Kemal turned to a passerby. “Excuse me, could I have a—”
“Get lost, kid.”
Kemal tried a woman who was approaching. “Excuse me, I need bus fare to—” The woman hurried by.
Kemal stood in the cold, without a coat, shivering. No one seemed to care. I’ve got to get bus fare, Kemal thought.
He yanked off his artificial arm and laid it on the grass. When the next man passed by, Kemal held out his stump and said, “Excuse me, sir. Could you give me enough money for bus fare?”
The man stopped. “Of course, son,” he said, and handed Kemal a dollar.
“Thank you.”
When the man walked away, Kemal quickly put his arm back on. A bus was approaching, just a block away. I’ve made it, Kemal thought jubilantly. And at that moment, he felt a sting in the back of his neck. As he started to turn, everything grew faint. Inside his head a voice was screaming, No! No! Kemal slumped to the ground, unconscious. Passersby began to gather.
“What happened?”
“Did he faint?”
“Is he all right?”
“My son is diabetic,” a man said. “I’ll take care of him.” He lifted Kemal up and carried him into a waiting limousine.
Abbe Lasmann’s apartment was in northwest Washington. It was large and comfortably decorated with contemporary furniture and white rugs. Dana was in the apartment alone, pacing back and forth, panicky, waiting for the phone to ring. Kemal must be all right. They have no reason to harm him. He’ll be fine. Where is he? Why can’t they find him?
When the phone rang, it startled Dana. She snatched it up. “Hello.” The line was dead. It rang again, and Dana realized it was her cell phone. She felt a sudden sense of relief. She pressed the button. “Jeff?”
Roger Hudson’s voice said quietly, “We’ve been looking for you, Dana. I have Kemal here.”
Dana stood there, unable to move, unable to talk. She whispered at last, “Roger—”
“I’m afraid I can’t control the men here much more. They want to cut off Kemal’s good arm. Shall I let them?”
“No!” It was a scream. “What—what do you want?”
“I just want to talk to you,” Roger Hudson said reasonably. “I want you to come to the house, and I want you to come alone. If you bring anyone, I won’t be responsible for what happens to Kemal.”
“Roger—”
“I’ll expect you in thirty minutes.” The line went dead.
Dana stood there, numb with fear. Nothing must happen to Kemal. Nothing must happen to Kemal. With trembling fingers, Dana punched in Matt Baker’s phone number. Matt’s recorded voice came on.
“You have reached the office of Matt Baker. I’m not in right now, but leave a message and your call will be returned as soon as possible.”
There was the sound of a beep. Dana took a deep breath and spoke into the phone. “Matt, I—I just got a call from Roger Hudson. He’s holding Kemal at his house. I’m going there now. Please hurry before something happens to Kemal. Bring the police. Hurry!”
Dana turned off her cell phone and headed for the door.
Abbe Lasmann was putting some letters on Matt Baker’s desk when she saw the message display flashing on Matt’s telephone. She dialed Matt’s password and played Dana’s recording. She stood there a moment, listening to it. Then she smiled and pressed the erase button.
The moment Jeff’s plane landed at Dulles airport, he called Dana. All through the flight, he had thought of that strange note in her voice, that disturbing “If anything should happen to me.” Her cell phone kept ringing. Next Jeff tried her apartment. There was no answer. He got into a taxi and gave the address of WTN.
When Jeff walked into Matt’s reception office, Abbe said, “Well, Jeff! It’s good to see you.”
“Thanks, Abbe.” He walked into Matt Baker’s office.
Matt said, “So, you’re back. How’s Rachel?”
The question threw Jeff for an instant. “She’s fine,” he said tonelessly. “Where’s Dana? She’s not answering her phone.”
Matt said, “My God, you don’t know what’s been going on, do you?”
“Tell me,” Jeff said tightly.
In the reception office, Abbe pressed her ear against the closed door. She could only hear snatches of the conversation. “…attempts on her life…Sasha Shdanoff…Krasnoyarsk-26…Kemal…Roger Hudson…”