The Covenant Of The Flame

She steered sharply toward it, parked in front, and hurriedly entered the building, slowing when she closed the door, doing her best to look calm.

'Yes, ma'am?' the muscular, sporting-goods clerk asked. Behind the counter, he cast his eyes up and down, assessing her face and figure, smiling – almost leering – with approval. 'How can I help you?'

'I need two boxes of ammunition for a SIG-Sauer nine millimeter pistol.'

'You must have plans for some heavy shooting.' He made the remark sound suggestive.

'The instructor in my target-practice course insists that we buy our own ammunition.'

'Well, I can promise, if you were in my class, I'd give you the ammunition and the lessons for free.' The clerk raised his eyebrows.

'In that case, I guess it's too bad you're not in my class,' Tess said.

The clerk was too absorbed by her braless breasts beneath her thin blouse to detect her muted irony.

While he turned his back to get the two boxes of ammunition, Tess reached in her purse to pull out her wallet, taking care that the clerk wouldn't see the handgun.

In the process, her fingers brushed the packet of photographs. As if she'd been jolted by an exposed electrical wire, she remembered that Craig had insisted last night that she have copies made and Fed-Exed to his office. But everything was different now! She didn't have time to obey Craig's orders, and for damned sure, she wouldn't feel safe waiting for the copies to be developed! She had to keep moving!

'Would you mind? Have you got an envelope?' she asked the clerk. 'Can I buy a stamp from you? I'd really appreciate it.'

'For such a pretty lady, why not?'

Thanks. I'll make a point of coming back.'

'Believe me, you'd be welcome. There's a range past that door. We could do some, what you might call, private shooting.'

Tess struggled to tolerate his banter, her mind in a turmoil. 'And I bet your aim's on target.'

'Never had complaints.'

Give me a break! Tess inwardly screamed. She managed not to cringe, paid for the ammunition, then took the envelope and the stamp. The negatives! she thought. I'll mail Craig the negatives. At least, they'll be protected.

At once the thought of the photographs – and the vivid recollection of the grotesque sculpture in Joseph's bedroom – made Tess's stomach burn with the forceful realization of where she had to go next.

It certainly wasn't the Capitol Building.

TWELVE

Craig slammed down the phone.

Captain Mallory, startled by the furious determination on Craig's face, jerked up his arms. 'Well, now I've heard everything. A lieutenant giving orders to a police chief.'

'Hey, it worked, didn't it? The Alexandria department's cooperating.'

'If you want to call it that. Even over here, I heard him shouting. When he gets his hands on you…'

'Tell me about it. What did you expect? I didn't have a choice. I couldn't… I didn't dare… give him specifics about my rendezvous with Tess. The killers are too well organized. If even one patrol car talks about the Marriott hotel on its radio and if their transmissions are being monitored, Tess'll be shot when she arrives.'

'But apparently you got the Alexandria chief to prepare a safe house. I have to admit I'm impressed. There's just one problem, Craig.'

'Only one? I see so many, I-'

'Yeah, a problem. I haven't given you permission to leave. You don't run this division. You're way beyond your authority.'

'I told you, I'm going!'

'Even if I suspend you?'

'Do what you have to! Fire me for all I care!'

'You stubborn…!'

'I don't have time to argue! All I do have time for is to grab a taxi and get to LaGuardia before that plane takes off!'

'In noon-hour traffic? Lots of luck finding a cab.'

Then I'll take a patrol car!'

'No!'

'What?'

'Wrong! You won't take a patrol car.'

'Don't get in my-!'

'Tony will. He'll drive you to the airport.'

Craig blinked in surprise. 'Did you just say…?'

'Get moving, Craig. Watch your ass. And if the Alexandria chief gives you trouble, tell him to phone me.'

'I can't believe… I don't know how to…'

'Thank me? By getting back here alive. By doing some work for a change. Tony, if traffic's really lousy, use the siren.'

THIRTEEN

As the patrol car squealed from One Police Plaza, two men watched intensely from a perfect duplicate of a telephone-company van parked down the street. Each had a ring in his pocket, a gleaming ruby overlaid with a golden insignia of an intersecting sword and cross.

In the van's front seat, the first man – a stern surveillance expert – compared the blurred, passing faces in the cruiser to a photograph in his hand. 'I think it's him!'

'You think"? We have to be sure.' In the back, the second man continued to monitor earphones.

'I am sure.'

'But you said you think, and that's not good enough. I wish we'd been able to put a tap on the phones in the Missing Persons office. Wait. I'm getting something.' The second man adjusted his earphones. 'My, my. The police dispatcher's telling all patrol cars to run interference and make sure that cruiser… its numbers match… reaches LaGuardia in time for a one o'clock Trump shuttle to Washington National Airport.'

'Is that good enough for you?'

'Yeah,' the technician said. 'Definitely good enough. Make the call.'

The man in the front seat picked up a cellular phone and pressed numbers. 'The catcher has left the plate. We think he's so upset about his girl friend's health that he needs to see her in the Washington ballpark.' He gave the details of the flight.

On the phone, the chameleon's voice responded. 'But what about the opposition?'

'So far no show. Maybe they don't want to play right now.'

'Not possible. Not when we're in the finals. You can bet their team's in the area. Keep checking for talent scouts. We'll check the Washington ballpark. But don't forget. The opposite team has a habit of showing up when we least expect them.'

FOURTEEN

Heart pounding, Tess scrambled into the Porsche outside the sporting-goods shop and peered urgently around, afraid that a car would suddenly park beside her, that men would lunge out, shooting. She yanked the handgun from her purse, maintaining sufficient presence of mind to keep the weapon low, out of sight from anyone outside the car. Frantic, she pressed the button that released the pistol's magazine and discovered that there were only two rounds left in the magazine, plus one in the firing chamber.

Jesus. Quickly she jerked the cardboard lid off one of the boxes of ammunition she'd bought and shoved fourteen more rounds into the magazine, filling it. In theory, the weapon held only sixteen rounds, but with the round that was already in the firing chamber ('one up the spout,' her father had liked to call it), the handgun's capacity now was seventeen.

The moment Tess slid the magazine back into the pistol's handle, snapping it into place, she felt as if a tight band around her chest had been relaxed. At least now she'd be able to defend herself. She hoped.

I have to get out of here.

She crammed the handgun into her purse, shoved the boxes of ammunition under the driver's seat, twisted the ignition key, stomped the accelerator, and urged the Porsche into a break in traffic on the busy thoroughfare.