She leapt back to the phone and dialed Gerry's home. He'd still be there now. At least she hoped so. As the phone began to ring, she worked to keep her voice under control. She wanted to sound sane while she explained something insane. How to say it all in as few words as possible? And make it believable. She had to make Gerry believe.
"Gerry, it's Gin." Gerry felt a small glow of pleasure at the sound of her voice, also a stab of guilt and, in a way, relief. He'd wanted to talk to her but had been hesitant about making the call. He'd been pretty rough on her last week. He was glad she'd taken the first step.
On the other hand, he couldn't help being more than a little apprehensive about what she might have to say, especially since her voice sounded strained.
"Hello, Gin. I've been meaning to call."
"I don't have much time, so please listen to what I have to say. Last night Duncan put one of those implants in my leg while I was asleep.
It's still in there. ' He groaned. Not again.
"Oh, Gin. You've really got to get, " Her voice rushed on. "Listen to me, Gerry. I beg you. This isn't fantasy. There are two hard facts you can check out. One is, obviously, the implant in my leg. I know it's there. I can feel it. We can get a scan to prove it, but what I really want is someone to operate and remove it. The second is the reason Duncan did this to me, He's doing cosmetic surgery on the president tomorrow morning. ' Gerry closed his eyes. Poor Gin.
Duncan Lathram strikes again, first Senator Marsden, now the president.
"I know what you're thinking, Gerry, " she said, 'and I don't blame you.
But just check it out. You've got to know someone in the Secret Service."
"Yeah. I know a couple of guys." Bob Decker immediately came to mind.
He was on the White House detail.
If anyone would know the president's hour-to-hour whereabouts, it would be Bob.
"Good. Call one of them. Call them all. Confirm what I said about the surgery. Once we've established that, maybe you'll be more willing to believe that I'm not completely . .
crazy.
"I don't think you're crazy, ' he said, hoping he sounded convincing.
"You're a terrible liar. But please don't leave me hanging. Check this out. Then we can get on with removing this thing from my leg and put a stop to Duncan before he does something catastrophic. Please.
I'm begging you." The note of plaintive desperation in her voice cut through all his rational objections to getting sucked in again.
She's frightened, he thought. Deeply frightened.
"Okay. I'll call'the White House." It was the least he could do. And what would it hurt? "But it may take me a while to get an answer.
Those guys aren't just sitting around waiting for calls. If the president's out somewhere, they'll be with him."
"It's still early.
Maybe you can catch somebody."
"I'll try."
"Thanks. That's almost more than I could hope for." She sounded not only frightened, but lost. Not a friend in the world.
"Where will you be? Home? " "God, no. He's coming for me. I've got to get moving. I'll call you back in a little while. When I get to a safe place." Oh, Gin.
"Do you want to stay at my place? " he said. "Martha will be in school.
You could stay here till I hear from the Secret Service guys." He wanted her safe. What should he do with her? He had to get some help.
Maybe get in touch with her parents, let them know she was having a breakdown.
"Maybe later. After we get this thing out of my leg, I'll need a place to rest up. Right now I'd better keep on the move." Gerry chewed his lip. He didn't want to push her, not in her mental state.
"Okay. Do what you have to do. But stay in touch. Keep calling in.
' "You can count on that." She paused, then, "And you will call, won't you? You're not just humoring me? " "I'll call. I promise. " "Thanks, Gerry." Her voice softened. "Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt here. After last Friday, that can't be too easy.
" "It's okay." After he hung up, Gerry sat and stared at his phone.
He didn't want to sound like a jerk calling up Bob Decker and asking if the president was having plastic surgery tgmorrow. He'd yet to live down the Marsden debacle. Guys were still coming up and offering to sell him the Brooklyn Bridge.
He looked up Decker's extension at the White House and made the call. Years ago he and Decker had become casual friends after an FBI racketeering case turned out to involve counterfeiting as well and the Secret Service was called in. Every so often they got together for a drink.
He was surprised how relieved he felt when he was told that Decker wasn't in. Gerry left his office number for the return call.
Decker's call came in shortly after Gerry got to his desk. After the standard how's-it-going' preliminaries, Gerry took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet.
"Listen, Bob. The reason I called is that I heard a rumor that the president's getting a face-lift or something tomorrow. Any truth to that? " Decker cleared his throat. "A face-lift? Tomorrow? That's a good one.
Where'd you hear something like that? " "The usual roundabout way.
Somebody heard from somebody whose second cousin's mother overheard it at the Laundromat, and so on. I thought I'd check it out with you and lay it to rest. Or if it is true, I figure you'd want to know that the word is out and spreading."
"Thanks, Gerry. I appreciate that." ' Well? " '-Well what? " "Is it true? ' -, .
. s , 0 "The president's heading for Camp David tomorrow morning for a long weekend, and I'm going with him." He chuckled. "Christ, he's going to be pissed when he hears about this. I know he doesn't want anyone to think he's having a face-lift. How do these crazy stories get started? " '"Crazy people, I guess, " Gerry said glumly.
"Well, thanks for thinking of me. You can put the kibosh on this one, but let me know if you hear any others "Will do." Just great, Gerry thought as he hung up. The president's not even going to be in town.
At least according to Bob Decker. But Decker could be covering for the president. If he'd been instructed to tell no one, he'd do just that, even if the FBI was asking.
Who to believe? A week ago there'd be no contest. But after the Marsden mess . . .
Coffee splashed over the rim of his cup as Gerry pounded his fist on the desk.
Damn it, what was he going to tell Gin?
And where was she now? Racing around the city in her car? Or hunched over a cup of coffee at the rear table of some diner?
He had to get her help. And fast.
Gin sipped a cup of cappuccino and watched the street. She'd found a Moroccan coffee shop on Columbia Road with a booth that offered a view of the eastern corner of Kalorama, half a block uphill from her apartment. If Duncan or an ambulance arrived, they'd turn that corner.
So far, no ambulance, no black Mercedes. But Duncan was tricky. He'd certainly proven that in the past week. Who said he had to come in his Mercedes?
Rather than run all over the city with no definite destination, she'd left her car parked in front of her building and walked up here to sit watch. Was Duncan really calling an ambulance, or coming himself?
God, she wished she knew. The only thing she knew for ceXtain right now was that she had to stay as far as possible from Duncan Lathram.
She glanced at her watch. Time to give Gerry a call. Another good thing about this little coffee shop was the location of the phone, right inside the front door. She could call and still keep watch on the corner.
Gerry sounded tired when he said hello.
"Did you call the Secret Service? " '"Yes."