"I've got it, sir," he said, reaching for the telephone.
I started to walk out of the office, then stopped in the doorway and turned back. When you'd spent the night being shot and slashed at, sprinkled with zombie dust, and dropping from tall buildings in a single bound, it's amazing the small things that come to mind-my mind, at least. "Francisco?"
He stopped dialing, hung up the telephone, and looked inquiringly at me. "Is there something else that needs to be done, sir?"
"No. I'm just curious as to why you keep calling me 'sir.' I told you a long time ago that you should call me Mongo."
He flushed slightly. "I can't help it, sir. It's habit. You're my boss."
"Garth's your boss too. You don't call him 'sir.'"
"It's different with Garth. You're the one who interviewed and hired me."
"You don't have any prejudice against dwarfs, do you, Francisco?"
He snapped back in his chair, obviously alarmed. "Oh no, sir!"
"Only kidding. I seem to recall one occasion when you did call me Mongo."
He swallowed hard, said, "That was when we thought Garth was dead. I'd just given you the news. I felt so terrible for you. I'd. . never seen you look like that before."
I thought about it, nodded. "All right, Francisco. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to remind you that you don't have to keep calling me 'sir' all the time."
"Yes, sir," Francisco replied, smiling wryly as he once again picked up the telephone receiver and started dialing. "Thank you."
I went up to my apartment, where Garth was waiting for me. He'd already removed my spare guns from my safe and laid them out on the bed. He'd also made me a sandwich, which I much appreciated. I ate quickly, washing down the sandwich with a glass of milk, then bagged the jeans and sneakers that had been contaminated with the yellow powder, showered, and quickly dressed in clean.clothes. We were on our way out when the intercom on the wall buzzed. I went back, pressed the button.
"What is it, Francisco?"
"I was able to speak with Representative Kranes, sir. He'll see you as soon as you get to Washington. He's sending a car and driver to pick you up at the airport."
"Thank you, Francisco. Good work."
Chapter 10
The office of the Speaker of the House of Representatives was furnished in rococo and as large as a handball court. We were ushered into his office, and as soon as the heavy wood door closed behind us he leaped up from behind his desk. His jowly face was florid, and his pudgy hands trembled. "What's this threat of holding a press conference?!" he shouted at me as Garth and I walked across a quarter acre or so of thick, beige carpeting toward his desk. "I suppose you're looking for more money now! I thought we had a-"
"Shut up," Garth said curtly, without waiting to be introduced. "Who else besides my brother did you talk to about your problem with copying other people's poems?"
Kranes opened and closed his mouth, then slowly sank back down in his cushioned leather chair. He seemed nonplussed, totally taken back by Garth's effrontery, or his question, or both.
"This is my brother, Garth," I said as I walked up to the desk and leaned on it. "Now that the introductions are over, be kind enough to answer his question. Who did you talk to about Thomas Dickens after I visited you in Huntsville?" "What the hell happened to you?"
"Never mind what happened to me. We may get to that. Answer the question."
Still appearing thoroughly confused, Kranes looked back and forth between Garth and me with narrowed eyes. Finally he said, "I didn't talk to anybody about him. You think I'm a fool?" "
"That's what we're here to find out."
"As you surmised, it wasn't exactly a story I wanted to get around."
"Close associates? Family? Your wife?"
He shook his head nervously. "I didn't want anybody to know- not associates, and especially not my family. Have you-"
"What about Taylor Mackintosh, the actor? He claims to be a real good buddy of yours. Maybe you had a couple of drinks together, wanted to bare your soul? Did you discuss this problem with him?"
"You do think I'm a fool," he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. "Mackintosh would be the last person on earth I'd bare my soul to. I've been avoiding him for years, and I won't even take his phone calls. The man is mentally ill."
"Think real hard. Who did you mention Thomas Dickens' name to?"
"I don't have to think hard," he replied tersely, impatience now evident in his tone. "I told you I did not discuss this matter with anyone. Now, if you're not here to squeeze me for more money, why don't you tell me why you are here? I really do have a very busy schedule."
I glanced at Garth, who looked at me and nodded once. It meant my brother the empath and human lie-detector believed Kranes was telling the truth. Garth took a gold-plated Montblanc pen out of a holder on the desk, wrote on a piece of the Speaker's embossed stationery, and shoved the paper under the other man's nose.
Kranes glanced down at the message on the paper, then looked up sharply. "What?!"
He abruptly stopped speaking when I put a finger to my lips, then motioned with my head toward the door to his office. He hesitated a few moments, then abruptly rose and walked with us to the door, which Garth held open for him.
"Get rid of your Secret Service detail," I said quietly.
"I can't get rid of them."
"Then tell them to keep their distance. I don't want anyone else hearing what I have to tell you-yet."
Kranes spoke to his receptionist, then said something to the two dark-suited men sitting nearby. There was no discernible response from either of them, but when we walked through the warren of outer offices they stayed behind at a respectful distance. When we reached the wide marble hall outside the suite of offices, Kranes immediately turned on Garth and snapped, "What the hell do you mean, my office is bugged?!"
"It means just that," Garth replied evenly. "If what you've told us is the truth, then your office must be bugged."
I said, "Let's go get a drink, Mr. Speaker. I think you're going to need one."
"I don't want a drink!" he said sharply, wheeling on me. "I have important appointments all day, and I have to catch a flight to California at five-thirty! I demand you tell me why you think my office is bugged, and who you think is bugging it!"
Garth abruptly gripped the other man by the elbow and gently but firmly escorted him the length of the hallway and around a corner. Kranes walked very stiffly. I followed, and behind me I could hear the click of the Secret Service agents' heels on the marble as they followed behind us all. I wondered what they were thinking about this little tete-a-tete between two strangers-if we were strangers to them-and the man they were assigned to guard.
When we had all made it around the corner, Garth stopped, turned the Speaker toward him, said in the same soft, even tone, "The CIA is bugging your office, Kranes. They've probably got your home wired too. They take the old adage about keeping friends close and enemies even closer very literally. They're keeping tabs on you and your visitors because you're very important to them and all the other fascists in this country."
'That's ridiculous, Frederickson! And don't you imply that I'm a-"
"Keep your voice down. They intend to make you president."
That got his attention. He looked inquiringly at me, then back at Garth. "Are you serious?"