Fear Familiar Bundle (12 page)

"Carter had a lot of irons in the fire. He was getting in over his head in some areas. He had his gambling business, which was bad enough, but in the months before he died, he got in a little deeper with some other guys."

"Code One Orange?" Eleanor asked.

The gasp on the other end was very audible.

"Carter told me never to say that name out loud." Rayburn's voice was panicky now.

"Why?" Eleanor pressed. She could feel her skin beginning to prickle. So Alva Rousel wasn't far off track. Carter had been involved in something other than gambling schemes.

"Eleanor, you've got to believe me. Carter never told me much. He would drink a little too heavily and say something about how his ship was really going to come in. He talked about his contacts, but he was always careful never to reveal any names. And to be honest, I didn't want to know. When he talked about that stuff, I tuned him out. I had my little sales scam going with the mobile homes and I was content. I tried to get Carter to come into a partnership, but I was too small-time. I tried to get him to…"

"I know that, Rayburn. You did. I heard you talk to Carter again and again. As you said, he wanted to make the big league. But I have to find out about Code One Orange. I have to!"

"I wish I could help."

Now there was a distance in Rayburn's voice. Eleanor knew she would have to fight to pull any further information from him. But one thing she'd learned without asking. If Carter was alive, he hadn't contacted Rayburn. Rayburn spoke of him as dead, as only a friend who truly grieved could speak.

"Did this Code One Orange have anything to do with the Indians?" she asked, trying to jog his memory and grasping at straws.

"Hell, no! You were the one worried about the Indians. Carter used to, well, laugh at you behind your back. I liked what you were trying to do, but Carter thought you were ridiculous with your books and dreams of education."

Even nine years later, Eleanor could still feel the sting of her husband's disdain.

"You're right!" Her mind jumped forward again. "Was Code One Orange about animals?" She couldn't control the excitement in her voice.

"Animals?" Rayburn was shocked. "Hardly! If you have to know, it was about some bombing in Central America. Now, take that and put it away. Let it drop, Eleanor. I'm serious. When Carter talked about that stuff, it gave me the willies."

Eleanor felt her firm grasp on the clues begin to slip away. "Rayburn, you have to tell me the rest. What about the bombing? I have to know." She was more confused than ever. What could this have to do with Familiar and herself?

"Why? That's the question I should have asked. Why after all this time do you have to know this?"

"Because someone is impersonating Carter and trying to scare me, and the CIA is questioning me about Code One Orange."

"Holy cow!" Rayburn whistled. "Why?"

"I don't know. I honest to God don't know. I picked up this stray cat, and my life began to disintegrate."

"Code One Orange had to do with a plan to blow up the Mexican Embassy in San Gabriel. The idea was to blame the government of San Gabriel and throw the two countries into open fighting. Carter was supposed to train the guerillas in the Colorado mountains. He did, but the plan went wrong and some people working with Carter got in big trouble about it. That's all I know."

"What went wrong?"

"I never knew for certain. The wrong people got blown up."

"And they thought Carter did it deliberately." She was taking broad guesses, but knew she was getting closer and closer to the target.

"Carter and his associates."

"What associates, Rayburn?" She could hear the strain in her voice.

"I don't remember their names. Bingington or something like that. Anyway, he was some big cheese in Central America at the time."

"How long was this before Carter's accident?"

"Two weeks or so."

"So it wasn't gambling debts." A cold chill raced down her spine. "It wasn't anything nearly that simple and clean. It was this other. Code One Orange. And Carter had to die because he knew too much."

"That's your assumption, not mine. Listen, I got a customer waiting here. Since I've become an honest car salesman, I got to service my clients. I haven't got time to gab all day on the phone."

"Rayburn!" Eleanor felt a sudden attack of panic close in. "If you had seen Carter, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

"He's dead, Eleanor. I accepted that a long time ago. You should, too. And bury the past, or it'll eat you alive. Got to go." There was a click and then the sound of static on the line.

C
ATS HAVE
an extraordinary sense of direction. Better than dogs, though most people don't know it. I'm not great on estimating distances, but I can tell you that if I traveled due south, I'd eventually run into the prison where Zelda is confined. It's a fair distance, but that isn't really the drawback. It's all of these damn cars! I mean, think about confronting a highway from my perspective— wheel level. And not a single vehicle willing to slow down and let me across. Getting to Zelda is going to be an exercise in futility, but I've got to try. And I've got to do something to protect my Eleanor. She was terribly distressed when she came home from work. She didn't say a word, but it was all over her. That woman is strung as tight as a piano wire. I'm no rocket scientist, but I can predict that something awful happened to her at the university.

Let's see, now, this is the second level of the garage. Not a lot of animal traffic through here. There's not even the scent of another cat. Too bad. Since I left the laboratory, I haven't had a single conversation with one of my peers. I love Eleanor, and Peter's okay, but I crave my own people. Maybe next escape, I'll try for a park or an alley. But now it's down to work.

Here's Eleanor's car. Nothing unusual about it. No current odor of Dr. Frankenstein, at least. In fact, there's not one interesting smell in this whole place. Maybe I'd better go topside and check out the street.

There must be a way to get from here to the lab. Or some way to get Dr. Doolittle over there. The dame is great, but he's the one with the muscle— and, I suspect, the big interest. The dame is the kind of person who never even thinks of cruelty because it's alien to her nature. That's why she makes such a perfect target. I've been putting together the tidbits I hear, and it's clear to me that Eleanor's in for some serious trouble. She's part of a plan, a tiny cog in a big gizmo of destruction.

Well, here's the street. Traffic is mad in Washington. I'd be one big, greasy spot if I tried to make a dash across this four-lane. It's not even safe to sit on the street. The dogcatcher will be down on me and before I know it, I'll end up sold for research again, and believe me, that's a fate I can miss without shedding a tear.

But look! There's that tall blond guy. Mr. CIA with the gray suit and the debonair smile. Yeah, he's sitting in that car across the street. If he's protection, then I'd rather buy a German shepherd. It seems like he should be showing a little interest in who comes and goes in the dame's building. He obviously thinks his job is to watch her. Great! Now that's human logic. Why isn't he out trying to find a criminal?

Well, enough people-gazing. I'd better get back in the apartment before the dame realizes I'm gone and has a catniption— hey, hey, that's pretty clever, if I do say so myself.

P
ETER CLOSED
his office door and pulled the photocopied flyer from his pocket. He hadn't wanted to read it in Eleanor's company. Now he studied it carefully. There was the gruesome picture of a dog in some experiment, then a brief paragraph of copy calling for action against animal abuse.

"There will be a rally of the Action for Animals at 7:00 p.m., Wednesday night at Pier 27," he read aloud. He knew the area, a small section of houseboats on the Potomac. It was the perfect meeting place for a radical group. Especially one planning some new aggressive action. Would Eleanor be there? There was only one way to find out.

He slid the note into the middle drawer of his desk and locked it. He had one other task to accomplish before the afternoon slipped away. That was a visit with Magdalena Caruso. Just as soon as he finished with his afternoon patients.

It was nearly five, with traffic turning thick and irritating, when he pulled up in front of Magdalena's house. He expected Bowser, but the cats were something of a surprise.

"I have two more left at my kennels. The owners decided it was too much trouble or too expensive to care for them. Would you like them?" Peter asked her as she showed him into her crowded living room.

"Not necessarily. But I'll take them."

Peter couldn't conceal his smile. His visit wasn't one of pleasure, but he couldn't deny that he felt a lot of respect for the short woman who bustled about, making room for him on her sofa. She put her money where her mouth was. She didn't simply criticize the way other people treated animals. She took care of them herself.

"You've come to talk about Eleanor, haven't you?" she asked, taking a seat across from him.

"Is she a member of ARSA?" There was no point evading the issue.

"No, Peter, but I'd like for you both to be."

"I'm a vet," he said, looking deep into her green eyes.

"We could use a good vet. Some of the animals we get are in pretty bad shape." She smoothed her skirt. "We've tried several vets in the area. Some will help, but not if it's obvious what we're doing."

"They're afraid of losing their license. You know that."

"I do. But something tells me you wouldn't necessarily be afraid. Why is it, Peter, that you look so familiar to me?"

"I look like a million other guys with brown hair and hazel eyes. We aren't exactly unusual." He smiled his crooked smile.

"It'll come to me. I'll have to think about it, but it'll come. So what do you want to know about Eleanor?"

"Just after her office was destroyed, I found a flyer for a rally. The Action for Animals group."

"AFA?" Magdalena paused. "I didn't know they were in the area. They must have been the group that staged the raid that has everyone so worked up. Eleanor had a flyer?"

"It was in her office, but the thought has crossed my mind that it could have been planted. That's the thing. People are breaking in not to steal, but to leave incriminating evidence behind. I'm beginning to wonder what was left in her apartment."

"It wouldn't be the first time that maneuver worked," Magdalena said. "That's an old but effective trick."

"What can we do about it?"

Magdalena smiled. "If you won't save animals, at least you're willing to save Eleanor. Well, what we can do is arrange a meeting for Dr. Duncan and Charles Breck. Once Breck takes a look at Eleanor, he'll see she isn't capable of violent actions."

"Can you arrange it?"

"Yes. I'll call Eleanor tonight. You just make certain that she agrees to come."

"I'll take care of it."

"And Peter, I'll remember where I know you from. Eventually."

"Maybe I was your vet in another lifetime." He laughed as he stood to leave.

On the drive back to Eleanor's, he tried to frame a reason for barging in on her evening. At last he remembered the movie date they'd broken. He stopped at a video store and picked up a tape of
The Bishop's Wife
and hurried to Eleanor's building.

"Want to check out Cary Grant in action?" he asked, holding out the tape when she opened the door.

"Peter." She was surprised. She'd thought of him repeatedly during the afternoon, but had never expected him to materialize at her door. She touched her hair and remembered she was completely without makeup.

"You look fresh and scrubbed and very much like a girl who needs a good movie," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "How about that popcorn?" He edged past her into the apartment.

"Well, I hadn't made any plans." She hesitated. What would it hurt to watch a movie? "Okay." Her nerves were still raw from her talk with Rayburn. The truth was, she was more than glad to see Peter. He could make her feel secure when no one else could.

Peter built a blazing fire while she listened to the sound of popping kernels in the microwave. "Old-time popcorn was so much harder, and I don't think it tastes any better," she said. "You'd be hard put to get me to admit to modern improvements in a lot of traditions, but microwave popcorn is a definite step forward for mankind."

Peter put the fire screen back into place. He settled down on the sofa and took a large handful of the buttery corn. "I won't argue that point." Picking up the remote control, he flipped on the movie. "So let's relax."

The credits had barely finished when the telephone rang.

"Tell them to call back," he teased her, but watched her alertly as she took the call.

"I will," she promised, lifting the receiver, "after this call."

"Why, Magdalena, how are you?" She raised her eyebrows at Peter, and he flicked the movie to Mute.

"Tomorrow evening? Yes, I could manage that. Charles Breck has agreed to meet with me. Of course, I'll tell Peter," she said. She replaced the receiver before she looked at him.

"As you heard, I have an appointment with Breck tomorrow. Magdalena Caruso arranged it. He thinks I'm some undercover animal rights radical." There was no amusement, only worry on her face.

"Where's the meeting?" Peter asked.

"I don't know. I'm to go over to Magdalena's, and she'll take me from there. She asked me to tell you. And she said if we aren't back by eight, that you should— " She stopped.

"I should what?"

Eleanor looked up. For the first time, Peter saw the depth of her worry in her eyes and felt a nasty twinge of guilt.

"That you should notify the authorities and find us a very good lawyer. She said we'd need one."

Eleanor wiped her palms on her wool slacks. A lingering, unpleasant odor came from the empty cages all around her.

"The research here was vital," Charles Breck was saying. "The break-in and violation of federal security is intolerable." He looked directly at Magdalena Caruso as he spoke.