“Hello, Caitlin.”
“My God, John. I hardly recognized you. You’ve changed.”
“It’s been a dozen years, Caitlin. Sometimes they slip by without leaving any sign of their passage, much as they’ve treated you. Other times, they just pile up.”
“Is that what they’ve done to you, pile up?”
“Some have. Won’t you sit? Can I order you a drink?”
Caitlin pulled the only other chair out and sat down. “No, thank you. I had one earlier and life has become a little too interesting to dull with more alcohol just now.”
“Coffee then?”
She nodded.
John caught the bartender’s eye, mouthed coffee, and held up two fingers before sitting down across from her.
The bartender appeared almost immediately and placed two cups on the table. “Cream or sugar?”
“No thanks,” Caitlin said.
John waited until the bartender had moved off. “I understand you need some assistance. From your abrupt disconnect, I gather it’s rather immediate.”
“Right to the point, eh John? You’ve changed more than in just your appearance. I remember when you could make small talk until sunup.”
He didn’t reply.
A chair grated across the wood floor, and Caitlin’s head snapped around. Across the room, a man stood up and staggered toward them. She watched him until he passed their table and disappeared down a hallmarked with a small sign labeled restrooms.
“Would you care to slide your chair around so you can see the front?”
She nodded and scooted her chair sideways until she sat elbow to elbow with him. She now had a good view of the rest of the bar and the front door.
John’s right hand moved toward her and, for a moment, she thought he was putting his arm around her, and then his hand moved toward her purse.
“What?”
He raised a finger to his lips and swept his right hand over her purse.
For the first time, she noticed he wore a bracelet on that wrist. A tiny light blinked on the bracelet.
Without a word, John opened the purse and beginning removing its contents one item at a time. His lack of explanation was irritating, and she reached for her purse to yank it away from him when he paused and held a pearl button over his bracelet. The light stopped blinking and burned steadily.
John closed his left fist tightly around the button. “Just a minute.”
Pushing his chair silently back, John stood and went to the bar. Caitlin watched him speak to the bartender, who nodded once and then held out his hand. John dropped the button into it and came back.
“What was that all about?”
“Did you recognize that?”
“No. It could have been one of my buttons, but I don’t normally have buttons in the bottom of my purse.”
“You didn’t this time either. That was a transmitter. Someone’s been tracking you.”
“Tracking me? Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
“Then this is some kind of detector?” she said as she reached for his wrist.
He pulled back.
Surprised, she dropped her hand back to her side.
“That’s right, an electric field detector.”
“Why’d you give the transmitter to the bartender?”
“He has a microwave behind the bar.”
“A microwave? What’s he going to do? Scramble it or fry it?”
“Neither, for now. If I just wanted to destroy it, I could have stepped on it.”
“Then why?”
“Microwave ovens have a shield to keep the microwave radiation inside during operation. The same shield will block the transmitter’s signal while I decide what to do with it.
“Now, perhaps you should tell me what’s going on.”
Caitlin took a deep breath and began. “Someone is after me.”
She spoke in a rush. She had a need to get it said as if the telling would make it seem more believable.
When she finished, John’s face betrayed no sign of emotion. “Doesn’t sound much like a professional job. Are you having troubles with ... Scott wasn’t it?”
Caitlin’s face darkened. “Scott’s dead.”
“Oh? Recently?”
“This afternoon.”
For the first time, his eyes seemed to shift and soften. “I’m sorry. Did his death have anything to do with the attack on you?”
“I ... I don’t know, but I can’t see it not having some connection. We were on the telephone when he was killed.”
John stared at her until she began to feel uncomfortable, then he looked away and took a small notepad from an inside pocket. “Give me those names again.”
Caitlin recited them and then took phone and called up the photo with the license plate number. John copied it and returned the notepad and pen to his jacket pocket. “They’re definitely government plate.”
John tapped his pen against the table. “Caitlin, how did you happen to find me?”
“I ... I came across your name on the Web a couple of months ago. It didn’t take long to find your home page after that.”
“I see. Well, I’m not tied up at the moment so I can probably help you. Business is business, but I’ll give you the cut rate for my time and whatever expenses I incur while helping you.”
“Expenses? Business? I thought, never mind. Do you take American Express?”
He almost smiled. “Caitlin, normally I do, but I wouldn’t recommend you use any of your cards just now. If the government is really involved, your cards will lead them right to us.”
“I see. Well, I’m not carrying much cash. What are your rates?”
He quoted a figure that made her wince. “But that’s the going rate. For you, half that, after all, what are friends for?”
“Yeah, right.”
“You sound like you don’t think I should be charging you.”
“I came
