'That bitch could have tortured Kim Lee. Pumped him for information. Got him to spill his guts.'
'Relax. It didn't happen.'
'Those lawyers are making you look like an idiot. Schneider is supposed to kill them at the courthouse, and then she claims some guy stopped her. Who?'
'She thinks he was Japanese.'
Kenji gripped the table sides. 'Japanese? Why didn't you tell me this immediately?'
'I wanted to be certain, but all we have is her word. She thinks he was Japanese.'
'You don't think he's from my wife's family?'
'Let's not jump to conclusions.'
''Somebody broke into the compound and killed the dogs. Could-'
The waiter came across the room with a brown envelope in his hand.
'A lady asked me to give you this,' he said, handing it to Groiter.
The envelope was made of thick paper and sealed with masking tape. Kenji could see that it came from Groiter's assistant. From in front of his place setting, Groiter took the sharp knife and deftly cut through the tape and the top flap as well. Parting the envelope, he looked inside. He pulled out a white sheet of paper and handed it to Kenji.
'It's a summary from the wiretap and the surveillance,' he said. It explained in some detail how two of Groiter's men had followed Young and Fischer to the University of Southern California campus to meet with a zoologist whose specialty was bats.
'So they're still at it. Your warning meant nothing.'
'It's kept them out of the compound. They don't think anybody could possibly know about the visit to the university.'
'It could unravel everything.'
'Next time we'll get it right. If she takes out Dan Young, that will do it,' Groiter said.
'I don't want to hear about it. I just want them to go away. Got it?'
'Got it. Consider it over.'
With a cup of coffee in her hand, Corey walked to the phone without so much as a limp. It amazed her that she had recovered from the beatings so quickly. The German and Asian were both technicians.
'After a little rest you will be ready to do something big.'
'What should I do?'
'Dan Young is corrupting what little good was coming from Maria Fischer.'
'Which one should I kill first?'
'We'll talk later. How are you feeling?'
'Like shit,' she lied. She actually wanted this man's sympathy.
'I am sorry. You will feel better, I promise. As always, let us be your eyes and ears.'
Literally within sixty seconds a knock came on her front door. She jacked a round in her Colt and looked out the fish-eye viewer. Nobody. What she saw made her suck in her breath. Set back on the porch, in the light of a small lantern, was a sign. It said only: dan young.
Not surprisingly, by morning the sign was gone.
The Fischers' home was a spacious, modern affair, an angular collection of glass and white stucco. It shared a scenic hillside with a number of other homes of similar size and distinction, none closer than one hundred yards away. A sweeping circular drive passed through a portico at both ends, and guests entered the house through massive oak double doors.
Dan chuckled when they drove up. And laughed when he saw her stiffen.
'OK, you've had your laugh.'
'I'll take it easy,' he said.
Mrs. Fischer, who wore a long, flowing, deep blue housecoat, greeted him warmly with a double handshake before kissing her daughter.
''Nathaniel is playing Nintendo,'' Mrs. Fischer said. Trim, with no gray streaks in her blond hair and the same high cheekbones and big eyes as Maria, Laura Fischer appeared to be in her late forties, at least a decade younger than she must be. 'Welcome. We're just delighted you could come.'
'Well, I actually promised Nate a trip to the zoo,' Dan said as if on cue.
'Maria, my beautiful daughter.' Amiel Fischer came out of a large hallway to the left. A balding man, about 5' 10', with a strong baritone voice. 'And you've brought your friend.' He extended his hand to Dan.
'Colleague,' Maria corrected.
'Colleague and coadventurer, I understand from your mother. Surely, you two don't have to rush off. At the least I'd like to show Dan my den, my scotch, and my humidor. It's not often I meet a friend of my daughter's.'
Fischer gestured powerfully with his hands even as he spoke in smooth, unhurried tones. Intelligence lit his eyes, and a thin, black mustache, as dapper as the crisp white handkerchief in the pocket of his herringbone blazer, accented his dark, handsome face. He seemed an avalanche of energy, and suddenly Dan understood the intensity of Maria's conflict with her father. He was an intriguing man, and Dan found himself curious. It was as Maria had feared.
'I promised to take Nate to the zoo. We don't really have time.'
Amiel looked at Maria. 'Not even for a single drink? Just a few minutes for your old man?'
Maria hesitated. ''Dan, I think we could take a few minutes, what do you think?'
'Sure,' Dan said.
'But, Daddy, I know Dan wants to get going, so please don't capture him.' Maria's emphasis on the word 'know' sounded as if she were jumping on the single syllable with both feet.
'Well, we'll hurry with that one drink, then.'
Mr. Fischer led Dan on a brief tour. The foyer was large, two stories tall, with massive vertical beams along the side-walls and matching beams above. Custom milled, with dark oak moldings, the windows and doors matched the crown molding throughout the house. A hardwood staircase with Persian runner and stained balustrade climbed to the balcony overlooking the foyer. Past the foyer was a spacious living room, bordered by a formal dining room. Immediately to the right were double swinging doors, beyond which lay the kitchen and the adjoining family room. To the left and down the hall, there was a library with cherry or mahogany ceiling, deep-hued paneling and bookcases. At one end was a massive fireplace. Through the back corner of the library was a den hidden behind what was probably a bedroom accessed through the main downstairs hallway.
In the den were two soft leather chairs in dark brown and a fabric couch in earth tones. There were two beautiful oils, one of Laura Fischer and one of Maria in her late teens. On his desk and the shelves behind were photographs of his wife and daughter. Most were of Maria. Dan winced at some indefinable thought about Amiel Fischer and his daughter. For a moment he couldn't put his finger on it. Then he knew: Amiel felt he had lost Maria and so he had surrounded himself with her pictures. The parallel with Dan's own life was unmistakable. Amiel pushed a button on a disc player and soft jazz came on.
'What do you drink?'
'Mostly beer, but Dewar's and water is good.'
'I have that.' He opened a massive liquor cabinet with one of the best stocks Dan had ever seen. The Dewar's was way in the back in the economy class. Up front were twenty-five-year-old Glenlivet, Crown Royal, and the like. Amiel poured him a heavy tumbler, more than he could possibly drink and stay rock-hard sober.
'I hear you're a big football fan.'
'Yeah, that's true. Niners.'
'Well, of course I'm a Rams man myself. USC coach and I get together all the time. In the off season we watch tapes when he's getting ready for the next season.' Dan nodded appropriately.
'Not to change the subject but I listen to my wife. She says my daughter is at least a little bit fond of you.'
Dan sighed, and sipped his drink. At least Amiel was getting right to the point.
'One thing I'll say for you, Mr. Fischer.'
'Please call me Amiel.'
