The Covenant Of The Flame

'I know. A couple of hours ago. The trouble is, I haven't been able to find…"

'Theresa Drake. She's not my problem anymore. My men are still trying to make sense of what happened at her mother's house last night. The Washington police had a similar attack in their jurisdiction this afternoon. They want to know if the two are connected. But what I want to know is how the hell did the FBI get involved?'

'What?'

'They weren't invited, and I can't think of a reason why Melinda Drake's murder should be their business.'

At the mention of her mother, Tess winced.

'The FBI?' Craig said.

'Eric Chatham – the Bureau's director himself – got in touch with me shortly after noon. He wants to talk to Theresa Drake. National security. Top priority. Confidential. Blah, blah, blah. Hey, I'm good at my job, and when an outsider tries to tell me how to… Never mind. I explained my arrangement with you. Now it's out of my hands. I have orders – high level government orders – to instruct you to forget about banging Theresa Drake to me and instead to phone Chatham. Three times this afternoon, he called to find out if I'd heard from you, to remind me to tell you to contact him at once. Immediately. Craig, what in Christ's name is going on?'

'Chief, I swear I wish I knew.'

Then, you'd damned well better find out. As Chatham says, now. The last thing I need is trouble from the FBI.'

'I hear you.'

'Well, while you're at it, hear this, Craig. Some day, you and I will meet, and you'd better be prepared to explain. Take my word, you don't want me pissed off at you. Because I'm a vindictive son of a bitch, and I'll make sure your captain's pissed off at you as well.'

'I repeat, I hear you.'

'What a holy hell surprise. Someone's actually taking orders from me instead of giving them to me. Phone Chatham. Here's his private number.'

Craig wrote it down.

'Get that bureaucrat off my tail,' Farley said. 'So I can do my job. So I can find out who murdered Melinda Drake!'

'I promise. It'll be taken care of.' Troubled, Craig set down the phone.

'So,' Father Baldwin said, 'it's already started.'

Tess frowned in amazement. 'You think Eric Chatham's part of the group that's trying to kill me?'

'Possibly. I told you they'd risen to top positions. But this might be coincidental,' Father Baldwin said. 'Did Chatham know your father?'

'Very well.'

Then he might be acting out of loyalty, to try to protect you.'

Tess raised her hands, intensely frustrated. 'There's just one problem with that logic.'

'Oh?' Father Baldwin waited.

'Only the enemy knew I was at my mother's house last night.'

'Not true. There was Brian Hamilton, and of course, my associates.'

'But Brian Hamilton's dead!' Tess said. 'My point hasn't changed. The Alexandria police chief learned I was being hunted because Craig told him. But how did Chatham find out?'

Father Baldwin's eyes blazed. 'You're suggesting he received his information from the men who attacked your mother's house and failed to capture you?'

'It certainly makes sense to me,' Craig said.

'Perhaps.' Father Baldwin shook his head. 'But what troubles me is that the connection's so obvious. Since twelve forty-four and the vermins' escape from Montsegur, the heretics have survived because of their talent for hiding. Over the centuries, they've greatly improved their ability to deceive. If Chatham is an enemy, would he take the risk, would he violate his training and draw suspicion to himself by acting so directly?'

'If he and his group felt desperate enough.' Tess pivoted toward a religious painting, then whirled back toward Father Baldwin. 'By calling Chief Farley and insisting that the FBI take over, Chatham has already accomplished part of their goal. They want to kill me because of the photographs and what I know. But this way, I still haven't been able to tell the authorities.'

Father Baldwin didn't answer for a moment. 'You may be right. But there's only one way to learn.'

Tess breathed. 'Yes. To call him.' Apprehensive, she reached for the sheet of paper upon which Craig had written Chatham 's phone number.

'Wait,' Father Baldwin said.

'A minute ago, you were urging me to…'

'The situation's changed. Now that we've isolated a possible target, I need to teach you how to react to what Chatham tells you. Meanwhile, other arrangements have to be made. They're mundane but necessary.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's after seven.'

'So what?'

'You have to eat.'

'Forget it. Food's the last thing I'm interested in. I probably couldn't keep it down.'

'But you're useless to me if you're exhausted. My informants tell me you don't eat meat. Would fish be acceptable?"

Tess felt intimidated by Father Baldwin's intimate knowledge of her habits. At the same time, she felt indignant. But the priest's forceful tone had its effect.

'If you're that determined,' Tess said, 'go ahead, although I don't know why my permission matters. You'll do it anyhow. Sure. Yeah, fish will be fine.'

'And Lieutenant, what about you?'

'A week ago, I'd have ordered steak and fries,' Craig said. 'But now, after having met Tess… Whatever she recommends to eat is good enough for me.'

'I'll also need your clothing sizes,' Father Baldwin said. 'What you're wearing is torn and reeks of smoke. Since you'll soon be out in public, to avoid attracting attention, you'll have to put on fresh clothes.'

'For the second time today,' Tess murmured and discovered she was trembling.

TWO

Eric Chatham stood at the bottom of the steps that led to the Lincoln Memorial, its massive statue and white marble columns glowing eerily in the darkness. This section of the circular street around the memorial was closed to traffic, but to his right, headlights of vehicles approached along Daniel French Drive to stop at a parking lot, visitors getting out to stroll around and enter the memorial. Chatham studied those cars and visitors, waiting for a man to walk toward him and mention that he'd come from Tess Drake.

The night was warm. All the same, Chatham 's stomach felt crammed with jagged chunks of ice. He brooded, unable to subdue his misgivings. It wasn't just that he'd agreed, against all his instincts, to meet in this unorthodox, potentially dangerous way. It was also that this was the second such unorthodox meeting he'd had today, the first during noon hour at Arlington National Cemetery with Kenneth Madden, the CIA's Deputy Director of Covert Operations. The meetings were related, and Chatham was more convinced that something disastrous was about to happen. He thought of Melinda Drake's murder and corrected himself. No, not about to happen. Now. His years of experience as the Bureau's director told him that whatever was wrong had already begun and might even be out of control.

Tess was frightened, that much was certain. When she'd called him two hours ago, he'd been alarmed by her trembling voice, her desperate tone. Before he had a chance to explain why he needed to talk to her, she'd interrupted, claiming that she knew who'd killed her mother, that she had important information about the murder, but that she couldn't reveal it over the phone. She had to tell him about – to let him see - the evidence in person.

Then come to my office. No,' Chatham had said, 'it's more private at my home.'

'But I can't trust either place!'

'Forgive me, Tess, but don't you think you're taking precautions to an extreme?'

'After everything I've been through? Eric, you have no idea. In my position, you'd be…!'

'Okay. Calm down. If you believe you're in that much danger, I'll arrange for special agents to guard my house.'

'No! The meeting has to be on my conditions! If you were truly a friend of my father, you'll do your best to help me stay alive!'