“Yes! Yes, he’s with him,” she said in a strangled voice as the metal pushed against her windpipe.
He shoved her to the phone. “Answer it. If it’s Fiske, pick a place to meet. Make it somewhere around here, but private. Tell him you’ve found some more information. You say anything to warn him, you’re dead.” She hesitated. “Do it! Or die!” Sara could see now that the mild-mannered Perkins was actually the more dangerous of her two captors. She slowly picked up the phone. Perkins stood next to her listening, his gun pressed against her temple. She took a quick breath to try to calm herself.
“Hello?”
“Sara?” It was Fiske.
“I’ve been trying to reach you everywhere.”
“I’m with Rufus.”
Perkins pushed the gun against her head as he listened. “Where are you?” she asked.
“We’re halfway to D.C. At a rest stop.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I think it’s time we went to Chandler. Rufus and I have talked it over.”
Perkins shook his head and pointed at the phone.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, John.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve . . . I’ve found out some things that you need to know first. Before you go to Chandler.”
“Like what?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone. It could be bugged.”
“Come on, I kind of doubt that, Sara.”
“Look, I tell you what, give me the number where you’re at and I’ll call you from the car.” She looked over at Perkins. “We can arrange to meet someplace. Then we can go to Chandler. The FBI has the tag number of the car you’re in. You have to get rid of it anyway.”
He gave her the number and she wrote it down on a pad by the phone and ripped off the top sheet.
“Are you sure you can’t tell me over the phone?”
“I talked to your friend at the JAG,” Sara said, whispering a silent prayer for what she was about to say next. If Fiske reacted the wrong way, she was dead. She had to trust him. “Darnell Jackson told me all about the PCP testing.”
Fiske stiffened and looked over at Rufus, who sat in the car at the darkened rest stop. Darnell Jackson. He answered quickly. “Darnell’s never let me down before.”
Sara let out an inaudible breath. “I’ll call you back in five minutes.” She hung up and looked at the two men.
Perkins grinned malevolently. “Good job, Sara. Now let’s go see your friends.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
* * *
After Sara called him back with the meeting place, Fiske made one more phone call. The news was not good. Not good at all. Then he got in the car and looked at Harms. “He’s got Sara.”
“Who’s got her?” Harms asked.
“Your old buddy. Dellasandro. He’s the only one left.”
“What you talking about, the only one left?”
“Rayfield and Tremaine are dead. That leaves Dellasandro. Sara tipped me off without him catching on — ” Fiske stopped and stared at Rufus, who was staring back at him quizzically. Fiske spoke haltingly. “Rufus, how many men were in the stockade that night?”
“Five.”
Fiske slumped back. “I only know about the three I just mentioned. Who are the other two?”
“Perkins. Dick Perkins.”
Fiske thought he might be sick. “Richard Perkins is the marshal of the Supreme Court.”
“I ain’t seen him since that night and damn glad of it. Except for Tremaine, he was the worst of the bunch. He’d come in and beat me with his damn baton. He’s the one who shot me up with the PCP.”
“And the fifth man?”
“Didn’t know him. Never seen him before.”
“That’s okay. I think I know who it is.” Sara had not told him about finding the man’s name on Fort Plessy’s personnel roster, but Fiske had finally figured it out himself. Warren McKenna’s image appeared starkly in his thoughts. That’s why the FBI agent was trying to frame him. It all made sense. Fiske started up the car.
“Where we going?”
“Sara just called back. She . . . they want us to meet them at a place off the GW Parkway in Virginia. I tried to get hold of Chandler, but he wasn’t in. I left a message telling him where we’ll be. I just hope he gets it in time.”