David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

'No, let her finish, Melinda. For once and for all, we'll settle this,' Brian said.

'I know what you ordered my father to do. I know he disapproved of the assignment but wouldn't refuse an order from the White House,' Tess said. ' How do I know? Because I overheard his conversations on the phone. And when he brought documents from work, I not only secretly read them. I made copies before he shredded them.'

'If you did, Tess, that's a breach of national security. There are serious penalties for…'

'As serious as what happened to my father? What would you do to me? Put me in jail? Of course not. I'd talk. So unless you want another Iran-Contra-arms scandal, you'd have to kill me!'

'That's enough .' Tess's mother jerked upright. That's all I intend to hear. Your father was a great man, and I won't listen to you sully either his or Brian's reputation!'

'No, Melinda, wait.' Brian clasped her hand again, his voice disturbingly calm. 'I think Tess is almost finished. I believe she's leading up to something. And when she finally gets to the point, I suspect we'll finally settle the ghost that haunts us. Tess, excuse me, but if I can be allowed to be vulgar, cut to the chase. What in hell do you want?'

Tess inhaled and answered as calmly as she could. 'Whenever I see your name in the newspaper, I look away in fury. But I don't live in limbo. I hear things. Despite the change in administration, I gather you're still very much associated with the government.'

'That's correct.' Brian straightened.

'With the National Security Council, among other things,' Tess said.

'An unsubstantiated rumor.'

'Hey, Brian, we're talking about pay-off time! A favor in exchange for my silence! I won't forgive you for what you ordered my father to do, but I swear – God help me – if you do what I want, I'll never raise the subject again!'

The rugged-faced war hero studied her. 'That's a tempting offer.'

'Then take it.'

The diplomat's eyes became more calculating. 'So what's your problem?'

Tess's cramped muscles abruptly went limp. 'I have… That is, I had … I don't know what to call him… A friend.'

Slowly, haltingly, for the next quarter-hour, Tess explained, describing her meetings with Joseph, his failure to join her at the park, her grotesque experience at the New York City morgue, her disturbing visit to Joseph's apartment. She ended her stressful account by displaying the photographs of the puzzling objects in Joseph's bedroom.

Brian studied the photographs. 'Weird. Are you sure your friend wasn't on drugs?'

'Drugs? No way. And he didn't drink either. He didn't even use aspirin. He was fanatical about his health.'

'But he acted as if he might have been followed. And…' Brian shook his head. 'I honestly… What do you want me to do?'

'Use your influence with the FBI and the CIA. I think that Joseph might have been Spanish. I know he assumed a false identity. The FBI has his fingerprints. Make copies of them and send them to Interpol. Get in touch with… Whatever it is you do, do it. Pretend the country's been threatened, if that gives you motivation. I want to know Joseph's real identity! I want to find out who killed him! And who tried to steal these photographs! And who might be following me! And-'

'Wait,' Brian interrupted. 'You believe… You're telling me you think you've been followed !'

'I'm so confused I don't know what to think.'

'All right. Calm down. Let me… All right, those photographs. Can I borrow them and make copies?'

'Not a chance. I won't let them out of my sight.'

'In other words, you don't trust me to keep them safe.'

'I'll have copies made myself and send them to you.'

'Very well,' Brian said. 'Clear enough… I have one more question.'

'I've got nothing to hide. Ask it.'

'You met this man three times, and only three times, and yet you feel this obligated to find out who killed him. Does that mean you fell in love with him?'

Tess glared defensively. 'It's more complicated than that. He was different. Special. Let's say I cared for him. So what?'

'Just so I know your motive.'

'My motive is justice, Brian. The same motive you're supposed to have. As long as it doesn't involve selling weapons in Beirut.'

'All right.' Brian stood, military straight. 'You'll hear from me.'

'The sooner, the…'

'Speed isn't always a virtue,' Brian said. 'But thoroughness? In that, I'm an expert.'

'Then prove it,' Tess said.

'One day, I hope you won't hate me.'

'I don't know why you would care. No.' Tess shook her head. 'That's wrong. I've got a suspicion, so Brian, if I'm right… for my father… and your relationship with my mother … bust your ass.'

'Theresa,' her mother objected.

'Mother, if you don't mind, keep out of this.'

'Oh, my.' Her mother clasped her mouth.

Brian extended his hand. 'A deal, Tess?'

'If you deliver? Yes, it's a deal.' She shook his hand. It was no longer firm.

'As soon as I can.'

'Knowing you and your skills…' Tess paused.

' You should have been a diplomat.'

'Far too ugly, Brian.'

'Perhaps you're right. Excuse me, Melinda. I've got some work to do.'

'Don't forget the reception for the Soviet ambassador,' Tess said bitterly.

'I haven't. But I've decided not to go. As you put it on the phone, fuck him. But by all means, with respect.'

'Yes, by all means.'

Brian Hamilton strode toward the oak door, slid it open, and disappeared.

'Really,' Tess's mother said, 'did he have to say…?'

' “ Fuck” ! Mother, for heaven's sakes, he's a war hero. If you're attracted to him, you'd better get used to hearing him use foul language on occasion.'

'Good gracious, I hope not.'

'Mother, didn't father ever say "fuck"?'

'Well, yes, but I ignored it.'

'Then you've got a problem. I've changed my mind. Hand me some of that toast. Pour me a cup of tea.'

'I'll ring for Edna.'

'No, mother. You'll pour the tea. And incidentally, I hate liver pate.'

Parked down the shadowy street from the mansion in this elite district of Alexandria, Virginia, the chameleon's surrogate – his height, weight, and features equally unremarkable, except that his hair was sandy, not brown – sipped stale coffee from a plastic cup, his empty thermos on the seat beside him, next to his Browning 9 mm semiautomatic pistol concealed beneath his oversized metal briefcase.

The briefcase was open, a cord from an audio scanner plugged into the car's cigarette-lighter receptacle to use energy from the vehicle's battery. The scanner could not detect broadcasts from two-way radios, such as those used by the police and taxi drivers, which operated on a UHF frequency in the range of four-hundred megahertz. Instead the scanner was intended to intercept conversations from cellular telephones, such as those used in cars, which broadcast on a much higher frequency, the eight-hundred megahertz band.

While it was legal to possess equipment to eavesdrop on police transmissions, it was a punishable offense to own a receiver that intercepted broadcasts from car phones. Not that the chameleon's surrogate cared. He'd broken many laws in his career. This was the least of them.

Indeed he was prepared to break many more laws, and it didn't matter to him how serious they were. After all, he had his orders, a mission to complete, and so far this mission had gone smoothly. He'd had no difficulty in following the tall, blond, attractive, athletic-looking woman from Washington National Airport to here. At the moment, with an equal lack of difficulty, another member of his team was arranging to put a tap on the mansion's telephone system. Eventually the mansion itself would be bugged. Meanwhile this limited electronic surveillance would have to do.