David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

The clerk smiled. ' Si, senorita. Muy bien .'

'Then, if you don't mind, could you tell me what this means?' Tess pulled her notepad from her purse and showed him the title she'd written.

' El Circulo del Cuello de la Paloma ?' The clerk shrugged. The circle… or possibly the ring… of the neck of the dove.'

Tess frowned, disappointed. She'd hoped that the title would give her an indication of what the book contained. 'Well, have you ever heard of a book with that name?'

'My apologies, senorita . No.'

'Then what about this?' She pointed toward the author's name. Abu Muhammad 'Ali ibn Hazm al-Andalusi . 'Why is the author's name so long?'

The clerk raised his shoulders. 'In Spanish, long names are common. They often include the parents' names.'

'But Muhammad isn't a Spanish name. It sounds Moslem. Arabic.'

'That's true,' the clerk said.

'And what about at the end here? Al-Andalusi ?'

'That means he comes from Andalusia.'

'If I remember,' Tess said, 'that's in Spain. Right?'

'Yes. The southern-most province.'

'I don't understand. Why would someone who's Arabic come from a Spanish province?'

The clerk spread his hands and shook his head. 'My former country's history is complicated.' He glanced at a clock on the wall. 'Your pictures should be ready by five.'

'I'll be back. Thank you.'

'De nada.'

Tess hurried to her apartment building, ignored the elevator, and ran up the stairs to her loft. After locking the door behind her, she rushed to pick up her portable phone, tapped some numbers, and went to a closet, pulling out a suitcase.

The receptionist at Earth Mother Magazine answered.

'Betty. Tess. Is Walter free? Good. Then put me through. Walter, it's Tess. I need a favor. I can't come into work for the next few days. Can you spare me? Yes, I've been working on the article. This isn't connected. Let's call it family business. The point is, I have to leave town. What? Is this about Joseph? Okay, all right, you guessed it. Are you a mind reader now? Walter, I have to do this. Be careful? Hey, what else? I promise.'

With relief, Tess broke the connection, carried the suitcase toward her bureau, and pressed more memorized numbers on the portable phone. 'Public library? Reference department, please.' While she waited, she tossed a change of clothes into her suitcase. 'Reference department? I'm a journalist. I'm on deadline, and I'd appreciate if you checked your computer for a book I'm trying to find. It's called The Circle or The Ring of the Neck of the Dove .'

Waiting again, Tess entered her bathroom and placed an emergency kit of toothpaste, etc., into her suitcase. 'No? Thank you.'

But Tess felt hollow as she zipped her suitcase shut. She left the bathroom, reached her volume of the Yellow Pages, and finally found what she wanted.

Again she pressed numbers on the portable phone. Trump Shuttle? I need a seat on the six o'clock flight to Washington. Yes, I know you guarantee seats. But I don't want to wait if you have to bring out another plane. My Am Ex number is…'

She slumped on her sofa, tried to clear her mind, and pressed more buttons. 'Mother? I'm coming to town tonight. That's right, it's been a long time. We'll catch up. I'm fine, mother. Listen, as I recall, you had some influence with the Library of Congress director. Didn't he used to come to father's dinner parties? Good. I want you to call him. Ask him if he knows about and can get me this book.' Tess gave the title. 'Eight, mother. Maybe later. I'm trying. I just don't know exactly. Don't keep dinner waiting. Yes, I love you, too.'

She pressed the disconnect button, searched her address book, and pressed more numbers. Actually, she jabbed them. 'Brian Hamilton, please. Yes. That's what I expected. He's always unavailable. Tell him Theresa Drake is calling. Yes, that Drake.'

The name had magic. Or possibly caused fear. For whatever reason, Brian Hamilton answered quickly. 'How are you, Tess?' His voice was smooth. 'It's been a long time.'

'Not long enough. But I want to get reacquainted, Brian. In person.'

'Oh? Does that mean…?'

'You bet. I'm coming to town. Be at my mother's house at eight tonight.'

'I'm sorry, Tess. I can't. I'm scheduled to attend a reception for the Soviet ambassador.'

'With all respect to the Soviet ambassador…'

'Respect. Exactly. We're suddenly allies. I have to…'

'You're not listening, Brian. I need to see you.'

'But the Soviet ambassador…"

'Fuck him,' Tess blurted. 'You promised my father you'd be there if I ever needed help. I demand you honor your promise.'

'Demand? You make that sound like a threat.'

'A threat? Brian, I don't make threats. I make guarantees . I'm a journalist, remember. I know your secrets, just as I knew about my father's. I might be tempted to write a story about them. Unless you want to put out a contract on me.'

'Hey, Tess, let's not overreact. You know we don't…'

'Just be at my mother's. Eight o'clock.'

Brian hesitated. 'If you insist. For the sake of old times and your father. I look forward to…'

Tess broke the connection.

On schedule at five o'clock, her clothes moist from urgency, Tess carried her suitcase into the QUICK PHOTO store. Again, the bell rang. Again, the middle-aged Hispanic clerk glanced up at her.

Tess eased her suitcase onto the floor and breathed out. 'My pictures? They're ready?'

'But of course, 'the clerk said. 'As we advertise, one-hour service.' He reached in a drawer. 'Here they are.'

Tess opened her wallet.

'I'm sorry your friend got angry.'

'… My friend?'

'The man you sent to pick up the photographs for you.'

'But I…'

'A month ago, we gave out some wedding pictures by mistake. In truth, it was my fault. I forgot to ask for the claim check. Since then, I don't give out any pictures unless…'

'Here's the claim check,' Tess said. Her hand shook. 'You did the right thing. I didn't send… What did he look like?'

'Tan. Early thirties. Tall. Well-built. Good-looking.' The clerk paused, then frowned. 'He became quite insistent when I wouldn't give him the photographs. He was so upset that I almost feared he'd force me to give him the photographs. I reached under the counter.' The clerk held up a baseball bat. 'For this. In case he turned violent. Perhaps he noticed my gesture. Fortunately it wasn't necessary. Just then, three customers came in. He left in a hurry.' The clerk frowned harder. 'What I noticed most about him were his eyes.'

'His eyes?' Tess gripped the counter for support. 'What about them?'

'Their color was unusual.'

'Gray?'

'Yes, senorita . How did you?'

Tess gaped. Feeling sick, she dropped money on the counter, grabbed the package of photographs, and mustered the discipline not to tremble. She rushed toward the door to find a taxi.

'You're certain I did the right thing, senorita?'

'Absolutely. From now on, you get all my business.'

The overhead bell rang as Tess lunged out. Scanning the smoggy street, she suddenly realized, her stomach burning, that she wasn't just looking for a taxi.

The man the clerk had described sounded like Joseph. But Joseph was dead!

How could?

As she hailed a taxi and scrambled into it, Tess surprised herself by assuming one of Joseph's habits. Nervous, she darted her eyes in every direction to see if she was being followed.

La Guardia Airport.