"Damn," Ingram said nervously. "Has anybody found them yet?"
“According to my father-in-law, the white guy's real name is Hill. I was told this morning they had an operation under way to lure him into a trap. They were taking him to a house near Nashville owned by Mr. Wizner. It's been unoccupied since his sister died. They're planning to use drugs to find out about the black guy and if Hill has talked to anybody else about Jabberwock."
"I'd better check with Mr. Newman tonight and see where everything stands." Ingram didn't like the sound of it.
"Good idea. I'm sure he'll know. I think he was supplying the airplane to fly Hill out of New Orleans."
Lori had spotted the tail shortly after she left home that morning. It was a dark blue Ford with a dent nearly in the center of the left front fender. She shook her head. Someone should tell the guy you don't use vehicles with obviously identifiable marks in surveillance. It was still with her later in the morning when she crossed the Key Bridge into Georgetown, looped onto the Whitehurst Freeway and picked up Pennsylvania Avenue at Washington Circle. She spotted it cruising past as she parked in the area behind the House office buildings on the south side of the Capitol.
The congressman was late for his appointment with Lori and apologetically invited her to lunch in one of the House dining rooms. Afterward, she drove downtown for a few follow-up calls. When she hit the streets, she soon singled out a man dressed in a short-sleeve white shirt, navy blue slacks and powder blue tie. Long brown hair was tossed about his head by a sultry, ill-tempered wind. He kept his distance most of the time. When she entered a business, he paused to window shop or stroll into a nearby store.
Lori kept to her routine and gave no indication that she was aware of any of this. She had planned her schedule to wind up near the Pennsylvania Avenue office in late afternoon. This was the phone number she had left with the congressman's receptionist for relay to Burke. The small Clipper Cruise & Travel office was located in a storefront building with floor-to-ceiling windows, providing an unobstructed view from the street. There were a few desks in the open area, with the manager's office and a workroom at the rear.
When she entered the office around four-thirty, she plopped wearily into a chair beside the desk of a rosy-cheeked young blonde.
"It's hot out there, Millie. I've really been wearing down the shoe leather. How was your day?"
The girl gave her a thin smile and pointed to the curved cradle attached to the phone on her desk. "I've got a crick in my neck from leaning into that gadget. And I've about worn the skin off my ear. Why do people even think about going to Florida in weather like this, Miss Quinn?"
If you only knew, thought Lori. She reached down to remove a small purse from her stuffed briefcase. "Orlando, I'll bet," she said, straightening up with a move that gave her a clear view of the sidewalk and beyond. Blue-tie leaned against a wall at the entrance to the building across the broad, busy street, giving the appearance of a young stud perusing a tabloid while waiting for his girlfriend. "With the kids out of school," she added, "everybody wants to rush off to Disney World." She took a small mirror from her purse and checked her makeup.
"The magic mouse really lures them down there, doesn't he? For my money, I'd rather head for the mountains and find me some cool."
Lori grinned. "You're too young to act that sensible. I'd have thought you'd be off to the beach."
"Not everybody's the sailor you are, lady," said a low-pitched voice behind her.
She turned to greet her manager, Marilee Breckinridge, a tall, statuesque woman with the classic lines and heroic proportions of a Greek goddess. Premature streaks of gray flecked her sculptured hairdo, a circumstance that gave her no more concern than the day's close of the Dow.
"Hi, Marilee. I have a new prospect for you." She stood up, retrieving her briefcase. "Take care of the mouse people, Millie. They like to spend money."
Lori walked back to a vacant desk and opened her briefcase, pulling out a sheaf of papers.
"Why don't we go to my office?" Marilee suggested.
"This will be okay. My feet don't want to take any more steps than necessary."
Lori began to talk about the prospective client, keeping an ear tuned to the ring of a telephone that might be the call from Burke. She purposely remained where blue-tie could see her, hoping to discount any suspicion that she was anticipating a call.
By six o'clock, she still sat at the desk, attempting to look busy. Everyone had left except Marilee, who was working in her office. Lori checked her watch for what seemed the hundredth time. Why didn't he call? She had understood his cryptic remark as meaning the anonymous "wealthy gentleman" referred to in her father's letter. But what could take so long that he had not yet found time to call?
Marilee came out of her office carrying a package. "I need to get this over to my sister's. Unless you need me for something, I'm getting out of here." She laid a gentle hand on Lori's shoulder. "You look tired, boss lady. You'd better call it quits, too."
"I won't be here long," Lori said. "Good night." She let her eyes follow the retreating figure and her gaze swept across the way. The man was no longer in sight, but she had no doubt that he remained nearby.
The Massachusetts congressman's administrative assistant was a casual acquaintance, and through him she obtained the receptionist's home phone number. When she reached the girl, she explained who she was and asked what time Mr. Hill had called.
"I'm sorry, Miss Quinn, but I never heard back from him. I checked with the girl who relieved me at lunchtime, so I'm sure he never called."
Now she was genuinely concerned. For the past week, Burke had been scrupulous in keeping to their daily schedule of phone calls. What could have kept him from getting back to the congressman's office? She telephoned Cloe Brackin to warn that she was headed that way, with danger signals flying.
Burke slipped out of his hiding place in one of the abandoned servants' rooms as soon as the glow of daylight faded from the slender window near the ceiling. The storm had passed, but a thick cloud deck remained to lower the curtain of darkness early. He had heard few sounds from upstairs for some time now, judging that it meant the search had widened into other areas or some of the men had been relieved from duty.
He moved into the workshop, stepping carefully among the darkened shapes, then cat-like up the stairs to the outside door. He unlocked the deadbolt, eased the door open. Compared to the coolness of the basement, the air outside felt warm and muggy. Sidestepping a large puddle at the landing, he took the remaining steps with care, pausing when his eyes rose above the ground. Soft light filtered from curtained windows onto the flagstone terrace at the back of the house, but beyond it, where the lawn should have been, hung a shapeless mass that all but obscured the beginnings of the hedgerow flanking the walkway to the lake. Fog, thick and dark as chocolate mousse.
Burke listened for human sounds, such as the furtive brush of a shoe sole against stone. He sniffed at the air for cigarette smoke, anything that might spell danger. Detecting nothing but the croaking of frogs, the chirping of crickets, and the smell of soggy, freshly-mown grass, he ventured out of the stairwell onto the soaked lawn. His body bent low, he crept through the misty curtain, moving toward the hedge.