only got one piddly little vote and one stomach lining, so I sleep better not knowing what the elected ones are doing on a daily basis. If you avoid television, as I do, they are remarkably easy to ignore.
The storyline du jour was the possibility of a female vice-presidential candidate. The five women the pundits thought most eligible for a political mating were three senators and two governors, who were given a lot of column inches.
A page over I stopped to read Jack Yocke’s column. I had met him at Grafton’s house a year or so ago, and he seemed like a decent sort. He had a different slant on the woman veep issue, however. According to Yocke’s unnamed sources — journalese for rumor — the president was considering the possibility of nominating his wife, Zooey Sonnenberg, for the vice-presidential spot.
Wow! If it happened, that would really be news. Not the biggest story since the resurrection, but close. Sonnenberg, who didn’t use her husband’s name, was a politician in her own right, and a controversial one. When she was young she had used her position as the female scion of a prominent wealthy family to make a big splash in the antiwar movement during the height of the Vietnam protests. She had advocated leftist causes in the years since, although she had been moderating her stances since her husband got elected to drive the bus. According to Yocke.
He went on to analyze the political chemistry. The president’s strongest support was from the conservative wing of his party. Zooey would strengthen him with the liberals, the theory went. She would even steal votes from women of the other party, which was a politician’s nirvana. Jack Yocke said that Zooey Sonnenberg on the ticket would be just what the doctor ordered to reelect the president.
I tossed the paper down and turned off the light, wondering where Yocke had gotten that tidbit.
The country was overdue for a woman vice president, but Zooey Sonnenberg? The first lady? The president’s wife?
After a while Grafton joined me in the darkness. “Callie says Goncharov has his memory back.”
“Thank God,” I whispered fervently. “What did he say?” I said, speaking louder.
“She didn’t question him about the files. Didn’t think this was the time.”
I took a sip of beer to hide my disappointment.
I saw the flash of his teeth in the darkness as he grinned at me. “This is going to work out, Tommy. We’ll get these people.”
“How?”
“You’ll see. Just bug that hotel. Pick up Sarah Houston at her apartment on your way to New York and take her along. She can’t be of much help if she stays in her office.”
“I have to go back to Washington tomorrow,” I told the admiral, “to make some preparations. Probably spend the night with Willie Varner, leave for New York the following morning. Do you think I should ask Joe Billy Dunn to help?”
“You’re worried he’s talking to people at Langley?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you decide if a person can be trusted?”
I took a deep breath as I thought about the answer to that one. I’d made my share of mistakes through the years. Kelly Erlanger sprang immediately to mind. “Gut feeling, I suppose.”
“How much help do you need?”
“One or two other people. Willie can work the van. I can teach him enough in half an hour to stand in for me.”
“Who would you use if you decide not to use Dunn?”
“There’s a couple of folks who helped me on a couple of things in the past. Man and woman who run a little electrical business, Scout and Arlene.”
“Are they honest?”
“Arlene used to be a crackhead. Was a street-corner hooker to pay for her habit. She beat it, though, which puts her pretty damned high in my book. Scout’s a thief. Willie sent me to them a couple years ago, says they’re good people. I can understand a guy like Scout, maybe because he’s so much like me. I know when he might be tempted and when he wouldn’t. And he thinks I’ll kill him if he crosses me.”
‘Dunn doesn’t believe that, does he?”
“Well, he might,” I said, thinking of his reaction to the pistol I shoved in his face. “On the other hand, he might think he can kill me first. The thing is, I don’t know who he’s been talking to, what he really thinks, if he can be bought.”
“Can you be bought?” Grafton asked.
“Hell, yes. Take a lot of dough, though. Whatever I am, I’m not cheap.”
The admiral chuckled. After a bit he went on. “Dunn’s been talking to your department head. He’s a good man. I think it’s safe to take him along, but if I were you I’d keep this conversation under my hat.”
“Okay.”
Grafton finished his beer in silence. I thought about asking him to level with me, to tell me all of it, but I chickened out.
‘ ‘Night, Tommy,” he said, and rose from his chair and went inside. In a little bit I heard him and Callie go upstairs.
Maybe I just didn’t want to know. Maybe I wanted to think that someone smarter than I was knew where the aces and kings were. Maybe I should just write a letter to Dear Abby. She would probably tell me to get my head examined.
I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the porch swing. Pulled an afghan over me because the evening was cool. The wind was buffeting the building, and I figured it was going to rain soon. Going to be a good night to sleep. I thought about Kelly Erlanger for a while, wondered if she was still alive. Thinking about her was a waste, so I thought about Anna Modin until I dropped off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Something snapped me wide awake in the middle of the night. I lay frozen, listening. Wind was driving rain against the building, and some of it was blowing in through the screen on me. I was damp, felt the mist of exploded raindrops on my face. But that wasn’t what woke me.
The luminous hands of my watch read a few minutes after two. I turned my head until I could see the street through the porch screen. Rain was driving through the halo of the streetlights, but I couldn’t see anyone. The parked vehicles appeared to be as I remembered them before I went to sleep.
What had awakened me?
Then I heard it above the low moan of the wind, the sound of something dragging along, scraping against..
The 1911 automatic was under my pillow. I wrapped my fingers around it, automatically checked that the hammer was back and the thumb safety on.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I eased the afghan away from my legs.
There was that noise again! Something rubbing against the house, it sounded like.
And someone moaning.
I eased myself off the couch and, staying low, slipped past the chairs so I could see the walkway up to the house.
I froze, listening with every fiber of my being.
Scraping again, and a low moan. Right under me.
It was a man lying on the ground, pressed up against the house. At least, it looked a little like a man. Ah, he was wearing a ghillie suit. This was one of Grafton’s snake-eaters who was guarding the house.
With the pistol in hand, I slipped inside and threw the bolt to Grafton’s front door. Pulled it open as slowly as I could, staying very low. I took a deep breath, then eased through, still low.
In seconds I was over the moaning man. He had lost the headpiece of his outfit somewhere. He was white, with stubble for hair. No excess fat, lots of muscle. His eyes were closed, but he was still breathing. The rags and
