Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  He found the right neighborhood and drove slowly by the stately homes with their manicured lawns. It was a section of town where appearance meant almost everything, and a poorly thought-out guest list could be the downfall of a career. It was an aspect of Washington he'd never explored, and he wasn't certain he wanted to now.

  "Damn!" he cursed as he drew closer to Nottingham's address. The street was swarming with cars, couples and cops. "He's having a party!" Peter exclaimed under his breath as he struck the steering wheel with the base of his hand.

  He looked at his clothes. He was still in slacks and a shirt from the office. He didn't even have a tie. And he was going to attempt to crash a Washington soiree. He sighed and got out of the car.

  Falling into line behind two older couples, he made it to the butler and the front door.

  "Please tell Mr. Nottingham I need to see him about Eleanor Duncan."

  "Congressman Nottingham is unavailable for business tonight." The butler looked both ways, then bent his head. "He's having a party." The sarcasm was completely unveiled.

  "I see," Peter said, holding back his impatience. "Well, in that case, you'd better tell him to come to the door and talk with me, or I'll make a very big effort to ruin his special little night. Got it?"

  The butler drew back in disbelief. "Sir!"

  "I'm a man who's worried sick about a friend. Either Nottingham comes out here and talks to me, or I go in there and talk to him. I'd prefer to do it the polite way, but…"

  "A moment." The butler closed the door.

  Behind him, he heard laughter and the murmur of male and female voices. As additional party guests came down the walk, Nottingham opened the front door and stepped outside. He greeted his guests graciously, ushering them into the house. He closed the door firmly and turned in the darkness to confront Peter.

  "I don't know what the meaning of this could be, but I've had enough of you people. That Duncan woman was in my office today, implying terrible things about me and my associates. And now you're here, threatening to crash a dinner! I've called the police, and if you aren't gone in the next four minutes, I'm sure they'll be more than glad to take you away."

  Peter grabbed the front of Nottingham's tux. "Where's Eleanor?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." He tried to shake himself free, but Peter's grip was too tight. "She came into my office, demanded an interview, hurled accusations at me and then, after I'd gone to the trouble to set up a meeting for her, she didn't show."

  "What?" Peter released his grip.

  "She didn't bother to come over to the House and meet with Breck herself. We waited for half an hour."

  Peter stepped back; it was the moment Nottingham needed to reassert his control.

  "Now I'm going to tell you one last time. I've had it with you people. You've tried my patience too far. Get off my property or I'll have you removed. There are security men on the street and inside that front door, highly trained men." He pointed to his house.

  "What time did you see Eleanor?"

  "This afternoon. Check with my receptionist tomorrow. She keeps a record of all my visitors."

  "Dr. Duncan has disappeared," Peter said. "You were the last person to see her, as far as I can tell. Maybe we should call the police."

  Nottingham paused with his hand on the doorknob. "What are you trying to imply?" His tone was icy.

  "You saw her last, and I'm going to find her. If there's something wrong with her, I'll be back for you, Nottingham. I'll make you think what Evans did to that ape of yours was kindercare."

  "Who is this man you keep talking about? What does he have to do with me, my orangutan or that woman?"

  "That's exactly the question I was going to ask you," Peter said. "So Eleanor was in your office and you set up a meeting with Breck. I know that much. Between your office and the House, she disappeared. Don't you find that a little strange?"

  The sound of more guests arriving floated down the walk. Nottingham gestured Peter aside, behind a hedge.

  "The woman said something about Cal Vrenner, my trainer, having another identity. That's impossible. Breck had him checked out thoroughly, and he's a top behavioral specialist. He can make an animal do anything you can imagine."

  "I'm sure," Peter said. "Do you remember when a portion of International Chem-Co burned, back in the late seventies?"

  Nottingham thought for a moment. "Tragic fire. Years of research were lost. I wasn't in Washington at the time, but I do remember. A young man was arrested."

  "I was that man. It took me a long time to clear my name."

  "I'm sorry, I didn't read…"

  "You never read about that part. Nor about the man who really set the fire, another student called Arnold Evans. Well, that man is Cal Vrenner."

  "Don't be absurd. The CIA would never let such a thing slip by them. They aren't idiots, you know. Charles Breck is a personal friend of mine. He's taken as much interest in this orangutan as I have."

  "Then you're both inept."

  "I don't have to stand here and take this."

  "No, but you'd better listen to what I have to say. Eleanor told you the truth about Vrenner. Look into it for yourself. Now I'm going over to the Capitol to look for Eleanor. I want the key to your office, and I want whatever documentation I need to get it."

  "Don't be a fool, man. You can't go running around a federal building in the middle of the night." The front door opened and the guests entered the house. Nottingham stepped back onto the path. "There's nothing in my office."

  "Come with me," Peter said.

  "I have guests." Nottingham waved helplessly toward his house. "I can't walk away from this party. Some of my major contributors are here."

  "The key!" Peter held out his hand.

  "Wait here. I'll get you what you want and come back."

  Nottingham let himself through the front door, leaving Peter alone in the dark yard. The noises of the party shimmered around the house, accompanied by blurred laughter and music. It sounded like a large group, a social event. Peter counted the seconds, doubt growing that Nottingham would reappear. He should have collared him and taken him. Each second that dragged by, he felt his desperation grow. It was close to ten. Was Eleanor at home, waiting for him to call? The answer to that frightened him. Where was she?

  The door opened and Nottingham came toward him, hand extended. "Leave it in the office, and here's an official pass. It says you're there to pick up something I left behind. I don't know what you think you'll find in my office, but it isn't there."

  "I want Eleanor." Peter felt his anger flare dangerously. "If she's hurt, Nottingham, you're in big trouble." He turned on his heel and strode down the walk.

  * * *

  PETER WAS BACK at the Capitol in less than fifteen minutes. Instead of parking near the front entrance, he swung right toward Cannon House. The lot was only a fourth full. All alone, parked at the edge of a lane, was a red Camry. Peter drove to it and got out. Eleanor's car! She'd never left the area!

  Nottingham's office was easy to find. So was the receptionist's ledger. Eleanor's name was down for a two o'clock appointment. That was it. No mention of content or disposition of any matter.

  Beneath her name was Breck's, with a notation of a meeting in the House anteroom. So that was the meeting that Eleanor had never shown up to attend. He locked the office and returned to the elevator. He started to press Lobby, then remembered the tunnels. If Eleanor was going to the House, she might very well have taken the tunnels!

  He descended, his muscles clenching with dread.

  The network of tunnels seemed abandoned. The memory of Eleanor's encounter in the parking garage came back to him— along with Wessy's words. She was terrified! Was it possible she'd actually seen her dead husband very much alive?

  He took the most direct route to the Capitol, wondering if he were retracing her steps. What had gone wrong? Where was she now? The questions were like brands of fire. He was wasting his time in a dark tunnel
, looking for what? A map that would take him to her? When he got out of the tunnels, he was going to call Detective Jones and let the authorities handle it.

  The clatter of metal made him freeze. The small noise bounced along the floor, about fifteen yards in front of him. In the erratic lighting he saw a flash of silver, and then a small disc landed near his feet. Scanning the empty distance, he bent to retrieve it. Eleanor's earring. His heartbeat quickened to a dangerous throb.

  "Where is she?" he called into the darkness. "If she's hurt, I'll kill you."

  His words slurred and repeated, echoing eerily around him.

  "If you've hurt her, I'll kill you," he said again.

  "Always so rash, aren't you?" Out of the darkness, Arnold Evans stepped around the corner of the tunnel. He stopped twenty-five yards away and confronted Peter. "You're looking well, Peter. Recovered completely from our little mix-up."

  "Where's Eleanor?"

  "What makes you think I'd tell you?" Evans laughed. "You never were able to keep a secret."

  Peter lunged forward, his outstretched hands circling Evans's throat and squeezing with a sudden pressure that made the smaller man's eyes bulge with unexpected fright.

  "I'll choke you," Peter warned. "I should have done it years ago, when I first suspected what a maniac you were. But I've been waiting for you, biding my time."

  "The woman," Evans croaked. "Kill me and she dies!"

  "Where is she?" Peter relaxed his hold a little, so that the other man could draw a breath.

  "Take your filthy hands off me," Evans ordered as soon as he could breathe. "No one touches me. No one!"

  "Where is she?" Peter kept his hands on Evans's throat. It had been too many years, and his fingers itched to extract the revenge he wanted.

  "She's safe, Peter. Just as safe as you please. She's rather attractive, isn't she? I've never had such a beautiful subject. I've always wondered if the truly beautiful feared losing their beauty more than the average person." He cocked his head. "That would make a fascinating study."

  "And how many people would you have to maim and mutilate before you found the answer to that question?"

  "It's hypothetical, you fool," Evans snapped. "I won't be able to do any of that type of research until I relocate. In some Third World country, where there isn't such a scramble about a few missing children."

  "You are sick," Peter said, almost overcome with disgust. "Now tell me where Eleanor is, or I'll break every bone in your hands and feet. And remember, Evans, I know every single one."

  "Love becomes you, Peter. You're quite lost in that glorious emotion of protecting your chosen mate. That's another area that would make decent experimentation. How much are you willing to suffer to protect her?" He laughed out loud, chin tilted toward the damp ceiling of the tunnel. "How much?"

  "More than enough." With those words Peter grasped Evans's arm and twisted it behind his back. A scream erupted, echoing through the tunnel.

  "I'll kill you," Evans panted. "You're going to pay for this. I'll make her suffer. She'll suffer a million times more than anything you do to me!"

  "One last time, Evans, where is she? Tell me, or this arm is going out of its socket. You've watched this kind of pain before, without anesthesia. Remember those animals!" He twisted the arm and sent Evans to his knees. "Tell me!"

  "Jefferson Memorial."

  "What?" He jerked the arm once more.

  "She's there! I tied her there myself. It's cold, and she was crying."

  "Is she hurt?"

  Evans laughed, a sound that mingled ominously with the groans of his pain. "Not yet, she isn't, but the night is young."

  "Why did you come down here?" Peter looked around. He was suddenly aware that Evans had deliberately called attention to himself. He'd practically begged to be caught.

  "Because I wanted to tell you in person that I've finally won. Your friend Magdalena is set up for murder. She's gone!" He waved his hand in the air. "And you're next. By the time you find Dr. Duncan, she'll be dead. And the finger will point at you."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Of all the memorials, Peter preferred the Jefferson. The rotunda was graceful, its symmetry a reflection of Jefferson's personal taste. But as the December wind whipped among the leafless cherry trees, he saw that the monument could easily be viewed as sinister.

  Fear for Eleanor pushed him forward in a dead run. He'd left Evans on the floor of the tunnel, his hands bound with his own belt. The knots wouldn't hold him forever, but maybe long enough for Peter to find Eleanor and call the police. When he had to choose between apprehending Evans and saving Eleanor, it had been no contest. Eleanor came first. If Evans got away, he'd catch him again. The years had only magnified the research scientist's insanity. Where once he'd been cunning and brilliant, now he was so far gone that he wasn't even thinking clearly.

  Peter skirted the structure, dodging from shadow to shadow around the tidal basin that balanced each side of the rotunda. Brightly colored paddleboats were docked in line for the night. Inside the rotunda, he could catch shadowed glimpses of Jefferson's statue, a bronzed figure, standing tall among the columns.

  The back of the memorial was unlighted. His nerves quickened as he moved around, trying to find the place where Eleanor might be tied. Evans had said she was in there, but Peter knew his old opponent could very easily have been setting up an ambush.

  He worked his way back to the front, where the floodlights gave a contrast to dark and light that made it impossible to see into the shadows. Attentive to any movement, he mounted the steps. As he approached the top, he saw the revolver lying on the step.

  "A .38," he whispered as he bent to retrieve the weapon. He checked the chamber and found three bullets left. Sniffing the barrel, he could tell that the gun had recently been fired. He clamped his jaw at the thought of Eleanor. He made a silent vow that Arnold Evans would pay a severe price if Eleanor was harmed in any way.

  Careful to walk silently, he entered the rotunda dome. He held the gun before him with every intention of using it if he had to. Again and again he asked himself why Evans would choose the Jefferson Memorial as a place to leave Eleanor. It didn't make any sense. None at all.

  Like an elusive shadow, he slipped from column to column, circling the entire rotunda. There was no sign of Eleanor. "Damn Evans," he whispered tersely, "another of his tricks." But the question why still remained.

  He was edging back to the steps when he heard the first wail of the sirens. The cars were coming directly toward the memorial. He counted five, then three more. Whatever had happened, it must have been a major crime wave. He watched as the police jumped from their cars and ran toward the memorial.

  He looked around to see more police coming from the opposite direction, straight toward him. Gazing across the water at the approaching cops, he saw that one paddleboat was drifting along lazily, untied. It passed from dark to light, moving slowly in a circle. Something about it captured Peter's attention. With mounting horror he saw a hand dragging the water, and finally the form of a man slumped on his side.

  In a flash he had a perfect understanding of Evans motivation and of his last words. There was no time to check who the victim was, no time to answer questions. He looked at the gun he held in his hand. It was a perfect setup. First Magdalena, now himself. And Eleanor? Was she dead or alive?

  "Hold it, mister!" a cop called to him.

  Peter didn't answer. He dashed into the shadows of the rotunda. Besides the lack of lights, there was a treacherous twenty-foot drop at the back. Peter sprinted as fast as he could and leaped to the ground. Rolling as he landed, he scrambled to his feet and ran. Behind him he heard confused noises from the police; they'd obviously discovered the body and begun to pursue him in earnest.

  The gun was still clutched in his hand. He started to throw it aside, then realized that his fingerprints were all over it. Another thought crossed his mind. He might still have cause to use the weapon when he retrieved Evans from the tunnel.r />
  There was no time to get his car. He ran toward the Capitol and the place where he'd left Evans.

  Winded and frantic with worry, he finally stood outside the Cannon Building, debating whether to go in or not. The sound of voices warned him to duck behind some shrubs. Evans and Charles Breck came out of the building together. Their voices were low, but audible.

  "Why would he go after Nottingham?" Breck asked.

  "Your guess is as good as mine. You know how those people are. He was seen at Sam's party earlier this evening, threatening to make trouble. Then Sam got the urgent call to go to the memorial, or his family would be hurt." Evans rubbed his head. "Curry wanted to kill me, too."

  "What about the ape?" Breck asked, sounding greatly bewildered.

  "Sam would want us to go on with the gift. After all, we've put a lot of time and effort into this project. What happened tonight doesn't change the fact that Issac Demont will enjoy the orangutan."

  "I suppose you're right," Breck said. "The ceremony is tomorrow night. Are you sure she's ready? She acted a little unstable to me. I don't understand why she's so nervous."

  "She'll be fine," Evans reassured him. "I've added a new little element to the presentation. I'm sure you'll love it."

  "President Demont is a very proper man. Nothing in bad taste, I hope."

  The scientist laughed. "Trust me, Charles. I know how much you want to become director of the CIA. Bad taste is the furthest thing from my mind."

  "I hope so. I certainly hope so. See you in the morning."

  "Maybe the afternoon. As I mentioned, I have some polishing touches to put on the orangutan and the…addition."

  Breck and Evans got into their cars and drove away.

  Peter lowered the gun. His hands were shaking. He'd come within an inch of blowing Evans to bits on the walk in front of a federal building. Only the fact that he needed Evans alive had restrained him. He needed him to find Eleanor.

  Keeping an eye out for police cars, he circled the Cannon Building parking lot to flag a taxi. With Magdalena in jail, there was only one person he could turn to, Betty Gillette. He settled into the back seat and tried to think.