DeVito noticed that Roth was looking out at the audience. The sky was dark now but the seating area was still illuminated as the late arrivals were taking their seats. DeVito tried to determine whom Roth was trying to find.
It seemed to him as if he was observing… the Rawley family? Then De Vito noticed a guy seated in the aisle seat of the Rawleys’ box who looked like a GQ version of Lavrenti Beria. With a jolt, DeVito realized he recognized the man; he’d seen a picture yesterday when he’d been doing research for Orpheus at the Federal Building in San Diego. That sonofabitch was Garvin Townes. Why the hell would he be sitting with the Rawleys?
DeVito alarm grew when he saw Roth and Townes exchange a nod.
What did that mean? Roth was going to take his shot at the senator? No, Roth was inclining his head toward the seats in front of the left side of the stage.
Townes turned his gaze to look that way. DeVito eyes followed and… The house lights went down as the white-haired journalist who would serve as the moderator for the evening stepped onstage to polite applause.
The man’s words sounded throughout the Bowl but DeVito didn’t hear any of them. What had Roth been nodding at? DeVito asked himself, straining to see through the darkness. What had Townes turned to see?
DeVito was vaguely aware of movement behind him and then he was snapped out of his reverie by thunderous applause. He looked out at the stage to see the moderator shaking Orpheus’ hand; the candidate waving to the crowd.
Which was when it hit DeVito Cade was out there!
That had to be what Roth was telling Townes. Cade was in the audience… somewhere in that section on the left. That little bitch Vandy Ellison had lied to him about Cade being at the movie studio. He was going to kill her. But first he had to Another rousing ovation made DeVito focus on the moment. Now Primus had taken the stage and he and Orpheus were shaking hands. How the hell could DeVito pull Orpheus off the stage now without making him look like an absolute fool? He couldn’t.
What he had to do was find Cade… and kill him if the sonofabitch made one wrong move.
But he couldn’t forget about Roth, either. Roth was the backup man. DeVito turned and saw Landers, Roth’s honest lieutenant, right there where he should be. He grabbed Landers’ arm and pulled him aside, urgently whispering in his ear.
“Jesus!” Landers said, going pale.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. If you see Roth go for his weapon, shoot him.”
“But…”
“Listen,” DeVito commanded, “there’s no time to argue. Just watch him.
You’ll know what he’s doing won’t be right. Trust your own eyes if you don’t trust me. Just don’t let that sonofabitch get off a shot.”
Then DeVito took a flashlight off the stunned special agent and as the debate began, he descended from the stage and into the crowd to hunt J. D. Cade.
As Jenny approached the house, a stark chain of white cubes joined in an almost whimsical fashion, she saw that the front door stood open. That was when her thoughts clicked together in a far more logical pattern than the architecture she beheld. First the lilies at the hotel, then the gates at the entrance to the property being swung wide, now the door to the house standing open? Someone had all but spread a trail of bread crumbs to lead her right where he wanted her to go.
The realization of who that someone was made her stomach turn over. It also made her painfully aware that you really did have to be careful about what you wished for, even when all you wanted was to see an old friend one last time.
Jenny stepped across the threshold of the house.
“Don?” she called out.
“Where are you, Don?”
“We’re back here, my dear,” came the sepulchral voice.
“The room off to your left.”
She followed directions and entered a softly lit, harshly modern room. Abstract paintings hung on shadowed walls, their images morphing into Rorschach monsters. The rear wall was made of sliding glass panels that had been opened to the night. The view of the city was panoramic. Waves of sound coming from the Bowl just down the hill seemed shockingly loud.
Especially when a huge cheer erupted, followed by a somewhat lesser ovation.
Hunter Ward, hairless from chemotherapy, scarred from where his skull had been opened, and pale as winter moonlight, was seated near the entrance to the room. He had both of his hands wrapped around a gun, but the barrel of the weapon danced through the air in small jerks and twists as if controlled by a nervous puppeteer.
He told Jenny, “Your man just got the bigger ovation; the greeting for Tom’s candidate was a mite less enthusiastic.”
Jenny looked at the man seated opposite Don, the man at whom the gun was pointed. He was Hunter Ward’s former partner, one of Jenny’s two former bosses.
“Aren’t you going to saw hello, Jenny?” asked Thomas “Killer” Laughlin.
A. k. a. the Gardener.
“This is true?” Hayashi demanded of J. D. in a quiet but urgent voice.
“All of it?”
“Just make sure you get the chance to ask the questions. See what the president says.”
“Hey, shut up, why don’t you?” said another newsie.
“Some of us are trying to pay attention to what they’re saying on the stage, you know.”
Hayashi gave the finger to his colleague from the fourth estate, but he pulled J. D. closer and lowered his voice.
“I ask these questions, it’s just as likely as not I get stonewalled. Or, worse, I’m accused of trying to smear the president for Rawley’s benefit. Either way, everybody’s going to want to know my source for the information.”
“You don’t give away sources, do you?”
“Hell, no. Never.”
“And how effectively can the president stonewall if he wets his pants in front of the whole world?”
Despite his anxiety, the reporter grinned.
“You think he might?”
“I guarantee, you ask those questions, you’ll get some big reaction.”
“And if I don’t? Ask the questions, I mean.”
“Then you’ve got one less stone than the president.”
Hayashi jerked back as if he’d been slapped. His face was a mask as he turned from J. D. without saying another word, but now J. D. was as sure as he could be that the reporter would ask the questions. That or Hayashi would have to find a new line of work, one where he wouldn’t have to worry about self-doubt.
J. D. glanced at the stage. Del Rawley had just said something that
drew laughter from a majority of the crowd, but J. D. hadn’t heard a word of it and was in anything but a humorous mood. He could wait no longer. He had to go find a quiet spot where he could call his cousin Ben and find out if there was any news about Evan.
He was just about to step into the aisle when someone shone a flashlight in his face.
The Toad sensed that something was going on with his three prisoners. He tried to see what it was, but his field of clear vision was far too narrow to take in all three of them sitting there in a jumble. Evan Cade was effectively shielding the other two from him. He didn’t know what any of them could possibly do with their hands tied behind them, but he nevertheless felt increasingly uneasy that they were up to something.
The problem was, he didn’t know what he could do about it. If he ordered Evan Cade to go back to his place, he was likely to get nothing more than an insolent refusal. Cade would protest that the Toad would shoot his friends.
Which was precisely what he would do. Those two were of no further use to him. Come to that, maybe Evan Cade was of no further use to him, either.
Given his circumstances, it was time for him to exercise a little independent judgment.
The Toad raised his gun and lined it up as best he could on the center of Evan Cade’s chest… just as a loud grunt sounded outside the trailer. The Toad turned his head to listen. The grunt was followed by a snort and then a low growl.
Gorbachev was outside and unhappy that his daily dessert was late in being served.
“What was that?” the Toad demanded, trying to comprehend what he’d just heard.
By way of response, Deena yelled, “Gorby, the Cossacks are coming!”
The Toad was in the process of swinging his gun back toward Deena when
there came a growl so thunderous that the Toad thought some predator was about to fall on him. That didn’t happen, but a blow was delivered to the Airstream that rocked the trailer on its foundation. Another deafening roar followed, as did a second rattling blow, and then the face of the bear, all bristling black fur, glittering amber eyes, and massive fangs, appeared at the trailer’s window. Gorbachev looked directly at the Toad, roared yet again, and slammed the trailer once more.
The Toad fired a round, but the shot only grazed Gorbachev.
Deena shouted, “Moscow is saved!” Gorbachev promptly dropped out of sight.
That didn’t keep the Toad from firing five more rounds directly through the trailer’s aluminum skin, but there were no howls of pain to indicate the animal had been hit.
While the Toad was firing at Gorbachev, Blair McCray finally managed to pull free of the ropes that had bound his hands. His wrists bled from being rubbed against the rope and his hands were swollen, but he brought them forward and, flexing his fingers as best he could, grabbed Evan around the waist.
“Get ready,” he told Evan, speaking directly into his ear.
“Jump when you feel me lift.”
The Toad went to the window to look for the animal. He saw lights moving among the trees. He heard dogs baying. It was definitely time to go. He turned to his captives, bringing his gun around.
“Now!” Blair shouted.
Evan pushed off the floor as hard as he could while Blair came up be neath him and flung Evan with all his might straight at the Toad.
The gap between Evan and his captor was only a matter of feet; he knew that as he was hurtling through the air. But it seemed as if he was floating.
He took in every minute detail of the experience. He could feel his throat vibrate as he stretched his mouth wide to scream his rage. He could see Froggy’s brow furrow as he desperately tried to make his one barely functional, grotesquely reddened eye focus on the body flying at him. He saw the muscles in the bastard’s arm tighten as he struggled to bring the gun to bear.
Then the jarring collision as muscle slammed against muscle, the crack of bone banging against bone, the momentum of flight slowed but not stopped as the two of them toppled together toward the floor. The second stunning impact as they hit, bounced up, and settled back.
Finally the bang, the heat, and the searing pain of the gun going off.
The flashlight went out, and when the afterimage faded, J. D. saw DeVi to staring at him. The special agent had his right hand inside his suit coat and J. D. had no doubt his finger was on the trigger of his Uzi. He was almost surprised DeVito hadn’t shot him already, but then he understood the agent didn’t want to take the chance of hitting anyone else. He’d shoot if he had to, but given a choice, he’d rather take J. D. alive.
DeVito motioned J. D. to take his seat and he did. The special agent settled into a squat across the aisle from him. The woman in the seat next to DeVito gave him a glance until he looked back at her. Then she stared fixedly at the stage.
J. D. likewise turned his attention to the debate. He tried to focus on what the candidates were saying. They spoke of matters of importance to the country and the world, but their words had no meaning for him. All he could think about was his son, being held somewhere unknown and far away. How soon would it be before Evan died? he asked himself. A tear fell from his eye.
DeVito was the only one who noticed.
Then the house lights came up and the moderator opened the floor to questions from the media. All around J. D.” reporters leaped screaming to their feet. But with a bellow of “Mr. President!” Tom Hayashi outshouted the others and was recognized.
“The gentleman from the Los Angeles Times,” the moderator said with a polite smile.
The president nodded at the reporter; he was ready to take his question.
“A two-part question, sir. Can you tell us, please, what position in your next administration you plan to offer to Mr. Garvin Townes…”
There was only a handful of people in the amphitheater who even recognized the name: Townes himself, J. D.” DeVito Roth, Del Rawley, and the president. They all tensed as soon as the name was spoken, and everyone saw that the president had stiffened perceptibly.
“… and are you aware, sir,” Hayashi continued, “of the connection between Mr. Townes and a Beauregard “Dixie’ Wynne? Specifically, did you know that Mr. Wynne was the man who tried to assassinate Senator Rawley in Chicago?”
The Bowl went deathly silent as everyone watched the president tremble with rage everyone except Eleanor Rawley Walker, who was busy trying to remember something.
The president shouted, “That’s a damnable lie! Who’s your source for this slander? I demand to know!”
Hayashi’s eyes danced nervously in his head but he didn’t look at J. D. He didn’t have to. J. D. stood up slowly, so as not to excite DeVito and said, “I’m his source, Mr. President. I can tell you more about Garvin Townes than you’d ever care to know. But the real question is, what do you know, Mr. President?”
Then, as J. D. had promised, things began to happen.
Eleanor looked at the distinguished man sitting next to her and remembered the name she had seen on his identification. She screamed, “You!
You’re Townes!”
Townes, even more infuriated than the president, understood now that he’d been duped. Cade had just shown himself willing to sacrifice his own son’s life to strike back at him. He never would have imagined Cade capable of it.
Benjamin Franklin Walker, previously asleep on his mother’s lap, wakened and, sensing his mother’s distress, immediately began to wail.
Townes saw the boy and instinctively grabbed him away from his mother.
He had his gun against the toddler’s skull before anyone could intercede.
Eleanor Rawley Walker shrank away in horror, holding up her hands in supplication that her son’s life be spared. The special agents standing only feet away held their ground but didn’t move against Townes for fear of causing the little boy’s death. Benjamin Franklin Walker strained to reach his mother, bawling fiercely, but she was beyond his reach.