Patricia Potter (53 page)

And Meara? He should have called, but he knew she would try to stop him, and he had reached the point where he had to do something. Anything. He couldn’t sit back and wait any longer. It was fortunate that he had, considering the fact that Matt’s team had failed.

Chris also knew he had to get accustomed to the fact that he would be leaving soon, not to return again. She didn’t want him, didn’t want anything to do with him, and he couldn’t blame her. He had hurt her badly before. Not just badly. He had almost destroyed her. If it hadn’t been for Sanders…

But Christ, it would be hard to leave her. As she had years ago, Meara had made him feel whole again. The mere sight of her filled him with warmth and craving and even justification for a life that was hollow and meaningless. She needed him now, and he had cherished that momentary trust. But that was all it was, momentary and out of pure, desperate necessity. When the threat was gone, she would want him gone too. The knowledge was like burning acid.

He doubted whether she even knew he was gone today. He had told her that Weimer would be away, and she knew Lisa was safe.

And Lisa? Pretty Lisa, who was just discovering the world. He would never see her again except perhaps in photos. He had promised that, and he would never break faith with Meara again. But perhaps she would send him pictures. It was a damned lonely prospect, but the best he could expect. He leaned back, unaware that a slight groan had escaped his lips.

He had closed his eyes when he heard a soft voice, “Mr. Chandler.”

He opened his eyes and found a young man standing nervously next to him. The room was almost empty, and although he didn’t recognize the man, he did recognize the look. Chris arched an eyebrow. “Yes.”

The man took out his billfold and showed his identification as a private investigator with the agency Chris had hired.

Chris saw he was discomfited and guessed he was one of those who’d lost Weimer. Well, maybe he’d learned something tonight. Chris took the film from his pocket and handed it to the detective who took it slowly, curiosity written all over his face.

“We’ll have it for you tomorrow, sir,” he said.

Chris nodded and ambled up out of the chair. “Can you drop me off at a hotel?”

His contact nodded warily, and the two of them left the room where
Casablanca
was now showing.

Meara had dialed Chris’s number for hours Monday. She had even taken Raggedy Andy for a walk past his house. Several walks, if the exact truth be told.

Chris had frightened her the previous day. There had been something cold and unforgiving and determined in him. It had reminded her of the night in the powerhouse, when he had talked to the other German. She’d felt icy, just as she did then, and despite his promise she knew he intended something dangerous.

It scared her to know how much that frightened her, how much she cared about him. She had hated him for so long; how could she feel so much concern about him now? It didn’t make sense, but then nothing about him ever did.

The one relief she had was Lisa’s confidences last night. Not only was it a breakthrough in their relationship, but she had been delighted that Lisa was starting, at least, to recognize her feelings for Kelly. They had always been there, Meara suspected, but hidden in familiarity.

But if Kurt Weimer didn’t win one way, would he try another?

Meara didn’t think so. A man in his position? She wasn’t important enough. Lisa wasn’t important enough. Yet she knew Chris thought differently, and she was growing desperately afraid that he might do something rash, something dangerous both to himself and to Lisa.

Meara had started calling Chris after Lisa left. She had wanted to tell him that they probably didn’t have to worry about Lisa any longer, and she had not been surprised when he wasn’t there. Thinking he was probably on the beach, she had pulled on a bathing suit and gone down herself, expecting any moment to see him.

The day was hot. Heat radiated off the sand, and the sun tipped the edges of the waves. She had walked through the water, and even that seemed lukewarm at the moment, but she thought about it only absently. Her main concentration was on the few people on this section of the beach.

Andy had no such fixation. He chased birds, plunging after them in and out of waves with unrestrained glee. After shaking himself, throwing water and sand all over her, he took off down the beach after another dog, trembling with friendly ardor.

Meara watched him with bemusement, wondering whether Andy ever became frustrated in chasing birds, in his constant quest for the impossible, the elusive. Or whether it was the impossible that was so damned attractive. Did one always want what he could not have?

She walked and walked, but without success. She finally turned around and returned, and some of the sparkle was gone from the water, from the sand.

Where was he?

When she returned, she read the paper and then turned to her typewriter and the final draft of her proposal, determined to concentrate, all the time willing the phone to ring. At four, she had finished, and she started dinner. Lisa would be back around five-thirty.

She tried his phone again, and damned him and herself for caring as it rang and rang.

Kurt Weimer was ushered into a hotel room. He had been led up a back way and assured that no one had followed them. Even if they had, he thought with satisfaction, no one would recognize him. He’d made quite certain earlier that no one had seen his transformation from Kurt Weimer.

When he had arrived at the Dinkier Hotel in downtown Atlanta upon his arrival from Brunswick, he had asked for a room close to the stairs. After resting several hours and making some phone calls, he had changed clothes, looked out at the empty hall, and taken the stairs to the second floor. He had then used a freight elevator to the basement and exited through the service entrance.

It was not that he suspected he was being followed but mostly habit and precaution.

He’d even used a pay phone to reach Robert Cannon, giving a name he sometimes used for Odessa business. Almost immediately Cannon was on the phone.

“I’m in Atlanta tonight. I thought I would come to the rally. Perhaps we can get together afterward.”

There was a hesitancy, then quick assent. The speaker, who Cannon knew as Hans Kaiser, had already poured money into the Brotherhood. “I’ll have someone meet you afterward and bring you up to a hotel room rented by an anonymous friend. What will you be wearing?”

Kurt quickly told him, and Cannon in return told him who to look for at the rally.

Now as Kurt entered the room, Robert Cannon rose from a sofa to greet him, his hand outstretched and a broad smile on his face. “It’s good to meet one of our best supporters,” he said. “What did you think of the rally?”

“I’d hoped for more people,” Kurt observed. He had been impressed, but he didn’t want to admit it. Not yet.

“We’re building. Slowly but surely. The problem has been too many splinter groups, and no common goal. I think we’re beginning to correct that, but it takes time. And money.”

“If I provide more funds, how would you use them?”

“More literature, more communication with other groups, more rallies. I have to show the other groups we can do something they can’t. Their leaders don’t want to surrender what power they have.”

“How do you explain the funds?”

“From anonymous donors who can’t afford to be allied openly with us. At least not yet. We can’t let our members know any of it came from Germany. Some of our members are veterans.”

“Yet we have a common cause.”

Cannon looked at him steadily. “Right now, most of our members are worried mainly about their jobs, that and the way the society they have always known is being changed. Change produces fear. We have to feed those particular fears to grow.”

Kurt nodded. “What do
you
want?”

Cannon smiled, and the smile was suddenly feral. “I want to build the Brotherhood into a major party, a major power in this country. We’ve already elected some town and city officials, and we are recruiting more. The media laughs at us. They don’t know what kind of membership we already have. One day, they’ll wake up and find we’re too strong to break. But we have to keep your support silent.”

The answers were everything Kurt Weimer had wanted to hear. Cannon was a shrewd and patient manipulator who could, if properly controlled, become a real asset in this country. “Let me know what you need,” he said. “Use the regular channels.”

Cannon recognized acceptance and also dismissal. “It will be used to good advantage,” he said, walking Kurt to the door. “It’s been a privilege meeting you.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Kurt replied, and slipped out the door where the man who had accompanied him there was waiting.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

T
HE PHONE WAS
ringing when Chris walked into his rented house. Unable to sleep the night before, he was tired and irritable, and faced with several very undesirable choices.

His voice was short as he picked up the phone and barked into it, “Chandler.”

“Michael…Chris…thank God you’re all right.” Meara’s voice was so heartfelt that unexpected elation soared through him.

“I’m fine,” he said in a gentle voice.

“I’ve been…worried about you.”

He felt warmth curl inside. He didn’t know the last time anyone had worried about him. Probably never, he thought wryly. But then she was concerned about Lisa. Don’t put too much value on it, he warned himself.

Chris made an instant decision then. “I think we have everything we need now to get rid of Mr. Weimer.” Chris knew he would sell his soul to take the worry from her voice, and that, he thought, was exactly what he was going to do.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Not yet. I’m waiting for some pictures to be developed. How’s Lisa?”

“Disenchanted with Mr. Weimer.” There was a note of supreme satisfaction in her voice.

“Why?”

“I don’t know exactly. But that’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Chris said, but secretly he wondered. Kurt Weimer, he suspected, was much like his father. He wouldn’t give up easily, and being blocked in one plan he might well turn to something else. Chris knew he had to checkmate the man as quickly as possible. “Is Lisa at work now?”

“Yes, she’s with Kelly, and I’ve asked him to keep an eye on her.”

“No questions?”

“Lots of questions but he hasn’t voiced them. Not yet.”

“Just as long as he stays with her now.”

“You think Weimer might try—”

“I don’t know,” Chris replied. “But if he’s rebuffed, he might try something else. The conference is almost over and he’s running out of time. I would just feel better if someone were with her all the time, especially the next several days.”

“Your detectives?”

“They will be there too, but I don’t want to take any chances.” He couldn’t tell her that they lost Weimer in Atlanta, and Ben Markham’s agency was one of the best in the country. Weimer was one hell of a lot smarter than he’d originally given him credit for. But he should have known. Anyone tied to Odessa for so long, and still a respected government member, had to be damned clever.

“Meara?”

He heard her breath catch. “Yes?”

“It will be over soon.”

“Thank you,” she said in a whisper quiet voice.

“I’ll call you later in the day.”

“Be careful.”

“Good-bye, Meara.” Unconsciously, his voice caressed her name, and he sensed her hesitation on the other end of the line. He laid down the phone carefully, his hand resting on it a moment, telling himself he was the bloodiest fool in the world.

The photos arrived several hours later, brought by Matt himself.

“Weimer?” Chris asked.

“Got back this morning,” Matt said curtly. “Heads are rolling on this one.”

“As long as you don’t lose him again.”

“We won’t,” Matt said with harsh conviction. He held out an envelope. “Your photos.”

“Have you looked at them?”

Matt grinned self-consciously. “Yes. I could say I looked to see whether we did well on the quality, but I was curious. Have you ever thought about another line of work? How in the hell did you recognize him?”

“I knew what to expect.”

“Mind elaborating?”

“Yes,” Chris said good-naturally as he took out the pictures and reviewed them with satisfaction. “How many prints did you make?”

“Two of each.”

“I want a third copy. As soon as possible.”

“And then what?”

“I’m going to pay a little visit to our Mr. Weimer.”

“Need some assistance?”

“No,” Chris said abruptly.

“These…pictures, and the tape, could be of some use to our government,” Matt said carefully.

“The government isn’t paying you,” Chris replied sharply.