law firm that was doing pro bono work for one of Buchanan’s clients. He
had given up hope of the damn beeper ever sounding. When it did, he
thought he would suffer a stroke.
Now Buchanan’s dilemma was apparent. How to check the message and call
back without Thornhill knowing about it. Then he thought of a plan. He
called his driver. It was Thornhill’s man, of course. It always was.
They drove downtown to the law firm.
“I’ll be a couple of hours. I’ll phone when I’m done,” he told the
driver.
Buchanan went into the building. He had been here before, knew the
layout well. He didn’t go to the elevator bank, but instead went
through the main lobby and passed through a door in the back that also
served as a rear entrance to the parking garage. He took the elevator
down two levels and stepped off. He went through the underground lobby
area and out into the parking level. Right next to the door leading
out from the lobby was a pay phone. He put in his coins and dialed the
number that would allow him to check the message. His reasoning was
clear: If Thornhill could intercept a random hard-line call under a
thousand tons of concrete, he was the devil himself and Buchanan had no
chance of beating him anyway.
On the message Lee’s voice was tight, his words few. And the impact on
Buchanan was enormous. He had left a number. Buchanan dialed it. A
man answered the phone immediately.
“Mr. Buchanan?” Lee asked.
“Is Faith all right?”
Lee gave a sigh of relief. He was hoping that would be the man’s first
question. That told him a lot. But still, he had to be cautious.
“Just to verify it’s really you: You sent me a package of information.
How did you send it, and what was in it? And let me have the answers
fast.”
“Personal courier. I use Dash Services. The packet had a photo of
Faith, five pages of background information on her and my firm, the
contact phone number, a summary of my concerns and what I wanted you to
do. It also had five thousand dollars in cash in denominations of
fifties and twenties. I also called you three days ago at your office
and left a message on your machine. Now please tell me that Faith is
all right.”
“She’s fine, for now. But we have some problems.”
“Yes, we do. For starters, how do I know you’re Adams?”
Lee thought quickly. “I have a great Yellow Pages ad with a corny
magnifying glass and everything. I have three brothers. The youngest
works at a motorcycle shop in south Alexandria. He goes by Scotty, but
his nickname in college was Scooter because he played football and
could run so damn fast. If you want you can call him, check it out and
call me back.”
“Not necessary. I’m convinced. What happened? Why did you run?”
“Well, you would have too if someone tried to kill you.”
“Tell me everything, Mr. Adams. Leave nothing out.”
“Well, I know who you are, but I’m not sure I trust you. What can you
do about that?”
“You tell me why Faith went to the FBI. That much I do know. And then
I’ll tell you who you’re really up against. And it’s not me. When I
tell you who it is, you’ll wish it were me.”
Lee debated this for a moment. He could hear Faith getting up and
heading probably to the shower. Well here goes. “She was scared. She
said you had been acting strangely, jumpy for a while. She had tried
to talk to you about it, but you blew her off, even asked her to leave
the firm. That made her even more fearful. She was afraid the
authorities were on to you. She went to the FBI with the idea of
bringing you in to testify too. Against the people you were bribing.
You both cut a deal and walk.”
“That would never have worked.”
“Well, as she’s fond of telling me, it’s easy to second-guess.”
“So she’s told you everything?”
“Pretty much. She thought maybe you were the one who tried to kill