“I never do anything without a reason, McCluskey. I want us to talk.”
“Sure, no problem. Let me take down your-”
“Later tonight.” A waitress was advancing with the beers they’d ordered. Dulwater, rubbing his hands, was right behind her. “Say midnight.”
“Midnight? Well, that’s a funny-”
“ La Jolla, remember that place we went for a drink after you showed me where my brother was murdered?”
“Now, Gordon, you know there’s not one shred of evi-dence-”
“Outside there at midnight. If you’re not alone, I don’t show.”
Dulwater sat down as Reeve cut the call. “What was that?” he asked.
“A sideshow,” said Reeve, taking one of the glasses. He gulped an inch of liquid and licked his lips. “So why are we having this good-natured drink, Mr. Dulwater? How come you don’t have me trussed up in a crate on my way back to Washington?”
Dulwater lifted his own beer but did not drink. “I like my job, Gordon; I like it fine. But I have ambition just like anyone else.”
“You want to set up for yourself?”
Dulwater shook his head. “I want a promotion.”
“Well, if you take me back to Allerdyce, I’m sure you’d be well placed…”
“No, that’s not the way Allerdyce works. He’d only want more. Besides, what are you to him? You’re a one- night irritant, like a mild allergic reaction. You’re not the prize.”
“Kosigin?”
Dulwater nodded. “I get the feeling if I stick close to you, I’ll get Kosigin.”
“And then you hand Kosigin to Allerdyce?”
“But not all at once. He wouldn’t be grateful if I just handed that bastard over. One little piece at a time.”
Reeve shook his head. Everybody wanted something: Duhart wanted something on Allerdyce; Dulwater wanted something
And what did Gordon Reeve want? He thought of Nietzsche again: the will to power. Power was what most of these games were all about, the desire for power, the fear of loss of power. Reeve wasn’t a part of the game. He was on another board with different pieces. He wanted
“You know,” he said, “I’m not even sure I should be talking to someone who broke into my damned house.”
Dulwater shrugged. “I wasn’t the first. Alliance didn’t plant those bugs, Kosigin’s men did. Besides, what have you to lose by cooperating? You surely don’t think you can do anything to harm Kosigin on your own.”
“I’m not on my own.”
“You’ve got help?” Dulwater thought for the merest second. “Cantona?” Reeve’s face failed to disguise his surprise. “Cantona’s a deadbeat. You think you can put him up against Kosigin?”
“How do you know about Cantona?”
“You forget, Kosigin hired Alliance to compile a dossier on your brother. We’re very thorough, Gordon. We not only did a full background check, including family, we watched him for a couple of weeks. We watched him get to know Cantona.”
“Then you handed the lot over to Kosigin and he had my brother killed.”
“There’s no evidence-”
“Everybody keeps telling me that!”
Dulwater still hadn’t touched his drink. He ran his thumb around the rim of the frosted glass. “A good argument for letting me help you. The courts aren’t going to be any use. You’re never going to have enough evidence to go to court with. The best you can hope for is that someone else makes Kosigin’s life hell. Kosigin lives for power, Gordon. If someone else gains power over
Reeve sighed. “Maybe you’re right,” he lied. “Okay, what exactly do you propose?”
Dulwater stared at him, measuring his sincerity. Reeve concentrated on the beer. “Why did you come back here?” Dulwater asked.
“I wanted to speak to a few people. I intend speaking to one of them tonight. You can help.”
“How?”
“Two things: one, I need a video camera, a good one, plus a couple of recorders, more if you can get them. I want to make copies of a videotape.”
“You need these tonight?”
Reeve nodded.
“Okay, I don’t foresee a problem. What’s the other thing?”
“I need you to keep lookout for me.”
“Where?”
“In La Jolla.” Reeve paused. “About two miles away from where I’ll actually be.”
“I think you’ve lost me.”
“I’ll explain later. You’re sure you can get the equipment?”
“Pretty sure. It may take a few phone calls. It may have to be brought down from L.A. Are you in a hotel here?”
“Same one I stayed in last time, the Radisson.”
“I’m in the Marriott,” Dulwater informed him. Reeve’s face was a mask. “It’s more central. We’ll set the gear up in my room if that’s all right with you.”
“Fine,” Reeve said dryly.
At last Dulwater took a sip of his beer. He pretended to savor it as he framed another question. “What is it you’re going to video exactly?”
“A confession,” Reeve said. “One man unburdening his soul.”
“Film at eleven,” Dulwater said with a smile.
NINETEEN
REEVE PARKED THE DART a couple of streets away from where he wanted to be.
There was a pizza delivery van parked curbside, a little boxy three-wheeler which looked like it might use an electric motor. He hadn’t seen anyone inside it as he’d driven past, and he didn’t see anyone in it now. He gave it another couple of minutes-maybe the delivery boy was having trouble making change. But he knew there was no delivery boy really. What there was was an undercover cop, keeping watch on the bungalow, except he’d been called to another job just a couple of miles away. The electric motor wouldn’t take him there, so his buddies had come and picked him up.
Reeve checked his watch. It was quarter to midnight. He didn’t have much time. Having already noted the delivery van, he hadn’t bothered bringing the video camera with him. It was still locked in the Dart’s trunk. He walked down the street then back up the other side. There was no one about, no neighborhood patrol or crime watch. Reeve stopped for a moment beside the delivery van. It boasted a radio with handset attached. He saw now why they’d used a delivery van: there was nothing particularly odd about such a van having a radio. It might have been so the driver could keep in touch with base.
Indeed, that was just what it was for.
Lights were burning in the bungalow, but not brightly. A reading lamp maybe. The curtains were closed, the light seeping out from around the edges of the window. Reeve opened the slatted wooden gate, hearing bells jangle from a string attached to the back of it. He walked up to the bungalow and rang the bell. He was hoping there would be someone home. With the journalist dead, he was betting they’d have let the scientist come home. He heard a chain rattle. A security chain. The door opened a couple of inches, and Reeve stepped back to give it the meat of his shoe heel. It took two blows till the door burst open.
