"Listen, young lady, this is Judge Henry Hugo, and he was supposed to be in my courtroom fifteen minutes ago. We're waiting for him. It's an emergency."
"Well, I see nothing on his calendar for this morning."
"Do you schedule his appointments?"
"Well, yes, sir."
"Then it's your fault. Now get him on the phone."
Nina ran across the hall and into his office. "Mitch, there's a Judge Hugo on the phone. Says you're supposed to be in court right now. You'd better talk to him."
Mitch jumped to his feet and grabbed the phone. He was pale. "Yes," he said.
"Mr. McDeere," Tarrance said. "Judge Hugo. You're late for my court. Get over here."
"Yes, Judge." He grabbed his coat and briefcase and frowned at Nina.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's not on your calendar."
Mitch raced down the hall, down the stairs, past the receptionist and out the front door. He ran north on Front Street to Union and darted through the lobby of the Cotton Exchange Building. On Union, he turned east and ran toward the Mid-America Mall.
The sight of a well-dressed young man with a briefcase running like a scared dog may be a common sight in some cities, but not in Memphis. People noticed.
He hid behind a fruit stand and caught his breath. He saw no one running behind him. He ate an apple. If it came to a footrace, he hoped Two-Ton Tony was chasing him.
He had never been particularly impressed with Wayne Tarrance. The Korean shoe store was a fiasco. The chicken place on Grand Cayman was equally dumb. His notebook on the Moroltos would bore a Cub Scout. But his idea about a Mayday code, a "don't ask questions, just run for your life" alert, was a brilliant idea. For a month, Mitch knew if Judge Hugo called, he had to hit the door on a dead run. Something bad had gone wrong, and the boys on the fifth floor were moving in. Where was Abby? he thought.
A few pedestrians walked in pairs along Union. He wanted a crowded sidewalk, but there was none. He stared at the corner of Front and Union and saw nothing suspicious. Two blocks east, he casually entered the lobby of the Peabody and looked for a phone. On the mezzanine overlooking the lobby, he found a neglected one in a short hallway near the men's room. He dialed the Memphis office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Wayne Tarrance, please. It's an emergency. This is Mitch McDeere."
Tarrance was on the phone in seconds. "Mitch, where are you?"
"Okay, Tarrance, what's going on?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm out of the building, Judge Hugo. I'm safe for now. What's happened?"
"Mitch, you've gotta come in."
"I don't have to do a damned thing, Tarrance. And I won't, until you talk to me."
"Well, we've, uh, we've had a slight problem. There's been a small leak. You need"
"Leak, Tarrance? Did you say leak? There's no such thing as a small leak. Talk to me, Tarrance, before I hang up this phone and disappear. You're tracing this call, aren't you, Tarrance? I'm hanging up."
"No! Listen, Mitch. They know. They know we've been talking, and they know about the money and the files."
There was a long pause. "A small leak, Tarrance. Sounds like the dam burst. Tell me about this leak, and quick."
"God this hurts. Mitch, I want you to know how much this hurts. Voyles is devastated. One of our senior men sold the information. We caught him this morning at a hotel in Washington. They paid him two hundred thousand for the story on you. We're in shock, Mitch."
"Oh, I'm touched. I'm truly concerned over your shock and pain, Tarrance. I guess now you want me to run down there to your office so we can all sit around and console each other."
"Voyles will be there by noon, Mitch. He's flying in with his top people. He wants to meet with you. We'll get you out of town."
"Right. You want me to rush into your arms for protection. You're an idiot, Tarrance. Voyles is an idiot. You're all idiots. And I'm a fool for trusting you. Are you tracing this call, Tarrance?"
"No!"
"You're lying. I'm hanging up, Tarrance. Sit tight and I'll call you in thirty minutes from another phone."
"No! Mitch, listen. You're dead if you don't come in."
"Goodbye, Wayne. Sit by the phone."
Mitch dropped the receiver and looked around. He walked to a marble column and peeked at the lobby below. The ducks were swimming around the fountain. The bar was deserted. A table was surrounded with rich old ladies sipping their tea and gossiping. A solitary guest was registering.
Suddenly, the Nordic stepped from behind a potted tree and stared at him. "Up there!" he yelled across the lobby to an accomplice. They watched him intently and glanced at the stairway under him. The bartender looked up at Mitch, then at the Nordic and his friend. The old ladies stared in silence.
"Call the police!" Mitch yelled as he backed away from the railing. Both men sprang across the lobby and hit the stairs. Mitch waited five seconds, and returned to the railing. The bartender had not moved. The ladies were frozen.
There were heavy noises on the stairs. Mitch sat on the railing, dropped his briefcase, swung his legs over, paused, then jumped twenty feet onto the carpet of the lobby. He fell like a rock, but landed squarely on both feet. Pain shot through his ankles and hips. The football knee buckled, but did not collapse.
Behind him, next to the elevators, was a small haberdashery with windows full of ties and Ralph Lauren's latest. He limped into it. A kid of no more than nineteen waited eagerly behind the counter. There were no customers. An outside door opened onto Union.
"Is that door locked?" Mitch asked calmly.
"Yes, sir."
"You wanna make a thousand dollars cash? Nothing illegal." Mitch quickly peeled off ten hundred-dollar bills and threw them on the counter.
"Uh, sure. I guess."
"Nothing illegal, okay? I swear. I wouldn't get you in trouble. Unlock that door, and when two men come running in here in about twenty seconds, tell them I ran through that door and jumped in a cab."
The kid smiled even brighter and raked up the money. "Sure. No problem."
"Where's the dressing room?"
"Yes, sir, over there next to the closet."
"Unlock the door," Mitch said as he slid into the dressing room and sat down. He rubbed his knees and ankles.
The clerk was straightening ties when the Nordic and his partner ran through the door from the lobby. "Good morning," he said cheerfully.
"Did you see a man running through here, medium build, dark gray suit, red tie?"
"Yes, sir. He just ran through there, through that door, and jumped in a cab."
"A cab! Damn!" The door opened and closed, and the store was silent. The kid walked to a shoe rack near the closet. "They're gone, sir."
Mitch was rubbing his knees. "Good. Go to the door and watch for two minutes. Let me know if you see them."
Two minutes later, he was back. "They're gone."
Mitch kept his seat and smiled at the door. "Great. I want one of those kelly-green sport coats, forty-four long, and a pair of white buckskins, ten D. Bring them here, would you? And keep watching."
"Yes, sir." He whistled around the store as he collected the coat and shoes, then slid them under the door. Mitch yanked off his tie and changed quickly. He sat down.
"How much do I owe you?" Mitch asked from the room.
"Well, let's see. How about five hundred?"
"Fine. Call me a cab, and let me know when it's outside."
Tarrance walked three miles around his desk. The call was traced to the Peabody, but Laney arrived too late. He was back now, sitting nervously with Acklin. Forty minutes after the first call, the secretary's voice blasted through the intercom. "Mr. Tarrance. It's McDeere."
Tarrance lunged at the phone. "Where are you?"
"In town. But not for long."
"Look, Mitch, you won't last two days on your own. They'll fly in enough thugs to start another war. You've got to let us help you."
"I don't know, Tarrance. For some strange reason I just don't trust you boys right now. I can't imagine why. Just a bad feeling."