couple of weeks to play in the city, though the time was not entirely his.
Rae Claire had a schedule for that too. They “first” met randomly at a bar near the Pentagon, on a Friday night in early September.
Some friends introduced them. Things clicked and they decided to walk around the block for a pizza.
Photos were taken, later to be posted on her mildly active social media.
“They’re not watching now,” she liked to say. “But they might be watching later.” There was also an excellent chance that they would never notice the newlyweds.
For their first real date they went to a Nationals game on a hot night in early September.
Rae Claire was not sure what a “pennant race” was, nor did she understand anything about the game.
She disliked baseball, football, and most other popular sports.
To work up a sweat, she enjoyed biking and tennis, but admitted she was just not that athletic.
Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Nash reminded himself that they had little in common.
She had known that for some time, since the early days of her deep dive into his background.
As she and her team culled one prospect after another and Mr. Stuart Nash rose steadily to the top of her list, she realized that her first husband was someone who shared few of her interests.
And for months now she had been convinced that that was a good thing.
She did not want to become emotionally attached to him.
She only hoped he was likable and they could enjoy their time together. That had yet to be determined.
So far she found Nash to be pleasant, rather quiet, but a thoughtful conversationalist, and he rarely cursed, which she admired.
When she was around other younger members of the agency, she was often surprised at their coarse language.
Fortunately, she saw little of them. Friendships were difficult, especially since she did not work at Langley.
Since they didn’t dare discuss politics or religion, and since his musical tastes ran toward country, which she loathed, while hers were all jazz and opera, which he’d never heard, she had an idea. They had to discuss something while pretending to fall in love.
It had been obvious to both at the outset that anything remotely similar to love was not going to happen.
So they would form their own little private two-person book club.
Nash would go first and pick any book he wanted.
They would discuss it as much as they liked, then Rae Claire would select one.
Complaining about the other’s choice was not permissible.
Indeed, one goal was to force themselves to read books they would not otherwise consider.
The club got off to a rough start when Nash picked Gods and Generals, a famous book about the Battle of Gettysburg.
He deliberately chose it to see if she could suffer through and get to the end.
She did so with an admirable determination and they had several lively discussions about the Civil War.
Occasionally she quipped, “And who won that one?”
Rae Claire’s first was Little Drummer Girl, by John le Carré, a former British spy.
It was about a brilliant covert operation by the Israelis to stop a group of Palestinian terrorists from killing prominent Jews in Europe.
Stuart enjoyed the book so much he said he was thinking about becoming an espionage agent.
“Nash, you’re already becoming one. Just stick with me.”
They became le Carré fans and devoured his early novels when they were together.
When they finished with his famous protagonist, the conflicted spy George Smiley, they moved on to his later works, which they found less enjoyable.
With the operation paying the bills, they quickly fell into the habit of dining out at least twice a week, and never in a restaurant they had tried before.
Both were content to keep a table between them and talk about books.
There was no physical attraction, no magnetism that pulled them together.
They rarely touched and never held hands.
They were compatible on the most basic level, primarily because the job required it.
She made it clear that their relationship, although platonic, must be monogamous.
They could not run the risk of being seen in photos with other dates.
Nash agreed and promised it would not be a problem.
He was certain he could behave himself until December.
However, he was quickly learning that D.C.
was brimming with single thirty-year-olds looking for fun.
Before long, Rae Claire’s friends were asking about the guy. She tried to be coy but it was obvious something was in the works. Stuart’s sister called one night to ask about the girl in the photos.
The gossip was starting.
—
Stuart was assigned to the antitrust division at Main Justice.
His workspace was a temporary cubbyhole in an overcrowded cubicle that at least four other young lawyers called home.
He spent most of the first week in a basement conference room getting oriented with other rookies.
He was so far down the food chain he was unable to count the number of supervisions and bosses above him, so he stopped trying.
His goal was to keep his immediate team leader content with his performance, whatever that was supposed to be.
She was polite and encouraging. Rae Claire had assured him that his runway was clear.
He was to be given great flexibility for the next few months.
He planned to be gone before they missed him.
If he survived the operation and returned in one piece, he had already decided that he would never become another bureaucrat.
His apartment had a swanky gym in the basement, complete with the services of a trainer, a former college volleyball player who Nash was immediately attracted to.
She was in demand, and he soon realized that most of her male clients hung around the gym for more than one reason.
Since Nash was already in great shape, she pushed him to pump even more iron and ratchet up the training.
He was running thirty miles a week. She wanted forty.
He thought about asking her out for a drink, but let it pass.
There were plenty of other gym rats waiting in line.
Nash assumed he was being watched by the same people he was working for. Trying to think like a spy, he imagined that his apartment was bugged and probably under surveillance. He did not search for them. He assumed the friendly neighbor across the hall was being friendly for a reason.
After a month in Washington, and after a stack of le Carré novels, he was watching his rearview mirror and peeking around corners. He was extremely careful with the phone and internet. Everything leaves a trail. Someone could be listening.