Silent Thunder Part 7

After a moment: If? mind you, that's an 'if I have seen only rarely in seventeen years?

but if it were, I could accidentally drop you and your daughter into deep s.h.i.t. But I don't like this, either. He jerked a thumb back toward Kathleen's grave.

I have to protect Laurie. She's all I have, now, said Ramsay. Corwin's sigh and shrug implied understanding, and Ramsay's suspicions of the man dropped a notch. The rest of that day, Alan Ramsay debated himself over courses of action, and ended by choosing inaction.

Each night, Ramsay waited with Pam Garza for what had become both low and high points of his day: Laurie's call. On Thursday, perhaps intending to frighten him, his enemies made a serious mistake: they did not make that call. He slept little that night, and on Friday morning he gave every appearance of settling down, resuming business as usual, accepting the facts. But while lugging his video equipment across town, he made the call he should have made earlier.

He'd intended to send another may-day to Matthew Alden. But Alden's answering service clicked to an intercept an instant after Ramsay began to talk.

The voice was not Alden's. Take down this number and call from public booths until you get an answer. The number had a local prefix with a three-zero-one area code.

Bethesda? He punched the number into his memocomp and decided to keep his interview appointment before making the next call. Five minutes after a deadly dull interview for NBN, he found another phone booth as though at random, blood pounding in his ears.

Two rings. Then a man's voice, a drawl more West than South. Mr. R., modern gadgets are so good they can be tipped off by a name or a key word, and they focus on that call.

I know that, but?

The voice went on, interrupting him. Recorded. Think very carefully before you speak and avoid key words or names, especially your own. If I like your replies to the following questions, stay on the line. Pause. Who introduced you last night on the defense appropriations piece; and what kind of tires did you buy for your little Chevy?

Instantly he said, Ynga Lindermann gave my lead-in, and it's not a Chevy as you probably know, it's a Genie with wide Pirellis.

A click, and now the voice was live, the same measured gravelly baritone on the recording. Good enough, Mr. R., I was wondering if you had the smarts to call Mr. A.

again. I see you did.

I hope I haven't put him in the same bind I'm in, Ramsay replied.Not as long as you keep calling from different anonymous places. Your home phone is bugged two ways, conventionally by Metro Police and by less friendly people using small transmitters. Your office lines aren't secure either. You must continue to use a different booth each time you call me. And for the moment, you must talk as if you were wearing a bug on your clothes or even in your hair? because you very well may be. Their equipment isn't good enough to hear through your earpiece, though. Do you understand?

Very handy for you, he said with anger he hoped sounded genuine. If he were bugged personally, they would only be hearing his end of the conversation. NBN has deadlines, you know. So how am I supposed to check your side of the issue?

A snort that could have been amus.e.m.e.nt. Very quick, Mr. R. As for my side of the issue, consider me a very biased observer. Biased in your favor? and you'll just have to take a chance on us. Think about this: I alerted you to the problem with a letter. I've got a new name? again, the man sighed affably in his first show of human frailty. The other side would never offer you any help, even false hope, because they want you hopeless and docile. And we don't.

That makes sense. But what can you offer?

First thing, we get you deloused, the man said briskly.

Why d'you say I'm, ah, lousy? But he felt like scratching himself all over. Even the idea of an electronic bug made him feel defiled, somehow.

Just a hunch; quit talking and listen. Before your next call, buy a Mantis, it's a sophisticated bug-catcher from CCI. Branches in Manhattan and Washington. Use cash, not credit card; and even if someone you know has one, don't borrow one, you could be borrowing trouble. Don't tell anyone, not even your best girl, that you have it. Okay?

Yeah, I've heard of the firm.

The people you're up against can afford to bug every pair of skivvies you own. Bugs may look like fuzzy weed seeds. They stick to things. You can wash them out of body hair so they get to listen to the plumbing. Launder them from clothes the same way without raising suspicion. If you find one elsewhere, let it alone. They pick up sounds about as well as your ears do. Still follow me?

I think so, but how do I use the hardware?

Wear it like a wrist.w.a.tch; it is one, for that matter. But it pokes you when it gets near an active device, so you can even spot a video bug and it won't know you've tumbled unless you do something stupid like taking the Mantis off your wrist and waving it like a flashlight. And I'm afraid we've talked long enough.

Ramsay was giddy from all the cloak-and-dagger orientation, and this man had given him no real promise of help. No, wait, dammit. I don't want to, uh, interview those people. I might be seen. Why can't you provide the evidence yourself?

When your mail is monitored? Nope; bad idea. But you have a point. After the briefest of pauses, as if to himself: Sure, why not? If this one goes down the wrong way, we won't be using drops anymore. Call again. Give me ten minutes. And the line was suddenlydead.

Ramsay walked out of that booth feeling an almost feverish antic.i.p.ation, reminding himself not to smile or whistle because it might register on some long lens or tape recorder. Ten minutes later, he had found another booth. It's me again. You remember what I wanted?

Yep. You'll find joy in the Rexall on Connecticut Ave, a few blocks from where you work.

Early this evening, you'll decide your watch is on the blink. Within ten minutes after seven p.m., go into the Rexall. Ask the clerk, not the pharmacist and not the cashier but the clerk, for a Timex. Pay him, put it on, and leave. For G.o.d's sake don't ask him to demonstrate it, he wouldn't anyhow. Anyway, I suspect this'll be one of your better bargains, pal. But patriotism is the bargain we get.

The truth is, I'm starting to lose that.

Bulls.h.i.t. You called this number.

For selfish reasons, Ramsay said, self-disgust flavoring his words.

I think I know that reason. People in law enforcement sometimes talk with old friends, the man said. Well, you can play someone else's game, or you can keep me advised. If you don't call within twenty-four hours we'll take it as a turndown, and no hard feelings.

Ramsay thanked him and replaced the receiver, striding out to Independence Avenue feeling as though he should sprint. The man had made no promises but by G.o.d, he seemed to be part of something carefully organized. Maybe that, he decided, was what put the vinegar back in him: the man was a total stranger, but he represented hope.

Ramsay saw no gleam of it in any other direction.

He made his deadlines at the studio, complained that his Seiko had developed cardiac arrest, and called his own apartment knowing that Pam would play the message back?

and that others would hear it. Running late, he said, thanks to a screwed-up wrist.w.a.tch, and he'd be home by eight or so.

At exactly five after seven by his flawless Seiko, he walked into the Rexall. The clerk was a wiry dark-haired man in his thirties, an inch or so less than six feet, who fitted his surroundings like Tums and aspirin. He was glad to help and my, but that face seemed familiar. Ramsay admitted his name, kept his casual role, and asked to see something reliable in a watch; maybe a Timex?

With nary a wink or nudge, the clerk produced two Longines and an electronic Timex.

Ramsay studied each. The clerk remained maddeningly offhanded and made no suggestions. Ramsay turned the Timex over. The price of this one?

You're in luck. This one's a closeout at thirty-nine ninety-five. Something to do with all those special functions, the clerk replied.

Ramsay realized again that he might actually be carrying a tiny transmitter on himself. I'll take the Timex, he said, and paid cash.

The clerk made change, smiled, and said to the retreating Ramsay, I expect it's one of your better bargains. Ramsay, with the discomfort of a man who has inexplicablywandered into a staged play, hurried out.

The d.a.m.ned thing seemed to be an ordinary Timex, if you ignored the tiny bar that lay flat on its underside. He slipped it on, thrust the Seiko into his glove compartment, and drove home while aiming the new watch at various parts of his body. Either he was free of bugs, or the watch was faulty. Too bad he couldn't show it to Pam. Odd, he thought, that it could make him feel so much better when, so far, all it had told him was the correct time.

Because Pam was waiting for him at his apartment, he made no overt effort to check the place for monitors, but soon realized the Mantis worked because it gently poked him several times while he was in the kitchen. He felt a surge of anger about that, but knew a fierce elation as well.

When Pam left his apartment the next morning, he began to use the Mantis with great care. The thing was highly directional in its ability to pick up signals from an active transmitter.

He found the first bug, after a puzzling fifteen minutes, in a crack of cabinetry between his dishwasher and countertop. It lay very near his kitchen phone. He found the second one faster by marching directly to the study and waving his wrist near the desk phone.

The tiny device looked more like a furry tick than a seed, and had been planted in the center of one of Laurie's 'forever' poppies. It had lain in full view, had heard every word spoken in his study, for? how long? Had the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds bugged him even before Laurie's kidnap?

Now his elation was gone. A gradually building ferocity, held in careful check, was all that remained. It did not diminish much during his workday, and he sought a pay phone soon after lunch. The recorded message suggested he call after three p.m. and at one minute after, by his bargain Timex, he called again.

The westerner came on-line immediately. Did you find anything of interest, Mr. R.?

d.a.m.n' right. Nothing on me personally, but I found two little gadgets near my home phones. G.o.d d.a.m.n these people, I've never even seen them!

Oh, you've seen one of them, all right. We're monitoring your little hotsy, Mr. R. I don't know how long you've known Miz G., but she's working for the other side. That's why I suggested checking your body. She probably carries more bugs than Typhoid Mary.

The briefest silence before a gritted, I'll kill her....

They'd love that, said the man. She thinks she's a patriotic American keeping tabs on a man who needs watching, and I doubt you could prove otherwise to her. If it's any consolation, we gather she's sick over your, um, babysitting arrangements. Her chief sin seems to be naivete. Keep playing her game, but don't let her lead you into any dark alleys; it's possible they could change their game plan about you.

Look, I don't give a s.h.i.t about my hide anymore. If my kid were safe, I'd blow this whole thing in the media and take the consequences. Not yet! The reply was instant; explosive. Eventually that's just what we'd like to see but these people have a timetable and we still aren't sure why. And if you hurt them too soon, they'd hurt you back a lot worse. And you'd blow our show.

Ramsay, with sudden suspicion: And what is your show, pal?

It's still called the United States of America, I believe. If we're patient, it may stay that way.

Ramsay grunted a.s.sent and changed his tack. I had a call today from a lieutenant in the Metro Police. He admits they're monitoring my phone. Whose side are those guys on?

Yours, apparently, but they can't help much. And if they get lucky, it could be bad news for your daughter.

What are the chances I'll see her alive again? He hated to ask. He had to ask.

About fifty-fifty, said the westerner. Getting better as they keep her longer and get more confident. Your lady friend's contacts must be through her job because she's not getting them at her apartment. With luck, we just might be able to backtrack those calls. If we can, someone may lead us to your little girl.

Is that really one of your priorities?

A moment's pause, and now something in the man's tone became less commanding, more intimate; sadder, perhaps. There's an old Greek physician's code that says, 'first, do no harm,' he said. That little girl's troubles began with a decision of ours. We're ethically bound to help free her, you have to believe that. No, you don't have to, do you?

Those last few words had been spoken as if Ramsay himself had already answered.

I think you're starting to see how I feel, Ramsay said.

I don't blame you, but I can't do much about?

h.e.l.l you can't. I do a lot of legwork on my own, pal, and I meet lots of people; informants, interviews, that sort of thing. Why not meet me face to face?

Now the man's tones were plainly apologetic. Because if somebody gets you in a spot with needles under your fingernails, the less you know, the better. But your point is taken. Meanwhile, remember: if we do get your daughter back, the instant the bad guys know it, they'll be trying to nail you before you can get to a TV studio. I don't want you to have any false hopes about that.

The only hopes I have are pinned on an eleven-year-old pacifist, pal. I won't see her for a month, they said.

A month? Exactly? Why a month?

I don't know, Ramsay said. I hoped you might.

Maybe we do need a sit-down, Mr. R. But this call has already gone on too long. Get back to me; and stay friendly with your hotsy, but keep checking yourself for bugs, okay? Right, Ramsay answered, and hung up, now more perplexed than before. His allies seemed as curious about that one-month time span as he was.

ELEVEN.

At dusk, ten days after the kidnapping, Robert Lathrop parked his rumbling old Firebird two blocks from the suburban home of his real boss, set its alarm, locked the door, and tugged at the vest of his gray three piece suit before walking smartly away with his attache case. In his vest pocket were cards that introduced him, truthfully, as a salesman of household computers. Beneath the vest and the silk shirt was a gut as hard and flat as Nautilus machines could make it, with the help of steroids. If challenged, Lathrop could have produced brochures from the attache case, and pocket memocomps at very attractive prices. Lathrop made most of his money that way, letting his fine physique, those moist brown eyes and the well-scrubbed fresh features do much of the selling for him.

But Bobby Lathrop did not think of that as his 'real' job. His real job put a small submachine gun in his hands, and put him back into the kind of power that a police internal affairs investigation had taken him out of, years before. No police commissioner can afford a disarming, glib young sociopath in the ranks, if he knows about it; especially a bright one. The kind of man who can afford a Lathrop is the kind whose budget can be fudged, and who has ways of learning when a Bobby Lathrop has been found and bounced. Such a man had found Lathrop. Bobby's smile, as he skipped up the front steps of Terence Unruh's home, was unforced.

The door opened for him and Bobby strode in, with a dazzling smile for Unruh who seemed, in the dim light of an unlit living room, much older than he had been a week before. Take a seat, Bobby. Beer? Iced tea?

Nothing, thanks. Mind if I smoke?

It hardly matters now, Unruh said, and sank carefully into an overstuffed chair near Bobby. Quit looking around; my wife and the kids are at a school play. We're secure.

Bobby, with the highest respect for Unruh's security sense, visibly relaxed, pulling a set of pages from his case before he lit the Winston. Transcripts from Ramsay's phone.

Unruh took them. Any other copies?

No, sir, Bobby a.s.sured him, grinning again. Jondahl's tape transcriptions are there too.

Johnnie's as steady as a b.i.t.c.h wolf.''b.i.t.c.h wolves aren't queer for pups, said Unruh.

Bobby's jaw twitched. It had been a mistake to tell Terence Unruh so much about the habits of Johnnie, beyond her dependability, and doubly a mistake to crack explicit jokes about the Ramsay kid's captivity. Well, Reba Jondahl can't be charmed by kids and she won't balk at stringent measures, said Bobby. When we're this short-handed, we're lucky to have somebody like Johnnie that we can depend on.

After a pause, tiredly: I suppose.

Bobby thought the phrase, sighed like that as if by a defeated man, out of character for Unruh. But Unruh looked out of character, as if the thankless job of government?

whichever part of it he really represented? had finally caught up with him, aging him a year for every week. No wonder he keeps the lights off, Bobby thought. If you want things simplified, Bobby said, and paused to make his cigarette glow, let me get creative with Ramsay. Household accidents kill a lot of people, Terence.

Ramsay has almost certainly written down what he knows and put it in a safe deposit box, Unruh said, his voice soft, lacking vitality. We want him just the way he is.

Indefinitely? Why?

A month. And I don't know exactly why, Bobby. I just follow orders.

But if I intercept anything that says Ramsay's going to spill something big? is the sanction still good?

Of course, said Unruh. Just don't hurt that bimbo, Garza, in the process. Someone very high up wants her healthy.

Small wonder, Bobby Lathrop snickered, and flexed his arms. I could use her healthy myself.

Another sigh from Unruh. I'm sure you could. Which reminds me: if Ramsay goes down for whatever reason, at that moment there's no longer any reason for Reba Jondahl to keep the girl. Get the girl away from that crazy butch immediately after that. Is that clear?

Yessir, Bobby said quickly, brightly. He saw no point in adding that Johnnie, whom he had busted when he was in uniform and had gotten to know better since, was far more valuable than any snot-nosed kid. Johnnie's features and voice were much too distinctive for even the dullest child to forget or confuse with anyone else. Therefore, the Ramsay kid would be 'taken away' by Johnnie's own hands, just as Bobby Lathrop had already promised the woman. He would simply report the girl missing.

Bobby spent only five more minutes in the Unruh home, accepting a well-used bundle of cash and swapping his phone scrambler attachment for another. It was important, Unruh insisted, that the Garza woman keep Bobby advised on her movements. There was no telling when she might need new instructions from Bobby, and Unruh was hardly in a position to contact her himself because, for one thing, she had never heard of Unruh.