by David Wind
“I’m going home to pack a bag and make a couple of phone calls. You’re going home to call your friend Grange and have him square you with the Feds.”
“They don’t know who I am.”
“They will.”
Steven was acutely aware he was racing against the clock. Although he told Carla the agents would be out for an hour, there were other factors involved. Someone might have seen the confrontation and reported it to the police, or either agent might have awakened sooner than the hour Steven had predicted. Even if the men were undisturbed for the full hour, he was well aware of the time he’d used to meet with Raden, and would use going home.
But the time had not been wasted. On the drive to his townhouse, he planned objectives for the hours and the days ahead: the first was to disappear; the second was harder—to formulate his hunt for the killer.
When he reached his townhouse, he left Carla in the car with instructions that if she saw anyone coming, cops or FBI, she was to leave and not look back.
He entered cautiously, checking to make sure that no one was there. When he was certain he was alone, he shut down the thermostats, and took a suitcase out of the hall closet.
He checked his watch. Time was going too fast. He went into the bedroom and methodically threw clothing into his suitcase. Next, he took off his tuxedo, replacing it with jeans and a pullover shirt.
Then he went to the closet and pushed aside the clothing until he found a pair of Ellie’s jeans and a sweater. He packed them into the suitcase for Carla.
Whether Carla knew it or not, the Bureau would send out a bulletin about him and Carla using their last description—a woman wearing a white formal gown and a man in a black tuxedo. Neither of them could stay in their formal wear.
Steven shut the suitcase and took it into the living room. He left the case in the hallway, and went into the den. He saw that the phone machine was blinking.
He rewound the tape and played it back. There was a message from Paul Grange, asking Steven to call him. Grange left two numbers, which Steven wrote down.
He went to the wall safe, set inside the bookshelves. He opened the safe and removed an envelope with emergency money—twenty hundred dollar bills.
He put the money in his pocket, went to the phone, and dialed Arnie Savak.
While the phone buzzed in his ear, he glanced outside. He saw Carla, silhouetted in the car window. He thought he saw her bring the car phone to her ear.
Just as Steven was about to give up on Savak, his friend answered. Speaking rapidly, Steven filled him in on the night’s events, finishing with, “Arnie, I have to hide for a while.”
“I understand,” Savak said, his voice tense. “I’ll start making calls to get this fixed, but I don’t think it will be as easy as in Greyton. I don’t know what the FBI thinks they have on you, but we’ll find out. Call me when you’re safe.”
There were a hundred things he wanted to say; none reached his lips. “Arnie, thank you.”
“Get moving!”
Steven hung up, took a final look at his home, and started out. He stopped at the hall closet and pulled out his leather jacket. Outside, he tossed the suitcase into the back seat and got behind the wheel. He started the car, put it into drive, and pulled away. Then he slammed on the brakes. “What?” Carla asked.
“We can’t use this car. The FBI knows the vehicle, and Carla, I’m sure the phone is bugged. How else could Blayne have known I’d be at the hospital? Damn it!” he shouted, hitting the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “I used the phone in the house. It’s probably tapped as well.”
He thought back to his talk with Savak, and realized he’d given no clue as to his destination. “We’ll have to switch cars. We can use my Bronco. When I pull it out of the garage, put this one inside.”
Minutes later, they were in the Bronco and heading for the highway. “Did you call Grange from the car phone?” Steven asked as he turned the corner and headed for the Beltway.
Carla looked at him sharply. “Yes. He wasn’t in.”
Steven nodded. “I saw you from the window.”
“I left a message,” she said a moment later. “I told him you were in trouble. I said we’d try to call him later.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“Okay. The Feds won’t be able to make anything of that.”
“Where are we going?” Carla asked when Steven pulled onto the beltway and headed toward Maryland.
“A motel,” he said. An hour had passed since leaving Blayne and Grodin in the car. He had to act as if the alarm was out.
They decided on the Red Top motel just outside of College Park. The nondescript motel catered to businessmen and college students. It was as safe as they would get. During the ride, Carla had gone into the back of the Bronco and changed into Ellie’s jeans and sweater.
“My shoes,” she said as Steven rolled to a stop.
“It’s late,” he replied, looking down at her formal satin high heels. “The clerk won’t notice.” He handed her a hundred dollar bill.
She was gone for five minutes. When she got back in, she smiled and said, “We have a back room. Drive around to the rear. It’s the second room, first floor. The clerk noticed. Probably thinks I’m a…hooker.”
Steven smiled. “Good.”
They parked in front of their door and went inside. The room, done in motel modern had two double beds, a small desk, and a chained television all set atop a gold wall-to-wall carpet. The placard on the fake walnut veneer TV told them HBO was free of charge and on channel three. A framed landscape print hung between the two beds. The bathroom was large and utilitarian.
Steven closed the door and turned to Carla. “Call a cab.”
She looked at him from over her shoulder. Her jaw jutted stubbornly forward. “Why would I do that?”
“I want you safe.”
She turned, standing arms akimbo. “Steven, my sister loves you and trusts you. Someone out there tried to kill her, and is trying to frame you for it. I owe it to Ellie to stay with you until we find out who it is.”
Steven shook his head. “Carla, all I’m doing is dragging you deeper into something you may never get out of.”
“I came willingly, didn’t I? Besides, don’t you think that what happened at the hospital shows you need me?”
“I would have handled Grodin.”
“Maybe so, but we’ll never know. Why don’t you give the macho act a rest and say thank you.”
He gave up the argument and smiled. “Thank you.
“You’re welcome. What’s our next step?” she asked, her eyes brightening.
Watching her, Steven realized that even though he’d asked her to get out of this, he was glad she’d stayed. He wanted her help. “Joshua Raden and his brother’s letter.”
Carla’s brows joined ends. “How will that help us?”
“It depends on what Jeremy wrote about the last mission. If it’s what I think it is, it may help Grange to believe me.”
Steven called Raden, who answered on the first ring. Without identifying himself, he gave the motel’s name, address, and the room number. Raden told him a half hour.
“There’s some vending machines in the office. I’ll get us coffee,” Carla said.
When she left, Steven turned on the television and lay down on the bed. He put his hands behind his head, and watched the all-news cable station.
For the last hour and a half, he’d been running on adrenaline, planning his next move without thinking back to the reason for the arrest attempt. Why was the Bureau so damn sure I’m the one? Because of the plane, or was there more?
He thought back to his first meeting with Grange, wondering if the Secret Service agent’s explanation about the classified information leaked to the Russians was accurate. It didn’t make any more sense now than it had when Grange first told him.
No one in Pritman’s office had access to the high echelon secrets Grange spoke of. It had to be some
thing else.
Before he could think of an answer, he found himself watching the reception for the Chinese Ambassador. The newscaster spoke in voiceover as the camera panned across the room. Steven watched Pritman talking with the senator from California. Then he saw Xzi Tao enter the grand ballroom and shake the Vice President’s hand.
“That’s spooky,” Carla said when she came back. She knelt on the side of the bed, and handed Steven a cup of coffee.
The video tape ended and the newscaster was editorializing the possibilities brought about by the Chinese Summit taking place over the next few weeks. Steven shut the TV off. He took a sip of coffee and grimaced at its bitterness.
“I know,” Carla said, apologetically, “but it was all they had.”
“It’s fine.” He looked at his watch, and then out the window.
“It’s only been fifteen minutes,” Carla said. Steven nodded. “I’ve been trying to figure out what Grange said, about the espionage. It doesn’t make sense.”
“None of it makes sense,” Carla said. “Not the espionage, not Ellie’s being hurt, and not your being blamed for it.”
Steven felt a surge of warmth for Carla. “You’re really something. Five days ago you were lying in the sun in Bermuda. Now you’re hiding out in a motel in Maryland, defending the man accused of the attempted murder of your sister.”
Carla shrugged her shoulders.
“We’ll find out who did it,” Steven promised.
Carla’s eyes changed. Something dark formed within their recesses as she said, “I know we will.”
<><><>
Arnold Savak paced the bounds of his living room, a white and gray portable phone glued to his ear. On the seventh ring, Simon Clarke picked up the phone.
The senator’s press secretary sounded sluggish and irritated.
Without preamble, Savak said, “I want you to have a series of statements ready for Pritman. All of them will be about Steven and Ellie and their present situation. All of the statements will, in one form or another, say that Pritman is sticking by Steven.”
“What happened?” Clarke asked, concern replacing the anger of seconds before.
“Steven had another tangle with the FBI. Simon, make the statements good. They must be convincing.”
“Arnie, what the hell is going on? You know we can’t afford something like this.”
“I know. But we can’t take the chance all of this is a setup to discredit Pritman. If it is an opposition ploy, and we don’t react positively, we’ll blow the nomination before we get our shot at it. Simon, I’m trying and keep this contained, but if I can’t...”
“I don’t like the way this is escalating. Maybe it’s time we cut Stev—”
“No. Just get those statements done,” Savak ordered and hung up.
He tried another number, but the person had left for home a half hour before. Savak paced again, his muscles demanding exercise. He waited the ten minutes he deemed necessary before calling again.
When the time was up, he dialed the number. As he waited, he pictured the house where the phone was ringing— a large white clapboard colonial on an acre of well-manicured grass, in a very expensive section of Alexandria. The Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation owned the house.
When the phone was answered, Savak said, “Tim, its Arnie Savak. I need your help.”
“I was expecting your call,” Timothy Courtney said in a guarded voice. “But you’re wasting your time. Arnie, your friend stepped way over the line tonight. I can’t help you any more, not after what Morrisy did to Blayne and Grodin.”
Savak stared at a painting on his living room wall. His eyes narrowed. “You owe me, Courtney. No ifs, ands or buts. You came to me two years ago and asked for my help and for Philip Pritman’s help. You got it, and your promotion. Now it’s your turn.”
“Arnie, there’s nothing I can do,” Courtney said, “Morrisy assaulted two agents. Judge Crawford signed a federal warrant a half hour ago. The entire Bureau is on alert. I can’t stop his arrest this time.”
Savak began to pace again. “But you can keep it contained within the Bureau. You can make sure the arrest orders read not to shoot.”
Savak heard the man’s deep sigh. “I won’t make you any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“No. You’ll damn well do it. Because, Timothy, if you don’t, when you wake up tomorrow morning, the only future you’ll have left in Washington will be in planning how to pack up your house and family and move back to Pocatello.”
“Are you threatening me?” Courtney demanded, his voice rising sharply.
“No,” Savak replied in a half whisper, “I’m just stating a fact. I need your help. You’re my friend, and Steven is my friend. I don’t turn my back on my friends, and I expect the same thing in return.”
During the pause that followed, Savak heard the assistant director breathing unevenly. Finally, Courtney said, “I’ll see what I can do. But Arnie, no matter what you think you can do to me, if this is some sort of cover-up to protect Pritman, I won’t be a part of it.”
“This isn’t for Pritman. He has nothing to do with this. It’s for Steven.”
After hanging up, Savak began to pace again. A few minutes later, his doorbell rang. Wondering who would be calling on him, he answered the bell.
When he opened the door, he not only knew whom, but why. He side-stepped as a hastily dressed Simon Clarke with Roy McGinnis and the rest of Philip Pritman’s top advisors and staff marched inside. When they were all standing in the living room, Simon Clarke said, “We’re going to talk about this situation, now.”
Chapter Sixteen
Exactly thirty minutes after hanging up on Joshua Raden, headlights blossomed in the room’s window.
The lights went out. A car door closed. Steven peered from behind the window’s curtain. “It’s Joshua,” he told Carla, who went to the door and opened it.
The young neurologist was wearing the same clothing he’d been in earlier. Under his arm was a small metal letterbox. He put the box on the desk and took off his jacket.
“Did you have any problems after we left you?” Raden shook his head.
“I went home and waited for your call. No one else called or came by.”
“Good,” Steven said, relieved that the Feds hadn’t connected Raden to him.
“I’ll make the arrangements to get Ellie two private duty nurses, first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I had the guard cleared to stay with Ellie until the end of his eight-to-four shift. At four, another guard will replace him. That guard will stay in the room until the first private duty nurse starts her shift.”
“Thank you, Joshua, It means a lot to me.”
“Steven, I brought all of Jeremy’s letters,” Raden said, pointing to the metal box.
Steven went to the desk, sat, and opened the lid. He took out the letters. Without putting them in any order, he began to read.
Before he’d finished the first censored paragraph, he returned, in time and distance to the days of the war. As he read, he visualized everything Raden had written. The presence of the two people in the room faded until all there was, was Vietnam—The Nam, The War.
He read for almost an hour before finishing. At the end, he separated Raden’s last letter, written the night before their last mission.
Rubbing his eyelids, Steven faced Carla and Raden. “Your brother saw the fallacy from the very beginning. Christ almighty, why didn’t he say something to us?”
“It was only a guess,” Joshua said.
“A prophetic one. If Jeremy had lived, he would have been a hell of a writer.”
“Would one of you like to tell me what you’re talking about?” Carla asked.
Steven moistened his dry lips. The emotions brought out by the letters were still thick in his head and voice. “The mission in Nam when we were captured. Joshua’s brother was with us.”
Carla blinked. She looked from Steven to Joshua Raden and back. “
Then you knew each other before this?”
“No, it was coincidence. We met on the helicopter that took your sister from Greyton Memorial to Georgetown. I was on duty when we got word of Ellie’s transfer and that a Steven Morrisy of Senator Pritman’s staff would accompany her. I recognized Steven’s name immediately. Because important names, like Senator Pritman, command big attention at the hospital, I was able to wrangle a spot on the transfer team.”
“I understand,” she said with a single bob of her head. “But what about the mission?”
“In a funny sort of a way, it parallels what’s happening to Ellie and to me,” Steven said softly. “The mission, like the frame being engineered against me, was very different from how it appeared.”
“In what way?” Carla asked, her eyes wide with interest.
“Not now.” He picked up the last letter Jeremy had written in Vietnam, and looked at it. “Joshua, may I keep this letter? I’ll do my best to get it back to you.”
“Of course. If it will help you.”
“I believe it will. Thank you Joshua, for everything. Take care of Ellie.”
Frowning, Raden cocked his head to the side. “You sound like you won’t be back.”
Steven took a moment before answering. He glanced at Carla, and then at the letter before saying, “I don’t know if I will be. But I’m going to try like hell. Just make sure Ellie is never alone. Not for a minute.”
“Steven,” Carla said, “If you really think Ellie’s in danger, I can have Paul arrange for protection. He’ll do it for me, and for Ellie.”
Steven wondered just how close she and Paul Grange were. And exactly what their relationship was. “Are you sure?”
“He’ll do it for me,” she repeated.
“A private duty nurse is still a good idea,” Raden said. “I planned on putting Ellie into coma recovery therapy next week. We’ll need a trained nurse for that. It’s a laborious procedure, done on a continual basis throughout the day.”
Steven put his hand on Raden’s shoulder and exerted a light pressure. “Joshua, the FBI will eventually question. You must maintain that you had no knowledge of what happened at the hospital.”
