Fear Familiar Bundle (20 page)

"Knowing Evans, you probably didn't want to see it. There's no telling what he's done to that poor animal. Well, now it's time to get to work." He rose.

"And do what?" Eleanor asked.

"I want you to find this Nottingham person and make an appointment. I'm going back to Magdalena's to see if I can find any clues. I'm certain the man who broke into her house and hit her also took her gun. She said she was pointing it at him when he struck her with the door. It's obvious to me that he took the gun, killed Rayburn Smith and then planted the weapon to frame Magdalena."

"My reasoning exactly," Eleanor agreed. "But what about Familiar?"

"Let's look for a while now," Peter suggested gently. He walked across to her and put an arm around her shoulder. "But please don't get your hopes up."

They searched near the library, where she'd first found the cat. They stopped every person on campus, but no one had noticed a black cat. Walking up and down along the shrubs, Eleanor softly called for the cat. After an hour of searching, she finally conceded that Familiar wasn't going to appear.

"Let's get on with the other stuff. I still haven't given up, though. I just need to think of another place to look. Where would he go if he were free? That's what I have to figure out," she said softly.

"If you can make an appointment with this Nottingham, do it."

"I'll start with a list of ambassadors, things like that."

"Don't call Breck's office," Peter cautioned her.

"Why not?"

"Just a hunch."

"You think he might be— ?"

"I don't think anything," Peter interrupted. "Let's just keep our cards to ourselves. You have to admit, that guy he posted at your apartment building isn't very bright."

Alva Rousel had told her about Code One Orange, an obvious violation of CIA procedure. He'd even admitted that he talked too much. "Okay," Eleanor agreed. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I thought I told you when we first met that I didn't like games of espionage and intrigue."

"Well— " he grinned at her "— you obviously lied." Placing a kiss upon her cheek, he left.

Eleanor hustled to the library and went through a stack of governmental reference books before she found Nottingham listed.

"War hero in Vietnam, former CIA agent in Central America, ambassador to Motambu, now a congressman from Maine. Quite an illustrious career," she mumbled as she made notes. Her eyes went back to the CIA notation. Central America! Code One Orange! Rushing to the pay telephone outside the library, she called Peter's office, but he was in surgery.

She had no trouble obtaining Nottingham's office phone number and placed the call from her office, door firmly closed.

"Sam Nottingham," he said when he finally came on the line.

"Eleanor Duncan," she replied, matching his professional tone. "I'd like to see you about a female orangutan. It's vital."

"What?" The cultured voice was startled.

"No joke, Congressman."

"What is this about? I demand to know."

"I'm perfectly willing to discuss this with you. Set a meeting."

A thin edge of anger came into the man's voice. "This better not be some prank. Meet me in thirty minutes, at my office in the Cannon Building."

"I'll be there," Eleanor said. She checked her watch. She could just about make it there in half an hour, if she hurried.

She threw herself into the drive with the fervor of a cabby. Dayton Avenue seemed the most direct and fastest route, and she pushed her accelerator dangerously close to the floor as she drove. With less than a minute to spare, she found herself standing at Representative Nottingham's door.

"He's waiting for you," the receptionist told her with a disapproving look.

Frederick Nottingham was not what Eleanor expected. He was a man of medium height with a shock of prematurely white hair, and blue eyes that were surrounded by a dense web of lines. Another man, dressed in the dark blue suit of an administrative assistant, was sitting unobtrusively in a corner.

"I seldom meet with people who sound like kooks over the phone," he began. "Don't make me regret that I did so today."

"I'm not a kook," Eleanor said flatly. He hadn't offered her a seat, but she took one in front of his desk.

"I know about your gift, the orangutan." She hoped to shock him enough so that he'd listen.

The aide in the chair rose slowly to his feet.

"So?" Nottingham said, but a lot of the anger was gone from his voice. "It isn't a state secret that I intend to make a gift of her. Is there something wrong with that?"

"I don't know," Eleanor said. She leaned forward and placed her hands upon his desk. "I'm not certain of anything, except that the man who's training the ape is a wanted criminal."

"Dr. Vrenner?" Nottingham was clearly incredulous. "Don't be absurd. He has impeccable credentials. I think you should be leaving, Ms. Duncan." He waved at the aide, who appeared at Eleanor's elbow.

"Vrenner is an alias for a man named Arnold Evans.
His
record is anything but impeccable. Check it out." She felt the aide's hands on her arms, lifting her from the chair.

"Mr. Nottingham, be reasonable. Why would I come here and say these things? Why?"

"In the half hour since you called, I discovered that you are mixed up in some behavior that leaves a lot of questions in my mind. I don't know why you have chosen me to torment, but I won't have it. Now get out of my office, and I warn you, leave my orangutan alone!"

"At least check the Vrenner angle," Eleanor said. She was being propelled toward the door. "For your safety, check it," she told him, shooting the words over her shoulder before she found herself in the receptionist's office. The woman gave her a scathing look and pointed at the door.

Eleanor hesitated. She didn't know what to do. She hadn't been able to talk with Nottingham the way she'd wanted to. She had come off as some kind of nut. But where had he heard about her? Breck! That was the obvious connection. And because of Magdalena, Breck believed she was part of it all.

"If you don't leave, I'll call security," the receptionist said, picking up the phone.

"I'm going," Eleanor replied.

The phone on the desk buzzed. The receptionist answered it and turned back to Eleanor. Curiosity filled her eyes. "Representative Nottingham has asked that you meet him with Charles Breck and some others in the Capitol. Breck will be leaving the house gallery. Meet them in the outer chamber."

"When?" Eleanor felt a thrill of victory. Maybe Nottingham had made one call about Vrenner. That was all it would take.

"Immediately. You can take the tunnels and save time," the woman said. "Here." She handed her a pass. "Now hurry!" A note of excitement made her voice sound sharp.

Eleanor eyed the phone longingly. She wanted to call Peter to find what he'd learned about Magdalena. She had to give it a try! Ignoring the frosty glare of the receptionist, she borrowed the telephone. As before, Peter was not available.

"You're going to be late," the receptionist warned her.

"One more call." She dialed Betty Gillette. "Find Peter if you can, and tell him I'm meeting with Representative Sam Nottingham and Breck at the Capitol. We may get to the bottom of this monkey business," she said. "I can't talk anymore," she concluded, not giving Betty a chance to respond. She hung up.

Eleanor left Nottingham's office and took the elevator to the entrance to the tunnels. She'd heard about them, of course, but her one and only visit to Capitol Hill had been strictly as a tourist. There'd been no need to use the underground web of walkways that connected some of the main office buildings with the Capitol.

An aide pointed her down the dark tunnel that would take her to the tram, which ran every two minutes. When the House adjourned, she could imagine the hustle and crowding of the tunnels, but at midafternoon, the one she walked through was deserted.

Her heels made a soft, crunchy noise on the concrete floor, and overhead the hissing of steam through pipes gave a strange, surrealistic sensation of moving through time. In a moment of sudden panic, she felt as if she'd been swallowed by a snake.

"Eleanor!" The name was a whisper behind her, barely audible above the gurgling pipes.

Up ahead she could hear voices, the quick exchange of greetings and laughter. She moved from one light to the next along the curvy tunnel.

"Eleanor, you can't run away from me." Now laughter floated behind her.

Her hand clutched her purse and she whirled. A tall man walked toward her out of the darkness.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"It's me, Carter. Don't you even recognize your husband?"

The faint aroma of cigarette smoke tantalized her nostrils, and she saw the man take a long draw. Smoke curled out of his mouth and surrounded his head.

"Carter Wells is dead," she answered, though her heart was nearly bursting with fear. "I'm warning you to leave me alone."

"Give it back, Eleanor." He moved closer. "Just give it back and I'll go away." He laughed softly. "I'll descend back to the grave."

A noise behind her startled her anew. Someone else was coming. She distinctly heard the sound of leather soles gritting on the cement. If she could only keep the apparition talking, then she might be able to trap him.

"What is it that you want? Maybe if you tell me, I'll give it to you."

"What you took from the lab." He threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his toe.

The gesture was so familiar that she felt her heart slip into overdrive. Just when she'd convinced herself that she was being tricked, she started to doubt it. In the poor lighting of the tunnel, the man could easily be her dead husband.

"Listen, whoever you are, I didn't break into that lab. So there's nothing I can give back, because I didn't take anything." The sound of someone approaching came closer. She prayed that whoever it was would hurry. She took a step toward the man who claimed to be her husband. "Come into the light, Carter. Let me see you. It's been a long time. Nine years. Why did you let me think you were dead?"

"It was simpler that way, Eleanor. All of the attention was focused on you. Poor Eleanor, such a young widow. I was able to slip away and leave my past behind me."

Anger made her take two more steps forward. "But I was stuck with your past! You always were a coward."

The man laughed. "So righteous, my dear. Let's just say that I had some people very angry with me, and it was easier to go than to stay. You, on the other hand, had a perfect little record. You couldn't tell anything, because you didn't know anything." His tone grew nasty. "You were always so content to live in your world."

"Come into the light," she challenged him.

"Or what?"

The bravado of his stance and words tripled her pulse rate. If she'd ever doubted it before, she didn't now. Carter Wells stood before her, resurrected from his own grave.

"You jerk!" She rushed at him, not really knowing what she intended to do at all, only intent on seeing his face. He was laughing at her, the sound confident and ugly.

Just as she reached up her hand to brush the hat from his head, something struck her from behind. She found herself falling, falling, a million miles to the hard floor of the tunnel.

"D
RAG HER
over against the wall," someone said.

"She won't give me the film," the man in the hat replied. "She claims she doesn't have it. I told you the cat wasn't safe!"

"Shut up about the cat! They haven't found anything. She probably suspects, and that's why they're keeping the cat. But all she has is the cat, and we have her."

"Had the cat. Remember, it was gone when I took care of Rayburn."

"What the hell was he doing here, anyway?" the voice demanded. "She must have called him."

"He wouldn't tell me anything," the smoker said bitterly. "Not the first thing, except that she called him and was talking some gibberish about the past."

"And it was your bright idea that we could use the past to frighten her into giving back the cat."

"It may work yet. After today." He laughed softly. "She was really frightened. She didn't know if she was talking to a ghost, a dead man or a husband who'd managed to slip out and leave her holding the bag. None of the choices were very pleasant for her."

E
LEANOR HEARD
herself moan. She was being unceremoniously jerked up and dragged down the tunnel between two men. Her head lolled back, and she had to force her eyes to open. The lights revolved in a sickening dizziness.

"She's coming out of it," she heard someone say. Without any warning she was slapped on the side of the head. In a loud ringing of bells and total darkness, Eleanor again lost consciousness.

All sense of time had slipped away from her. There was only the hard floor and a sweet, cloying smell. The odor was disturbingly familiar. Eleanor kept her eyes closed and tried to remember where she'd smelled it before. Someplace bad. That was all she could pull together. She was afraid to open her eyes. The tiniest glimmer of light made her head throb and spin. She couldn't move her arms, and her legs felt weighted. Somewhere in the distance she could hear someone moving about.

What had happened? She'd been in the tunnel— with Carter Wells. He was a distinct presence, alive and mean in a way she hadn't remembered him. But who had struck her? Carter was standing in front of her and the blow had come from behind. There was a vague memory of footsteps. And she'd thought it was someone who could help her!

"Open your eyes, Eleanor," a voice commanded.

She knew that voice! She kept her eyes closed, pretending that she was asleep. The shock of a small electric charge on her leg made her jump with such suddenness that she felt both her stomach and head begin to spin.

"Don't pretend to be out when you aren't," Cal Vrenner alias Arnold Evans informed her. "We have rules here, and like them or not, you have to obey."

Looking into his icy eyes, Eleanor knew now why she hadn't been able to read his thoughts the first time she met him. There was nothing behind the eyes, no sense or emotion. He was a man without a shred of compassion or concern. The word "psychopath" marched before her eyes in bold red letters. She'd managed to get herself trapped by a psychopath.