The Hunt

“You consider this eyewitness reliable?”

“As reliable as you can get.”

Rudman’s eyes narrowed.

“It was Reinhardt, wasn’t it? You talked to Reinhardt.”

“I’ve told you all I can. Don’t push me.” He looked down at Vanessa. “Why don’t you go put something on,” he suggested.

“All I’ve got’s my dress from last night.”

“There are half a dozen bathrobes in there. Take one.” She walked out of the room, the sheet dragging along behind her.

“Phew,” Rudman sighed appreciatively.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Keegan said.

“I’ve already got so many ideas I couldn’t ... ah, forget that.” He stopped and waved his hand. “At least talk to Wallingford, okay? See what you can find out for me.”

“Wally isn’t speaking to me right now.”

“What the hell did you do to him? Wally speaks to every body.”

“I didn’t RSVP one of his parties.”

“Ah c’mon. Take him out for a drink or something, Francis, I’m hurting for a lead right now.”

“Believe me, Bert, the guy will not give me the time.”

“Try.”

There was a long silence. Then Keegan quietly said, “All right, I’ll try.”

“Thanks, buddy. I’ll be at the Trib office and then the Imperial Bar.”

“I didn’t know the Imperial had a pressroom,” Keegan said sarcastically.

“The Imperial Bar is a pressroom,” Rudman said. “Everybody in the press corps hangs out there. Goebbels even drops by in the afternoon with his latest proclamation.”

“Well, that’s a break, you don’t even have to go over to the propaganda ministry to pick up his latest lies.”

“It’s a starting place,” Rudman said. “He gives us his lies and we boil out the truth.”

Rudman started for the door, stopped short. “You know,” he said, “this is the first time I’ve ever known you to change your mind about something.”

“Maybe it’s because I want to know the truth myself.” “Well, that’s another first,” Rudman said, and left.

George Gaines was standing inside the door of the embassy when Keegan entered. He looked up sharply, his face drawn up with anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the attache asked harshly.

“I came to see Wally,” Keegan said quietly. “What’s your problem?”

“You are,” the major answered. “You’re everybody here’s problem.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean. Trace spent the night in Landsberg prison. God knows what happened to Reinhardt. And poor old Wally’s been recalled.”

“Recalled!”

Gaines started up the stairs to the offices and Keegan fell in beside him. When one of the Marine guards stepped in front of Keegan, Gaines waved him aside. “It’s okay,” he said.

“That Nazi bastard lifted his passport,” Gaines said as they went to the second floor. “With a little help from you

Keegan cut him off. “Look, I don’t get paid to stick my neck in a noose because Roosevelt snaps his fingers,” he growled angrily. “So Trace spent the night in jail. Big deal. He’s okay, isn’t he?”

“He’s okay,” Gaines begrudgingly admitted.

“If I’d been with Reinhardt I’d be dead now, I wouldn’t just have to worry about my damn passport. I don’t have diplomatic immunity, George.”

“Tell Wally about it. He’s the one whose career just got flushed.” Gaines nodded toward an open door. “There’s his office. Although I don’t think he’s too anxious to talk to you.”

As Keegan started to enter the office a Marine came by carrying a large cardboard box. Keegan stepped around him. Wallingford’s inner door was open and Keegan could see him in the office, taking pictures off the wall.

“It’s all right, Belinda,” Wallingford said. He walked back to his desk, his arms stacked with framed photographs as Keegan entered his room. Wallingford carefully placed the pictures in an open box on his desk. The rest of the room was almost cleared out.

“I heard they gave you the boot,” Keegan said.

“Come by to gloat?”

“Come on, Wally, I didn’t stick Reinhardt in that car with Trace. Hell, I’m going to miss you. You throw the best parties in Europe.”