Atropos Page 4

  Allan cleared dishes away, then joined Regina in the living room. She liked it. Growing up, she had lived in rooms wished on her by boarding-school administrators or by her mother’s decorators. Everything in Allan’s house had been picked by him on the basis of what use he intended to make of it. None of the furniture matched, but it was all comfortable and sturdy. There were books, almost a whole wall of them, at right angles to the windows. Against the opposite wall was a bank of consumer electronics. And other electronics that only very special government-sponsored consumers could get their hands on. It looked like a component TV, and a turntable, reel-to-reel and cassette tape players, a CD, a VCR and a laserdisc machine, amps, pre-amps, tuners and speakers, and they were all there. But Regina knew that somewhere behind the dials and lights were components that could send a scrambled radio message around the world, and devices that notified Allan the minute anyone stepped within twenty yards of his house.

  When Allan had told her all this, Regina had been surprised to learn there was no electronic security inside the house. “It’s supposed to be secret in here,” Allan had said.

  Regina was just as glad. She was keeping a secret, herself. From Allan. She had trouble deciding whether the thought frightened her or made her want to giggle.

  “Do you want to watch TV or anything?” Allan asked.

  “No, I just want to sit awhile.”

  “Suits me,” he said. For a split second, Allan’s control slipped and Regina could see the weariness in him. Sometimes, he hid it so well that Regina could almost forget how badly he’d been hurt. Almost. Because she could never forget what she’d seen that day as she looked over the edge of the catwalk. The ocean of blood. The pieces of the man who’d been going to kill her, sliced apart by the wicked edge of newsprint traveling two hundred miles an hour through a printing press.

  And she’d seen Allan, with his left lower leg pointed back up toward his head, his right arm invisible underneath him, shards of bone poking up to make an obscene circus tent of blood-soaked clothing. She’d nearly turned herself inside out being sick when she first saw it. Even now, it made her shiver.

  Allan put his arm around her. “Cold?”

  She smiled. “No, I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “I have to go out of town tomorrow.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been summoned.”

  Regina looked at him. “You’re supposed to be running that outfit, aren’t you? How can you be summoned?”

  Allan smiled. “That’s the thing. I’m supposed to be running it. As it is, I’m really part of a troika with Rines and the old boss.”

  Not for the first time, Regina wondered just who this “old boss” was, and why he seemed to have such a hold on Allan, even after he’d given up his job. She did not ask.

  Instead, she said, “When are you leaving?”

  “I’ll have to get out of here by seven.”

  “A.M.?”

  “Right.”

  “Tuck.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  Regina put her head against his shoulder. They were silent for a few minutes.

  “Well, look,” she said. “I’ve had a long day and I’m kind of tired; you’re going to have a long day tomorrow ...”

  “Yes?”

  “Whatever are we doing,” she demanded, “out of bed?”

  Allan smiled sadly. “There was a time,” he said, “when I would now grab you and carry you upstairs.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Now it’s all I can do to get up them myself without limping.”

  “Carrying would take too long anyway. I’ll run up and meet you there.”

  Allan laughed. “Right. And if I’m not there in ten minutes, start without me.

  “I’ll wait,” she said. She leaned over and kissed him hard. “That ought to energize you,” she told him. She giggled and ran upstairs.

  She was amazed to hear him running up the stairs after her. He caught her at the bedroom door, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her from the floor. “That’s what this exercise program needs,” he said. “A little incentive.” Still holding her, he walked to the bed and fell on it.

  They rolled around together, laughing, kissing, laughing, kissing, kissing, kissing. She loved the feel of his hands on her, his strength used only for gentleness.

  “Here,” he said, “let me—”

  “Mmm. And I’ll—”

  Clothes flew to the corners of the room. There was some more laughter now, the whispered mirth of happy secrets. Then they were quiet for a while.

  Allan said, “Now?”

  Regina said, “Mmm. Me on top, okay?”

  “Pushy woman. I’m not a complete cripple, you know.”

  “I like to be on top.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case ...” He grabbed her and rolled her on top of him. She smothered his laugh, pinning him to the pillow with a kiss. She sat up and guided him inside her. She began to move. Allan’s strong hands held her hips, sometimes gliding up and down her body, sometimes moving forward to cup her breasts. This was the only time she ever wished she had larger breasts, breasts she could lean forward and brush his face with. Allan had never complained or anything, it was just something she wished she could do.

  After more than a year of practice, their rhythm was perfect. As always, Regina was amazed that this was the use she’d found for all the expensive horseback-riding lessons her mother had forced her to take years ago.

  It was almost time. She increased her speed; Allan held her tighter.

  Closer, closer. Here it was. She threw her head back and let it shudder through her. Then she bent forward and met Allan’s mouth in a kiss that caught fresh fire with each aftershock. Finally, Allan was there, too, and Regina collapsed against him. There was one more twinge of pleasure as she rolled free of him. They lay together in each other’s arms, waiting for the fire to come back.

  And as Regina looked into Allan’s dark eyes and played with the hair on his chest, one thing kept running through her mind. Let it work, she thought. Let it work.

  Trotter killed the alarm before it could wake Regina up. For a few seconds, he sat staring at it, marveling at the fact that he needed it at all, that he had actually been asleep. Because until Bash had come along, the man who now called himself Allan Trotter had never slept in the presence of another human being. To be asleep is to be vulnerable. To sleep with someone else around is to show that someone a level of trust that Trotter, raised as he had been raised and trained as he had been trained, considered tantamount to suicide. But here he was, sharing his life with a woman, loving her, sleeping in her arms like a normal man. It was quite a wonderful feeling, all the more wonderful because he’d been convinced he could never experience it.

  He was still holding the clock. The digits changed. Trotter saw he’d better get moving, if he expected to make the plane. Still, there was a little time. Should he wake Bash and tell her what he was thinking? No, he’d write her a note. Regina had brought her purse upstairs, and Trotter knew she always carried a notebook and pencil in it. She was a reporter, after all; notebook and pencil for her were like rosary and prayer book would be for a nun.

  He looked through the purse, but he stopped before he found writing material. He had found something else.

  “Bash?”

  Regina had been having a pleasant dream. Allan’s voice blended in nicely with it. She smiled in her sleep.

  “Bash, wake up.”

  He was shaking her shoulder now. She woke up. “Morning,” she said.

  “Good morning.”

  “You leaving now?” She was squinting against the sunshine, but she could still see Allan had the strangest look on his face.

  “Soon. Wake up.”

  “I’m awake, I’m awake,” she said. It was practically the truth. “Kiss me good-bye.”

  “I’m not leaving yet.” But he kissed her, anyway.

  She rubbed
her eyes and sat up. “Okay. I’m awake now.”

  “When did you stop taking your pill?”

  She’d tried to tell herself that Allan wouldn’t find out until it was too late, but she’d never really believed it. “A-About three weeks ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Regina looked at him. She’d expected him to be angry, and the thought of his anger had frightened her. Not enough to keep her on the pill, but plenty.

  But Allan showed no anger at all. If his expression could be believed (and, though he’d never done it to her, she knew Allan could lie as skillfully with his face as with his tongue) what he was feeling now was a combination of happiness and worry.

  “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d stop me.”

  “I—Well, I would have tried to talk you out of it.”

  “I thought so. Every time I mentioned having a baby, you went into a shell. You wouldn’t even go so far as to say it was a bad idea. You just didn’t talk about it.”

  “I’m hardly ideal parent material.”

  “Who is? There’s something wrong with everybody’s parents. People get by. I want a baby!” To her own amazement, Regina found herself angry. “Your baby, damn it!”

  Allan kissed her gently on the forehead. “What were you going to do, say you found it on a doorstep? Or that you got pregnant by the milkman?”

  “I thought that once it was well under way, you’d accept it.”

  “You’re really not going to be happy without a baby?”

  “I’m happy with you, Allan, I just—” How could she tell him? It didn’t make complete sense to Regina herself. It was just that her own birth had to do with lies and plots and treachery and death, and while Mother had ultimately redeemed herself, it still made Regina uncomfortable to think about it. Somehow, having a baby of her own, because she loved a man and wanted to love a baby, would break the cycle and make things right again.

  “I just—”

  “You just want one. All right. That answers my question. Two things.”

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve been going at this kind of hit-and-miss. Unless you’re pregnant already.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, assuming we’re both fully equipped, if we do it every day for a month, we ought to connect.”

  “Allan, do you mean—?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I mean. I’m scared to death, but I mean. You have become indispensable, and I want you happy.”

  She threw her arms around him and hugged.

  “One other thing.”

  “Uh-huh,” Regina said, nodding seriously.

  “If we’re going to do this, we might as well get married. I’ve got nothing against bastards, but why add complications to a kid’s life?”

  “That easy, huh? I’m probably going to wake up in a few minutes and find out I dreamed this.”

  “No dream. I’d better get moving if I’m going to make the plane. We’ll talk about details when I get back. I love you, Bash.”

  Chapter Five

  Washington, D.C.

  AINLEY MASTERS WATCHED THE door of his apartment close behind Stephen Abweg. Congressman Abweg’s staff had spirited him out of an Iowa Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge, and had flown him to D.C. for a meeting with Senator Van Horn. Since all concerned wanted to keep the press from any premature drooling over the matter, it had been arranged that the meeting would take place at Ainley’s Washington digs. The theory was that while reporters certainly had Abweg staked out, and possibly had Senator Van Horn’s office and home covered, the home of the Senator’s top aide just might be safe.

  That was the theory in the Abweg camp, anyway. Ainley had made it clear, in setting up this business, that the onus of security was on them. If there was any premature word of a possible endorsement from the Senator, that endorsement would not come. It was the same agreement he had with the Babington camp—that meeting was scheduled for a few weeks from now.

  So Abweg and his people had come and gone, and Ainley Masters was confused. He did not like to be confused. He looked at Hank Van Horn in open wonderment.

  “If I gave a damn,” Ainley said, “I’d feel cheated on.”

  Hank was sitting quietly, drinking a brandy, looking pleased with himself. “What do you mean, Ainley?”

  “Why do you ask me for advice, Senator? I said to be noncommittal, that we’ve still got to talk with the other people, and not to say too much.”

  “Well, I didn’t, did I?”

  “Yes, you did. ‘I think I can see my way clear to backing you’ sounds pretty committal to me.”

  “I can see my way clear to the bathroom, Ainley.” He indicated the way with the snifter. “That doesn’t mean I’m going there.”

  “Oh, good,” Ainley said. “Someone’s taught you sophistry. Listen, Senator. What you did today wasn’t a mistake because it was dishonest.”

  “You’d hardly be the one to complain about that.”

  Ainley caught his breath, then let it out through a smile. “You know, Senator, you haven’t come to an apartment of mine since you showed up at the one I keep back home all those years ago. The night of the fire, you remember.”

  Then the Senator set the snifter down hard. Brandy spilled on his hand; he didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t like to talk about the fire, Ainley.” His voice was deadly.

  Ainley wasn’t worried. He knew too much about the Van Horns, and too much of what he knew was written down in places that would come to light if anything happened to him. The worst the Senator could do was fire him, and then only if Ainley wanted to go. Not that being fired would hurt him. Ainley got richer every year. He had a joke among his friends at the club—he didn’t pay income tax anymore. He just got the Senator to tell him how much the government needed and wrote a check.

  But Ainley wasn’t about to let himself be fired. He had no intention of retiring. Serving the Van Horns had started out being a job; it had become a career, then a life.

  And the quality of that life would improve greatly in the next couple of years. Because, thank God, Hank was not the last of the Van Horns. There was still Mark. Mark would be ready to make his first run at office before too long, and Ainley awaited the day the way a child awaited Christmas morning.

  Comparing Mark with Hank was to contemplate the mysteries of genetics. All the family qualities Hank lacked—the courage, the vision, the ability to enjoy and use his power—Mark had in abundance. Mark’s physical inheritance had come from his mother—the slim build, the blond hair and blue eyes—but the inner stuff, the stuff that counted, was pure Van Horn. Mark reminded Ainley of Hank’s grandfather, who had built a lumbering and paper-pulp operation from a family business into an empire, and of Hank’s father, the first Senator Van Horn, a war hero who had been destined for the White House until he had been assassinated by a fanatical Turk during a fact-finding mission to Cyprus, or Hank’s brother, the astronaut, who has died heroically during a training mission.

  Hank was still a boy. That was the problem. He was a spoiled, stupid boy with the responsibilities of a powerful man and the sex drive of a rabbit. About the same amount of courage, too. The mysteries of genetics. How could Hank have passed along traits he himself did not possess? Ainley decided not to worry about it. He’d just be grateful for it.

  “No,” Ainley said, “I don’t suppose you do. It’s just nice for me to remember, every time you decide to get snotty, how you sat sniveling, begging me to help you.”

  “That’s your job, Ainley,” Hank said stiffly.

  Ainley sighed. “Yes, it’s my job. It’s my job to advise you, too, although lately you seem to like someone else’s advice better than mine.”

  Hank had just decided to go back to the brandy. There was a slight tremor in his hand as he brought the snifter to his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank said.

  “Really, Senator,” Ainley said. “I know my job, and part of that job is knowing you.
I know you get phone calls you don’t log. I know on some nights when you want everyone to think you’re over in Georgetown screwing the cello player, you go somewhere else.”

  “You’ve had me followed.” Hank sounded hurt.

  “Occasionally. For a while. Often enough and long enough to know you’ve had some expert coaching in how to avoid being followed.”

  “You need a vacation, Ainley.”

  “All right, do what you want. You’ll step in something, eventually, and you’ll come crying to me to scrape it off your shoe, and I’ll do it because that’s my job. But you just watch it, Senator. If you do anything to hurt Mark’s chances in politics, I really won’t have any reason to look out for you anymore.”

  “I love my son, Ainley.”

  “Fine. To continue the lesson. Stringing Abweg and his people along wasn’t a mistake because it was dishonest; it was a mistake because it was a mistake. If you made no commitments, you could get Abweg and Babington bidding for your endorsement. You could name a price. Unlimited pork for the home state. Maybe you could name the next Secretary of State or Treasury.”

  “Maybe I still can.”

  Ainley shook his head. Who would have dreamed a Senator with this much seniority, from a powerful political family, would have to hear a lecture in basic politics?

  “Stephen Abweg is now convinced that when he needs you, he can call on you for your endorsement. He thinks all he’ll owe you for that is what they call in football ‘future considerations.’ If you decide to go with Babington, Abweg will be furious; and since he’ll probably be out of it anyway, he’ll do the best he can to screw you. And if he gets the nomination in spite of you, he’ll wind up President, and you’ll find yourself really inconvenienced.”

  “You think so?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think so.”