Double Jeopardy

58

10:05 A.M.

“THIS IS A MONUMENTALLY ridiculous idea,” Cavanaugh observed.

“Cut me some slack. We tried your idea. It bombed.”

“This from the guy who tried to seduce the secretary on top of her desk.”

“Would you forget about that? As far as I’m concerned, we’ve each got one out. But this ploy will drive the ball over the fence.”

“I like the macho sports analogies, but I’m reserving judgment on your conclusion.” She put on his windbreaker and tucked away the Rolodex and the pencils they bought in the office-supply store downstairs. “Maybe I should take your sunglasses. Tell her I’m from the Council for the Blind.”

“And you said I was insensitive.” He took her by the shoulders and steered her toward the door. “Don’t overact, Cavanaugh. The simpler the performance, the better. Go.”

Cavanaugh marched into the Elcon office before the secretary had a chance to instruct her otherwise. “Good morning. My name is Marilyn Smith and I’m raising funds for the Mars Initiative.”

The secretary peered up from her crossword. “You’re—what? From Mars?”

“Yes, Mars. We believe the American space program has been moribund for too long. We want to see some action—not just talk, but actual missions. American citizens exploring the final frontier, reaching for the infinity of the stars. Will you assist us?”

“I don’t exactly know what I …”

“Patriotism begins at home.”

“But I really wouldn’t know what to do.”

“It’s very simple.” Cavanaugh reached into her jacket and withdrew the pencils. “Just a few dollars from you can help guarantee the immortality of the species. All you have to do is buy these special commemorative space pencils.”

The secretary took one from the box. “They look like ordinary number-two pencils to me.”

“You don’t want us to spend all our funds producing cheap souvenirs, do you? Of course you don’t. Now, if you’ll simply donate enough to buy all of these”—she fanned the pencils across the desk—“you’ll become an associate member of the Society for the Mars Init—oops!”

She feigned stumbling and spilled the pencil box. The entire assortment dropped onto the floor behind the secretary’s desk. The secretary jumped back as if they were ballistic missiles.

“Oh, my goodness. I’m such a klutz,” Cavanaugh said. She started to walk around the desk. “Here, allow me to help.”

“Just stay where you are,” the secretary said, motioning her back. “I’ll get them.”

The secretary bent over and began collecting the pencils. As soon as her head was below the desktop, Cavanaugh silently removed the dummy Rolodex—identical to the secretary’s except that all the cards were blank—and switched them. She tucked the real Rolodex inside her jacket.

A second later, the secretary rose with the pencils. “Here. Now please leave.”

Cavanaugh sniffed. “Well, fine. I guess some people just don’t care about the immortality of the species.” She grabbed the pencils and slid out the door, grumbling about coffee-break patriots.

After the office door closed, Cavanaugh shoved the real Rolodex into Travis’s hands. “Get the address.”

Travis removed the card for Mario Catuara, then set the Rolodex on the floor just outside the office. Together, they scrambled for the elevators.

“How long till she notices her Rolodex is blank?” Cavanaugh asked.

“Until her first phone call. Let’s hope that when she finds the real one outside the door, she’ll stop worrying about it.”

“And what are we going to do?”

Travis smiled thinly as the elevator doors closed. “We’re going to pay Mr. Catuara a visit.”