not an ordinary run-of-the-mill operator for the Bell Telephone Company.'
'Sir…?'
'It doesn't matter, miss. My name is Kendrick and I have to reach Mr. Herbert Dennison, the White House chief of staff, as soon as possible—it's urgent. I'm asking you to do your best to find him and have him call me within the next five minutes. If that's impossible, I'll be forced to call my secretary's husband, who's a lieutenant on the Washington police, and tell him I'm being held prisoner at a location I'm fairly certain I can identify accurately.'
'Sir, please'.'
'I think I'm being reasonable and very clear,' interrupted Evan. 'Mr. Dennison is to contact me within the next five minutes, and the countdown's begun. Thank you, operator, have a good day.'
Again Kendrick hung up the phone but now he removed his hand and walked over to a wall bar which held an ice bucket and assorted bottles of expensive whisky. He poured himself a drink, looked at his watch and proceeded towards a large casement window that looked out on the rear floodlit grounds. He was amused at the sight of a croquet lawn bordered by white wrought-iron furniture; he was less amused by the sight of a marine guard dressed in the casual, unmilitary uniform of the estate's staff. He was pacing a garden path near the stone wall, his uncasual, very military repeating rifle angled in front. Manny was right: He was in jail. Moments later the telephone rang and the congressman from Colorado walked back to it. 'Hello, Herbie, how are you?'
'How am I, you son of a bitch? I'm in the goddamned shower, that's how I am. Wet! What do you want?'
'I want to know why Weingrass is being followed. I want to know why his name ever surfaced anywhere, and you'd better have a damn good explanation, like his personal well-being.'
'Back up, ingrate,' said the chief of staff curtly. 'What the hell is a Weingrass? Something put out by Manischewitz?'
'Emmanuel Weingrass is an architect of international renown. He's also a close friend of mind and he's staying at my house in Colorado, and for reasons that I don't have to give you, his being there is extremely confidential. Where and to whom have you circulated his name?'
'I can't circulate what I've never heard of, you fruitcake.'
'You're not lying to me, are you, Herbie? Because if you are I can make the next few weeks very embarrassing for you.'
'If I thought that lying would get you off my back, I'd go to the well, but I haven't got any lies where a Weingrass is concerned. I don't know who he is, so help me.'
'You read the debriefing reports on Oman, didn't you?'
'It's one file and buried. Of course I read it.'
'Weingrass's name never appeared?'
'No, and I'd remember if it did. It's a funny name.'
'Not to Weingrass.' Kendrick paused, but not long enough for Dennison to interrupt. 'Could anyone in the CIA or NSA or any of those outfits put a guest of mine under surveillance without informing you?'
'No way!' shouted the White House suzerain. 'Where you and the troubles you've laid on us are concerned, no one moves sideways for an inch without my knowing about it!'
'One last question. In the Oman file, was there any mention of the person flying back with me from Bahrain?'
It was Dennison's turn to pause. 'You're a little obvious, Congressman.'
'You're a little closer to those soft-boiled eggs over your face. If you think I'm bad news for you and your man now, don't even speculate on the architect's connection. Leave it alone.'
‘I’ll leave it alone,' agreed the chief of staff. 'With a name like Weingrass I can make another connection and it scares me. Like the Mossad.'
'Good. Now just answer my question. What was in the file about the flight from Bahrain to Andrews?'
'The cargo consisted of you and an old Arab in Western clothes, a longtime subagent for Cons Op who was being flown over for medical treatment. His name was Ali some-thing-or-other; State cleared him and he vanished. That's straight, Kendrick. No one in this government is aware of a Mr. Weingrass.'
