Call to Treason

FORTY-SEVEN

No sooner had Rodgers entered the hallway than Kat ran after him.

“General, I have work to do,” she said. “I can’t stay here.”

“You have to,” he said. “I don’t know who is at risk and, more important, by helping someone, you may be an accessory to a criminal conspiracy.”

“I cannot believe the senator is behind this.”

“You cannot prove he is not,” Rodgers said. “Please. I don’t have time to debate this. I need to do some checking.”

“I’ll wait an hour,” she said. “No more.”

Rodgers did not answer. For all he knew, Kat Lockley would leave the room as soon as he was out of sight. Rodgers did not know whether she was truly blameless or just feigning innocence. Before heading downstairs, he stopped and pounded on Eric Stone’s door. There was no answer. He did not know where the convention manager was or what he might be planning. There was a lot Rodgers did not know. Too damn much, in fact.

Rodgers took the stairs to the lobby. That was not a consideration for personal security. If McCaskey called, Rodgers did not want to be standing hip-to-hip with nosy USF delegates.

The general reached the courtyard, which was encircled by tall, slender palm trees and brilliantly lit by a peach-colored sun. People were moving in all directions, and cars were stacked two deep in the sweeping entranceway. This was not the way to find Eric Stone. He went back inside to the registration desk and asked if anyone there had seen him. They said they had not. Rodgers did not believe they would have been told to lie. Stone had not come this way. He thought of checking the hotel security camera but decided that knowing where Stone had been was not going to help him right now. Rodgers had to find out where Stone was going.

Rodgers went back outside. He looked over at the convention center. It was probably a circus by now, with conventioneers arriving for free lunch followed by the opening speeches. Mobile media vans were outside, recording the event. It might be possible to use their multiple camera feeds to try to spot Stone. Since it was all Rodgers had, he decided to give it a try.

“General?”

Someone was standing behind him. He turned. It was Stone. He was holding a walkie-talkie and wearing a smile. Faint but sharp-edged voices crackled from the handheld device, the cross-talk of convention workers.

There was a move in the chaos gambit, Rodgers thought. An unexpected move that took control of the board. What Rodgers did not know was whether it was the luck of a novice or the seasoned improvisational skills of a professional.

“I understand you were looking for me?” Stone said, smiling.

“I was,” Rodgers said.

“What can I do for you?”

Rodgers looked around. “First of all, how did you know where I was?” the general asked. He was trying to spot the nearest surveillance camera or a tail.

“General, there was nothing conspiratorial.” Stone laughed. “The desk supervisor said you went this way. I knew what you were wearing and got lucky.”

Rodgers did not buy that. One of the hundreds of people surrounding them could have been watching him. Perhaps someone in a hotel window.

“So what is it you wanted?” Stone pressed.

Rodgers regarded the younger man. He looked at his posture, at his expression, at his hands. “I spoke with Detective Howell of the Metro Police in D.C.,” Rodgers informed him. “He told me he is being blackmailed by someone in your camp. I want to know who and why.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Stone said. “The detective bungled an investigation. He needed someone to blame. He picked us. Maybe someone is putting him up to it; maybe he has a personal vendetta. All I can tell you is that he is wasting our time. Now, if that is all you need to know—”

“No, there’s more. I want to know what the endgame is.”

“To elect a president,” Stone replied. He frowned and looked around. “Where is Kat, by the way? Did you see her?”

“I saw her.”

“She’s supposed to be with reporters, talking about the campaign.”

“She’s taking some personal time,” Rodgers said. He moved closer. “Talk to me, dammit.”

“I am.”

“No. You’re playing. There’s smug in your smile, in your eyes, but you’re still lying to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tension displacement. When you’re wound tight, it has to come out somewhere. Your fingertips are white. You’re squeezing that walkie-talkie like it’s a rubber stress ball. The pressure of all those steaks, is that what it is?”

“Yes, General. Look, I’ll have to talk to you some other time—”

“You will talk now,” Rodgers said.

“What you’re doing makes no sense, do you realize that?” Stone protested. “Think about it. If I were guilty of a terrible crime, would I stand here and confess to you? Do you think you’re that good a bully?”

“I can be,” Rodgers said.

“Security would have your face pressed to the asphalt in about ten seconds,” Stone assured him. “And I would have you incarcerated for assault, with no sad sack detective to bail you out.”

Rodgers’s gaze sharpened. “How did you know that?”

“What?”

“That Howell let the McCaskeys go.”

“I didn’t,” Stone said.

It hit Rodgers a moment before he heard it. Voices were shouting from the walkie-talkie, inarticulate in their shrill and overlapping communiqués.

Stone raised the unit. “This is Stone. What’s going on?”

“Something happened,” someone said.

“What?”

“The admiral,” the speaker said. His voice was hesitant, uneasy. “He left the hotel from the back exit, but he never made it to the convention center.”

“It’s only a mile!” Stone said. “Have you called the driver?” he asked as he reached for his own cell phone.

“We did. There’s no answer. The admiral doesn’t answer his phone, either.”

“Is security on this?”

“They called 911 and asked for an aerial search to see if they can find the limousine.”

“Tell security I’ll be right there,” Stone said angrily. He speed-dialed a number as he started jogging back toward the hotel.

Rodgers followed, also running.

“Kat, it’s Eric,” he said after a moment. “Something has happened. I need you to get downstairs and run the press.”

The men entered the lobby. Word of a possible abduction was spreading. People had stopped whatever they were doing and were looking around, asking anyone with a Staff badge for information. Stone ignored them all as he rushed by. The men walked past the elevators to a corridor lined with shops. The rear entrance was at the end of the carpeted hallway.

As Stone briefed Kat, Rodgers examined the feeling he had experienced just before the walkie-talkie came to life. A sense that had suddenly changed Rodgers’s perception of what he thought was beginner’s luck, a chaos gambit.

He no longer believed that Stone was an amateur. Neither was his boss, whoever that was. Someone had profiled Rodgers. They had understood exactly how the general would act and react to everything they did. Stone knew that Rodgers would seek him out in San Diego. He knew that, after their first talk, after McCaskey’s arrest, Rodgers would tell Kat to stay out of the way for a while. Stone also knew that when he finally presented himself to Rodgers, the general would push for information.

In short, the son of a bitch Stone had been stalling him.