Power Play (35 page)

“Tycho Brahe,” Jake agreed.

They ordered drinks from the young bartender who grinned at Jake and ogled Amy; she took a flute of champagne, Jake opted for club soda, thinking about the drive home through the snow.

“How’s our boy?” Jake asked.

“Franklin? He’s fine. He’ll be down in a few minutes; he’s getting into his costume.”

“What’s he coming as?”

“You’ll see,” Amy said, with an impish smile.

Lowering his voice slightly, Jake asked, “How’s his health? He’s been looking pretty tired lately.”

Amy took a sip of her champagne, then replied, “You’d be tired, too, Jake, if you had to run around the state the way he’s been. But his health is fine.”

“Really?”

Her mischievous smile returned. “I can tell you from firsthand experience, there’s nothing wrong with his health.”

“Really,” Jake huffed.

Lots of people were arriving now, and Jake drifted away from Amy. His health is fine, Jake repeated to himself. She ought to know. She’s in bed with him every chance she gets.

Bob Rogers and his wife came in, he in a fringed frontiersman’s buckskins, complete with coonskin cap, she in a frilly colonial dress with voluminous skirts and a low neckline that showed off her plump bosom.

“Professor Ross, you look very handsome,” said Mrs. Rogers, her round face dimpling with good humor. “But that false nose ruins the effect, don’t you think?”

Jake explained the reason for the nose. Mrs. Rogers nodded accommodatingly, then she and her husband moved away. A five-piece combo began playing soft dance music and Jake debated whether he should ask Amy for a dance.

Before he could make up his mind, though, Tomlinson entered the room. The band immediately broke into a brassy fanfare.

B. Franklin Tomlinson was dressed as Superman, in a blue muscle suit with a big S emblazoned on its chest, and a red cape hanging from his shoulders. Grinning from ear to ear, he planted his fists on his hips and shouted, “Up, up, and awaaay!”

Everyone laughed and applauded. Amy hurried to his side and even his father allowed a grin to crack his stern façade.

Tomlinson began working the room, shaking hands and chatting a few moments with each of the guests. With Amy close beside him. They make a great couple, Jake thought morosely: Superman and the blond harem girl. Terrific.

He slinked away and headed for a men’s room.

As he came out, Tim Younger was being led by the butler toward the party room. Younger was dressed in a western square dance outfit: colorful checkered shirt, lean blue jeans, and tooled leather boots.

Younger stopped to gawk at Jake. “Who the hell are you supposed to be, Cyrano de Bergerac?”

“Tycho Brahe,” Jake answered, suddenly weary of explaining.

“Nice sword,” Younger allowed.

“Isn’t Glynis with you?” Jake asked.

“She called me at the last minute, said she couldn’t come.”

“Why not?”

“She got a call from one of Leeds’s people,” Younger said, looking annoyed. “Said he wants to talk to her about this FBI business.”

INTO THE SNOW

Cold panic hit Jake like a blow to the pit of his stomach. “A call from one of Leeds’s people?” he asked Younger. “Who? When?”

Younger shrugged. “Beats me. Glyn told me that one of Tomlinson’s people set it up for her.”

Amy! Jake realized.

He whirled away from Younger and sprinted back into the crowded, noisy party room. The band was playing a leisurely waltz, costumed people were chatting, laughing, drinking. Pushing through the couples dancing in the center of the room, Jake spotted Amy, still clinging to Tomlinson’s arm.

He rushed up to her and demanded, “What’d you set up Glynis for?”

Amy blinked at him. “What?”

“Glynis Colwyn! What’d you tell her?”

Frowning at Jake’s insistent tone, Tomlinson asked, “What’s this all about?”

To Tomlinson, Amy replied, “That grad student who was involved with Professor Sinclair is trying to get somebody in Leeds’s office to talk to her about the investigation.”

Jake grabbed her arm. “And you set her up for a meeting?”

“With that Perez fellow,” Amy said. “He said he wants to talk to her.”

His frown turning puzzled, Tomlinson said, “Perez? You mean Leeds’s Las Vegas connection?”

“That seedy little man, yes,” Amy replied.

“Where?” Jake demanded, his voice shaking with fear. “Where are they meeting?”

“How should I know?” Amy said, nettled. “I talked to a couple of people in Leeds’s office and said she had some new evidence about the killings. Less than an hour later Perez called me back and asked for her phone number.”

“Jesus!” Jake turned and started to leave, only to bump into Younger.

“What the hell’s going on?” the engineer asked.

“Glynis!” Jake snapped, hurrying for the door. “She’s in trouble.”

“Whattaya mean?”

Shouldering his way through the crowd, Jake said, “She’s going to meet with the guy who told us to keep out of the investigation. And he thinks she’s got evidence against him.”

Keeping up with Jake stride for stride, Younger asked, “How the hell did that happen?”

“Long story. We’ve got to find her! Before—”

“Relax,” Younger said, pulling his cell phone from his jeans pocket. “I’ll get her.”

As Younger tapped on the phone’s keypad Jake towed him outside the ballroom. The foyer was quieter, empty of people except for one of the butler’s assistants standing glumly at the front door.

Jake heard the phone buzz once, twice.…

“Glyn?” Younger’s face lit up. “It’s me. Jake’s here, he wants to talk to you.”

Jake grabbed at the phone so fast he nearly fumbled it out of his hand. Pressing it to his ear he said, “Where are you?”

“Jake?” Glynis’s voice sounded calm, ordinary.

“Where are you? Where are you going?”

“I’m on the interstate. I’m heading for Senator Leeds’s place by the lake.”

“Stop right now! Turn around and go back home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jake. The snow’s getting heavier, but it’s not bad enough to be a problem.”

“Perez thinks you have new evidence!” Jake fairly yelled into the phone. “He’s waiting for you so he can find out what the evidence is and then get rid of you!”

“That’s why I’m carrying a microchip recorder. It will take down whatever Perez says and transmit it to my computer, in my apartment.”

“They’ll break into your apartment and tear your computer apart! They’ll kill you!”

“They can’t afford to have another body on their doorstep,” Glynis said coolly.

“The hell they can’t!” Jake shouted. “They’ll make it look like an accident.”

Younger yanked the phone out of Jake’s hands. “Glyn, it’s me again. Jake’s right. Turn the car around and come on back home. I’ll meet you at your—”

He took the phone from his ear and held it before his face, staring at it as if it had betrayed him.

“She hung up,” Younger said, disbelief etching his face.

“Maybe the cellular service cut off,” Jake suggested.

“Whatever.” Younger started for the front door. “We’ve got to find her before she gets herself in trouble.”

“Right!” Jake hurried after him.

“What’re you driving?” Younger asked as they stepped outside. The snow was falling more thickly now, and a cold wind was swirling the white flakes past the lampposts.

“My Mustang,” said Jake.

Younger gave a snort as he beckoned to the parking attendant, bundled in a puffy down-lined parka. Jake shuddered in the cold, then saw a boxy SUV lumber up the driveway. It was faded blue, and looked as if it had seen lots of miles.

“It’s a Land Rover,” Jake exclaimed. “Like Bob’s.”

“I bought it off Bob,” Younger said as he went around the car, tipped the attendant, and climbed in behind the wheel. “When he got his new one.”

Jake had to take off his sword before he could get into the right-hand side. He dumped it clanking on the floor behind the seats.

The snow looked even heavier in the headlights’ glow.

“You know where this place is?” Younger asked as he put the van into gear.

“Yeah,” said Jake. “I’ve been there before.”

“Okay, you navigate.”

And into the snow they drove.

THROUGH THE BLIZZARD

“… expect blizzard conditions through most of the night,” the radio commentator was saying. Jake had turned on the all-news station. “Drivers are advised to stay off the roads—”

“Turn that damned thing off,” Younger growled. “I can see that it’s snowing like hell.”

The snow was coming down more thickly than ever, blowing almost horizontally across the highway by a howling wind. Younger was bent over the van’s steering wheel, both hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

“You know where this place is?” Younger asked, for the fourth time.

“Yeah. I plugged its location into your GPS,” Jake said, tapping the screen glowing in the middle of the dashboard. Its map showed the highway, but the female voice that gave directions had been silent for more than half an hour.

Jake was thinking, It’s early for a blizzard. Not even November yet. Whatever happened to global warming?

There weren’t any other cars on the highway. Nobody else is crazy enough to come out in this, Jake told himself. Then a big eighteen-wheeler roared past them, churning up blinding swirls of snow. The Land Rover shook in its wake and skidded slightly as Younger growled out a string of curses.

He corrected the van’s skid and drove on in bleak silence.

After a dozen more miles, Jake asked, “How’s the road?”

“Okay,” Younger replied, staring straight ahead into the windswept white flakes. “Long as we don’t come across any more cowboys in semis.”

Jake nodded in the shadows.

“This buggy’s got all sorts of traction,” Younger added. “Your little Go-Kart would’ve spun out twenty miles back.”

The wind was actually a help, driving the snow across the wide paved highway. Must be piling up drifts on the side of the road, Jake thought. He peered into the darkness but could make out nothing.

“Snowplow,” Younger muttered, and Jake saw a big lumbering plow up ahead, its lights flashing. Younger settled in a respectful distance behind it and slowed to its pace. “Like a police escort,” he muttered.

Jake felt antsy, though, wondering if Glynis had made it to Leeds’s place and—if she had—what was happening to her.

After about half an hour the plow turned off at an exit ramp and they had to drive through steadily heavier snow. Younger kept their speed around fifty, pushing ahead steadily. Jake saw a semi rig jackknifed on the shoulder of the median, its end projecting into the left lane.

“That’s the asshole who zipped past us,” Younger said. “Serves him frigging right.”

“I didn’t see the driver,” Jake said. “I wonder if he’s okay.”

“Call the highway patrol, let them worry about it.”

Jake pulled his cell phone from his ridiculous blue embroidered coat, but the screen said
NO SERVICE
.

“Cell towers must be down,” he said.

“Or we’re in an area with no service,” Younger replied.

Then the roadside lights winked out. All of them. They were plunged into complete darkness, except for the Land Rover’s headlights.

“Jesus Christ,” Younger snapped. “Must be a blackout.”

Without hesitating, Jake clicked on the dashboard radio. “… getting reports from across the state of a rolling blackout. Electrical power has gone off here in the capital, and as far east as Vernon. Adjoining states are reporting blackouts, as well, and we expect a statement from the state’s utility board in a few minutes.”

“Just what we need,” Jake moaned.

Younger shook his head. “If the frigging phones worked I could get the guys in Lignite to fire up the big rig. Produce enough power to keep that half of the state alight.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“If the cell phones worked.”

“Yeah.”

They drove on in dismal silence. The snow was too thick for Jake to make out the roadside signs. He hoped he had given the GPS system the right coordinates for the lakeside lodge.

Younger chuckled grimly. “Are we there yet?”

“Damned if I know,” Jake admitted.

Then the female voice from the GPS said in its calm dulcet tone, “In point five mile, turn right onto exit ramp.”

“We’re almost there!” both men said in unison.

The side road was covered with several inches of snow but Younger doggedly mushed the Land Rover through. He nearly missed a turn and plowed into a drift. Cursing, he threw the transmission into reverse and rocked the SUV out of the piled-up snow. There were no lights anywhere, except for their headlamps. Younger drove slowly, cautiously, inching along the twisting road, careful not to slide off into another drift.

At last the headlights picked up a glint, a reflection off a window. Squinting into the wind-whipped snow, Jake barely made out the low silhouette of the lodge’s roofline against the lighter background of the lake.

Younger inched the Land Rover through the open gate of the snow-covered wooden fence and gently slowed to a stop. The van slid sideways before coming to rest. He puffed out a relieved sigh.

“Made it,” Younger said, his voice slightly shaky.

Jake was peering at the lodge. He couldn’t see any lights inside. But then, in the glow from the Land Rover’s headlamps, he saw Glynis’s Jaguar, already thickly covered with snow. But its hood was up and a man was standing beside it, peering at the engine by the feeble glow of a flashlight.

He looked up and Jake recognized him. Monster.

Wearing a long black overcoat and a fur-trimmed hat with earflaps, Monster trudged over to the SUV, shoulders bunched, looking truculent. Younger rolled down the driver-side window, but before he could say anything, Monster demanded, “Whattaya want?”

Jake leaned across and said as brightly as he could manage, “Hey, Monster, it’s me, Jake.”

“Jake?” Monster’s heavy features registered surprise. Then he shook his head. “You ain’t supposed to be here, Jake.”

THE LAKESIDE LODGE

Monster led them through the snow and into the lodge, muttering about Glynis’s Jaguar every step of the way.