An Evil Guest (3 page)

Gideon pursed his lips. “The news I’ve heard and read—I confess I hear and read very little—has given me the impression that Woldercan is behind us.”

“Technologically?” John’s shoulders rose and fell. “We like to think so, but it’s hard to say.”

“Your opinion? I was still a child, you understand, when my family left.”

“Behind us in some areas and ahead in others. Ahead in biology, for example, but behind in physics. Behind us in military science—if it may be so called—but ahead in sociology. There are a number of areas I wouldn’t want to guess about.”

“Optics?” Gideon did not smile, but his voice and eyes hinted at amusement.

“That’s one of them.”

“Then tell me this, please. Where is Reis now?”

John shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“In Washington? Off in the desert at one of your secret sites?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Chase, and I know of no one in government who does.”

“Can you at least guess at the state? Nevada? Utah? Could he be aboard a hopper going back to Woldercan?”

“I told you. I don’t know.”

The president said, “We want you to find out how he does it an’ make him stop doin’ it. That’s what it comes down to. You’ve heard what we’re offerin’. What do you say?”

“That there is a great deal you’re not telling me. You talked about hunting a wily buck, knowing his habits. Surely you’ve had men, able agents, studying Reis.”

“Will you do it?” The president looked grim. “Do what we want?”

“More the point,” John added, “
can
you do it? In your own opinion.”

Gideon looked down at his own hands—long, dexterous hands, whose slender, ringless fingers might have belonged to a musician. “I’ll answer you first. What’s your last name, by the way?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“In that case, John, I won’t answer you at all. I’ll answer our president, however. His name, at least, I know. Mr. President, I still don’t know enough to say whether I can do what you wish. You’ve told me nothing about this man Reis’s crimes other than espionage and blackmail, for example, although other crimes have been hinted at, at least twice. As it happens, I know something of those already, assuming alchemy to be criminal. I feel sure you know much more. Empty the bag for me, and we can talk rationally. Otherwise, I’ll go.”

“I have a file,” John said. “It’s long and detailed, and we didn’t have time to get into all that. Agree, and I’ll give it to you.”

Gideon did not look at him. “As you have outlined my little assignment thus far, it’s senseless. You know that—you’re far too shrewd not to. Pick up Reis. Take him to a safe house. You wouldn’t have to employ torture. There are drugs. There is even hypnosis, with which a skillful operator can do much more than the public has been led to believe.”

No one spoke.

“You have no comment?” Gideon rose. “Very well. I’ll try with the trifling information you’ve given me. For my service, I want that professorship and fifty million dollars. I want both in advance.”

The president snorted.

“A billion is nothing to you, but a billion is one thousand millions. I’m asking one-twentieth of a billion, and you’ll have three-quarters of it back within a year through taxation.”

“When the job’s done, Dr. Chase. Not before.”

“You don’t trust me. Why in the world should I trust you? I can’t and I don’t.” Gideon turned and went out.

The question, or so he thought as he was escorted out of the White House, was whether he would be followed.

No, there were two questions. The first was whether he would be followed. The second was whether he was being followed already. Since he knew the answer to neither, he would have to act as though the answers were yes, and yes.

He had been followed before, and in some cases had succeeded in evading his followers. It would be important to begin as though he suspected nothing.

And to tire his unseen companion—or companions—if he could. The Secret Service agent who had accompanied him out of the White House offered to flag a cab for him on the far side of the concrete barriers that had long closed Pennsylvania Avenue. Gideon declined the suggestion, said something inane about the beauty of the stifling day, and declared that he would walk.

T
HE
airport would certainly be watched, if the president had in fact ordered the FBI to monitor his movements. The same was true of his hotel room, which would have been searched by now.

Had a bug been planted on his person? It seemed unlikely, but it was certainly possible. It was even possible that the president had anticipated that he would filch one or more photos of Reis. Bugs could be planted in thick paper, such as photographic paper, and often were. When he felt (or at least hoped) that anyone shadowing him had been both discouraged and lost, he stopped at a camera store. It cost him eight dollars to make copies of the pictures he had stolen, image only; when he had them, he ripped up the originals—wires, chips, and all—and threw them away.

Cassie Casey had read about Gideon Chase more than once, and had seen him interviewed on vid more than once as well; if she found the folded note tossed through her bedroom door something of a shock, she can hardly be blamed for it.

Even so, it was not the identity of the sender that surprised her at first; having left the theater alone, she had supposed herself alone in her apartment. The contents of the note itself supplied the second surprise. And the third.

You do not know me, though you may know of me. My name is Gideon Chase, and I need your help. I am prepared to reward you liberally for it. Help me and you will be rich—and a star
.

Wait in the Baskin-Robbins on the corner of 15th and Madison. You may see a man in there who resembles your second husband. Look well
,
and not hurriedly. When he comes, he will show you where you may find me. When you do, I may confide the means by which you can become mistress of a small fortune within a year. I may also make you a star
.

Tonight. Tell no one
.

—G.C
.

As she read, she heard the outer door of her apartment close. Hurrying out of her bedroom, she bolted and chained that door for the second time that night; her alarm system, a costly one that was supposed to be the last word in such things, had been switched off—though not by her.

The note had been printed on a computer using the same program hers did, and the paper was, or at least might have been, her own Miracle Magnawhite. He had printed it out on her personal computer, almost certainly. Had he done more?

Ten minutes later, she shrugged and put her computer on
SLEEP
. If Dr. Chase had left a souvenir of his passing on her hard drive, it was too subtle for her antivirus software. Unfolding his note, she read it again. A small fortune. Stardom. It was not signed and so not provably his, although his fingerprints might well be on it.

She had a friend on the
Sun-Tribunal
; it was entirely possible that her friend was not yet asleep. Speed dialing made the call easy.

“Hello, Sharon? This is Cassie. I’m terribly sorry about bothering you so late, but this is pretty important. Or it might be.”

“It’s okay.” Sharon sounded drowsy. “I was just lying here thinking about lipstick.”

“Lipstick?”

“I try to name shades from A to Z. You know, Apricot Passion, Bathsheeba Pink, Coral Number Ten. It puts me to sleep.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “This isn’t going to help. It’ll wake you up, more likely. It isn’t for the paper, either. Or at least, not yet. I need a little friendship, and there may be something by and by. What do you know about Dr. Gideon Chase?”

Eighteen blocks away, Sharon made a small sound.

“I’m not just curious. It may be—no, it definitely is important. I don’t know a lot, and I’m not sure about some of the things I think I know.”

“Man of mystery . . .” Sharon paused. “Good-looking, too, if you like the type.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, okay?”

“How should I know what you don’t know? Mid-thirties at a guess. They say he’s some kind of wizard. Not like in kidvid, but somebody who can do stuff other people can’t even begin to do.”

Thinking of her alarm system, Cassie said, “I’m one of them. I say that, too. I had a little experience with him tonight. What else?”

“Tell me!”

“Later maybe, but not now.” Cassie shook her head. “Does that sound like I’m shaking my head?”

“Definitely. I can hear the rattle.”

“Great. Because I am. I need info. I’ll give you some if I ever understand this.” Cassie paused, whitened white teeth gnawing at her lower lip. “Listen up, Sharon. This is strictly confidential.”

“Got it.”

“He wants me to go in on something with him. Big, big money, or that’s what it sounds like. I don’t know which way to jump.”

“Illegal?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. He says he needs me. Needs my help. He’ll pay big for it, and . . .”

“Cassie?”

“I was just thinking. I may do it, Sharon. I just might. I’d have to know a lot more before I’d tell him to get lost. If I do, I mean. I guess I’d rather not have to. You said he was a wizard.”

“Yeah. What I meant was he’s somebody that people and companies with lots and lots of money go to when they’ve got something bad they absolutely can’t handle themselves. I’ve talked to a couple of them. They both said he costs the world, but he delivers the goods.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “Tell me. As much as you can, all right?”

“Promise you won’t try to find out who these people are?” Sharon was wide awake now, and sounded nervous.

“Okay.”

“You won’t even try to find out. And if you do—if he tells you, for example—you won’t brace them with it.”

“You’ve got my word.”

“Swell. I trust you. How was the show tonight?”

“It was all right. House about half full. Everybody a little teary. You know. We close tomorrow. Final performance and see you around. Break a leg, you were great. All that stuff. Are you stalling, Sharon?”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I need time to think. Or maybe not. You got a new gig lined up?”

“Huh uh. I may vegetate awhile. My agent’s been talking to Hollywood, but there’s nothing definite yet. Now tell me.”

“Before I do, has it hit you that he might have picked you because of how things are right now? Because you’ll be loose and he knows it?”

“No. . . . Well, by gosh! I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks. You’re sharp, Sharon.”

“And a good friend?”

“Yes. A very good friend.”

“Swell. I’m going to be a good friend some more. One was this very rich woman. She wasn’t married anymore, but she had a little kid. A leftover kid that hardly anybody knew about.”

“And?”

“She loved him—she still does as far as I know. The kid is her whole life. He was a little piece of a man she loved and lost.”

“A boy.” Cassie nodded to herself.

“Did I say that? Yeah, I guess I did. Okay, it’s a boy, only he was—wasn’t right. Birth defect like. You know?”

“Deformed or mental?”

“It doesn’t matter. He wasn’t right, and it broke her heart. Nobody could cure him. She went to Chase, and her son’s just fine. Smart, good-looking. Maybe a little too brave, but normal for sure.”

Cassie made a mental note. “How about the other one?”

“This was a company—a big corporation. They owned oil fields in a country where the government didn’t like them much. It was going to nationalize. Take everything and tell them to take a hike.”

“He fixed it?” Cassie shook out the folded note. “Gideon Chase fixed it?”

“They’re big buddies now. That government loves the company, and the company loves that government. Hey, you ought to be interested in this. There’s a national theater there, funded by the company. They’re going to—well, never mind. They’ve done a lot of things for the country, and they’re planning a lot more. Why not? They’ve still got the oil.”

“I understand. Is he gay?”

“I don’t know, but three women I know don’t think so.”

Cassie took a minute to digest that. “When he comes on vid, being interviewed on a cable news show or whatever, they always say he’s a philosopher.”

“Right. He is. Sort of quasi-irreligious. God’s quit on us because we quit on Him. He’s written books.”

“I ought to have a look at them,” Cassie said.

She could almost hear Sharon’s shrug. “I don’t think they’ll tell you much about him.”

“Talking to him might tell me a lot.” Cassie glanced at her clock radio.

“I doubt it. Not beyond what I’ve told you. He’s smart, and he’s smart in funny ways. Maybe he’s smart in ways that just about everybody else is as dumb as a box of rocks about. If it tells you more than that, you let me know. Okay?”

B
ASKIN
-R
OBBINS
was deserted except for the teenager behind the counter. There were a few high stools in front of it, and Cassie sat down. “How late are you open?”

“Midnight.” The girl sounded sleepy and bored.

“It’s almost that now.”

The girl nodded. “I know, ma’am. Just seven more minutes.”