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“I know you already spoke to PT,” Myron said.
“And he made it clear he knows more,” Win said. “No harm in reaching out.”
Win put his office phone on speaker and dialed PT’s number. He threw his feet up on the desk as the first ring trilled. Myron sat across from him and waited. On the third ring, the familiar gruff voice came through.
“Is Myron with you?” PT asked without preamble.
Myron said, “I am.”
“Lunch at Le Bernardin. Just the three of us.”
He clicked off.
“It’s like he was expecting our call,” Myron said.
“Indeed.”
“What do you make of it?”
Win thought about it a moment. “The FBI must have a hell of an expense account if he’s taking us to Le Bernardin.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PT was one of those old men who seemed to get stronger with age. He was big, bald, and intimidating. His hands looked like baseball gloves, his fingers thick as sausages. Win’s hand vanished into the baseball glove when they shook. Then Myron’s did the same.
“It’s been too long,” PT said to Myron.
It was an odd comment. Myron hadn’t seen PT in nearly two decades. Even back in the day, PT had mostly been a voice on the phone. There are men who live in the shadows of our government. PT was the shadow. Myron didn’t even know his real name.
“It has,” Myron agreed.
“You look good, Myron.”
“So do you.”
“I hear you got married.”
“We invited you to the wedding.”
“Yeah, I know.”
PT didn’t say why he couldn’t attend. Then again, Myron hadn’t expected him to. Some might think that odd, but a relationship with PT was never a normal one.
They were in a private room above Le Bernardin’s main restaurant. One wall was taken up by a Ran Ortner painting of the ocean. Ortner’s work seemed to be more marine photograph than painting—simplistic and minimalistic in most ways, and yet Myron found it hypnotic, beguiling. Myron took a moment and stared at it. There was something about Ortner’s oceans that slowed Myron’s heartbeat so that it matched the imagined rhythm of the waves.
PT put a hand on Myron’s shoulder. “Good, right?”
Myron nodded.
“Always take that second to appreciate art,” PT said. “Our lives have too much chaos in them as it is. It’s a reminder of why we do what we do.”
Myron smiled. “Aren’t we philosophical today?”
“Comes with age. You happy, Myron?”
Weird question, Myron thought, but: “Sure.”
“Win?”
