F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (8 page)

 
          
It
had been much larger before
Duncan
had gone to work on it with the liposuction tube. What had been
protuberant and tremulose was now flattened and firm.

 
          
Not
a bad job, he thought as Allard started moving toward him across the open,
granite-paved expanse, even if I do say so myself.

 
          
But
a face only a bacteriologist could love.

 
          
A
good many of the arriving lobbyists smiled deferentially and waved to Allard as
they passed. He was something of a legend on the Hill, admired, almost revered,
by his colleagues in the kakistocracy for the innovative approach to campaign
financing he developed while serving on the Committee on Energy and Commerce. A
couple of campaigns ago, when Congressman Allard became aware that his
reelection coffers were down to their last million or two, and the PACs weren't
coming up with fresh money fast enough, he introduced a flurry of bills that
would have devastating impact on the coal, oil, gas, and timber industries.

 
          
Suddenly
the energy PACs and lumber trade associations, not to mention the associated
unions that would be hit hard by the new Allard bills, were swarming around him
with open checkbooks. He collected eight million in three months, some of which
probably paid for his surgery.

 
          
After
gorging himself on the pecuniary viands, he withdrew the bills from committee.
The procedure had been imitated by his colleagues many times since.

 
          
But
none of that had anything to do with why
Duncan
was here today.

 
          
He
watched Allard nod to a few of the passing lobbyists, but the congressman was
more interested in conferring with his aides, he looked like a quarterback
huddling with his coaches, only they were all in suits.

 
          
Duncan
wondered if he was the only one on Capitol
Hill wearing something other than a business suit.

 
          
"Good
morning,
Kent
,"
Duncan
said as he neared the group.

 
          
Allard
looked up at the sound of his sobriquet and squinted at
Duncan
. An instant of confusion,
Duncan
could almost hear him thinking Who the
hell? and then recognition.

 
          
"Doc,"
He cleared his throat. "
Duncan
! What are you doing up here? Welcome to the
Hill." His expression was wary instead of welcoming.

 
          
Doesn't
want to call me Dr. Lathram. Probably afraid someone will recognize the name
and want to know what fixups I performed on him.

 
          
Duncan
stuck out his hand and delivered his lines
smoothly.

 
          
"Waiting
for some relatives from out of town. Promised to show them the sights . . .
tour guide for a day. You know the drill, I'm sure."

 
          
Chicklet
caps flashed. "I sure do." Casually,
Duncan
reached into his blazer pocket and gripped
the oblong bulk of his pager. He felt the sweat collecting under his arms. He
was close now, but he wanted to be closer still. Just to be sure.

 
          
"You're
looking good,
Kent
. The cameras down there are going to love you." But nowhere near
as mach as you love them.

 
          
The
smile faded. The wariness reemerged. "Thank you."

           
Don't worry, Congressman, Duncan
thought. I'm not going to say anything about the liposuction.

 
          
But
he couldn't resist turning the screw a little tighter.

 
          
"How
do you stay so young looking?"

           
Allard's smile returned, but looked
forced now. "Clean living." You son of a bitch.

 
          
"I
must try that sometime.

 
          
They
both laughed.
Duncan
flipped the ON switch on his pager and it began to beep. He pulled it
from his pocket. A vintage model, considerably larger than the new ones. He
stared at the blank message window, trying to still the ague tremor of his
hand.

 
          
"Looks
like my service wants me. I'd better find a phone and see what they want."
He edged past Allard and his aides, coming within a few inches of the
congressman.

 
          
This
is as close as I'm going to get, he thought.

 
          
His
finger found another button on his pager. The special button. But he hesitated.
No turning back once he pressed it.

 
          
Old
questions assailed him again. Isn't this going too far? Is it really worth the
risk? What if I'm caught? And the most disturbing of all, Is this something a
sane man would do?

 
          
Then
he remembered what Allard had participated in five years ago . . . and today's
clean-living remark.

 
          
Duncan
pressed the button.

 
          
This
time the pager made no sound, but he felt it vibrate against his palm.

 
          
Allard
winced and rubbed his right thigh.

 
          
"Good
luck with the TV folks, Kent,"
Duncan
said. "And think of an
eighteen-year-old named Lisa."

 
          
"Pardon?"
Allard said.

 
          
"Her
name was Lisa. Keep that in mind." I want it to be your last coherent
thought.

 
          
He
turned and almost bumped into a dark-haired young woman.

  
         
Gin tried to speak but found her voice
locked. Not from the shock of seeing
Duncan
on the Capitol steps, but from the look on
his face as he'd turned away from Congressman Allard. His eyes, arctic cold,
cobalt hard, full of rage and hatred so intense she thought they'd leap from
their sockets. Never in her life had she seen an expression like that.

 
          
For
an instant she thought she was facing a feral stranger.

 
          
And
suddenly it was gone. As soon as he spoke her name his face changed,
metamorphosed into the Duncan Lathram she knew.

 
          
And
then she could speak.

 
          
'"
Duncan
. You're the last person I expected to run
into down here." He stared at her for a few heartbeats. When he finally
spoke, his voice was cool, distant.

 
          
"I
might have said the same about you . . . until yesterday. How long have you
been standing here?"

           
She'd arrived early at the
Rayburn
Building
for her meeting and had been told that
Congressman Allard would be slightly delayed because of his television
interview. Rather than sit cooling her heels, Gin had opted to stroll across
Independence
to catch the interview live.

 
          
Staying
a discreet distance from the congressman's group she'd noticed a man who
reminded her of Duncan, but she couldn't be sure from the rear, and besides,
what would Duncan be doing down here? She'd edged closer, had been almost on
top of him when he'd turned and they'd come nose to nose.

 
          
How
long have you been standing here? The answer seemed important to him. Very
important.

 
          
Long
enough to hear you say something very strange, she thought.

 
          
"Just
a few seconds. But what on earth are you doing here?"

           
"Me?" He looked around. "I
love the Capitol area . . . the Mall . . . the monuments . . . they're
beautiful."

 
          
"Knowing
how you feel about politicians"

           
"Let's just say I consider it
a beautiful mansion that happens to be infested by termites and all sorts of
vermin." His eyes bored into her. "So why are you here?"

           
The question she'd been dreading.
"I, uh, have an appointment with Congressman Allard this morning."

           
He grimaced. "You want to be
on his staff?"

           
"I'll be on anybody's staff. I
want to be on this committee."

 
          
He
stared at her again. "Yes. Yes, I see you do. Why didn't you mention this
yesterday?"

           
"You didn't exactly give me a
chance." He made a soft guttural sound and glanced at the old-fashioned
beeper clutched in his hand, a dinosaur of a beeper, at least six inches long.

 
          
Odd,
she thought. She hadn't realized
Duncan
carried a pager. He wasn't on emergency
call, but she guessed there was always the chance of a postsurgical
complication.

 
          
Suddenly
he seemed in a rush. He spoke quickly.

 
          
"I
want to discuss something with you, Gin, but I have to make a call and this is
neither the time nor the place. I will see you in my office after lunch this
afternoon. Can you be there? "

 
          
Something
to discuss with you . . . She didn’t like the sound of that. "I think
so."

 
          
"Good.
See you then." He turned and headed for one of the doors into the south
wing. Gin watched him for a few seconds, then turned her attention to where
Congressman Allard continued to huddle with his aides. The totaled ages of the
three younger men probably exceeded Allard's by very little, yet they were doing
all the talking. Good haircuts, expensive suits, six-figure incomes or close to
it for many of the more experienced aides, and a smug we're-where-it's-at look.

 
          
Too
many of the Hill rats she'd met seemed to adopt that attitude after a couple of
years on the job. She promised, swore, that wouldn't happen to her.

 
          
No
doubt doing some last-minute fine tuning of his remarks before the camera.

 
          
Finally
he seemed ready. He nodded to his aides, straightened his tie, adjusted his
suit coat, patted his toupee, then started down the steps.

 
          
Gin
sidled to her right to where she had an unobstructed view of the steps. She
watched Allard descend on an angle toward the waiting camera and reporter. His
movements were smooth and fluid during the first two flights, then he stopped
on the landing halfway down.

 
          
He
paused and rubbed his eyes, shook his head as if to clear it, then continued
down. At the top of the last flight he stopped again.

 
          
A
warning bell sounded in Gin's brain. Something was wrong.

 
          
Allard
leaned against the bronze handrail and pressed a hand over his eyes. Even from
here Gin could see that the hand was shaking.