Her tone cooled a bit. “Was that another of your little secrets?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“When are you going to be honest with me?” she said in a quiet, troubled voice.
“Any day now.”
She turned on me, annoyed. “That’s not an answer.”
I stopped, but didn’t reply. We were near the main terminal; the last gate area was to our right. Ahead was a large room with ticket counters to the left, two revolving baggage racks on the right, and automatic double doors straight ahead, leading outside. To the far side of the baggage area was the only other exit: a corridor linking this terminal to others, and enclosing the traffic circle outside in another half-circle. I looked around, but didn’t know any of the faces picking up tickets and suitcases or striding away to catch planes. Then I saw what I was looking for.
“What is it?” she was asking, in a quick, tense voice.
It was the mustached man from the sanitarium, Lasko’s man, standing by the double doors to the outside. His gaze swept the baggage area to my right, moving back toward me. I glanced to my side. The gate area was empty. I jerked Mary over past the railing, out of sight of the terminal.
Her annoyance had merged into fear. “Damn it, what did you see?”
“One of Lasko’s men is out there. Look, you asked why I didn’t trust you. I didn’t know who to trust: Feiner’s hopeless, you and Woods are political, and McGuire’s-well, what he is. Someone told Lasko about Lehman. He’s dead and they tried to kill me. I couldn’t afford blind faith.”
“Chris, what is this all about?”
“Lasko was laundering money to pay someone off. To kill that antitrust case before it ruined him.”
“Who was it for?”
It wasn’t the time for explaining. “We’ll talk later,” I said. “Right now we’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got the facts to nail Lasko for Lehman’s murder and Catlow for criminal fraud and looting. I’m giving it all to Woods. Will you help?”
My answer didn’t please her, but she nodded, mutely. “All right,” I said, “you can start by believing me. There’s a man out there who would kill me if he felt he had to. If he sees you with me you could be hurt. Right now you can walk past him and out those front doors. I want you to do that, get your car, and meet me in the traffic circle in front of the United terminal. How long will that take?”
She paused, distracted. “I’m parked away a little. Fifteen minutes.”
“All right.”
She hesitated. “Just where are we going?”
“My office.”
“For what?”
“There’s something there I need.”
It sounded evasive, and was. Her body tensed. “No way, Chris,” she said angrily. “You say this is dangerous. I should at least know why.”
I stood there, undecided.
“Do I have to name each time you’ve lied to me?” she asked.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “There’s a memo hidden in my desk. Lasko wrote it to Lehman. It’s the most important piece of evidence I have.”
“Why?”
“It’s got box numbers in two Miami banks with instructions to transfer the money from the first to the second. It ties Catlow to the money, because the second box is in his name. And it gives Lasko a motive to kill Lehman. I’ve got the only copy. Is that enough?”
She nodded quickly. “I’ll meet you out front.”
“Thanks.”
She scurried off toward the parking lot. I leaned over the gate railing to see her stride past the man at the door. She hardly rated a glance.
I leaned back out of sight and checked my watch, calculating. They must be covering the airport, hoping I’d turn up. That meant someone else would cover the next terminal too. It didn’t leave much margin for error. I waited, managing nothing more than nervous regret that McGuire had put me in this mess, and wondering why he had.
The minutes dragged. I leaned against the rail of the deserted gate area. Strange faces marched by in both directions. Some would give me a vague, curious glance. I watched them, ready to move quickly, or run, I didn’t know where.
A big grey-haired man was walking up the corridor toward the terminal, wearing an out-of-season trench coat, too warm for hot weather. He looked at me. My knees tensed. He kept on going. I watched him, turning. He walked into the gate area. A plump woman came forward and gave him a small hug. He kissed her. I looked at my watch. It was time. I started moving.
I turned right through the gate entrance and into the corridor toward the lobby. I went at normal speed looking ahead and to my left, away from the mustached man. The corridor opened up into the terminal. He saw me then. I kept walking, not noting him. He was waiting for me to come to him, hands in his pocket now. I went across the terminal toward him, halfway between the two baggage racks to my right. Then I spun right and started running.
Beyond the space between the racks was the corridor to the next terminal. I squirmed and bumped through the people who milled by the racks, not seeing faces. I got clear of them into the corridor and looked back, still running. The crowd was oozing, parting, making way for the mustached man. I turned ahead, running past shops, dodging bodies. I brushed one against a wall going past as the corridor opened into the second terminal.
This one had two front doors, to the left and right of a long ticket desk. The bald man stood in front of that, watching both doors. He saw me as I burst out of the corridor and veered left for the nearest door.
He was quick, but I was too close. I was three feet from the door when he was four yards from me. He would have had to shoot me. I rushed through the doors into darkness and turned right on the sidewalk.
Mary’s car was in front of United, dimly lit by overhead lamps. There were no cars blocking hers. I cut into the circle of slow traffic and drop-offs and weaved through them to her car. Horns blasted. I reached the car and jumped in as she stepped on it. I turned and looked back through the window. Lasko’s men were standing amidst the traffic and the wail of angry horns. We sped away.
Mary asked what had happened. I waited until I caught my breath, then told her. Her hands on the wheel were white. “They’ll probably check my place first,” I finished, “then maybe yours if they got a license number. After that I’m sure they’ll think of my office.”
We were on the Parkway then, moving toward the Rochambeau Bridge. The Washington Monument punctured the dark, and beyond that, the Jefferson glowed quietly.
“Can we go faster?” I asked.
She glanced over. “I can’t believe you hid that memo.” Her voice held splinters of anger, mixed with fear.
We were crossing the bridge. The Potomac was black, like a huge ink spill. “Be kind. Remember that you’re abusing someone who was nearly the centerpiece at a closed casket funeral.”
“It’s not funny.”
“What isn’t?”
She paused. “None of it, I guess. I’m just glad you’re still alive.”
I turned from the rear window. “Mary, when this is over we’ll go hike up Green Mountain. There’s no politics there and no commission.”
She tried to smile. We drove silently in the darkness, through the L’Enfant Promenade, past the Capitol, and up to the doors of the ECC. No one behind us.
It was nine o’clock. Only the lobbies were lit and a few random offices. We parked in front. “They’ll be looking for us,” I said. “You’d better come. It’s not safe out here.”
“All right.”
We got out and went to the door. I opened it for her. We walked into the yellow light. Officer Davis sat at the desk. We showed him our cards. He didn’t smile. He never did.
