Prey (12 page)

“She's staying here while covering the Speaker's visit. The lady with her is her camera-person. Ki Nichols.”

New respect for Barry sprang into the eyes of the male agents in the room while amusement danced in Susan's eyes. “My, my,” Susan said. “I thought I detected the scent of perfume in this house. I didn't think it belonged to you, Mr. Cantrell.”

Barry said nothing in reply.

Stormy pushed open the front door and stepped inside, questions in her eyes as she looked at Barry.

Before Barry could speak, Agent Robbins said, “Don't be alarmed, Ms. Knight. We're federal agents. Somebody took a shot at Agent Green and Mr. Cantrell. Nobody was hurt.”

Stormy kissed Barry, much to the envy of the men, and said, “Big news in town, Barry.”

“What news?”

“The president is coming into Little Rock for a fund-raiser, then taking a helicopter up here to visit for a few hours with the U.S. representative from this district. Steve Williams. They're old friends.”

“What?”
Agent Robbins almost shouted the one-word question.

“It was on the radio,” Ki said. “The president and first lady will officially begin their vacation in this area.”

“Shit!” Agent Robbins said, and quickly moved to the phone. He didn't bother with privacy. When the call went through, he said, “Will somebody kindly tell me what in the hell is going on? I have to get the news secondhand about The Man coming into this area.” He listened for a moment. “I see. That really makes my day, people. Can somebody up there impress upon the President that this trip is very unwise? We've got a volatile situation building here, and I don't think it's a good idea for the president to be here. As a matter of fact, it's a lousy idea.” He listened for another moment. “I see. The First Lady and Mrs. Williams were sorority sisters in college. That's wonderful. Can't this reunion take place in Little Rock?” Again, he listened. “Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Perfectly, sir. And a good day to you, too, sir.” He stood looking at the buzzing phone for a moment before slowly replacing it in the cradle. He sighed heavily, then turned to face the group.

Before he could speak, Susan asked, “The President and First Lady are really coming here?”

“Yes,” Chet said. “They really are.”

“Well, goddamn!” she said.

That seemed to sum up the feelings of all the federal agents in the room.

On the day that Congressman Madison was due to arrive, Barry awakened before dawn with a morbid feeling of dread. Not even Stormy lying warm against him, breathing evenly in very deep sleep, could wrest the feeling away. Their lovemaking had been long and satisfying, and afterward Stormy had wasted no time in successfully reaching the arms of Morpheus. Barry had slept his usual few hours and was wide awake long before dawn.

He slipped from her side and, from countless years of habit, dressed as silently as a spider spinning a web. He let the dogs out in the backyard and quietly made a pot of coffee, filled a mug, and sat on the back porch.

Get out of here, Barry, the silent urging popped into his brain. Head for Canada and get yourself lost up there. If you stay here, you're going to get involved in this deepening mess.

But as he had pondered this very thought a few days past, he knew he was not going to leave. And he was certain that deep in her heart, Stormy realized he would not run away.

Barry was working on his second cup of coffee, the hybrids lying peacefully by his side on the back porch, when he heard Stormy moving around in the house. A moment later, she stepped out onto the darkened porch and sat down beside him, a cup of coffee in her hand.

“How long have you been up, Barry?”

“About half an hour or so. Just sitting out here thinking.”

“I don't have to ask what you were thinking. You really believe there is going to be some sort of coup within our government, don't you?”

“It's the only thing that makes any sense, Stormy. You said yourself that you didn't believe Senator Holden's death was suicide. From what I've read and heard about Senator Bowman, I think the woman is very dangerous. I suspect there are power plays that go on every day in Washington—most of them relatively harmless. But not this one. This power play is going for broke, as folks used to say. This nation is ripe for revolution. Seeds of discontent are sprouting everywhere. I've seen and heard the same scenes and words in dozens of countries over the years. President Hutton walked into a powder keg when he took office. And I believe the fuse is now lit.”

Stormy sipped her coffee in silence for a moment. Then she sighed. “I don't doubt your words, Barry. It's just difficult for me to accept them. But after what I saw in Idaho last year, I know that armed rebellion is certainly possible.”

“There are millions of Americans who are fed up, Stormy. They're weary of taxes that just keep going up and up and never seem to stop. Government programs that the majority of people don't want and would like to see abolished. Nothing is sacred anymore. The government listens to our phone conversations, reads our mail, monitors electronic bulletin boards, and snoops into our bank accounts.”

“Seems to me I've heard this conversation before,” Stormy said with a smile. “But it always seems newer and fresher each time you say it.”

Barry chuckled. “Thank you. But I think it's because I'm not mouthing theories or hypothetical situations, Stormy. I've seen revolutions, close up and personal. I've been involved in them and bloodied by them. I've watched them build from the grass roots, as the saying goes here in this country, and that's what this nation is heading toward. And revolution is no longer crawling in that direction; it's running all out.”

“That's scary.”

“It's pathetic, that's what it is. And so avoidable.” He shook his head and cut his eyes to her in the dimness of predawn. “The networks have been awfully quiet about the death of Senator Holden, Stormy. Not even Coyote has had much to say about it. Are your people hitting a stone wall?”

“If the senator's death was murder, Barry, it was done by a very skilled assassin. All the law enforcement agencies involved in the investigation say it was suicide.”

Barry grunted. “John Ravenna swears he did not kill Senator Holden, and I believe him. John was contracted to kill Congressman Madison. No one else. At least not yet. I've told Sheriff Salter about John. I don't know what else to do ... speaking from a legal standpoint.”

“But you're going to stop John, aren't you?”

“I'm going to try. Immortals don't fight each other. Call it an unwritten agreement among us. We don't fight each other because to do so would be pointless. We would mark each other, quite savagely, but in a few days, we would be healed, and the confrontation would have accomplished nothing. I don't know how I'm going to stop Ravenna; only that I must try.”

Barry was conscious of Stormy's unwavering gaze. She said, “I get the feeling you're holding back from me.

“Not intentionally, I assure you. I just . . . well, have no proof of my suspicions.”

“Bounce it off me. Let's talk about it.”

“I think the president is the main target. Congressman Madison, while certainly a target, is also a diversion. But President Hutton's sudden decision to visit here just makes things easier for the coup planners.”

Stormy's hands were shaking as she lifted her cup and finished her coffee. “You think someone is going to try to kill the president of the United States.”

“Yes. With Hutton out of the way, VP Thomas—a man who is in Senator Madalaine Bowman's pocket—would be sworn in as president. With Congressman Madison dead, Congressman Lowe—also a quiet ally of Bowman, and a very weak person—would become Speaker, then vice president. Next in line for the Speaker's slot in the House is Congressman Valli. A closet liberal; easily manipulated. There are three years to go on Hutton's term. Three years during which the liberals could get their train back on track, divide this nation even further, and quite possibly bring it into full armed revolt by irate citizens.”

Stormy stared down into her empty coffee cup and for a moment was silent. “What would happen to this country if there was some sort of revolution, Barry?”

“It would be awful. The next revolution—if there is one—will not be great battles between thousands of troops. It will be done by sneak attacks. The bombing of federal buildings and sniper warfare. Anyone who is employed by the federal government will be fair game. The insanity of Northern Ireland brought to the shores of America. I've seen it, Stormy. I know what I'm talking about. The free travel that Americans have always enjoyed will be a thing of the past. Papers will be required to move from state to state. In a small way, that's already started at our major airports. It can do nothing except worsen.”

The sky was beginning to tint silver in the east. Stormy stared out at the fading night for a moment and said, “What are we going to do, Barry? The Speaker will be here in a few hours.”

“I'm going to make one last attempt to try to talk John Ravenna out of this. If that fails, and I'm sure it will, you've got to go to the FBI and lay it all out for them.”

“Mentioning your name?”

“Just tell them you got a tip about John Ravenna. They'll act on it.”

“You hope.”

“Yes. I hope.”

* * *

Barry pulled into the driveway just as Ravenna was leaving his rented lake house, carrying a rod, reel, and tackle box.

“Well, cousin!” the assassin called brightly. “How good to see you. I hear the fish are really biting today. Care to join me?”

“I came out to talk, John.”

“Oh. Well. I suppose I could give you a few minutes. My, but you do have a terribly serious expression on your face, cousin.”

“I'm here to ask for a favor.”

“You? Ask me for a favor?” He set his fishing gear on the ground. “I can't believe it. If memory serves me correctly, the last time you asked me for a favor was two hundred years ago, in France. I was in the employ of Burgundy, and you were fighting with those miserable street rabble. Did I grant you the favor, cousin?”

“No.”

“Ah! Pity. What was the favor?”

“A life.”

Ravenna waved that off. “Oh. I thought perhaps it might have been something important. What favor do you request of me on this glorious day?”

“A life.”

“Really? Let me guess. Your windbag politician, right?”

“That's correct.”

“Then I must disappoint you again. The answer is no.”

“You leave me no choice, John. I've got to expose us both.”

Ravenna laughed, but the laughter held no mirth. It was dark-tinged with evil. “My cover is perfect, cousin. I'm a well-respected citizen in my little Irish village. Actually, I'm known as quite the generous person. I give money to all the right causes. I've saved many a poor widder woman from being tossed out into the street. The folks there love me. Interpol has already checked me out, a few years ago. They apologized for any inconvenience they might have caused me. You can't touch me, cousin. So go ahead, make a fool out of yourself.”

“Is that your last word on the matter?”

“It is. I don't care to discuss it any further. As a matter of fact, you're becoming quite the bore.”

“Then you go right straight to hell, Ravenna!”

“Sometimes, cousin,” John said, a wistful note to his voice, “I wish I could.”

* * *

“I have no choice in the matter,” Sheriff Don Salter said to Chief Monroe. “Not now. You heard my deputy say that it appears Ravenna and Cantrell quarreled about something. He couldn't hear the conversation, naturally; but his binoculars are good, and he said the men became quite heated. My guess is that Barry went to see him to try to talk him out of this assassination plan. He obviously failed.”

The chief of police was still shaken by what the sheriff had just moments before told him about immortals and wolves. He wondered if Don was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He shook his head. “Don, ah, I know you think what you saw out at Cantrell's place was real, but, ah, really, Don . . . there is no such thing as a shape-shifter. That's Indian folklore. Legend. This Cantrell person is some sort of magician. He's got you bamboozled, Don.”

“I know it's hard for you to believe, Russ. Hell, I fainted! Passed slap out when he did it. It's no trick, Russ. And he is not alone in the ability to do that. I told you, Ravenna is also a shape-shifter and he's here to kill Congressman Madison.”

Chief Monroe rose from the chair and paced the room nervously. These stories brought back vivid memories of when his half-Choctaw grandmother used to tell him stories about shape-shifters. Used to scare the crap of the young boy. He never wanted to believe the old woman's stories, but a part of him always did. He turned and slowly nodded his head. “You know I'm part Choctaw, don't you, Don?”

“Yes.”

“My grandmother used to tell stories about shape-changers. She said she saw one back around the turn of the century, when her father took her to visit relatives over in Oklahoma.” The chief paused to light his pipe.

Don waited. He had learned never to push Russ Monroe. The chief would get to it, eventually.

When Russ got his pipe going, he returned to his chair and asked, “I remember reading last year, I think it was, a story about a man who could not die?”

“That's Barry Cantrell.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” The older man sighed. “You want to go to the feds with this story?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Not really, I suppose. But the whole story?”

“I think we can get away with just the assassination plot. We can say we got a phone tip from a man who refused to give his name.”

“All right.” The chief rose to his boots. “Let's do it before I lose my nerve.”

* * *

“Now, let's go over this one more time, Ms. Knight,” Inspector Van Brocklen said. “You say you received a phone tip from a man claiming to have knowledge about a plot to kill Congressman Madison?”

“That is correct. The call was received at my camera-persons motel room.”

“Not your room?”

“You people know perfectly well I am not staying at the motel. Stop playing games, Inspector. If you don't find this serious, then to hell with it.”

“Just calm down, Ms. Knight. We take death threats very seriously. The caller mentioned John Ravenna by name?”

“For the fourth time, yes.”

The door to the adjoining motel room opened. “Inspector? Agent Chet Robbins on the phone. I think you'd better hear this.”

Van Brocklen picked up the phone. “Go, Chet.” He listened for a moment, his expression hardening. “That is interesting. I have Ms. Stormy Knight with me now, telling me that she received an identical call, also anonymous. Let's coordinate this, Chet. Right. I'll see you in a few minutes.” He turned to Stormy. “Thank you, Ms. Knight. You've been very helpful.”

Outside the motel room, Ki said, “You think he bought it?”

Stormy nodded. “Yes. I think that phone call cinched it. That must have been Sheriff Salter. Let's stick around and see who shows up.”

“We're being watched,” Ki said. “A man and a woman. And they're not making any effort to hide that fact.”

“As far as I know, Ki, there is no law against two people standing in a motel parking lot.”

“Yet.”

They watched as several cars pulled into the parking lot, among them the units of Sheriff Salter and Chief Monroe. The men disappeared into that section of the motel occupied by federal agents and closed the door.

“You want to drive on out to Mr. Will's store and wait for the feds there?” Ki suggested.

“No. I think they'll send a couple of people out there to keep an eye on Ravenna and wait until they get something back from Washington; the State Department, maybe. I don't want to do anything that would tip the agents' hand.”