cards, every one with a cigarette stuck to the lips. 'Gambling's illegal,' his cell mate said with a wink.
They walked to the lifting area outdoors where the younger men sweated in the sun, polishing their tans while their muscles expanded. He pointed to the track in the distance and said, 'You gotta love the federal government.'
He showed Argrow the library, a place he never visited, and he pointed to a corner and said, 'That's the law library.'
'Who uses it?' Argrow asked.
'We usually have some lawyers here. Right now we have some judges too.'
Judges.
'Three of 'em.'
The old man had no interest in the library. Argrow followed him to the chapel, then around the grounds again.
Argrow thanked him for the tour, then excused himself and returned to the library, which was empty except for an inmate mopping a floor. Argrow went to the corner, and opened a door to the law library.
Joe Roy Spicer glanced up from his magazine and saw a man he'd never seen before. 'Lookin for something?' he asked, with no effort at being helpful.
Argrow recognized the face from the file. An ex-Justice of the Peace caught stealing bingo profits. What a low-life.
'I'm new,' he said, forcing a smile. 'Just got here. This is the law library?'
'It is.'
'I guess anybody can use it, huh?'
'I guess,' Spicer said. 'You a lawyer?'
'Nope, a banker.'
A few months earlier, Spicer would've hustled him for some legal work, under the table, of course. But not now. They no longer needed the nickel-and-dime stuff. Argrow looked around and did not see Beech and Yarber. He excused himself and returned to his room.
Contact was made.
Lake's plan to rid himself of any memories of Ricky and their ill-fated correspondence depended upon someone else. He, Lake, was simply too scared and too famous to sneak away again in the middle of the night, in a disguise, in the back of a taxi, dashing through the suburbs to an all-night mailbox. The risks were too great; plus he seriously doubted if he could shake the Secret Service anymore. He couldn't count the number of agents now assigned to protect him. Count, hell, he couldn't see them all.
The young lady's name was Jayne. She'd joined the campaign in Wisconsin and had quickly worked her way into the inner circle. A volunteer at first, she now earned $55,000 a year as a personal aide to Mr. Lake, who trusted her completely. She seldom left his side, and they'd already had two little chats about Jayne's future job in the White House.
At the right moment, Lake would give Jayne the key to the box rented by Mr. Al Konyers, and instruct her to get the mail, close out the rental, and leave no forwarding address. He would tell her it. was a box he'd rented in an effort to monitor the sale of classified defense contracts, back when he was convinced the Iranians were buying data they should never see. Or some such tale. She would believe him because she wanted to believe him.
If he were incredibly lucky, there would be no letter from Ricky The box would be forever closed. And if a letter was waiting for Jayne, and if she was the least bit curious, Lake would simply tell her he had no idea who the person was. She would ask nothing further. Blind allegiance was her strong suit.
He waited for the right moment. He waited too long.
THIRTY-ONE
It arrived safely with a million other letters, tons of paperwork shipped into the capital to sustain the government for one more day. It was sorted by zip code, then by street. Three days after Buster dropped it off, Ricky's last letter to Al Konyers made it to Chevy Chase. A routine check of Mailbox America by a surveillance team found it. The envelope was examined, then quickly taken to Langley.
Teddy was between briefings, alone for a moment in his office, when Deville rushed in, holding a thin file. 'We got this thirty minutes ago.' he said as he handed over three sheets of paper. 'It's a copy. The original is in the file.'
The Director adjusted his bifocals and looked at the copies before he began reading. There was the Florida postmark, same as always. The handwriting was too familiar. He knew it was serious trouble before he began reading.
Dear Al,
In your last letter you tried to end our correspondence. Sorry, it won't be that easy. I'll get right to the point. I'm not Ricky, and you're not Al. I'm in a prison, not some fancy drug rehab clinic.
I know who you are, Mr. Lake. I know you're having a great year, just wrapped up the nomination and all, and you have all that money pouring in. They give us newspapers here at Trumble, and we've been following your success with great pride.
Now that I know who Al Konyers really is, I'm sure you'd like for me to keep quiet about our little secret. I'll be happy to remain silent, but it will cost you dearly.
I need money, and I want out of prison. I can keep secrets and I know how to negotiate.
The money is the easy part, because you have so much of it. My release will be more complicated, but you're collecting all sorts of very powerful friends. I'm sure you'll think of something.
I have nothing to lose, and I'm willing to ruin you if you don't negotiate with me.
My name is Joe Roy Spicer. I'm an inmate at Trumble Federal Prison.You figure out a way to contact me, and do it quickly.
I will not go away.
Sincerely,
Joe Roy Spicer
The next briefing was canceled. Deville foundYork, and ten minutes later they were locked away in the bunker. Killing them was the first option discussed. Argrow could do it with the right tools; pills and poisons and such. Yarber could die in his sleep. Spicer could drop dead on the track. Beech the hypochondriac could get a bad prescription from the prison pharmacy. They were not particularly fit or healthy, and certainly no match for Argmw. A nasty fall, a broken neck. There were many ways to make it look natural or accidental.
It would have to be done quickly, while they were still waiting for a reply from Lake.
But it would be messy, and unduly complicated. Three dead bodies all at once, in a harmless little prison like Trumble. And the three were close friends who spent most of their time together, and they would each die in different ways within a very short period of time. It would create an avalanche of suspicion. What if Argrow became a suspect? His background was hidden to begin with.
And the Trevor factor frightened them. Wherever he was, there was the chance he would hear of their deaths. The news would scare him even more, but it might also make him unpredictable. There was a chance he knew more than they thought.
Deville would work on plans to take them out, but Teddy was very reluctant. He had no qualms about killing the three, but he was not convinced it would protect Lake.
What if the Brethren had told someone else?
There were too many unknowns. Make the plans, Deville was told, but they would be used only when every other option was gone.
All scenarios were on the table.York suggested, for the sake of argument, that the letter be returned to the box so Lake could find it. It was his screwup to begin with.
