Part 7 (2/2)

Now his elation was gone. A gradually building ferocity, held in careful check, was all that remained. It did not diminish much during his workday, and he sought a pay phone soon after lunch. The recorded message suggested he call after three p.m. and at one minute after, by his bargain Timex, he called again.

The westerner came on-line immediately. Did you find anything of interest, Mr. R.?

d.a.m.n' right. Nothing on me personally, but I found two little gadgets near my home phones. G.o.d d.a.m.n these people, I've never even seen them!

Oh, you've seen one of them, all right. We're monitoring your little hotsy, Mr. R. I don't know how long you've known Miz G., but she's working for the other side. That's why I suggested checking your body. She probably carries more bugs than Typhoid Mary.

The briefest silence before a gritted, I'll kill her....

They'd love that, said the man. She thinks she's a patriotic American keeping tabs on a man who needs watching, and I doubt you could prove otherwise to her. If it's any consolation, we gather she's sick over your, um, babysitting arrangements. Her chief sin seems to be naivete. Keep playing her game, but don't let her lead you into any dark alleys; it's possible they could change their game plan about you.

Look, I don't give a s.h.i.+t about my hide anymore. If my kid were safe, I'd blow this whole thing in the media and take the consequences. Not yet! The reply was instant; explosive. Eventually that's just what we'd like to see but these people have a timetable and we still aren't sure why. And if you hurt them too soon, they'd hurt you back a lot worse. And you'd blow our show.

Ramsay, with sudden suspicion: And what is your show, pal?

It's still called the United States of America, I believe. If we're patient, it may stay that way.

Ramsay grunted a.s.sent and changed his tack. I had a call today from a lieutenant in the Metro Police. He admits they're monitoring my phone. Whose side are those guys on?

Yours, apparently, but they can't help much. And if they get lucky, it could be bad news for your daughter.

What are the chances I'll see her alive again? He hated to ask. He had to ask.

About fifty-fifty, said the westerner. Getting better as they keep her longer and get more confident. Your lady friend's contacts must be through her job because she's not getting them at her apartment. With luck, we just might be able to backtrack those calls. If we can, someone may lead us to your little girl.

Is that really one of your priorities?

A moment's pause, and now something in the man's tone became less commanding, more intimate; sadder, perhaps. There's an old Greek physician's code that says, 'first, do no harm,' he said. That little girl's troubles began with a decision of ours. We're ethically bound to help free her, you have to believe that. No, you don't have to, do you?

Those last few words had been spoken as if Ramsay himself had already answered.

I think you're starting to see how I feel, Ramsay said.

I don't blame you, but I can't do much about?

h.e.l.l you can't. I do a lot of legwork on my own, pal, and I meet lots of people; informants, interviews, that sort of thing. Why not meet me face to face?

Now the man's tones were plainly apologetic. Because if somebody gets you in a spot with needles under your fingernails, the less you know, the better. But your point is taken. Meanwhile, remember: if we do get your daughter back, the instant the bad guys know it, they'll be trying to nail you before you can get to a TV studio. I don't want you to have any false hopes about that.

The only hopes I have are pinned on an eleven-year-old pacifist, pal. I won't see her for a month, they said.

A month? Exactly? Why a month?

I don't know, Ramsay said. I hoped you might.

Maybe we do need a sit-down, Mr. R. But this call has already gone on too long. Get back to me; and stay friendly with your hotsy, but keep checking yourself for bugs, okay? Right, Ramsay answered, and hung up, now more perplexed than before. His allies seemed as curious about that one-month time span as he was.

ELEVEN.

At dusk, ten days after the kidnapping, Robert Lathrop parked his rumbling old Firebird two blocks from the suburban home of his real boss, set its alarm, locked the door, and tugged at the vest of his gray three piece suit before walking smartly away with his attache case. In his vest pocket were cards that introduced him, truthfully, as a salesman of household computers. Beneath the vest and the silk s.h.i.+rt was a gut as hard and flat as Nautilus machines could make it, with the help of steroids. If challenged, Lathrop could have produced brochures from the attache case, and pocket memocomps at very attractive prices. Lathrop made most of his money that way, letting his fine physique, those moist brown eyes and the well-scrubbed fresh features do much of the selling for him.

But Bobby Lathrop did not think of that as his 'real' job. His real job put a small submachine gun in his hands, and put him back into the kind of power that a police internal affairs investigation had taken him out of, years before. No police commissioner can afford a disarming, glib young sociopath in the ranks, if he knows about it; especially a bright one. The kind of man who can afford a Lathrop is the kind whose budget can be fudged, and who has ways of learning when a Bobby Lathrop has been found and bounced. Such a man had found Lathrop. Bobby's smile, as he skipped up the front steps of Terence Unruh's home, was unforced.

The door opened for him and Bobby strode in, with a dazzling smile for Unruh who seemed, in the dim light of an unlit living room, much older than he had been a week before. Take a seat, Bobby. Beer? Iced tea?

Nothing, thanks. Mind if I smoke?

It hardly matters now, Unruh said, and sank carefully into an overstuffed chair near Bobby. Quit looking around; my wife and the kids are at a school play. We're secure.

Bobby, with the highest respect for Unruh's security sense, visibly relaxed, pulling a set of pages from his case before he lit the Winston. Transcripts from Ramsay's phone.

Unruh took them. Any other copies?

No, sir, Bobby a.s.sured him, grinning again. Jondahl's tape transcriptions are there too.

Johnnie's as steady as a b.i.t.c.h wolf.''b.i.t.c.h wolves aren't queer for pups, said Unruh.

Bobby's jaw twitched. It had been a mistake to tell Terence Unruh so much about the habits of Johnnie, beyond her dependability, and doubly a mistake to crack explicit jokes about the Ramsay kid's captivity. Well, Reba Jondahl can't be charmed by kids and she won't balk at stringent measures, said Bobby. When we're this short-handed, we're lucky to have somebody like Johnnie that we can depend on.

After a pause, tiredly: I suppose.

Bobby thought the phrase, sighed like that as if by a defeated man, out of character for Unruh. But Unruh looked out of character, as if the thankless job of government?

whichever part of it he really represented? had finally caught up with him, aging him a year for every week. No wonder he keeps the lights off, Bobby thought. If you want things simplified, Bobby said, and paused to make his cigarette glow, let me get creative with Ramsay. Household accidents kill a lot of people, Terence.

Ramsay has almost certainly written down what he knows and put it in a safe deposit box, Unruh said, his voice soft, lacking vitality. We want him just the way he is.

Indefinitely? Why?

A month. And I don't know exactly why, Bobby. I just follow orders.

But if I intercept anything that says Ramsay's going to spill something big? is the sanction still good?

Of course, said Unruh. Just don't hurt that bimbo, Garza, in the process. Someone very high up wants her healthy.

Small wonder, Bobby Lathrop snickered, and flexed his arms. I could use her healthy myself.

Another sigh from Unruh. I'm sure you could. Which reminds me: if Ramsay goes down for whatever reason, at that moment there's no longer any reason for Reba Jondahl to keep the girl. Get the girl away from that crazy butch immediately after that. Is that clear?

Yessir, Bobby said quickly, brightly. He saw no point in adding that Johnnie, whom he had busted when he was in uniform and had gotten to know better since, was far more valuable than any snot-nosed kid. Johnnie's features and voice were much too distinctive for even the dullest child to forget or confuse with anyone else. Therefore, the Ramsay kid would be 'taken away' by Johnnie's own hands, just as Bobby Lathrop had already promised the woman. He would simply report the girl missing.

Bobby spent only five more minutes in the Unruh home, accepting a well-used bundle of cash and swapping his phone scrambler attachment for another. It was important, Unruh insisted, that the Garza woman keep Bobby advised on her movements. There was no telling when she might need new instructions from Bobby, and Unruh was hardly in a position to contact her himself because, for one thing, she had never heard of Unruh.

<script>