He continued to pace.
Physical problems he could handle. But the restlessness and the awful feeling of being unsure of himself for the first time since he was just a kid? That was scary.
Maybe all this insecurity was just part of the normal aging process. And maybe he wasn’t used to having to watch over anyone other than himself when he was on the hunt. But Melissa had to be in Washington with him; he couldn’t leave her behind; she was in danger, too.
And maybe he was just plain scared and it was time to put all this conspiracy chasing behind him.
He looked across the water at the Lincoln Memorial. Melissa wanted to spend some time there; he hadn’t wanted her to go, at least not alone. But she’d insisted. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d caved, decided she was probably safer by herself than she was with him, particularly if someone’s goons were following him.
Still, his heart sank when she walked away and was too quickly out of sight. All his fears rose to the surface. Scenarios that repeated over and over in his head wouldn’t turn off: their house trashed; his car being rammed; pursuers parked at the motel; wanting to fight back with only a flashlight; Mel standing in the window.
Vulnerable.
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather shook him hard. He pulled the fleece-lined coat collar up tight around his neck while his other hand balled inside his pocket.
He glanced at the sky for a moment, then back along the path he’d used. He could see little more than the fluttering snow, which was now coming down much harder than when he’d arrived.
A figure appeared in the distance, the snow kept him from seeing whether it was a man or woman. Even as the person got closer, he couldn’t put a face on the bobbing head until only a few feet separated them.
“What took you so long?” he asked Bill Tana. Only then did he realize he’d been holding his breath; he exhaled a burst of pent-up air.
“You and your paranoia about bugged phones drives me bonkers. How am I supposed to remember where we had that last Easter Sunday rendezvous? What was it, five years ago? Man, it took a lot of thinking. And I’ve already been to two other possibilities.”
“Did anyone follow you?”
“If they did, they’re mighty confused about the where-and-why-fors of Bill Tana. Actually, I spotted the tails when I left my house. They didn’t have a chance.”
“Now maybe you’ll believe me.”
“I always believe you, Ted, especially since I’m more paranoid than you ever dreamed of being. And by the way, you were right—there is a bug on my land line at home. Found it outside in the junction box; left it in place for now. Maybe whoever’s listening can make more sense out of my teenage daughter’s rap then I can.”
‘They’ve been to your house? Now I know I should never have brought you into this.”
“Now don’t go soft on me, old man. They’re not after me—they’re after you.”
“Still, I’m sorry for dumping this on you, even if you’re the only person left in this town that I can trust.”
“Well then, believe me when I tell you we’d better get moving. I don’t like setting myself up for target practice, no matter how bad the visibility is.”
They walked rapidly to a nearby gym, just a short distance from Bill’s office, doing a look-both-ways-before-crossing at every intersection. They saw few cars and even fewer pedestrians. Once there, Ted was grateful to be inside a warm building. They checked in, got a guest pass and locker keys, and went to change.
Bill pulled out a well-worn t-shirt with a faded “Vat 69” logo on the front and a pair of red satin gym shorts and handed them to Ted.
“You expect me to wear these?” He dangled the shorts on one finger and looked around the locker room. “Be lucky if I’m not tagged as some congressman’s gay locker room buddy.”
Bill laughed. “Sorry, those are the only extras I have, at least clean ones. But don’t worry about your rep; no one will come close to you with these on.” He pulled a pair of ratty looking sneakers from the bottom of his locker.
Ted sighed and started to get undressed. “This is the only place you could think of to get us off the streets and out of sight?”
“To quote a friend of mine, ‘gratitude is not your strong point.’“
Ted laughed. “Touché.”
“If you think about it, this is an ideal place, and it sure as hell wouldn’t hurt that gut of yours to lift a few bar bells. You look like you’re starting to get soft on all that home cooking. Melissa must be spoiling the hell out of you.”
Ted winced as he squeezed into the shorts. “This is what I get for saving your miserable ass. I should have thought twice before I yanked you out of San Francisco Bay, just left you there as fish food.”
Bill’s face flushed slightly, a faraway look came into his eyes. “Yeah, I sure did get in more than a little bit over my head that time. But you gotta admit, I’d have been all right if they hadn’t cuffed my hands behind my back.”
“Yeah, about as right as a duck on a rollercoaster.” Ted threw an arm over Bill’s shoulder. “Just a wayward flower child in the Haight.”
“With a major in Asian poppies.” Bill turned to look at Ted. “I guess enough time has passed that I can ask and maybe you’ll give me an answer.”
“You want to know how I got those loan sharks off your back?”
Bill nodded.
“Hell, no big secret—you could’ve asked me any time.” Ted sucked his gut in even more. For a moment, the shorts didn’t wrinkle and tug quite as much. “After I pulled you out of The Bay, I paid off the lousy ten grand you lost at those backroom Pai Gow tables in Chinatown.”
“And they backed off just like that? Hard to believe; I thought Moco hated my guts, didn’t care about the ten grand.”
“All too true, but you gotta keep things in perspective. As far as your involvement went, Moco had an eye on the big picture and wasn’t about to be sidetracked by some small fry like you. He wanted the ten grand, yes, but I convinced him that what he didn’t want was a media spotlight on his gaming and dope operations. Not quite as dumb as he looked.”
“I guess I owe you ten thousand.”
“You don’t owe me anything. Besides, I always figured it wouldn’t hurt to have something to hold over your head for times like these.”
Bill chuckled. “You really are a devious old fart, you know that?”
Ted winked and glanced at his watch. “Told Mel I’d pick her up in about an hour. Fill me in on what you’ve found out.”
“We’d better move into the gym; people are starting to look at us kind of funny.”
“Ha-ha funny, or weird funny?” Ted asked.
“With you, it could only be weird.”
They left the locker room and moved into the gym. Ted said, “Don’t know how to tell you this, buddy, but these sneakers smell pretty ripe.”
“Why do you think they’re on your feet instead of mine?”
They walked over to the weights section. It wasn’t crowded, but most of the larger equipment was in use. Following Bill’s lead, Ted picked up a pair of five-pound weights, straddled a bench, and initiated a series of swing-lift movements.
“From what little I’ve been able to find out, this is ugly stuff you’ve gotten yourself into,” Bill whispered.
“How ugly?”
“You’re dropping in on the tail end of a very fast-moving legislative ploy. Essentially, a healthcare biggie wants to legitimatize selective euthanasia as a way to cut Medicare costs.”
“Who’s behind it?”
Bill looked around, obviously to check on whether they were out of earshot of the nearest person. “Apparently it goes right to the top on the political side.”
“And on the private side? Anyone other than Hygea.”
“Haven’t been able to pin that down … yet. But it’s probably the whole healthcare industry.”
“My experience is that this is a town that thrives on rumor, speculation, a
nd leaked information.”
“It hasn’t changed,” Bill said. “But I’ve been shut out of every place I’ve turned.”
Rivulets of sweat raced down their faces, dripped onto the floor. Their exercise action was starting to slow.
“There must be a go-to person, a conduit between the corporate and political interests?”
Bill thought for a moment. “Ever heard of W. Wade Wilson?”
“W. Wade Wilson?” Ted finished a couple of reps. “Isn’t he a big-time lobbyist?”
“Oh, yeah,” Bill said. “He’s big time all right.”
“So what’s his schtick.”
“Power is his schtick. What else?”
“Do I detect a hint of respect in your voice?” Ted asked.
“This guy is at the very core of every healthcare plan that gets entered on any legislative docket. Or is even thought of being introduced in either house.” Bill stopped, ran an arm across his forehead and flipped sweat off onto the floor. “He’s an ultra-conservative—far right of Dick Cheney. So, if you’re looking for a go-to guy on healthcare issues, he’s the one.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that song before,” Ted said. “He’s not the first to hold those reins.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Don’t get what?”
“The word is that someone, or someones, at the top of the food chain has collared the President into believing selective euthanasia is the only way to keep Medicare from going down the tubes.”
“Not this Wade Wilson?” Ted said.
“No. The guy is powerful, but he’d have to have an inner sanctum connection.”
Ted stopped swinging his weights, stood, and stretched. “Hey, politicians for years have been claiming that Medicare is going to bankrupt the country. Suddenly, you and Sorkin think there’s an imminent secret plan to reduce costs by bumping off people.” He threw his arms up in the air. “And this going to happen without a huge public outcry?”
“So it would seem.” Bill racked his weights and rubbed his head with a towel.
“And you can’t find any links in pending legislation?”
“Not a one.”
“So how is it going to reach the President’s desk without any fanfare?”
“Laws get put on the books all the time without the public ever hearing anything about them—rammed though committees without hearings, attached to other legislation, Presidential executive order—”
“I know how the system works. This just seems too big for that. People aren’t going to put up with it.”
“Look at it from another way, Ted. Euthanasia has growing populist approval across most of the country.”
“Voluntary, physician-assisted euthanasia, not selective euthanasia.”
“Selective, smelective! You don’t think anyone reads the fine print, do you?” Bill said with a snort. “Besides, the man in the street thinks anything that can go wrong only happens to the other guy, right?”
“No one is going to go for ending a person’s life because it costs too much money to save selected individuals.”
“You know, Teddy, my man, for an award-winning, highly respected journalist, you’re damn naïve at times.”
“Spare me the compliments.”
“If people could get a committee to make the hard end-of-life decisions for them, don’t you think it would fly?”
“No,” Ted said.
“Think, again, buddy—no guilt because you haven’t visited Aunt Edna at the nursing home, who by the way, you never liked in the first place; no further expense to take care of elderly family members.”
“I still don’t buy it, Bill.”
“People could get back to the television, the internet, or whatever. And they could feel good about the situation because the system will do all the dirty work.”
“You’re way too cynical, kid.”
“No, just realistic. Tell me the politicians and their healthcare industry backers can’t make it fly.”
Ted stared long and hard at his friend. “Let’s get dressed and go pick up Mel. And on the way, tell me more about this W. Wade Wilson.”
Chapter 22
Melissa climbed the steps of the Lincoln Memorial; her eyes searched beyond the columns that guarded the entry to the magnificent statue of the 16th President of the United States. It was a sight like no other.
Mr. Lincoln sat looking benignly at her.
Was there a hint of stoicism, or was it sadness that was etched on the face of this man of the people? Or was he simply a man weighed down with the resolve it took to meet a turbulent destiny?
She wondered how Lincoln would fare in the Washington circus today. What sound bite would they use to describe him? Man of the people? Too tame; it would never put him in office.
She’d been here many times in the past. But standing before the bearded figure inspired her all over again, made her even angrier at the overwhelming numbers of greedy Washington politicians dedicated to nothing but their own selfish careers.
A shiver caught her, ran from her toes to the top of her head. She placed a hand on her chest; it was tight from the frigid air forced into her lungs—the very same iciness that was cutting through the ski jacket she’d brought from home. She tightened her scarf around her neck, pulled upward on the cuffs of her sheepskin gloves.
She was calmer now that she was away from California, away from her devastated house, her shattered piano. She would be reluctant to admit it to anyone else, but there was an element of excitement in this cat-and-mouse thing, and for the first time, she could see why Ted was such an action junky. There was a price though—uneasiness rode high on her shoulders even though she tried to shrug it off.
Maybe she was just plain tired.
Melissa quickly looked around, tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t alone. But most of the other visitors to the memorial were leaving or walking down the long, concrete steps. Somehow she had expected more of a crowd, even with the inclement weather.
She walked out toward the columns again, looked up at the sky—the snow was coming down harder and the day had turned an even darker, uglier gray.
Melissa clutched her jacket closer to her and tried to drive out the chill as she stood at the top of the steps, ready to head over to meet Ted and Bill at the Holocaust Museum.
Out of nowhere a voice blasted in her ear, low and mean. Her arms were pinned back with such force, bolts of pain shot up into her shoulders.
“Not a word or you’re dead meat.”
She went rigid with fear, but she tried to fight the vise-like grip, kick at the legs braced behind her. But the man grabbed her around the chest and squeezed until she could barely breathe.
“You’re not listening, lady,” the nasty voice said. “Cool it!” Then he punched her hard in the kidney.
Her mouth opened to scream but a pad of cloth smothered her, forcing her to inhale an acrid, sickly smelling chemical. She gagged as it burned her mouth and nostrils. She pushed at the steel-grip, but her body turned to mush and her legs buckled.
Soon she was falling away with only the darkness to catch her.
* * *
“She’s not inside,” Ted said, coming out of the Holocaust Museum.
“Was she planning to go someplace else after here?”
“If so, she didn’t say anything about it.”
“Have you tried her cell phone?”
“Can’t. It was hooked up to the charger when those bastards broke into our house. Smashed it, along with everything else.”
“Maybe you were supposed to meet her back at the hotel.”
“No, no, no! We were perfectly clear about it—she was going to catch a cab from the Lincoln Memorial, then meet us here in the lobby of the museum at two.” Ted looked at his watch and shook his head when he saw that they were more than a half-hour late. He collapsed onto a snow-covered step and looked around helplessly.
Bill rested a hand on his shoulder. “I still think she went bac
k to the hotel. Probably mad as hell because she’s worked up and worried.”
Ted covered his face. “I should never have gotten involved with CORPS … should have stayed out of it … left it to others.” He shook his head back and forth. “Sixty-five and still trying to stay in the game.” He looked up. “Where the hell is she?”
“Want me to call the hotel, see if she’s there?”
“No, I’ll do that. Why don’t you call your house? Maybe she went there?”
“I can try, but Kelli went off to a lecture at the Smithsonian. Won’t be back until around dinner time.”
“Dammit!” Ted pulled out his cell and a business card from the hotel, called, and then gave his room number after the operator answered.
The phone rang several times, then the clerk came back on the line. “Wanna leave a message?”
“Please tell Mrs. Yost to give her husband a call on his cell.”
“Okay.”
Ted clicked off, stared straight ahead. “Back to square one.”
Bill tugged at his arm. “What say we take a swing by the hotel, just in case, and if she calls before we get to my house, we’ll go pick her up.”
Ted yanked away. “No, damn it! How many times do I have to tell you: this is where we agreed to meet. We should stay here.”
“If she was going to wait for you, she’d be here. We need to get going.”
“What the hell’s the matter with you? I’ve got to find Mel.”
“For God’s sake, Yost, for once in your life will you listen to someone other than yourself?”
Ted brushed at the snow falling against his face, then spoke softly, almost in a whisper, “All right. We’ll try it your way.” He reached into his pocket, grabbed a handkerchief and blew his nose, then looked up at Bill. “What if someone snatched her?”
“Let’s not go there, yet,” Bill said.
“It would be one way to get me off their backs.”
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