loving him. You loved me, too, but in a different way.'
That was true. Her love for Bern was a gentle, calm feeling. With him she had never felt the hurricane of passion that engulfed her when she was with Luke. And when she asked herself what she felt for Harold - the easy affection or the whirlwind of excitement - the answer was depressingly obvious. Thinking about Harold gave her a pleasant but mild sense of pleasure. She had little experience of men - the only ones she had slept with were Luke and Bern - but instinct told her that with Harold she would never have the feeling Luke gave her of a sexual craving that left her weak and helpless with desire.
'Luke's married,' she said. 'To a beautiful woman.' She thought for a moment 'Is Elspeth sexy?'
Bern frowned. 'Hard to say. She could be, with the right guy. To me she seemed cold, but she never had eyes for anyone but Luke.'
'Not that it matters. Luke is the faithful type. He'd stay with her if she was an iceberg, just out of a sense of duty.' She paused. 'There's something I have to say to you.'
'Okay.'
'Thank you. For not saying 'I told you so.' I sure appreciate your restraint.'
Bern laughed. You're thinking about our great quarrel.'
She nodded. 'You said my work would be used to brainwash people. Now your prediction has come true.'
'All the same, I was wrong. Your work had to be done. We need to understand the human brain. People may use knowledge to do evil, but we can't hold up scientific progress. But, listen, do you have a theory about what Anthony is up to?'
'Best I could come up with: I imagine Luke discovered a spy down there at Cape Canaveral, and came to Washington to tell the Pentagon about it But the spy is really a double agent, working for us, so Anthony is desperate to protect the guy.'
Bern shook his head. 'Not good enough. Anthony could have dealt with that simply by telling Luke that the spy was a double. He didn't have to wipe his memory.'
'I guess you're right and Anthony shot at Luke a few hours ago. I know this secret agent work tends to go to men's heads, but I can't believe the CIA would actually kill an American citizen to protect a double agent'
'Sure they would,' Bern said. 'But it wouldn't have been necessary. Anthony could just have trusted Luke.'
'Do you have a better theory?'
'No.'
Billie shrugged. 'I'm not sure it matters any more. Anthony has deceived and betrayed his friends - who cares why? Whatever strange purpose has driven him to this, we've lost him. And he was a good friend.'
'Life sucks,' Bern said. He kissed her cheek and got out of the car. 'If you hear from Luke tomorrow, call me.'
'Okay.'
Bern walked into the building, and Billie drove off.
She crossed the Memorial Bridge, skirted the National Cemetery, and zigzagged through the suburban streets to her home. She reversed into the driveway, a habit she had developed because she was usually in a hurry when leaving. She entered the house, hung her coat on the hall stand, and went straight upstairs, unbuttoning her dress and pulling it off over her head as she did so. She threw it over a chair, kicked off her shoes, and went to check on Larry.
When she saw the empty bed, she screamed.
She looked into the 'bathroom, then Becky-Ma's room. 'Larry!' she yelled at the top of her voice. 'Where are you?' She ran downstairs and went into every room. Still in her underwear, she left the house and looked in the garage and the yard. Going back inside, she went into every room again, opening closets and checking under beds, looking into every space large enough to hold a seven-year-old.
He had gone.
Becky-Ma came out of her bedroom, fear written on her lined face. 'What's happening?' she said shakily.
'Where's Larry?' Billie shouted.
'In his bed, I thought,' she said, her voice becoming a moan of misery as she realized what had happened.
Billie stood still for a moment, breathing hard, fighting down panic. Then she went into Larry's bedroom and studied it.
The room was tidy, with no signs of struggle. Checking his closet, she saw the blue teddy-bear pyjamas he had worn last night neatly folded on a shelf. The clothes she had set out for school today had gone. Whatever had happened, he had got dressed before leaving. It looked as if he had gone with someone he trusted.
Anthony.
At first she felt relief. Anthony would not harm Larry. But then she thought again. Wouldn't he? She would have said Anthony would not harm Luke, but he had shot at him. There was no telling any more what Anthony would do. At the very least, Larry must have been frightened, to be woken up so early and made to get dressed and leave the house without seeing his mother.
She had to get him back fast.
She ran downstairs to call Anthony. Before she got to the phone, it rang. She snatched it up. 'Yes?'
'This is Anthony.
'How could you do it?' she screamed. 'How could you be so cruel?'
'I have to know where Luke is,' he said coolly. 'It's unimaginably important'
'He's gone-' She stopped herself. If she gave him the information, she would have no weapons left.
'Gone where?'
She took a breath. 'Where's Larry?'
'He's with me. He's fine, don't worry.'
That enraged her. 'How could I not worry, you dumb prick!'
'Just tell me what I need to know, and everything will be all right'
She wanted to believe him, to blurt out the answer and trust him to bring Larry home, but she resisted the temptation fiercely. 'Listen to me. When I see my son, I'll tell you where Luke is.'
'Don't you trust me?'
'Is that a joke?'
He sighed. 'Okay. Meet me at the Jefferson Memorial.'
She felt a small surge of triumph. 'When?'
'Seven o'clock.'
She checked her watch. It was after six. I'll be there.'
'Billie...'
'What?'
'Be alone.'
'Yeah.' She hung up.
Becky-Ma was standing by her side, looking frail and old. 'What is it?' she said. 'What's going on?'
Billie tried to give an impression of calm. 'Larry's with Anthony. He must have come in and got him while you were asleep. I'm going to pick him up now. We can stop worrying.'
She went upstairs and threw on some clothes. Then she picked up the dressing-table chair and placed it in front of the wardrobe. Standing on the chair, she took a small suitcase from on top of the wardrobe. She placed the case on the bed and opened it She unwrapped a cloth to reveal a .45 Colt Automatic.
They had all been issued with Colts in the war. She had kept hers as a souvenir, but some instinct made her clean and oil it regularly. Once you had been shot at, you were never comfortable unless you had a firearm someplace, she guessed.
She pressed the thumb release on the left side of the grip, behind the trigger, and drew the magazine out of the grip. There was a box of bullets in the case. She loaded seven into the magazine, pushing them in one by one against the spring, then slid the magazine back into the butt until she felt it lock. She worked the slide to chamber a round.
She turned around to see Becky-Ma standing in the doorway, staring at the gun.
