by Ken Follett
You're out of your frigging mind.
Honeymoon went on: "No police, no FBI. You would be guaranteed freedom to leave the meeting without hindrance, regardless of the outcome."
Yeah, right.
Priest said: "Do you believe in fairies?"
"What?"
"You know, little flying people that can do magic? You believe they exist?"
"No, I guess I don't."
"Me either. So I'm not going to fall into your trap."
"I give you my word--"
"Forget it. Just forget it, okay?"
There was silence at the other end.
Melanie turned a corner, and they drove past the grand classical facade of the Capitol Building. Honeymoon was in there somewhere, talking on the phone, surrounded by FBI men. Looking at the white columns and the dome, Priest said: "I'll tell you where we'll meet, and you'd better make notes. Are you ready?"
"Don't worry, I'm taking notes."
"Set up a little round table and a couple of garden chairs in front of the Capitol Building, on the lawn there, right in the middle. It'll be like a photo opportunity. Have the governor sitting there at three o'clock."
"Out in the open?"
"Hey, if I was going to shoot him, I could do it easier than this."
"I guess so...."
"In his pocket the governor must have a signed letter guaranteeing me immunity from prosecution."
"I can't agree to all this--"
"Talk to your boss. He'll agree."
"I'll talk to him."
"Have a photographer there with one of them instant cameras. I want a picture of him handing me the letter of immunity, for proof. Got that?"
"Got it."
"You better play this straight. No tricks. My seismic vibrator is already in place, ready to trigger another earthquake. This one will strike a major city. I'm not saying which one, but I'm talking thousands of deaths."
"I understand."
"If the governor doesn't appear today at three o'clock ... bang."
He broke the connection.
"Wow," said Melanie. "A meeting with the governor. Do you think it's a trap?"
Priest frowned. "It might be," he said. "I don't know. I just don't know."
*
Judy could not fault the setup. Charlie Marsh had worked on it with the Sacramento FBI. There were at least thirty agents within sight of the white garden table with the umbrella that sat prettily on the lawn, but she could not see any of them. Some stood behind the windows of the surrounding government offices, others crouched in cars and vans on the street and in the parking lot, more lurked in the pillared cupola of the Capitol Building. All were heavily armed.
Judy herself was playing the part of the photographer, with cameras and lenses around her neck. Her gun was in a camera bag slung from her shoulder. While she waited for the governor to appear, she looked through her viewfinder at the table and chairs, pretending to frame a shot.
In the hopes Granger wouldn't recognize her, she wore a blond wig. It was one she kept permanently in her car. She used it a lot on surveillance work, especially if she spent several days following the same targets, to reduce the risk that she might be noticed and recognized. She had to put up with a certain amount of teasing when she wore it. Hey, Maddox, send the cute blonde over to my car, but you can stay where you are.
Granger was watching, she knew. No one had spotted him, but he had called, an hour ago, to protest against the erection of crowd barriers around the block. He wanted the public using the street, and visitors touring the building, just as normal.
The barriers had been taken away.
There was no other fence around the grounds, so tourists were wandering freely across the lawns, and tour parties were following their prescribed routes around the Capitol, its gardens, and the elegant government buildings on adjacent streets. Judy surreptitiously studied everyone through her lens. She ignored superficial appearances and concentrated on features that could not easily be disguised. She scrutinized every tall, thin man of middle age, regardless of hair, face, or dress.
At one minute to three she still had not seen Ricky Granger.
Michael Quercus, who had met Granger face-to-face, was also watching. He was in a surveillance van with blacked-out windows parked around the corner. He had to stay out of sight, for fear Granger would recognize him and be spooked.
Judy spoke into a little microphone under her shirt, clipped to her bra. "My guess is that Granger won't show until after the governor appears."
A tiny speaker behind her ear crackled, and she heard Charlie Marsh reply. "We were just saying the same thing. I wish we could have got this done without exposing the governor."
They had talked about using a body double, but Governor Robson himself had nixed that plan, saying he would not allow someone else to risk dying in his place.
Now Judy said: "But if we can't ..."
"So be it," said Charlie.
A moment later the governor emerged from the grand front entrance of the building.
Judy was surprised that he was a little below average height. Seeing him on television, she had imagined him a tall man. He looked bulkier than usual on account of the bulletproof vest under his suit coat. He walked across the lawn with a relaxed, confident stride and sat at the little table under the umbrella.
Judy took a few pictures of him. She kept her camera bag slung from her shoulder so that she could get to her weapon quickly.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.
An old Chevrolet Impala was approaching slowly on Tenth Street.
It had a faded two-tone paint job, sky blue and cream, rusting around the wheel arches. The face of the driver was in shade.
She darted a glance around. Not a single agent was in sight, but everyone would be watching the car.
It stopped at the curb right opposite Governor Robson.
Judy's heart beat faster.
"I guess this is him," said the governor in a remarkably calm voice.
The door of the car opened.
The figure that stepped out wore blue jeans, a checked workshirt open over a white T-shirt, and sandals. When he stood upright, Judy saw that he was about six feet tall, maybe a little more, and thin, with long, dark hair.
He wore large-framed sunglasses and a colorful cotton scarf as a headband.
Judy stared at him, wishing she could see his eyes.
Her earpiece crackled. "Judy? Is it him?"
"I can't tell!" she said. "It could be."
He looked around. It was a big lawn, and the table had been placed twenty or thirty yards back from the curb. He started toward the governor.
Judy could feel everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her sign.
She moved, placing herself between him and the governor. The man noticed her move, hesitated, then continued walking.
Charlie spoke again. "Well?"
"I don't know!" she whispered, trying not to move her lips. "Give me a few more seconds!"
"Don't take too long."
"I don't think it's him," Judy said. All the pictures had shown a nose like the blade of a knife. This man had a broad, flat nose.
"Sure?"
"It's not him."
The man was within touching distance of Judy. He stepped around her and approached the governor. Without pausing in his stride, he put his hand inside his shirt.
In her earpiece Charlie said: "He's reaching for something!"
Judy dropped to one knee and fumbled for the pistol in her camera bag.
The man began to pull something out of his shirt. Judy saw a dark-colored cylinder, like the barrel of a gun. She yelled: "Freeze! FBI!"
Agents burst out of cars and vans and came running from the Capitol Building.
The man froze.
Judy pointed her gun at his head and said: "Pull it out real slow and pass it to me."
"Okay, okay, don't shoot me!" The man drew the object out of his shirt. It was a magazine, rolled
up into a cylinder, with a rubber band around it.
Judy took it from him. Still pointing her gun at him, she examined the magazine. It was this week's Time. There was nothing inside the cylinder.
The man said in a frightened voice: "Some guy gave me a hundred dollars to hand it to the governor!"
Agents surrounded Mike Robson and bundled him back into the Capitol Building.
Judy looked around, scanning the grounds and the streets. Granger is watching this, he has to be. Where the hell is he? People had stopped to stare at the running agents. A tour group was coming down the steps of the grand entrance, led by a guide. As Judy watched, a man in a Hawaiian shirt peeled off from the group and walked away, and something about him caught Judy's eye.
She frowned. He was tall. Because the shirt was baggy and hung loose around his hips, she could not tell whether he was thin or fat. His hair was covered by a baseball cap.
She went after him, walking fast.
He did not seem to be in a hurry. Judy did not raise the alarm. If she got every agent here chasing some innocent tourist, that might permit the real Granger to get away. But instinct made her quicken her pace. She had to see this man's face.
He turned the corner of the building. Judy broke into a run.
She heard Charlie's voice in her earpiece. "Judy? What's up?"
"Just checking someone out," she said, panting a little. "Probably a tourist, but get a couple of guys to follow me in case I need backup."
"You got it."
She reached the corner and saw the Hawaiian shirt pass through a pair of tall wood doors and disappear into the Capitol Building. It seemed to her that he was walking more briskly. She looked back over her shoulder. Charlie was talking to a couple of youngsters and pointing at her.
On the side street across the garden, Michael jumped out of a parked van and came running toward her. She pointed into the building. "Did you see that guy?" she yelled.
"Yes, that was him!" he called back.
"You stay here," she shouted. He was a civilian; she did not want him involved. "Keep the hell out of this!" She ran into the Capitol Building.
She found herself in a grand lobby with an elaborate mosaic floor. It was cool and quiet. Ahead of her was a broad carpeted staircase with an ornately carved balustrade. Did he go left or right, up or down? She chose left. The corridor dog-legged right. She raced past an elevator bank and found herself in the rotunda, a circular room with some kind of sculpture in the middle. The room extended up two floors to a richly decorated dome. Here she faced another choice: had he gone straight ahead, turned right toward the Horseshoe, or gone up the stairs on her left? She looked around. A tour group stared fearfully at her gun. She glanced up to the circular gallery at second-floor level and caught a glimpse of a brightly colored shirt.
She bounded up one of the paired grand staircases.
At the top of the stairs she looked across the gallery. On the far side was an open doorway leading to a different world, a modern corridor with strip lighting and a plastic-tiled floor. The Hawaiian shirt was in the corridor.
He was running now.
Judy went after him. As she ran, she spoke into her bra mike, panting. "It's him, Charlie! What the hell happened to my backup?"
"They lost you, where are you?"
"On the second floor in the office section."
"Okay."
The office doors were shut, and there was no one in the corridors: it was Saturday. She followed the shirt around a corner, then another, and a third. She was keeping him in view but not gaining on him.
The bastard is very fit.
Coming full circle, he returned to the gallery. She lost sight of him momentarily and guessed he had gone up again.
Breathing hard, she went up another ornate staircase to the third floor.
Helpful signs told her that the senate gallery was to her right, the assembly to her left. She turned left, came to the door of the gallery, and found it locked. No doubt the other would be the same. She returned to the head of the staircase. Where had he gone?
In a corner she noticed a sign that read "North Stair--No Roof Access." She opened it and found herself in a narrow functional stairwell with plain floor tiles and an iron balustrade. She could hear her quarry clattering down the stairs, but she could not see him.
She hurtled down.
She emerged at ground level in the rotunda. She could not see Granger, but she spotted Michael, looking around distractedly. He caught her eye. "Did you see him?" she called.
"No."
"Stay back!"
From the rotunda, a marble corridor led to the governor's quarters. Her view was obscured by a tour party being shown the door to the Horseshoe. Was that a Hawaiian shirt beyond them? She was not sure. She ran after it, along the marble hall, past framed displays featuring each county in the state. To her left, another corridor led to an exit with a plate-glass automatic door. She saw the shirt going out.
She followed. Granger was darting across L Street, dodging perilously through the impatient traffic. Drivers swerved to avoid him and honked indignantly. He jumped on the hood of a yellow coupe, denting it. The driver opened the door and leaped out in a rage, then saw Judy with her gun and hastily got back in his car.
She sprinted across the street, taking the same mad risks with the traffic. She darted in front of a bus that pulled up with a screech of brakes, ran across the hood of the same yellow coupe, and forced a stretch limousine to swerve across three lanes. She was almost at the sidewalk when a motorcycle came speeding up the inside lane straight at her. She stepped back, and he missed her by an inch.
Granger sped along Eleventh Street, then dodged into an entrance. Judy flew after him. He had gone into a parking garage. She turned into the garage, going as fast as she could, and something hit her, a mighty blow in the face.
Pain exploded in her nose and forehead. She was blinded. She fell on her back, hitting the concrete with a crash. She lay still, paralyzed by shock and pain, unable even to think. A few seconds later she felt a strong hand behind her head and heard, as if from a great distance, the voice of Michael saying: "Judy, for God's sake, are you alive?"
Her head began to clear, and her vision came back. Michael's face swam into focus.
"Speak to me, say something!" Michael said.
She opened her mouth. "It hurts," she mumbled.
"Thank God!" He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his khakis and wiped her mouth with surprising gentleness. "Your nose is bleeding."
She sat upright. "What happened?"
"I saw you turning inside, going like greased lightning, then the next minute you were flat on the ground. I think he was waiting for you and hit you as you came around the corner. If I get my hands on him ..."
Judy realized she had dropped her weapon. "My gun ..."
He looked around, picked it up, and handed it to her.
"Help me up."
He pulled her to her feet.
Her face hurt like hell, but she could see clearly and her legs felt steady. She tried to think straight.
Maybe I haven't lost him yet.
There was an elevator, but he could not have had time to take it. He must have gone up the ramp. She knew this garage--she parked here herself when she came to see Honeymoon--and she recalled that it spanned the width of the block, with entrances on Tenth and Eleventh Streets. Maybe Granger knew that, too, and was already getting away by the Tenth Street door.
There was nothing to do but follow.
"I'm going after him," she said.
She ran up the ramp. Michael followed. She let him. She had twice ordered him to stay back, and she could not spare the breath to tell him again.
They reached the first parking level. Judy's head started throbbing, and her legs suddenly felt weak. She knew she could not go much farther. They started across the floor.
Suddenly a black car shot out of its parking slot straight at them.
Judy leaped sideways, fell t
o the ground, and rolled, frantically fast, until she was underneath a parked car.
She saw the wheels of the black car as it turned with a squeal of tires and accelerated down the ramp like a shot from a gun.
Judy stood up, searching frantically for Michael. She had heard him shout with surprise and fear. Had the car hit him?
She saw him a few yards from her, on his hands and knees, white with shock.
"Are you all right?" she said.
He got to his feet. "I'm fine, just shook up."
Judy looked to see the make of the black car, but it had disappeared.
"Shit," she said. "I lost him."
20
As Judy was entering the officers' club at seven P.M., Raja Khan came running out.
He stopped when he saw her. "What happened to you?"
What happened to me? I failed to prevent the earthquake, I made a wrong guess about where Melanie Quercus was hiding out, and I let Ricky Granger slip through my fingers. I blew it, and tomorrow there will be another earthquake, and more people will die, and it will be my fault.
"Ricky Granger punched me in the nose," she said. She had a bandage across her face. The pills they had given her at the hospital in Sacramento had eased the pain, but she felt battered and dispirited. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"We were looking for a record album called Raining Fresh Daisies, remember?"
"Sure. We hoped it might give us a lead on the woman that called the John Truth show."
"I've located a copy--and it's right here in town. A store called Vinyl Vic's."
"Give that agent a gold star!" Judy felt her energy returning. This could be the lead she needed. It wasn't much, but it filled her with hope again. Perhaps there was still a chance she could prevent another earthquake. "I'm coming with you."
They jumped into Raja's dirty Dodge Colt. The floor was littered with candy bar wrappers. Raja tore out of the parking lot and headed for Haight-Ashbury. "The guy who owns the store is called Vic Plumstead," he said as he drove. "When I called a couple of days ago, he wasn't there, and I got a part-time kid who said he didn't think they had the record but he would ask the boss. I left a card, and Vic called me five minutes ago."
"At last, a piece of luck!"
"The record was released in 1969 on a San Francisco label, Transcendental Tracks. It got some publicity and sold a few copies in the Bay Area, but the label never had another success and went out of business after a few months."
Judy's elation cooled. "That means there are no files we can search for clues to where she might be now."