He'd better find out.
Duncan glanced at his watch. Barbara still would be in the officer. He pulled out his cellular phone and called in.
"Did you find her? ' were the first words out of Barbara's mouth.
"No luck yet, " he said. "Just checking in. No word from Gin, I take it."
"Nothing, " Barbara said. "Someone called for her, but, " "Who?
" "That guy she's been seeing. Gerry Canney." Duncan stiffened. The FBI man? That didn't bode well.
"When did he call? " "Late this morning. He was looking for her. " '"You remembered what I told you, didn't you? " "Yes. I just said she wasn't here and wasn't expected in."
"Excellent. We need to protect Gin until we can find out what's wrong with her and get her some help.
" "I know. It's just that he sounded worried."
"We're all worried, Barbara." Especially me. "Any calls for me? " "A couple of people looking for appointments. Mr. Covington called to complain about your canceling all surgery this morning. He said his wife was hysterical.
" "She's had that nose for almost fifty years, she'll survive another week with it. No others? No visitors? " '"No. It's been pretty quiet." That was a relief. No calls or visits from any lawenforcement agencies looking for Dr. Lathram. A good indication that Gin had yet to convince anyone.
Maybe there was still time
Time for what? He couldn't see much use in patrolling this area any longer. He had to face it, Gin was gone. She'd hopped a cab, or sneaked into the Metro, or simply walked away. She could be in Virginia or Maryland by now. Or down at the FBBuilding. If she was still around here he would have seen her.
He reached into his pocket for the car keys and found the pager-transducer. Conflicting emotions swirled within him. If Gin walked past right now he'd use it on her, without hesitation, not out of malice but out of the most basic drive of all, self-preservation.
And yet . . . some small part of him was almost glad that she had eluded him.
He found his keys. Time to go. But whtere? Home to sit and wait for the ax to fall? Even if no one came to put the cuffs on him, his plans for the president tomorrow would have to be changed. He would simply do the surgery and forget about the implant. He would destroy the TPD, and then it would be Gin's word against his.
Except for that implant in her leg.
Damn, damn, damn! His options were becoming narrower with each passing hour.
As Duncan turned to head for his car, he saw a monotone sedan pass and pull into the curb a few dozen feet from him, stopping directly under a no-parking sign. A warning alarm rang in his brain, so he turned and crossed Seventeenth, keeping his face averred until he reached the other side. As he mingled with the thickening rush-hour crowd there, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a young, fair-haired man standing on the sidewalk, surveying the square. He seemed to be looking for someone.
Terror slammed Duncan from behind but he resisted the urge to run. He had seen him before, with Gin at the Guidelines committee hearing.
Canney the FBI agent.
Is he looking for me?
Keep calm, Duncan told himself. How could he be? He drove right past me. And besides, why, of all the possible places in the District, would he look for me here?
He had to be looking for someone else.
For Gin.
Excitement surged through Duncan as he stepped back into a doorway and continued to watch Agent Canney.
I'm still safe, he thought. If the FBI doesn't know Gin's whereabouts, then no one does, at least no one who matters.
He watched Canney walk across the grass and among the shrubs and benches of Farragut Square, watched him search the entire perimeter, pausing where Gin's car had hit the curb. His movements were quick, efficient, but Duncan detected an underlying anxiety and uncertainty.
Duncan could have told him, You're wasting your time
- He watched Canney canvas the area, then get into his car and leave.
And with the agent's departure Duncan suddenly found himself refreshed, invigorated. He wasn't going home. Not just yet.
He'd hang around a little longer. At least until dark.
Gin awoke in pain and confusion. She'd rolled over onto her right side and felt as if something were taking a bite out of her thigh.
She was hot, wet, bathe in sweat. Her bra and panties were glued to her skin. She threw off the covers. Dark . . . where, ?
A few blinks and she recognized the hotel room. It all came back to her. Sitting on the tub, cutting into herself . . .
- She sat up and experienced only an instant of light headedness. No question, the rest had done her good, but how long had she been out?
She turned the clock radio toward her. 5:05.
My God, I slept away the whole afternoon!
She eased herself to her feet and wobbled only slightly on her way to the bathroom. She had to see it, had to make sure it was still there.
It was. The Coricidin bottle sat where she had left it on the marble counter. She ran the sink water and drank three glasses without taking her eyes off the implant resting within, turning brown now as its blood-streaked surface dried.
She brought it with her when she returned to the bed. Still weak, but feeling lots better, she carefully lowered herself to sit on the edge.
Time to call Gerry. Time to meet with him and show him what Duncan had placed inside her.
She got an outside line and punched in his office number. The FBI operator said he wasn-t in at the moment. Would she like to leave a message?
'"When will he be back? " "Agent Canney did not say. May I ask who's calling, please? " "That's okay, " Gin said. "I'll call back. " Maybe he got tired of waiting for her and went home. She called his house but got only his answering machine.
Maybe he was in transit. She'd have to wait till he picked up Martha and got home . . . if home was where he was headed. She wondered if he was worried about her, or even thinking about her. It would be comforting to know that someone besides Duncan was wondering where she was. She unwrapped the Ace bandage from her leg to expose the gauze beneath.
She noticed that blood was beginning to seep through the dressing.
Gingerly, she peeled it away. The antibiotic ointment kept the gauze from sticking. The incision looked good, the thread seemed to be holding. But as she stared at the wound, and then at the little bottle containing the bloody implant, she was filled with an overwhelming despair.
Gerry's not going to relieve one.
The realization made her sick. What would he think when he saw that bloody thing in the bottle? No one had seen her cut it out. No witness to the procedure. Who was to say she hadn't cut herself and smeared the implant with blood to convince others of her delusions?
Self-mutilation was common in certain forms of psychosis. Or maybe she'd be diagnosed as some sort of variant of Munchausen syndrome.
She'd done something extreme, something radical, something that would appear bizarre and, well, deranged to anyone who didn't fully understand the threat the implant posed to her.
In short, showing Gerry that bloody implant and telling him she'd cut it out of her own leg might only confirm his worst fears about her sanity. Her paranoid delusions had now escalated to self-mutilation.
Gin pressed her hands to her face. Couched in a sob, her voice rang through the tiny room.
"What am I going to do? " She had to find someone who'd believe her, someone who wouldn't think she'd watched too many episodes of Twilight Zone. . . .
Oliver.
Of course. Oliver would believe her. He was the only other person in the world who knew about both TPD and the implants. He'd understand why she'd had to cut herself open to remove the TPD.