'Evan's response, MJ. He'd never take it.'
'Perhaps that's the shoe that hasn't dropped.'
'It would have to be an iron boot the size of the Sphinx's foot… Then there are two groups, one pushing our hero congressman on to the national ticket, the other doing its damnedest to keep him off.'
'I came to the same conclusion and told the President as much. Go to work, officer Rashad. Call me when you're settled in your hotel. I may have news from our doctors by then.'
'I don't suppose I could get in touch with my grandparents, could I? They live near here, you know.'
'Am I speaking with a twelve-year old? Absolutely not!'
'Understood.'
It was three o'clock in the winter afternoon, Eastern Standard time, and the limousines were parked in the drive at the estate in Cynwid Hollow. The chauffeurs smoked cigarettes, talking quietly among themselves. Inside, the conference had begun.
'This will be a brief meeting,' said Milos Varak, addressing the members of Inver Brass, the glare of the lamps illuminating their faces in the large, dimly lit study. 'But the information was so vital, I appealed to Dr Winters. I felt it was imperative that you be apprised.'
'That's obvious,' said Eric Sundstrom testily. 'I've left an entire laboratory not knowing what to do next.'
'You dragged me out of court, Milos,' added Margaret Lowell. 'I assume you're right, as you usually are.'
'I flew back from Nassau,' said Gideon Logan, laughing softly, 'but then I wasn't doing anything but fishing until that damned ship's phone jingled. Also, I wasn't catching anything.'
'I wish I could say I was even that productive, but I can't,' offered Jacob Mandel. 'I was at a basketball game when the beeper went off. I nearly didn't hear it, in fact.'
'I think we should proceed,' said Samuel Winters, an edge to his voice, part impatience and part something else, conceivably anger. 'The information is devastating.'
Margaret Lowell glanced over at the white-haired historian. 'Of course we will, Sam. We're just catching our breath.'
'I may have spoken of fishing,' said Gideon Logan, 'but my mind wasn't on fishing, Samuel.'
The spokesman of Inver Brass nodded, his tentative smile unsuccessful. 'Forgive me if I appear irritable. The truth is that I'm frightened, and so will you be.'
'Then there's nothing in my laboratories as important to me right now,' said Sundstrom gently, as if rightfully rebuked. 'Please, go ahead, Milos.'
Watch every face, every pair of eyes. Study the muscles of their jaws and around their lids and their hairlines. Look for involuntary swallows and pronounced veins on their necks. One of these four nearest me here knows the truth. One is the traitor.
'Palestinian terrorists have struck Congressman Kendrick's houses both in Virginia and Colorado. There was a considerable loss of life.'
A kind of controlled pandemonium broke out in that extraordinary room inside the estate on Chesapeake Bay. Its occupants fell back into chairs or sat forward over the table in shock; throated cries came from stretched lips, eyes wide in horror or narrowed in disbelief, and the questions rapidly assaulted Varak like the sharp reports of repeated rifle fire.
'Was Kendrick killed?’
'When did it happen?'
'I've heard nothing about it!'
'Was anyone taken alive?' This last question, the questioner instantly examined by Milos Varak, was Gideon Logan, his dark face set in fury—or was it frenzy… or fear?
‘I’ll answer everything I can,' said the Czech co-ordinator of Inver Brass, 'but I must tell you that I'm not fully informed. The word is that Kendrick survived and is in protective custody. The attacks took place late yesterday afternoon or possibly in the early evening—’
