was certain. Falcon Delaney would follow the trail that would bring him there.
Only death would stop him.
4
Washington
L eon Hamilton had waited until Falcon and his new wife left the party before moving quietly through the crowd and asking several men along his way to meet him in the gentlemen’s smoking lounge. He was cheerful, casual, teasing wives who rolled their eyes in resignation at being deserted by husbands. Still, this was the nation’s capital, and most of the wives had grown accustomed to the demands of public office.
No one was overly surprised by Leon’s summons.
They gathered in the small lounge down the hall from the ballroom. These men knew one another well; they were still casual and smiling. But they didn’t smile long when Leon spoke one word flatly.
“Camelot.”
There was a moment’s suspended silence while four men stared at Leon in varying degrees of shock.
“That was years ago,” Senator Ryan Stewart said. He was a nondescript man of middle years, middle height, middle weight, and average coloring; only shrewd gray eyes hinted at the exceptional intelli gence beneath that ordinary-looking exterior. “Why are you bringing it up now, Leon?”
“Because it’s . . . it’s come up again.”
“It can’t have,” Judge Steven Franks said firmly, sitting down in a wing chair in a decisive way as if he could ignore the very notion. Elderly, silver-haired, and nervous, he had grown forgetful in recent years and tended to disregard problems that might threaten his comfort.
“I’m afraid it has.”
“Look,” Senator James Sheridan said, “we took care of everything, every detail. There’s no danger at all now. Everyone’s put the war behind him, and no one wants to remember. We’re safe.”
Slowly the fourth man, Paul Anderson, spoke in his deep, thoughtful voice. He was a cabinet member known for his organizational abilities. Middle-aged, he was slim and handsome and, a bachelor, had a distinct eye for the ladies. “There was one thread left dangling,” he reminded the rest. “It didn’t seem dangerous—at the time.”
Senator Sheridan turned to Leon with a frown. “Tyrone? Is that what you’re talking about?”
“Yes. Captain Tyrone.”
Sheridan’s frown grew. He was a short, thin man with the aggressive charm of a born politician, and also, unfortunately, an impatience that often got away from him. “Tyrone’s kept his mouth shut all this time; why would he talk now? He’d have nothing to gain by it. If it comes down to it, he’s as much to blame as we are.”
“Is he?” Leon asked quietly. “He agreed with us at the time that ours was the only possible solution; he understood there was no choice. Everything was fine up to that point. But then it went wrong.”
“That wasn’t our fault,” Sheridan said instantly. “We couldn’t have anticipated such an accident.”
Broodingly, Leon asked, “But was it an accident?”
In a sharp tone Senator Stewart asked, “Do you think it wasn’t? Christ, Leon, who would have planned such a thing?”
“Any of us,” Leon said flatly. “Any of us could have. You remember what Tyrone said when he came back to tell us what had happened? It was a clumsy, brutal attack, and succeeded only by the sheer unexpectedness of it.”
“What would any of us have had to gain by planning such a thing?” Sheridan demanded.
“Everything. Remember, we had our own man standing by in the wings and ready to step in. Once that attack succeeded, our man was safe for good. The whole thing was so impossible that no one would ever have suspected the truth.”
Uneasily, Judge Franks said, “We hired Tyrone to get him out of the way, that’s all. To take him up to New England. The rest was an accident. It had to be!”
“I hope so,” Leon added gravely. “I really hope so.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Anderson asked, “But you said it had come up again? What did you mean?”
“One of my own men,”
Only death would stop him.
4
Washington
L eon Hamilton had waited until Falcon and his new wife left the party before moving quietly through the crowd and asking several men along his way to meet him in the gentlemen’s smoking lounge. He was cheerful, casual, teasing wives who rolled their eyes in resignation at being deserted by husbands. Still, this was the nation’s capital, and most of the wives had grown accustomed to the demands of public office.
No one was overly surprised by Leon’s summons.
They gathered in the small lounge down the hall from the ballroom. These men knew one another well; they were still casual and smiling. But they didn’t smile long when Leon spoke one word flatly.
“Camelot.”
There was a moment’s suspended silence while four men stared at Leon in varying degrees of shock.
“That was years ago,” Senator Ryan Stewart said. He was a nondescript man of middle years, middle height, middle weight, and average coloring; only shrewd gray eyes hinted at the exceptional intelli gence beneath that ordinary-looking exterior. “Why are you bringing it up now, Leon?”
“Because it’s . . . it’s come up again.”
“It can’t have,” Judge Steven Franks said firmly, sitting down in a wing chair in a decisive way as if he could ignore the very notion. Elderly, silver-haired, and nervous, he had grown forgetful in recent years and tended to disregard problems that might threaten his comfort.
“I’m afraid it has.”
“Look,” Senator James Sheridan said, “we took care of everything, every detail. There’s no danger at all now. Everyone’s put the war behind him, and no one wants to remember. We’re safe.”
Slowly the fourth man, Paul Anderson, spoke in his deep, thoughtful voice. He was a cabinet member known for his organizational abilities. Middle-aged, he was slim and handsome and, a bachelor, had a distinct eye for the ladies. “There was one thread left dangling,” he reminded the rest. “It didn’t seem dangerous—at the time.”
Senator Sheridan turned to Leon with a frown. “Tyrone? Is that what you’re talking about?”
“Yes. Captain Tyrone.”
Sheridan’s frown grew. He was a short, thin man with the aggressive charm of a born politician, and also, unfortunately, an impatience that often got away from him. “Tyrone’s kept his mouth shut all this time; why would he talk now? He’d have nothing to gain by it. If it comes down to it, he’s as much to blame as we are.”
“Is he?” Leon asked quietly. “He agreed with us at the time that ours was the only possible solution; he understood there was no choice. Everything was fine up to that point. But then it went wrong.”
“That wasn’t our fault,” Sheridan said instantly. “We couldn’t have anticipated such an accident.”
Broodingly, Leon asked, “But was it an accident?”
In a sharp tone Senator Stewart asked, “Do you think it wasn’t? Christ, Leon, who would have planned such a thing?”
“Any of us,” Leon said flatly. “Any of us could have. You remember what Tyrone said when he came back to tell us what had happened? It was a clumsy, brutal attack, and succeeded only by the sheer unexpectedness of it.”
“What would any of us have had to gain by planning such a thing?” Sheridan demanded.
“Everything. Remember, we had our own man standing by in the wings and ready to step in. Once that attack succeeded, our man was safe for good. The whole thing was so impossible that no one would ever have suspected the truth.”
Uneasily, Judge Franks said, “We hired Tyrone to get him out of the way, that’s all. To take him up to New England. The rest was an accident. It had to be!”
“I hope so,” Leon added gravely. “I really hope so.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Anderson asked, “But you said it had come up again? What did you mean?”
“One of my own men,”
Similar Books
