CLOAK & CORKSCREW: 38) A NEW DEAL
My Saturday Evening Post: A Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy
76.
Josh Penner’s phone rang. He thought for certain it was State Department/Venezuelan spy Jack Woodward to follow up on travel logistics. He might otherwise have ignored a blocked called.
“This is Brook Holden, the President of TZM,” said a voice.
Rage welled inside Penner, sorry he answered. “Why the fuck would I want to talk to you?” He almost hung up.
“Because we know about your relationship with the CIA and we are ethically obliged to ask for your version of events, and solicit your comment before publishing.”
“What the hell are you babbling about?”
“Is that a denial, Mr. Penner, that you operated as an access agent for the CIA when meeting with Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez?”
Penner did not know how to act his way out of this one. He needed a scriptwriter. “Look, I don’t know what you’re smoking but…”
“That’s our story,” Holden interrupted. “And that’s what we’re going to run unless you want to come down and talk about it.”
“Down where?”
“I’m in the lobby.”
“The Willard?”
“Yes.”
Penner absorbed this. “I’m coming down.”
“And just so you know,” said Holden. “If you lay one finger on me, I will kick your ass from here to Capitol Hill.”
Shit, shit, shit. Penner descended in an elevator, his mind racing about the ramifications of being exposed as a CIA agent: Aside from anything else, it would totally blow the FBI’s operation to snare Jack Woodward. Should he call Jenny Jones? Nah, the Bureau had already come to his aid in Boston. Why, if this blew up they might even send him back there to face air rage charges. Better to act his way out of this. Kill the TZM scumbag with kindness. An Academy Award-winning performance.
The doors opened and Penner glanced around the expansive lobby. His eyes settled on a fellow Angelino by the distinctive look: black jeans, black round-necked tee and black sports jacket. The actor strode right up to him, right arm outstretched, big smile. “Josh Penner.”
Holden studied the celebrity, quietly surprised. This was the tough guy who frightened everyone with his temper?
“May I buy you lunch?” asked Mr. Charming.
Holden shook his head. “Not necessary, thanks. We can just sit here and talk.”
Penner took the chair next to Holden’s, leaned forward. “I want to apologize for my treatment of your reporters. It’s no excuse, but I was suffering a lot of stress at the time. I’m going to work out a settlement between them and me.”
Holden regarded the oh-so humbled actor with professional detachment. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about.”
“Oh, right. You want to follow up on some silly rumor about me working for he CIA.” Penner cracked a huge smile. “Me, of all people?” He shook his head to demonstrate how ridiculous such a notion would sound to most people.
“The perfect cover, no?” said Holden. “Fidel and Hugo, with your leftist leanings, they’d never suspect it? Very cool,” he added.
Penner’s smile disappeared. “It’s not true.”
“I have good sources,” said Holden.
“Like who?”
“For the moment, it doesn’t matter. I’m asking you: Have you been working undercover for the CIA.”
Penner shook his head, “Nope.”
Holden crossed his arms. “We feel confident enough to publish a story about it.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Holden smiled. “Take your chances. I’m giving you the opportunity to be honest. Otherwise, you’ll end up looking like a liar—which is a lot worse than looking like a CIA agent. I actually believe what you’ve been doing will enhance your image. You could even make a movie about it.”
“If you print I’m a CIA agent, I’ll sue.”
Holden chuckled. “I don’t think you will.” He reached into the inside pocket of his sport coat. “Let me show you something.” He passed several photos to Penner, taken in Geneva and Zurich.
Penner flipped through them, shrugged. “I don’t know what these are supposed to prove.”
“It bolsters our story. That, and what we know from our sources, you’d lose in court.”
Penner looked at Holden long and hard, his smile now transformed into a glare. “So what do you want from me—some kind of deal not to publish?” This guy’s worse than that State Department freak.
“I don’t need a deal—just crossing my Ts and dotting my Is. My business is publishing showbiz stories. And this is one helluva story.”
“I need a smoke.” Penner gestured at the front door. “Wanna join me?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“We can talk some more.”
“About what?”
“I’m thinking. A smoke will help.”
Holden nodded, rose and followed the actor through The Willard’s grand revolving door, half-expecting Penner to strike out.
But the movie star calmly lit a cigarette, drew it deep and blew smoke rings at the sky. “I’ll make you a deal,” he finally said.
“Like I said, I don’t need one.” But Holden’s curiosity got the better of him. “What do you have in mind?”
Inspired by an intense infusion of nicotine, Penner laid out what he had in mind.