Streeter called Friday morning to advise that he and Chapman had been summoned back to the Oval Office. “Culpepper has obviously been buzzing again at Longbridge’s ear,” Harrington said, then revealed the alarming letter that had been intercepted.
Streeter sighed. “It’s disturbing, if for no other reason than it represents the fugitives’ first publication of the story. We’re now convinced they didn’t share it with the Halos or the old couple at the Flavin camp.”
“Have you decided what to do with those two?” he asked.
“The old man’s deaf, and the woman doesn’t stop talking long enough to hear what anyone else has to say. Prosecuting her would be far more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Report back after your meeting with Longbridge. And be careful what you say. Who knows to what extent Culpepper has poisoned him.”
Longbridge studied the two men across his desk. Was it his imagination, or did they seem unduly anxious? “I assume there’s no word on the fugitives?”
“They’re reportedly heading north, somewhere between Illinois and Minnesota,” Chapman replied.
“Minnesota’s usually covered with snow this time of year; that would be an obstacle for someone on crutches like Corelli. Any idea why they’re going there?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“If they’re captured, where do you plan on taking them?”
“Green River,” Chapman replied.
“Why transport them to Kentucky when there are a half-dozen closer facilities?”
“Green River was my decision,” Streeter explained. “It’s our most secure facility.”
“That’s very lamentable, Thomas, given the tragedy that’s just taken place.”
“Tragic, sir, but also unavoidable. I thought we agreed on the need to isolate the fugitives. “
Longbridge held him thoughtfully. “Why was Green River reopened? I assume not just to accommodate Corelli and Waddill?”
“Of course not, although I admit its reopening has proven timely. We determined months ago that its reopening on a limited basis wouldn’t significantly increase its current expense as a chopper base.”
“Don’t take the fugitives to Green River,” Longbridge now ordered. “Take them to New York, which has jurisdiction over their cases.”
“With all due respect, sir, this constitutes...”
“Interference?” he snapped. “Yes, I suppose it does. But right or wrong, responsibility for this operation rests on my shoulders. I’m the one the people elected and the one they’ll inevitably judge. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He rose stiffly. “The Senate hearings concern another man I’m responsible for. He’s on the hot seat, too, hopefully for the last day.”
Harrington still brooded over Longbridge’s order when a dazzled Streeter called back. “It’s amazing how you can go days without a lead, then in minutes receive an earful.”
He cut the TV volume. “Go on?”
“First, a service station owner in Aurora reports that a young couple matching the fugitives’ description sputtered into his station Tuesday. Finding their heap beyond repair, he drove them to a Chicago hospital, where the woman’s mother was dying. Not until he saw their pictures on this morning’s news did he make the connection.”
“Why Chicago?” Harrington asked.
“Probably because they were tired and figured a large city was safer to hide in. By the way, the station owner wants a reward. We’ve decided two grand is fair.”
“For what?” Harrington scowled. “Three-day old information telling us the fugitives might be in a city with eight million people? You and Larry certainly drive a hard bargain.”
“You haven’t heard my earful yet.”
“Then get on with it. What do you have?”
“Corelli and Waddill. Any minute now.”
Leopold headed east on Route 59, his map beside him. After a day spent checking the motels, restaurants, convenience stores and service stations around Mankato, he remained without a lead on the fugitives’ location. Maybe he’d have better luck heading south to Albert Lea in the morning.
He grabbed the beeping phone. “Arch, we have them!” Harrington gushed.
He quickly pulled into a mini-mart. “Where, sir?”
“This morning a woman named Sprinkle boarded a Boorstin bus in Chicago. Corelli boarded at the same time, taking the seat beside her. Waddill then boarded at the next station, and they began sneaking glances at each other. Sprinkle quickly made the connection, having seen their pictures on TV.
“She got off at the Madison station and promptly called the police. However, by the time they arrived, the bus was gone — with the fugitives still aboard. Agents are tailing it now to insure there are no unscheduled stops before Eau Claire.”
“Frankie’s in Eau Claire.”
“That’s fine, Arch, but with Green River no longer an option, the disposition must be immediate, and I want you there to handle it.”
He gazed at the empty highway. He’d have to burn rubber to reach Eau Claire in time. “I’ll have Frankie meet the bus. If the fugitives get off, the Feds should hold them until I arrive. If they don’t, the Feds should continue their tail. Frankie and I’ll catch up. What’s the next stop after Eau Claire?”
“Duluth is the last. That’s all I know. Nicholas can brief you on the details.”
“I’m on my way, sir.,” he said, returning to the highway.
Frankie was waiting when Boorstin #37 rolled into the Eau Claire station.
He watched a pair of Feds emerge from the shadows to position themselves at either end of the bus. Did they really think they blended, wearing identical black coats, shoes and hats? The same hard expressions, as if they needed to crap? To him, all Feds looked homesick for a john.
His eyes sharpened as the first passengers trickled off the bus. Come on, Corelli, show that cute little tail, banged up and... His gum-smacking stopped as a tall man with wavy, gold hair got off, blue eyes darting over the station. The Feds also spotted, then quickly dismissed, him. Not Waddill. He read their faces. And they were right. The guy wasn’t pretty enough.
As the last passengers emerged, his gaze returned to the remaining heads in the windows. He wanted the fugitives off here, not Duluth, another hundred miles north.
“Hey Dumbo, did the circus arrive without our clowns?”
He turned to find Leopold looming. “They must still be on board, Arch.”
“You didn’t miss them, did you?”
“No Arch, I swear.”
Leopold nodded at the Feds, who returned to their car as #37’s driver approached. A small, gray-haired man, with pencil-thin moustache. He squinted. “I’ll bet I can save you guys some time.”
“How’s that?” Leopold asked.
“Well now,” he said, tugging at his belt. “I knew something was strange ever since them big, dark sedans started tailing us just beyond Madison. My point being that if you’re looking for those two, you won’t find ‘em on my bus.”
“Where’d they get off?” Leopold frowned.
“Madison. Not at the station, but a few blocks later. That’s when the girl hobbled up on crutches to ask where the next stop was. When I said Eau Claire, she started crying.
“Next thing I knew, the guy was on his feet asking about her problem. She said she’d been traveling for two days to see her mother, who was dying in a Madison hospital. Only she was so upset, and her leg hurt so badly, she’d missed her stop. Anyway,” He tugged at his belt again. “Here we are at the light, the hospital out the window, and the man starts begging me to let ‘em off. We’re not supposed to do that. But if he was willing to take responsibility, I figured, what’s the harm? So I did.”
“Do you know who they are?” Leopold growled.
He nodded. “I began tossing the question around about the same time them big, black sedans popped up in my mirror. I said to myself, Benjamin, ol’ boy, you may’ve really done it this time. And I guess you’re telling me I did. They were Corelli and Waddill? Is that...?” He stopped as the furious giant limped off, his gum-popping companion on his heels.
Adamley glanced down the dais as Senator Fulton, the granite-built Texan, announced the afternoon recess. At counsel table, the slippery adversary rose to shake hands with a crowd of supporters. Unlike his interrogators, Lamp appeared as fresh as he had Monday morning. A week of grilling on his conservative views and dull corporate law practice hadn’t shaken him in the least. His confidence remained intact; his smile, just as unctuous.
It was a sight Adamley could no longer bear as his eyes connected with Banyon’s. His closest ally on the committee, Banyon was a big, handsome blond who, at fifty-three, still looked more the Stanford fullback than three-term Senator. Grumbling, Banyon followed him out into the hall. “If that slippery sonofabitch has a skeleton in his closet, I’ll be goddamned if I can find it.”
“Anyone who rises to Lamp’s level of Wall Street prominence has one. We’ve just overlooked it.”
“Have you seen the latest poll? Thanks to these televised hearings, Lamp’s popularity has tripled.”
Yes, he’d seen the poll. And also the swelling ranks of Lamp supporters that now packed the committee hearing room.
“Lamp’s just a clone of the other two Longbridge appointments,” Banyon sighed. “Why can’t people see it?”
“They can,” he smiled mournfully. “It’s what they want. Or they wouldn’t have put Longbridge in the White House.”
“If we don’t stop these religious fanatics, we’ll soon see the court striking down every piece of social legislation put in place since the New Deal.”
“And replacing them with moral decency laws,” he predicted. “I’m talking a moratorium on civil liberties and every vestige of compassionate government.” He placed his hand on Banyon’s shoulder. “I can see it now, Phil. The halls of Congress resounding with Onward Christian Soldiers as we joyfully surrender our freedom to the Preacher President, and his Rasputin, Harrington. You want a prophecy? There’s one. And it’s coming, just as sure as I’m standing here.”
They looked up as a young, flaxen-haired page approached. Trim and professional in her gray suit, her wide, blue eyes latched onto Adamley. “Senator, you just had a call. The man said he’d try again before the hearing resumed.”
He didn’t have time to be taking calls. “Just take a message.”
“I tried, sir, but he wouldn’t leave his name.”
“Well I hate to disappoint him, but I’m in hearings right now that profoundly affect the national interest. If it’s important, he’ll call back.”
“But Senator,” She became flustered. “He said it’s urgent he speak with you before the hearings end.”
“Perhaps you should take his call,” Banyon said. “I can handle things until you return.”
Reluctantly, he followed the page down to the conference room. “The switchboard will put the call through,” she explained. “It shouldn’t take but a minute.”
As she left, his eyes drifted impatiently to the table phone. Who could be calling at such a critical time? He looked up as Banyon reappeared. “Dan Pentforth just caught me,” Banyon beamed. “Great news. Ways and Means has wrapped up in the House. I think we have our bill.”
This was great news — the kind that could salvage a rotten week. If it passed, 10,000 civil service jobs would be spared, many in their home states. Glowing with fresh energy, he led his friend out. “You can fill me in as...” He stopped at the ringing phone then caught his aide, Tamrack, rushing down the hall. “Lloyd, please take that call and then report back to me in chambers.”
As Tamrack grabbed the phone, they started off again.
That night, Leopold brooded over the latest debacle in an operation that seemed far more cursed than blessed. He studied the cramped motel room. Where was he, anyway? The rooms all looked the same. Naples, Pine, Mankato... Eau Claire. Yes, he remembered. Rather than return to Mankato, he’d sent Frankie to assume his old location.
Crushing out one smoldering Marlboro, he quickly lit another. Three weeks and what did they have to show? A dead Jew, two FBI agents, a girlfriend and six poisoned wackos. Yet the yuppy-puppy lawyers remained at large. How much longer could they defy the odds?
The news he just received about the committee’s vote to confirm Lamp was hardly enough to lift his dampened spirits, even if a full Senate vote was expected next week. No one questioned anymore that Lamp would be on the court for the critical spring term. But would he? Until the fugitives and the chest were recovered, it was impossible to say.
Smoke thickly wafted through the darkness as he brooded again over the operation. Logistically, they’d covered their bases since the debacle at the Eau Claire station. Madison had been sealed off, and an extensive search was conducted. Police in Wisconsin, Iowa, and Minnesota had blanketed the road systems, as Nicholas’s forces scoured the tri-state region. And his own men maintained their positions in Stevens Point, La Crosse, Ames, Mankato, and Eau Claire. So what had been overlooked? Would the elusive details sneak up and bite them on the ass like they had this afternoon?
The Eau Claire disaster had been avoidable, the Feds’ tail being established within minutes after Bus #37 left the Madison station. The only problem was that the fugitives had slipped off in those same critical minutes, having obviously picked up on Sprinkle’s suspicion.
So what were they looking for now — another bus? A Chevy Cavalier or Ford Pinto? VW Beetle or Honda Prelude? Whatever, they’d know soon. All transit stations between Madison and Snow Peak had been notified and every car dealership and rental agency alerted.