An Evil Guest Read online

  The question, or so he thought as he was escorted out of the White House, was whether he would be followed.

  No, there were two questions. The first was whether he would be followed. The second was whether he was being followed already. Since he knew the answer to neither, he would have to act as though the answers were yes, and yes.

  He had been followed before, and in some cases had succeeded in evading his followers. It would be important to begin as though he suspected nothing.

  And to tire his unseen companion — or companions — if he could. The Secret Service agent who had accompanied him out of the White House offered to flag a cab for him on the far side of the concrete barriers that had long closed Pennsylvania Avenue. Gideon declined the suggestion, said something inane about the beauty of the stifling day, and declared that he would walk.

  THE airport would certainly be watched, if the president had in fact ordered the FBI to monitor his movements. The same was true of his hotel room, which would have been searched by now.

  Had a bug been planted on his person? It seemed unlikely, but it was certainly possible. It was even possible that the president had anticipated that he would filch one or more photos of Reis. Bugs could be planted in thick paper, such as photographic paper, and often were. When he felt (or at least hoped) that anyone shadowing him had been both discouraged and lost, he stopped at a camera store. It cost him eight dollars to make copies of the pictures he had stolen, image only; when he had them, he ripped up the originals — wires, chips, and all — and threw them away.

  IN THE BLACK CAR

  Cassie Casey had read about Gideon Chase more than once, and had seen him interviewed on vid more than once as well; if she found the folded note tossed through her bedroom door something of a shock, she can hardly be blamed for it.

  Even so, it was not the identity of the sender that surprised her at first; having left the theater alone, she had supposed herself alone in her apartment. The contents of the note itself supplied the second surprise. And the third.

  You do not know me, though you may know of me. My name is Gideon Chase, and I need your help. I am prepared to reward you liberally for it. Help me and you will be rich — and a star.

  Wait in the Baskin-Robbins on the corner of 15th and Madison. You may see a man in there who resembles your second husband. Look well, and not hurriedly. When he comes, he will show you where you may find me. When you do, I may confide the means by which you can become mistress of a small fortune within a year. I may also make you a star.

  Tonight. Tell no one.

  — G.C

  As she read, she heard the outer door of her apartment close. Hurrying out of her bedroom, she bolted and chained that door for the second time that night; her alarm system, a costly one that was supposed to be the last word in such things, had been switched off — though not by her.

  The note had been printed on a computer using the same program hers did, and the paper was, or at least might have been, her own Miracle Magnawhite. He had printed it out on her personal computer, almost certainly. Had he done more?

  Ten minutes later, she shrugged and put her computer on SLEEP. If Dr. Chase had left a souvenir of his passing on her hard drive, it was too subtle for her antivirus software. Unfolding his note, she read it again. A small fortune. Stardom. It was not signed and so not provably his, although his fingerprints might well be on it.

  She had a friend on the Sun-Tribunal; it was entirely possible that her friend was not yet asleep. Speed dialing made the call easy.

  “Hello, Sharon? This is Cassie. I’m terribly sorry about bothering you so late, but this is pretty important. Or it might be.”

  “It’s okay.” Sharon sounded drowsy. “I was just lying here thinking about lipstick.”

  “Lipstick?”

  “I try to name shades from A to Z. You know, Apricot Passion, Bathsheeba Pink, Coral Number Ten. It puts me to sleep.”

  Cassie took a deep breath. “This isn’t going to help. It’ll wake you up, more likely. It isn’t for the paper, either. Or at least, not yet. I need a little friendship, and there may be something by and by. What do you know about Dr. Gideon Chase?”

  Eighteen blocks away, Sharon made a small sound.

  “I’m not just curious. It may be — no, it definitely is important. I don’t know a lot, and I’m not sure about some of the things I think I know.”

  “Man of mystery...” Sharon paused. “Good-looking, too, if you like the type.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, okay?”

  “How should I know what you don’t know? Mid-thirties at a guess. They say he’s some kind of wizard. Not like in kidvid, but somebody who can do stuff other people can’t even begin to do.”

  Thinking of her alarm system, Cassie said, “I’m one of them. I say that, too. I had a little experience with him tonight. What else?”

  “Tell me!”

  “Later maybe, but not now.” Cassie shook her head. “Does that sound like I’m shaking my head?”

  “Definitely. I can hear the rattle.”

  “Great. Because I am. I need info. I’ll give you some if I ever understand this.” Cassie paused, whitened white teeth gnawing at her lower lip. “Listen up, Sharon. This is strictly confidential.”

  “Got it.”

  “He wants me to go in on something with him. Big, big money, or that’s what it sounds like. I don’t know which way to jump.”

  “Illegal?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. He says he needs me. Needs my help. He’ll pay big for it, and...”

  “Cassie?”

  “I was just thinking. I may do it, Sharon. I just might. I’d have to know a lot more before I’d tell him to get lost. If I do, I mean. I guess I’d rather not have to. You said he was a wizard.”

  “Yeah. What I meant was he’s somebody that people and companies with lots and lots of money go to when they’ve got something bad they absolutely can’t handle themselves. I’ve talked to a couple of them. They both said he costs the world, but he delivers the goods.”

  Cassie took a deep breath. “Tell me. As much as you can, all right?”

  “Promise you won’t try to find out who these people are?” Sharon was wide awake now, and sounded nervous.

  “Okay.”

  “You won’t even try to find out. And if you do — if he tells you, for example — you won’t brace them with it.”

  “You’ve got my word.”

  “Swell. I trust you. How was the show tonight?”

  “It was all right. House about half full. Everybody a little teary. You know. We close tomorrow. Final performance and see you around. Break a leg, you were great. All that stuff. Are you stalling, Sharon?”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I need time to think. Or maybe not. You got a new gig lined up?”

  “Huh uh. I may vegetate awhile. My agent’s been talking to Hollywood, but there’s nothing definite yet. Now tell me.”

  “Before I do, has it hit you that he might have picked you because of how things are right now? Because you’ll be loose and he knows it?”

  “No... Well, by gosh! I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks. You’re sharp, Sharon.”

  “And a good friend?”

  “Yes. A very good friend.”

  “Swell. I’m going to be a good friend some more. One was this very rich woman. She wasn’t married anymore, but she had a little kid. A leftover kid that hardly anybody knew about.”

  “And?”

  “She loved him — she still does as far as I know. The kid is her whole life. He was a little piece of a man she loved and lost.”

  “A boy.” Cassie nodded to herself.

  “Did I say that? Yeah, I guess I did. Okay, it’s a boy, only he was — wasn’t right. Birth defect like. You know?”

  “Deformed or mental?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He wasn’t right, and it broke her heart. Nobody could cure him. She went to Chase, and her son’s just fine. Smart, good-looking. Maybe a lit
tle too brave, but normal for sure.”

  Cassie made a mental note. “How about the other one?”

  “This was a company — a big corporation. They owned oil fields in a country where the government didn’t like them much. It was going to nationalize. Take everything and tell them to take a hike.”

  “He fixed it?” Cassie shook out the folded note. “Gideon Chase fixed it?”

  “They’re big buddies now. That government loves the company, and the company loves that government. Hey, you ought to be interested in this. There’s a national theater there, funded by the company. They’re going to — well, never mind. They’ve done a lot of things for the country, and they’re planning a lot more. Why not? They’ve still got the oil.”

  “I understand. Is he gay?”

  “I don’t know, but three women I know don’t think so.”

  Cassie took a minute to digest that. “When he comes on vid, being interviewed on a cable news show or whatever, they always say he’s a philosopher.”

  “Right. He is. Sort of quasi-irreligious. God’s quit on us because we quit on Him. He’s written books.”

  “I ought to have a look at them,” Cassie said.

  She could almost hear Sharon’s shrug. “I don’t think they’ll tell you much about him.”

  “Talking to him might tell me a lot.” Cassie glanced at her clock radio.

  “I doubt it. Not beyond what I’ve told you. He’s smart, and he’s smart in funny ways. Maybe he’s smart in ways that just about everybody else is as dumb as a box of rocks about. If it tells you more than that, you let me know. Okay?”

  BASKIN-ROBBINS was deserted except for the teenager behind the counter. There were a few high stools in front of it, and Cassie sat down. “How late are you open?”

  “Midnight.” The girl sounded sleepy and bored.

  “It’s almost that now.”

  The girl nodded. “I know, ma’am. Just seven more minutes.”

  “What would it take to get you to stay open later?”

  The girl said nothing.

  “Twenty bucks?”

  The girl shook her head. “I got to go. My mom’ll be all upset. I’m closin’ in seven minutes.”

  “Call your mom. I’ll talk to her.”

  The girl shook her head.

  “I’m a customer,” Cassie declared, “and you’ve got to wait on me.”

  “I guess... .”

  Cassie scanned the menu posted behind the counter. “I want a double sherbet papaya delight, and I’m staying until you make it and I eat it.”

  The girl said nothing.

  “Wait a second.” Cassie rummaged through her purse. “Here’s the twenty. See it? I’ll give it to you if you’ll just tell me what would make you stay open later.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you,” the girl said deliberately, “even if I liked you. Ma’am.”

  “You can’t close while I’m in here. What would you do? Lock me in?”

  “You’ll see.” The girl had found a rather fanciful plastic dish and was scooping sherbet into it.

  “One’s yellow,” Cassie commented, “and that other one looks like raspberry. I thought papaya would be pink.”

  The girl said nothing.

  “Has a man been in here? Maybe a man who said he was looking for somebody?”

  The girl laid down her scoop and went to the door. A switch beside it darkened the outside lights.

  “You’re two minutes fast,” Cassie told her.

  “So sue me.” The girl locked the door and pulled down a shade.

  Cassie sighed. “I wish we could be friends.”

  “I’ve got three friends.” The girl drizzled cloudy syrup on the sherbet. “Rita, Amber, and Christabelle. I don’t like any of them very much, but I like every one of them fifty times more than I like you. Even Christabelle.”

  “Puts me in my place. You got a spoon?”

  A pink plastic spoon stabbed the raspberry sherbet. “I even like Rita’s little brother better than you.”

  There was a knock at the door. The girl looked toward it, but did not move.

  “I’ll get it,” Cassie said, and stood up.

  “No you don’t!” The girl beat her to the door, pushing her back.

  The knocking became pounding. Something as hard and heavy as a carpenter’s hammer was striking the door.

  The girl pulled the green shade an inch and a half to one side and peeped out. After a moment she unlocked the door and stood aside.

  The man who entered was both tall and wide, nearing middle age. Cassie gasped, “Scott... ?”

  “Who’s that?” His voice was deep and a trifle raspy.

  “A—a certain man I used to know. A gentleman. Or I thought he was.”

  “Not my name, Miss Casey. You ready?”

  The girl said, “She’s gotta pay for this.”

  The man who looked so much like Scott leveled his left forefinger at her. It was an unusually large forefinger. “You shut the fuck up,” he told her.

  His car was roomy, cheap, and new. A good portion of the dash taken up by what looked like a computer screen. A remote keyboard occupied the passenger seat until Cassie moved it.

  “Fasten your belt, Miss Casey.”

  She did. “You know my name. That’s the second time you’ve used it.”

  He started the car.

  “Since you know my name, I think I ought to know yours.”

  “Scott.” There was little traffic this time of night, and “Scott” jammed down the accelerator.

  “You’re not Scott. You look kind of like him, but you’re not him. It’s not really that close.” Cassie craned her neck for a look at the numbers flaming before him: 40, 50, 60... She tightened her seat belt. “You’re a cop, Scott.”

  He glanced at her.

  “This car and the way you drive it. The whole bit. That girl wouldn’t have unlocked the door for Jacob, Jack Pot, and Joan of Arc; but she unlocked it for you because you showed her a badge.”

  “You new in town?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “You’re not a cop.” The car swerved right to pass a speeding cab. “I’d know you. If you’re a grifter, you’d have to be new. I know the local gals. High class. Red hair. Forty?”

  “Not quite.” It was hard to smile, although she did.

  “You’d be a bunco gal if you were a grifter. But I don’t think so.”

  “You could check the police files, couldn’t you?”

  He seemed not to have heard her.

  “Where are you taking me, Scott?”

  “Show you in a minute. Got a cigarette?”

  “Heck no.” Cassie looked as if she wanted to spit. “How long have they had a cure for cancer? Eighteen months? Something like that. Just eighteen months, and everybody smokes.”

  “Never mind. I’ll buy some soon as I drop you off up here.”

  “Where’s up here?”

  To her surprise, he pointed. “Right there. In the parking lot.”

  “You’re going to leave me there and drive away? It’ll take me twenty minutes just to hike someplace where I can catch a cab.”

  The car slowed.

  “In heels!” She hoped that it sounded as bitter as she felt.

  “You see that black car over there? The dead black one. It doesn’t shine.”

  She nodded.

  “Sweet. You get out of this car and get in that one, and that’s all you do. It’s unlocked on the passenger’s side. Get in. Right side, front. Wait.”

  “Suppose I don’t?”

  “I kick your ass out of my car and after that you’re on your own. Twenty minutes? That what you said? Get in the black car and you probably won’t have to wait that long. So which is it?” He grinned. “I’m a good kicker, Miss Casey. Try me.”

  “I’ve got a gun in my purse.”

  He held out his hand. “Right here. Fork it over.”

  “You want me to take it out and give it to you?” She was incredulous. �
��I could shoot you.”

  “But you won’t. Fork it over.”

  She opened her door and slid off the seat. “I was lying. Fibbing, all right? I haven’t really got one.”

  She had thought her purse out of reach. It was not. He snatched it from her and straightened up.

  “Hey!”

  “Shut up,” he muttered. He was fumbling with the catch.

  “I could call the police. I could have you arrested.”

  That brought a smile. “Well, for one thing, Miss Casey, I’ve got your cell phone.”

  “And for another, you’re a cop yourself. What do they call you, a plainclothesman?”

  “Stupid, usually.” He looked at her. “There’s no gun in here.”

  “I was lying. I told you.”

  “Sure. Cell phone, compact, nail file, lipstick.” He pulled the cap off. “Hard to tell in this light. What do they call it?”

  “Ultra-natural ash rose.”

  “Got to watch that one. It’ll put you to sleep.” He dropped lipstick and cap back into her purse. “Billfold. Looks like about three hundred bucks. Driver’s license. Union card. Another union card — I guess the second one’s for vid. Visa, MasterCard, and Discover.” He closed her billfold, dropped it into her purse, and shut it. “Plus Kleenex and chewing gum.”

  “Is that still in there?”

  “Most women carry a lot more.”

  “So do I. There should be a pen in there.”

  “You left it someplace. Catch.” He tossed the purse to her. “Shut the door, and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

  She shut it.

  The black car was low and oddly angled, of a make she failed to recognize. The front door on the passenger’s side opened easily; she slid in and found the upholstery delightfully soft and luxurious.

  WHEN she woke, the car was speeding along a highway. She coughed, swore, and blinked half a dozen times before she remembered how she had come to be there.

  “I let you sleep,” the driver told her. “You’re not going to get a great deal of sleep tonight, and I thought it wise to let you sleep as long as you could. If you’d like coffee, we can ask for some.”