Dead Aim (19 page)

"And that's why you're the one who has to go. Because you want to catch the hunter."

"Exactly."

"Has it occurred to you that he may not be the only one waiting at the trap?"

"In which case I get out and try again another day." His pace quickened as they neared the house. "But I'll have a bead on him. I'll be that much nearer."

"
We'll
be that much nearer."

He paused before climbing the steps. "I can't talk you out of going with me?"

"Don't try. Just tell me how the devil we're going to wander around Terre Haute without being recognized?"

"We can handle that problem." He paused. "Let me take you to Logan, Alex. Please."

She moved past him up the steps. "What about false ID, credit cards?"

He nodded his head resignedly. "Galen."

"Always Galen." She waited until he unlocked the door. "Then tell him I'll need him to supply me with a laptop and those programs by the time we get to Terre Haute."

"Fairfax is gone?" Powers repeated. "But you thought we might need it for more backup experiments after Arapahoe. I could have blown it for you. All you had to do was say the word."

"It was more risk than it was worth after Kimble found Scott in the basement. He was on the phone, and there's no telling who else knows about Fairfax." Betworth paused. "And you. He was making inquiries at the hotel. I understand you used a credit card. I believe I told you to use cash."

"I only used my Visa twice. I ran out of cash and I needed--"

"I'm not asking for excuses," Betworth said quietly. "If everything had gone well, there would have been no problem with a minor slip like that. But now we have to make sure it doesn't hurt us."

"Have you checked on Scott's background?"

"Jurgens ran a check on him. We tried to find out who he was talking to on the phone but drew a blank. He's a hired investigator, freelance, very good, very discreet. No records in his office that indicate who he was working for." Betworth idly doodled a hangman's gallows on the pad in front of him. "I'd bet on Morgan. He was the only one who had inside information about Fairfax. What do you think?"

"It makes sense."

"Scott had a sketch of you. Alex Graham knew what you looked like. So Graham is probably still with Morgan." He drew in a stick figure to the gallows. "What address will that credit card lead Morgan to?"

"Terre Haute. But it won't do him any good. I haven't lived there for five years. I took the credit card out when I was still married to my ex-wife. I arranged with her not to cancel it and to forward the bills to a post-office box. It kept anyone from pinning down my current address." He added quickly, "But I can cover my tracks. I'll send Mae on a nice pricy vacation. She'll eat it up."

"Why do that? It offers us an opportunity. Why don't you go back to the dear old Hoosier state and snap the trap on Morgan? We might catch Graham at the same time."

"If that's what you want me to do."

"That's definitely what I want you to do. Call me when Morgan surfaces. Naturally, I'll have Jurgens there on standby to come in if anything goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong."

"I have complete trust in you." He drew a noose around the stick figure's neck. "Keep me informed." He hung up.

He quickly dialed again. To his surprise the call was answered immediately. "Where are you, Runne?"

"Fort Collins. This is too slow. I need more information."

"That's why I called. I may be able to help you. I've just sent a gentleman named Thomas Powers to a city in the Midwest. Judd Morgan is going there to find Powers, and Powers thinks he's going there to catch Judd Morgan."

"No!"

"I thought that would be your reaction. Don't worry, I wouldn't think of cheating you. Powers has become a handicap to the operation, but he may be able to draw Morgan out into the open. But you have to do me two favors if I give you Powers's address."

"What?"

"I want your word that you'll do the work on Z-3."

He didn't answer.

"I've been very patient with you. Now you have to commit, Runne. You've told me you didn't care about anything but getting Morgan. Prove it."

"The job may get in the way."

"Commit. After all, it's a job your father would be proud to send you to do."

"Maybe."

"Then do enjoy Colorado."

Silence. "I'll do it."

"Your promise."

"I promise. Where's Morgan?"

"One more thing. I want Powers erased as well as Morgan."

"Done." There was no hesitation. "Tell me where he is."

"At 1372 Oak Place, Terre Haute, Indiana."

The disconnect buzz sounded in Betworth's ear.

For once Runne's rudeness didn't bother him. He was feeling too satisfied. It was pure joy to be able to pull the strings and watch the puppets jump.

Set the wolf to go after the tiger and then set loose the cobra to dispose of the wolf.

He smiled as he slashed two lines on the pad to indicate the opening trapdoor of the gallows.

"I can't talk, dammit," Alex said. "I feel like I've got a mouth full of cotton."

"Sorry. Plastic bags are the best I can do right now." Morgan quickly parted her hair in the middle and combed it straight. "I told Galen to have a kit waiting for us in a locker at the Greyhound bus station in Des Moines, but we don't want to attract attention while we're traveling."

"And how are we traveling?"

"The old pickup truck in the barn to Des Moines and then a puddle jumper to Terre Haute. Do you have any foundation makeup?"

She shook her head. "I usually wear only lipstick and powder. The rest is too much trouble."

He nodded. "With that skin you don't need it. But it's a little inconvenient at the moment." He went outside for a minute and then came back in to the fireplace and got a handful of ashes before returning to her. "But this should make you sallow enough. . . ." He rubbed the ashes into her skin and wiped the excess off. Then he combed the ashes through her hair and reached into his pocket and gave her a small pebble. "Now, take off your left shoe and put this stone in it."

"What?"

"Your walk is very distinctive. Very free and open. This will change your gait."

She made a face. "You mean it will bug me and make me limp."

"A little." He stepped back and critically tilted his head. "You'll probably be okay. Winter coats are bulky, and that's a plus. We won't stop for anything but gas between here and Des Moines."

She stood up and went to the mirror in the bathroom. Her face looked plump, colorless, and ten years older. The middle part and cheek pads had completely changed the contours of her face.

"Remember to keep the cheek pads even or you'll look deformed." Morgan was standing beside her with a contact case in his hand. His skin had the same ashy, sallow cast as her own. "It will be easier once we get the kit. Those cheek pads are used with professional theatricals and are much more comfortable."

"I can hardly wait," she said dryly. "What other little accessories do you have in store for me?"

"Nostril inserts to widen your nose. Tanning solution. A wig with a different hair color and style." He was inserting the brown contact in his left eye. "It's not smart to get too complicated. If you're too uncomfortable you look uncomfortable, and that attracts attention. Or sometimes you forget to put something on and that can be fatal."

"You know a lot about disguises."

"It can help on occasion."

"Where did you get the contacts?"

"I usually carry them with me. They're small and no trouble. These blue eyes are damn noticeable. They've gotten me into trouble more than once, and there's no telling when I might need a little camouflage."

"Not in your business."

He turned to look at her. "Right, not in my business." He stuffed the case in his pocket. "Let's hit the road."

.

The White House

Andreas was grandstanding as usual, Betworth thought with contempt as he watched the President and his beautiful First Lady move down the line of guests. His charm was at full wattage, and every man in the room would vaguely remember him as being as protective as their father, as companionable as their brother. Mix in a strong dash of sex appeal for the ladies and he was almost unbeatable.

But Betworth could have beaten him. He knew how to finesse and charm as well as Andreas. It was only that invisible aura of power that surrounded any president that made Andreas seem like Superman to the people around him.

However, Betworth had never been able to insinuate himself into the tight-knit group that surrounded Andreas. The bastard had always kept him at a distance, and it had become obvious to the power brokers on the Washington scene. Oh, well, he'd jumped over that hurdle.

"He's one gutsy guy, isn't he?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see Hank Ellswyth, the Senate Majority Leader, staring admiringly at Andreas.

"You'd think with all the threats swirling around him that he'd cancel this kind of soiree." Ellswyth lifted his cocktail in a half salute. "Better him than me."

"Not much danger here in the White House with all this security." Betworth smiled. "But maybe you're right. Discretion is the better part of valor."

"I didn't say he was making a mistake," Ellswyth said quickly. "We can't let those terrorists scare us."

"You'd never do that," Betworth said. "Everyone knows what you stand for, Hank. We all rely on you. Andreas most of all."

Andreas was pausing beside a distinguished older man with a mane of white hair and aristocratic features. A moment later the two strolled out onto the terrace.

"I wonder what he's up to with Shepard," Ellswyth murmured. "They usually don't have much to say to each other."

"No telling." Betworth shrugged. "Maybe he's trying to show everybody he and the Vice President are a united front."

"Well, Shepard's been right in the forefront lately. That speech at Arapahoe Junction was awesome. I didn't know he had it in him. His approval rating shot sky-high."

"Well, we all have to answer the call in days like these."

"I'm wondering what call the President is asking him to answer now," Ellswyth murmured.

"Who knows? He can be a bit secretive. Not like you, Hank. We all appreciate your openness."

Ellswyth smiled. "I'm just a simple guy from Missouri trying to do my job."

Bullshit. There was nothing simple about Ellswyth. He was scheming and tap-dancing his heart out trying to position himself for the next presidential nomination. Betworth had no quarrel with that. Ambitious men were easier to manipulate than idealists. You promised them the world and they'd follow you anywhere.

"I think I'll go and pay my respects to the First Lady," Ellswyth said as he put his drink on the tray of a passing waiter. "I haven't had a chance to talk to her this evening."

And Chelsea Andreas was standing near the French doors through which Andreas and Shepard had vanished, Betworth thought with amusement. Ellswyth was practically salivating to know what was going on between them.

So was Betworth. But he'd never make the mistake of calling attention to that curiosity. He'd find out eventually. Patience. In all things, patience.

"I have a favor to ask, Shepard." Andreas gazed out over the garden. "One that means a lot to me."

"You know that I'll do whatever I can, Mr. President." Carl Shepard smiled. "I'm honored. It's the first time in all these years you've personally asked anything of me. I was beginning to think you regretted choosing me as your running mate."

He hadn't chosen him, Andreas thought ruefully. The party had given him a choice of two candidates who could carry California, and he was the less objectionable. Shepard was too much the elder statesman for his taste. The country was in a climate of change, and its leaders had to be ready to change with it. Yet he might have been too hard on the man. Shepard had been doing everything he could to meet the challenge--traveling, making speeches, visiting the bereaved families of those diplomats killed at the embassies. "We haven't been together in the White House for more than a few days every month. We've been forced to go our separate ways."

Shepard chuckled. "Some of the reporters who cover the White House have started to call me the mystery man." His smile faded. "I don't mind. If it helps the country to have me away from Washington, that's where I need to be. I realize politics or your personal preferences don't enter into it."

"No, they don't." He turned to face Shepard. "But it's a personal favor I'm asking you. I want you to help get my wife away from the White House."

Shepard's gaze flew to Chelsea, who was chatting with Ellswyth inside. "That's not going to be easy. We hardly know each other."

"Your wife is chairperson of the National Foundation for Abused Children. It's one of Chelsea's passions. She's been associated with the organization for years. Ask her to speak at a conference or visit the facilities around the country. I don't care what you do." His voice roughened with suppressed violence. "Just get her away from me."