Part 7 (1/2)

After a moment: If? mind you, that's an 'if I have seen only rarely in seventeen years?

but if it were, I could accidentally drop you and your daughter into deep s.h.i.+t. But I don't like this, either. He jerked a thumb back toward Kathleen's grave.

I have to protect Laurie. She's all I have, now, said Ramsay. Corwin's sigh and shrug implied understanding, and Ramsay's suspicions of the man dropped a notch. The rest of that day, Alan Ramsay debated himself over courses of action, and ended by choosing inaction.

Each night, Ramsay waited with Pam Garza for what had become both low and high points of his day: Laurie's call. On Thursday, perhaps intending to frighten him, his enemies made a serious mistake: they did not make that call. He slept little that night, and on Friday morning he gave every appearance of settling down, resuming business as usual, accepting the facts. But while lugging his video equipment across town, he made the call he should have made earlier.

He'd intended to send another may-day to Matthew Alden. But Alden's answering service clicked to an intercept an instant after Ramsay began to talk.

The voice was not Alden's. Take down this number and call from public booths until you get an answer. The number had a local prefix with a three-zero-one area code.

Bethesda? He punched the number into his memocomp and decided to keep his interview appointment before making the next call. Five minutes after a deadly dull interview for NBN, he found another phone booth as though at random, blood pounding in his ears.

Two rings. Then a man's voice, a drawl more West than South. Mr. R., modern gadgets are so good they can be tipped off by a name or a key word, and they focus on that call.

I know that, but?

The voice went on, interrupting him. Recorded. Think very carefully before you speak and avoid key words or names, especially your own. If I like your replies to the following questions, stay on the line. Pause. Who introduced you last night on the defense appropriations piece; and what kind of tires did you buy for your little Chevy?

Instantly he said, Ynga Lindermann gave my lead-in, and it's not a Chevy as you probably know, it's a Genie with wide Pirellis.

A click, and now the voice was live, the same measured gravelly baritone on the recording. Good enough, Mr. R., I was wondering if you had the smarts to call Mr. A.

again. I see you did.

I hope I haven't put him in the same bind I'm in, Ramsay replied.Not as long as you keep calling from different anonymous places. Your home phone is bugged two ways, conventionally by Metro Police and by less friendly people using small transmitters. Your office lines aren't secure either. You must continue to use a different booth each time you call me. And for the moment, you must talk as if you were wearing a bug on your clothes or even in your hair? because you very well may be. Their equipment isn't good enough to hear through your earpiece, though. Do you understand?

Very handy for you, he said with anger he hoped sounded genuine. If he were bugged personally, they would only be hearing his end of the conversation. NBN has deadlines, you know. So how am I supposed to check your side of the issue?

A snort that could have been amus.e.m.e.nt. Very quick, Mr. R. As for my side of the issue, consider me a very biased observer. Biased in your favor? and you'll just have to take a chance on us. Think about this: I alerted you to the problem with a letter. I've got a new name? again, the man sighed affably in his first show of human frailty. The other side would never offer you any help, even false hope, because they want you hopeless and docile. And we don't.

That makes sense. But what can you offer?

First thing, we get you deloused, the man said briskly.

Why d'you say I'm, ah, lousy? But he felt like scratching himself all over. Even the idea of an electronic bug made him feel defiled, somehow.

Just a hunch; quit talking and listen. Before your next call, buy a Mantis, it's a sophisticated bug-catcher from CCI. Branches in Manhattan and Was.h.i.+ngton. Use cash, not credit card; and even if someone you know has one, don't borrow one, you could be borrowing trouble. Don't tell anyone, not even your best girl, that you have it. Okay?

Yeah, I've heard of the firm.

The people you're up against can afford to bug every pair of skivvies you own. Bugs may look like fuzzy weed seeds. They stick to things. You can wash them out of body hair so they get to listen to the plumbing. Launder them from clothes the same way without raising suspicion. If you find one elsewhere, let it alone. They pick up sounds about as well as your ears do. Still follow me?

I think so, but how do I use the hardware?

Wear it like a wrist.w.a.tch; it is one, for that matter. But it pokes you when it gets near an active device, so you can even spot a video bug and it won't know you've tumbled unless you do something stupid like taking the Mantis off your wrist and waving it like a flashlight. And I'm afraid we've talked long enough.

Ramsay was giddy from all the cloak-and-dagger orientation, and this man had given him no real promise of help. No, wait, dammit. I don't want to, uh, interview those people. I might be seen. Why can't you provide the evidence yourself?

When your mail is monitored? Nope; bad idea. But you have a point. After the briefest of pauses, as if to himself: Sure, why not? If this one goes down the wrong way, we won't be using drops anymore. Call again. Give me ten minutes. And the line was suddenlydead.

Ramsay walked out of that booth feeling an almost feverish antic.i.p.ation, reminding himself not to smile or whistle because it might register on some long lens or tape recorder. Ten minutes later, he had found another booth. It's me again. You remember what I wanted?

Yep. You'll find joy in the Rexall on Connecticut Ave, a few blocks from where you work.

Early this evening, you'll decide your watch is on the blink. Within ten minutes after seven p.m., go into the Rexall. Ask the clerk, not the pharmacist and not the cas.h.i.+er but the clerk, for a Timex. Pay him, put it on, and leave. For G.o.d's sake don't ask him to demonstrate it, he wouldn't anyhow. Anyway, I suspect this'll be one of your better bargains, pal. But patriotism is the bargain we get.

The truth is, I'm starting to lose that.

Bulls.h.i.+t. You called this number.

For selfish reasons, Ramsay said, self-disgust flavoring his words.

I think I know that reason. People in law enforcement sometimes talk with old friends, the man said. Well, you can play someone else's game, or you can keep me advised. If you don't call within twenty-four hours we'll take it as a turndown, and no hard feelings.

Ramsay thanked him and replaced the receiver, striding out to Independence Avenue feeling as though he should sprint. The man had made no promises but by G.o.d, he seemed to be part of something carefully organized. Maybe that, he decided, was what put the vinegar back in him: the man was a total stranger, but he represented hope.

Ramsay saw no gleam of it in any other direction.

He made his deadlines at the studio, complained that his Seiko had developed cardiac arrest, and called his own apartment knowing that Pam would play the message back?

and that others would hear it. Running late, he said, thanks to a screwed-up wrist.w.a.tch, and he'd be home by eight or so.

At exactly five after seven by his flawless Seiko, he walked into the Rexall. The clerk was a wiry dark-haired man in his thirties, an inch or so less than six feet, who fitted his surroundings like Tums and aspirin. He was glad to help and my, but that face seemed familiar. Ramsay admitted his name, kept his casual role, and asked to see something reliable in a watch; maybe a Timex?

With nary a wink or nudge, the clerk produced two Longines and an electronic Timex.

Ramsay studied each. The clerk remained maddeningly offhanded and made no suggestions. Ramsay turned the Timex over. The price of this one?

You're in luck. This one's a closeout at thirty-nine ninety-five. Something to do with all those special functions, the clerk replied.

Ramsay realized again that he might actually be carrying a tiny transmitter on himself. I'll take the Timex, he said, and paid cash.

The clerk made change, smiled, and said to the retreating Ramsay, I expect it's one of your better bargains. Ramsay, with the discomfort of a man who has inexplicablywandered into a staged play, hurried out.

The d.a.m.ned thing seemed to be an ordinary Timex, if you ignored the tiny bar that lay flat on its underside. He slipped it on, thrust the Seiko into his glove compartment, and drove home while aiming the new watch at various parts of his body. Either he was free of bugs, or the watch was faulty. Too bad he couldn't show it to Pam. Odd, he thought, that it could make him feel so much better when, so far, all it had told him was the correct time.

Because Pam was waiting for him at his apartment, he made no overt effort to check the place for monitors, but soon realized the Mantis worked because it gently poked him several times while he was in the kitchen. He felt a surge of anger about that, but knew a fierce elation as well.

When Pam left his apartment the next morning, he began to use the Mantis with great care. The thing was highly directional in its ability to pick up signals from an active transmitter.

He found the first bug, after a puzzling fifteen minutes, in a crack of cabinetry between his dishwasher and countertop. It lay very near his kitchen phone. He found the second one faster by marching directly to the study and waving his wrist near the desk phone.

The tiny device looked more like a furry tick than a seed, and had been planted in the center of one of Laurie's 'forever' poppies. It had lain in full view, had heard every word spoken in his study, for? how long? Had the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds bugged him even before Laurie's kidnap?