Deadline (15 page)

“Friends who are really friends,” Armstrong said. “Not jerks like this Walker character.”

“Walker’s a goddamned good reporter,” Donovan said. “You don’t want a friend, Joe, you want a lackey.”

“Gentlemen, you’re straying again,” Simon said. To Armstrong, he said, “May I finish, please?”

Armstrong shrugged.

“All right, part of our problem is that we don’t know exactly what we’ve got here.” He paused to light a smoke. “You all read Walker’s story.”

They nodded, all but Armstrong, who merely looked bored.

“You know about the Ordway matter,” Simon said. “You know that some important, critical Bureau documents are still missing from that case. That’s why Joe was sent up here, to help us recover those papers.”

“At any cost,” Armstrong said. He looked at Donovan. “What was that phrase your friend used? ‘Very sensitive’?”

“He was quoting the Bureau’s spokesman, I believe. That was our definition.”

“Our definition, as run through their mill,” Armstrong said. “And rewritten from old newspaper clippings. When we made that statement, we thought we’d have those documents back in a few days.”

“A lot has happened since then,” Kevin Lord said.

“A hell of a lot,” Armstrong said. “The whole political climate of this country has changed, thanks in no small part to jerks like this Walker guy. They put their junk in the newspaper without even starting to understand the consequences. And suddenly everything’s different. People want blood, and it’s our blood they want. So we want those records back.”

Donovan knew better than to ask what the records contained. But Simon, anticipating the unasked question, said, “None of us knows what’s in those Ordway papers.”

Donovan looked at Armstrong, whose face remained a mask.

“But we know what we need to know,” Simon said. “The Ordway papers contain items of national security, and they’re top priority. More important than the girl’s capture.” He looked at Donovan. “More important than anything you’ve ever done for the FBI, Al.”

Okay, he thought. I’m impressed. Now what?

“I’m assigning you and Kevin to work with Joe on their recovery. You’ll form a loose team, under Joe’s direction, and will work out of your office in Brooklyn.”

“I don’t understand that,” Donovan said. “That seems like the long way around.”

“Let me put it another way. We think Walker at this point knows more about the case than we do.”

“You’ve seen what Walker knows. It’s all there in his story.”

“We don’t think so. We had a meeting yesterday, and some startling patterns came out of this story. We know that he’s met Joanne Sayers, at least once while she was hiding out as Melinda Baker. We know the pictures originated with Walker. We know he’d been working on the case more than two months, so in a sense he’s had that much head start on us. And we know he won’t stop until he’s got that Ordway file in his hands, and splashed it across the front page of his paper. Even you, Al, will have to admit that.”

Yes. Even he had to admit that.

“We’ve got to shortstop that,” Simon said.

“At any cost,” Armstrong said.

Donovan couldn’t resist slipping them a needle. “Those things aren’t so startling. You should have had a tail on Walker from the moment his paper hit the street.”

Simon cleared his throat. There was a long awkward moment. “That was a busy morning for all of us, Al. And hindsight is a great thing.” There was another long pause. “So. I want you to work out of your office, just as you’ve always done. Walker will contact you, sooner or later.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“If he does, I want you to play it straight with him. Work with him, offer to help. Anything to find out what he knows. Joe and Kevin will also use your office as a home base. You’ll meet there at the end of the day, go over what you’ve got, and Joe will report to me. Any questions?”

He had none.

“I don’t have to tell you, this takes priority over everything. Go anywhere, do whatever you have to. If you need help, pick up the phone. The entire office is at your disposal. I’m not kidding, men, I want those goddamned records back.”

The three of them went out together. At Armstrong’s direction they went to a coffee shop and sat in a corner booth over three steaming cups. They talked for fifteen minutes, quite long enough for Armstrong to establish command.

“Lord, I want you to go over to Jersey. Interview people at Bristol-Myers. Then talk to people all along the block where the Sayers woman lived.”

“We’ve already done that,” Lord said. “I have the reports.”

“I don’t want the goddamned reports,” Armstrong said. “I want
you
to do it. Do it again. Do it a hundred times if I tell you to. We’re gonna break this bastard, if we have to ask the same people the same questions a thousand times. You got that?”

To Donovan, as they were paying the bill, he said, “You come with me.”

They each paid for one coffee. On the sidewalk, Armstrong waited until Kevin Lord had disappeared around a corner.

“You and I will take off for Brooklyn,” he said. “And listen, Donovan.”

Donovan listened.

“I want you to remember two things. I’m running this show.”

Donovan faced him coldly. “What’s the other thing?”

“The Sayers girl. No matter what…” Armstrong paused, to give the words their proper weight. “No…matter…what…I want that little baby handed to me. You got that?”

Donovan got it.

An hour later they walked into the Brooklyn office. There was a stack of messages on Donovan’s desk. Busywork.

“Get rid of that,” Armstrong said. “Get it assigned to somebody else.”

Donovan went through the messages while Armstrong looked over his shoulder. At the bottom was a note that made them both sit up. A Mr. Walker had called, just after noon. No message. He said he would call back, sometime tonight.

Armstrong was smiling. “You see, Donovan? Just what I thought. Working with you pays off, real fast.”

“If he’s going to call tonight, he probably means at my home.”

“Good. You got a spare bedroom?”

Donovan nodded.

“Then I accept your invitation, for the duration. Let’s get going. He might call early.”

When they arrived, Kim told them they had just missed Walker’s call. “That’s okay,” Armstrong said. “He’ll call back.” They planned to use two phones. Donovan would take the call in his den and Armstrong would listen in on the kitchen extension. They waited, watching the phone, but the call didn’t come. At seven-thirty, Kim served dinner.

Donovan discovered that Armstrong had a certain rugged charm, which he could turn on and off at will. He raved about Kim’s cooking, and about their home; he called Donovan by his given name as they passed plates across the table. He ate heartily, the ultimate compliment to a cook’s labors. Donovan could see that the charm had had its effect on his wife. “I like your friend,” she said as they met briefly in the kitchen. “He seems very nice.”

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” he said coldly.

Her eyes followed him out of the room, and he knew he shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have involved her in it in any way. Armstrong was his problem; let it stay that way. Now all he wanted was that Walker should call and convince them all that he and the Yoder girl had run off for a long weekend. That he knew nothing more than what had been in his story and wasn’t pursuing it any further. Then maybe Armstrong would get out of his house and take his case somewhere else. That hope faded and went out when the phone rang. Kim moved toward it, but Donovan motioned her to stay still. He went into the den and lifted the receiver. In the kitchen, Armstrong lifted his so quietly that Donovan didn’t hear as much as a click.

“Mr. Al Donovan?”

“Yes.”

“Hold please for long distance.”

He was in a telephone booth somewhere. Donovan heard the coins dropping in the slot as the operator directed. The coins seemed to come endlessly. At last the operator said, “Go ahead, please.”

“Al?”

“Yeah, Walker. Where the hell are you at?”

“Never mind that. Listen, I got no more change, so whatever we say will have to be kept to three minutes. So you listen and I’ll talk. First I need your word on something. This has got to be between you and me. Your word on that.”

Donovan writhed.

“Al?”

“Yeah, Walker?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not. It’s just…how can I give my word until I know what you’re talking about?”

“Listen,” Walker snapped. “It’s about the Sayers thing. Now do you want to help me on this or not? I haven’t got much time.”

“Sure I do.”

“Then tell me it’ll be kept private, between you and me, until I say otherwise.”

Armstrong pushed his way into the den, gesturing with his hands and eyes. Gesturing yes.

“Sure,” Donovan said. “Just between us.”

Armstrong hurried back to the kitchen phone.

“Okay, then. The Sayers girl is with me.”

Donovan felt his pulse quicken.

“Al? You still there?”

“I don’t know,” Donovan said, trying to laugh. “That’s an awful big load you dropped on me.”

“It’s no load, Al.”

“Listen, Walker, if you’re trying to help her get away, that can get mighty goddamn sticky…”

“I’m trying to help her give herself up. Listen, if you want to get technical about it, I’ve been her prisoner since Saturday. Does that make you feel any better?”

“I don’t know.” It was a bad scene in either case. “Ah, Walker…where are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. We won’t be here long enough to matter anyway. The kid wants to give herself up, but she’s scared. She’s sure she’ll be killed the way the Lewises were.”

“Lewis killed himself, Walker.”

“She doesn’t believe that. Now listen. I’ve told her about you, and she wants you to take custody of her. Nobody else. We’ll tell you when and where, later.”

An operator cut in. “Your three minutes are up.”

“All right, Al, I’ve got to run.”

“Wait a minute!”

“No more time. Call you in a few days.”

The line went dead.

Armstrong came in, grinning. “Pay dirt,” he said. “Who’d have thought we’d hit it this quick? See, pilgrim? Sometimes my hunches do pay off.” He had a small notebook in his hand with some figures on it. “There’s no way we can find out where that call came from. Next time he calls, we’ll have a trace ready. Right now we’ll have to make do with a little crude arithmetic. You got a map of the United States?”

“In my car.”

“Get it.”

Armstrong dialed the operator, then asked for the chief operator. He identified himself as an FBI agent, and was still talking when Donovan came in with the map. They spread the map out on a table and Armstrong drew an almost perfect circle, with its center near Donovan’s home. The circle’s outer edge cut across northern Maine, through mid-Ohio, across the Kentucky-West Virginia line, through southern Virginia and parts of North Carolina.

“That’s the area we’re working with, given the amount of change your buddy fed the phone,” he said. “He’s done himself some traveling.”

Donovan didn’t say anything. He was thinking about Diana Yoder, also gone from her home and job. He thought about the rumpled bed at Walker’s place, and a vial of birth control pills with six pills missing. The girl would have gone to Walker’s to spend the night. Had Joanne Sayers walked in on them? If the Yoder girl was with them, could she be a link in the search for Walker’s destination?

She was a farm girl, with roots somewhere in the Midwest, he thought. He looked at Armstrong, but he didn’t say anything. That was an element he was keeping to himself.

Armstrong’s mind seemed to be running in the same direction. Links. Roots. He called Roland Simon’s private number. “We may have a break,” he said. “The Sayers woman is with Walker. On the road somewhere. He just called here, fifteen, twenty minutes ago. Now listen, I want every possible tie she has to points north, south and west of here. Yes, him too. I know it’s a tall order. Just hurry it up, will you please?”

He hung up and faced Donovan. He seemed lost in thought.

“It’s a waste of time,” he said softly. “We’ve got to try everything, but this won’t cut it.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The kid’s not stupid. She’s not going anyplace where she’s got ties.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Donovan said. “She depended on Lewis for quite a few years. With him dead, she may be confused. She might try anything.”

“Maybe.” Armstrong stared at the phone. “Uh-uh,” he said. “She’s going to get the Ordway papers, from wherever they’re stashed. You can bet me on that one, Donovan. She’s going after those files. They’re her insurance now.”

“They’re probably traveling in Walker’s car. Should be easy to spot, once we have it narrowed down a bit.”

Armstrong shook his head. “You still don’t savvy, do you, Donovan? I don’t want them picked up.”

Donovan just looked at him.

“I don’t want any bungling county sheriff getting his hands on that girl,” Armstrong said. “I don’t want any other police agency in on this at all. We’ll get them ourselves. Just us.”

T
HEY WERE IN OHIO
. They had been driving without rest since morning. Walker and Diana shared the driving, while Joanne Sayers sat in the back seat and watched them. Walker couldn’t see the gun, but it was there somewhere, curled under the blanket on her lap like a tiny snake. Joanne Sayers didn’t seem to get tired. She seldom spoke, even to give directions. Both Walker and Diana knew where they were going now. They had a weathered road map, which one read while the other drove. But there was no need. The great tollway out of Philadelphia ran straight to Chicago. The Pennsylvania Turnpike became the Ohio Turnpike, distinguished only by the changing faces of the pirates who manned the toll-booths and collected their booty. Three bucks and change, to drive another two hundred miles. What a world.

They had gone to Philadelphia first, after spending most of Sunday locked in Walker’s closet. Joanne Sayers had been on the run, and confused from lack of sleep. In the two days before the Lewises were killed, she had felt something brewing. Like the warnings of Cassandra. Perhaps she had sensed them out there, taking her picture, passing it along. She only knew things were coming to a head somehow, and that nagging hunch had kept her awake, alert. It wasn’t until she had read Walker’s story a dozen times that the plan had occurred to her. Diana was a complication, but a minor one. She would have to go along for the ride.