David Morrell - Covenant Of The Flame

by Covenant Of The Flame(lit)

  'Wait. A moment ago, you said "recent events".' The sixth man straightened.' What recent events?

  'Well,' the chameleon said. 'Yes.' He hesitated. They're the reason I requested this meeting.' His eyes and voice became somber. 'Last night.'

  He described what had happened to his counterpart.

  'They burned him?' The sixth man turned pale.

  'Yes.' The chameleon tasted bile as he stood from the dusty teacher's desk. 'Our watcher had two men working with him. Both were on foot, one hiding behind the mansion in case the woman went out the back, the other farther along the street, among bushes. The latter man saw a silver Corniche leave the mansion. When the car drove by, he managed to get its license number, eventually using his contacts to find out who owned the car. That's how we know that Brian Hamilton was at the mansion. The latter man also saw the assassin rush toward the watcher's car and shoot him. The next thing, the assassin drove the Taurus away. The watcher's backup man hotwired a Cadillac on the street and pursued. He found the Taurus burning in a shopping mall's otherwise empty parking lot. When he realized that there wasn't any way he could help, he left the scene before the police arrived.'

  'But if our man was already shot, why did they.?' The second man's voice cracked.

  'Set fire to him?' The chameleon grimaced. 'No doubt, to make an example. To demoralize us.'

  'In that case, they failed,' the third man said with fury. They'll pay. I'll put them in hell.'

  'We all will,' the sixth man said.

  'And make them pay for other things as well,' the chameleon said, his mouth tasting sour.

  'You mean there's more?' The fourth man jerked upright, inadvertently banging his knees against the top of the small desk.

  'Unfortunately. Last night, at the same time our operative was shot while he watched the mansion."

  NINE

  Brian Hamilton set down the cellular telephone in the shadowy back seat of his silver Corniche, frowned, and leaned forward toward his bodyguard-driver. 'Steve, you heard?'

  The husky, former Marine, an expert in reconnaissance, nodded firmly. 'That was Eric Chatham. You want me to drive to his home.'

  'Exactly. Get me to West Falls Church as soon as possible.'

  'I'm already headed toward the freeway.'

  With that taken care of, Brian Hamilton slumped back and brooded. The story that Tess had told him. and the photographs she'd shown him. troubled him greatly. Whoever the man called Joseph Martin had really been, there was something he'd been hiding.

  Or running from. Hamilton was sure of that. Yes. Whatever that something might be, it was as terrible as the blood-stained whip in Joseph Martin's closet and the grotesque sculpture that Tess had photographed.

  Back at the mansion, Hamilton had described that photograph as weird, but the adjective understated his severe revulsion. The bas-relief statue filled him with disgust.

  He bit his lip, with a deepening apprehension that Tess had become involved in something so twisted and dangerous that it might get her killed. Hadn't she said that she feared she was being followed?

  Hamilton's jaw muscles hardened. Whatever was going on, he intended to use all his power, all his influence, every I.O.U. at his disposal to find out what threatened Tess and to make sure it was stopped.

  After all, he owed her. For several reasons. Not the least of which was that he'd been her father's friend but had followed orders from his superiors and reluctantly sent Remington Drake to Beirut to negotiate a secret arms deal with the Christians against the Moslems. As a consequence, he'd been responsible for her father's abduction by the Moslems, Drake's torture, and eventual brutal death. It wasn't any wonder that Tess hated him. By all means, she had good reason. But if helping her and possibly saving her life would erase that hate, Brian Hamilton had all the motivation he needed, especially since her mother and he had come to an arrangement. After all, he couldn't very well have a stepdaughter who loathed him.

  Continuing to brood, he noticed that his bodyguard had reached the freeway and was speeding toward Falls Church, Virginia, ten miles away. In a very few minutes, Brian Hamilton would be able to describe his problem to the director of the FBI and demand that Eric Chatham use the full resources of the Bureau to find out who Joseph Martin had been and who had killed him. As much as Hamilton owed Tess, Eric Chatham owed him, and now, by God, it was payback time.

  'Sir, we might have a problem,' the bodyguard-driver said.

  'What problem?' Hamilton straightened.

  'It's possible we're being followed.'

  His stomach suddenly cramping, Hamilton pivoted to stare through the car's back window. 'The minivan behind us?'

  'Yes, sir. At first, I thought it was just a coincidence. But it's been tailing us since before we left Alexandria.'

  'Lose it.'

  'That's what I'm trying to do, sir.'

  The Corniche sped up.

  But so did the minivan.

  'Persistent,' the driver said.

  'I told you to lose it.'

  'Where, sir? We're on a freeway, if you don't mind me pointing out the obvious. I'm doing ninety. And I don't see an exit ramp.'

  'Wait a minute! It's changing lanes! It looks like it wants to pass us!' Hamilton said.

  'Yes, sir. It could be. possibly. maybe I'm wrong.'

  The minivan, having veered into the passing lane, increased speed and came abreast of the Corniche. But as Hamilton watched, he felt his heart lurch. On the minivan's passenger side, someone was rolling down a window.

  'Look out!' Hamilton's driver blurted.

  Too late.

  From the open window, someone threw a bottle. The bottle had a rag stuffed into its mouth.

  The rag was on fire.

  'Jesus!'

  The bodyguard swerved toward the freeway's gravel shoulder, frantically reducing speed, but the bottle - which must have been constructed from specially designed, brittle glass - shattered on impact against the Corniche's windshield and spewed blazing gasoline over the car.

  Blinded by flames -

  - on the hood! -

  - and oh, Christ, on the windshield! -

  - the driver tried desperately to control his steering. In the backseat, Hamilton gaped to the left, horrified to see the van streak sharply toward the Corniche. He felt the van slam brutally against the Corniche's side, slam it again, and again, and propel the Corniche off the freeway's shoulder.

  Hamilton's stomach dropped. The Corniche, now completely engulfed with flames, crashed through a guardrail, soared through the air, and collided with.

  Hamilton screamed. He never knew what the car hit. The sudden shocking force of the crash slammed him forward, catapulting him up, over, and beyond the front seat, walloping his skull against the dashboard.

  But what the passengers in the minivan saw with calculated satisfaction was that the Corniche had impacted against a massive steel electrical tower. The collision burst the Corniche's fuel tank. A huge exploding fireball disintegrated the car and spewed pieces of flesh, bone, and metal for fifty yards in every direction, the flames gushing upward for a hundred feet. As the minivan sped onward, disappearing among traffic, its rear window reflected the spectacular pyre in the darkness beside the freeway.

  TEN

  The chameleon removed the folded front section of the New York Times from beneath a notepad on his clipboard. He held it up so the group could see the headline - FORMER SECRETARY OF STATE DIES IN FIERY FREEWAY DISASTER - then handed the newspaper to the second man. 'When you're finished, pass it around.'

  'I've already read it. I didn't know the connection, but the moment you mentioned Brian Hamilton, I realized what you were getting at.'

  'Well,' the third man said, 'I didn't have a chance to read the paper this morning. Let me see.'

  One-by-one, the somber-faced men read the article.

  'Fire,' the sixth man said with disgust. 'They're so in love with fire.' Lips curled, he set down the paper and studied the chameleon. 'You seem to
have so many answers. What about this one. Why did they kill him?'

  'I don't have answers exactly. What I do have are calculated assumptions,' the chameleon said. Tess Drake makes a sudden trip to see her mother. When she gets to the mansion in Alexandria, is it a coincidence that the former Secretary of State and current main adviser to the President just happens to be waiting there when she arrives? Not likely. I have to conclude that so important a man was summoned by the woman, that Hamilton - a friend of her dead father - was the person she primarily wanted to see and not her mother, that Tess Drake was using her late father's influence to enlist powerful help in discovering who Joseph Martin was and why he was killed.'

  The third man shrugged. 'Assumptions, as you admit. However, I grant that they're logical.'

  'And I also have to conclude that the enemy followed Tess Drake to the mansion just as our own people did,' the chameleon continued. 'When the enemy identified Hamilton's Corniche in the driveway and realized what the woman was doing, they must have decided that Hamilton's death was essential to keeping their secret. It's my belief that they wanted to prevent him from telling others what he'd learned and using his connections with the government to enlarge the scope of the investigation.'

  The fifth man traced his finger along pencil engravings on the desktop of his miniature chair. 'Possibly.'

  'You don't sound convinced.'

  'Well, your assumptions make sense to a point, but. What I have trouble with is. If the enemy went to the trouble and took the risk of assassinating Hamilton, they still wouldn't have solved their problem, at least not completely. Their secret would not yet be fully protected. To accomplish that, they'd have to be totally, absolutely thorough, and the most important person to eliminate would be.'

  The chameleon nodded. 'Precisely.'

  'You're telling me.?'

  'Yes.'

  'Dear God!' the sixth man said.

  'My thought, as well. Dear God. Last night. shortly after two."

  ELEVEN

  Standing rigidly in her bedroom in the mansion in Alexandria, Tess cramped her fingers around the telephone as she listened to Craig's gravelly, urgent voice.

  'I want you to promise me,' Craig said. 'Swear it. Be careful!'

  'I guarantee,' Tess emphasized. 'I won't take any chances.'

  'Keep your word. And promise me this as well. Swear you'll phone me tomorrow as soon as you get copies made of the photographs. Then Fed-Ex them to me as fast as possible.'

  'I will. I promise,' Tess said.

  'Look, I don't want to sound like a jealous lover, but I'll feel a whole lot better when you get back here.'

  'Honestly,' Tess said, 'I'll be okay. Just because someone torched Joseph's apartment, it's a big leap to thinking I'm in danger.'

  'Oh, yeah?' Craig raised his voice. 'Then what about the guy in the photo shop?'

  Tess didn't answer. She reluctantly admitted to herself that she'd been feeling more and more uneasy.

  'Okay, what's your mother's address and phone number?' Craig asked and coughed. 'I think it's a good idea. I want to be able to reach you if anything else happens that you should know about.'

  Tess gave him that information.

  'Good,' Craig said. 'I repeat, I wish you'd get back here.'

  'Look, even if I were in Manhattan, what could you do, assuming you're right and I'm in danger? You can't stay with me all the time.'

  'You never know. It might come to that.'

  'Hey, don't exaggerate.' Tess quivered. 'You're scaring me.'

  'Good. At last. I'm finally getting my point across.' The lieutenant's voice dropped, the long-distance static crackling. 'And anyway.' He sounded nervous. 'Would it really be so bad if I was with you all the time?'

  'What?' Tess frowned. 'I'm not sure what you mean.'

  'I told you yesterday on the way to Joseph's apartment. This started out as police business. Now it belongs to Homicide, not Missing Persons. But I still want to stay involved. Because of you.'

  Tess frowned harder.

  'No response?' Craig asked.

  'I'm trying to sort this out. Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

  'As far as I'm concerned, this isn't business anymore. I want to get to know you.'

  'But.'

  'Whatever it is, say it, Tess.'

  'You're ten years older than me.'

  'So what? You've got a prejudice? You don't like mature men, dependable men, guys like me who've been there and back and around some and don't have any illusions or expectations and don't make problems?'

  'It's not exactly that. I mean.' Tess squirmed. 'It's just. Well, I never thought about.'

  'Well, do me a favor and give it some thought. I don't want to be pushy. I know a lot's been happening, not the least of which is you've lost your friend, and I'm sorry for that, and I repeat, I don't want to make problems for you. I'm patient. But hey, I bathe every day.'

  Tess couldn't help it. She laughed.

  'Good,' Craig said. 'I like that. I like to hear you laugh. So think about it, would you? Or at any rate, keep it in the back of your mind? No big deal. No pressure. But maybe. damn it, I'm so. maybe, when this is over, we can talk about it.'

  'Sure.' Tess swallowed. 'If. When. I promise, when this is over, we'll talk about it.'

  'That's all I'm asking. You don't sound enthusiastic, but that's okay - I appreciate your patience. This next part, however, is business. I don't care how busy you are - just make sure you call me tomorrow when you send me the copies of those photographs.'

  'Word of honor,' Tess said. 'Good night.'

  'Good night,' Craig responded. 'And by the way, I don't gamble. I seldom drink. And I'm kind to animals, children, the poor, the infirm, not to mention the aged. Think about it.' The lieutenant broke the connection.

  Tess listened to the emptiness of the long-distance static, breathed out in confusion, trembled, and' set the phone on its receptacle.

  For several moments, she didn't move.

  Oh, Christ!

  She hadn't counted on this. She'd been vaguely aware of the lieutenant's attraction to her, but she'd ignored it. There'd been too many other things to concern her.

  But now that the subject was in the open, Tess didn't know how to respond. Craig was pleasant enough, and indeed he was good looking in a rugged sort of way. For sure, he'd taken pains to be kind and helpful. And she'd definitely appreciated his company in trying circumstances.

  But did she feel attracted to him? Physically? Sexually? Certainly it didn't match the powerful, overwhelming identification she'd experienced with Joseph the first time she'd met him.

  Tess recalled the theory in The Dove's Neck Ring that love at first sight was actually love at second sight.

  Because the souls of the lovers had known each other in a previous existence and now recognized each other in this reborn earthly form.

  Damn it, Tess thought, what am I going to do? I don't want to embarrass or insult the lieutenant. But after all, Craig is older than me. At the same time.

  . Tess paced.

  . I do feel something for him.

  And maybe being comfortable with a man is better than suffering a sickening blaze of passion.

  She remembered that The Dove's Neck Ring had referred to physical - as opposed to spiritual - passion as an infirmity, a type of illness.

  What am I going to do?

  Tess felt guilty. She'd been distant and perhaps even rude to Craig when he'd raised the subject of his attraction to her at the end of their conversation.

  Her guiltiness troubled her. I can't let the subject hang in the air, she thought. Too many other things to worry about. I have to get this settled.

  She picked up the phone.

  To call the lieutenant.

  To explain to him what she'd just been thinking.

  To be totally honest and with kindness confess her uncertainty.

  But when she held the phone to her ear, she frowned.

  There wasn't a dial tone.
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  Impatient, she jabbed down the disconnect button, raised it, and listened again.

  Still no dial tone.

  More impatient, she tapped the disconnect button several times.