Fear Familiar Bundle (24 page)

"More than enough." With those words Peter grasped Evans's arm and twisted it behind his back. A scream erupted, echoing through the tunnel.

"I'll kill you," Evans panted. "You're going to pay for this. I'll make her suffer. She'll suffer a million times more than anything you do to me!"

"One last time, Evans, where is she? Tell me, or this arm is going out of its socket. You've watched this kind of pain before, without anesthesia. Remember those animals!" He twisted the arm and sent Evans to his knees. "Tell me!"

"Jefferson Memorial."

"What?" He jerked the arm once more.

"She's there! I tied her there myself. It's cold, and she was crying."

"Is she hurt?"

Evans laughed, a sound that mingled ominously with the groans of his pain. "Not yet, she isn't, but the night is young."

"Why did you come down here?" Peter looked around. He was suddenly aware that Evans had deliberately called attention to himself. He'd practically begged to be caught.

"Because I wanted to tell you in person that I've finally won. Your friend Magdalena is set up for murder. She's gone!" He waved his hand in the air. "And you're next. By the time you find Dr. Duncan, she'll be dead. And the finger will point at you."

Of all the memorials, Peter preferred the Jefferson. The rotunda was graceful, its symmetry a reflection of Jefferson's personal taste. But as the December wind whipped among the leafless cherry trees, he saw that the monument could easily be viewed as sinister.

Fear for Eleanor pushed him forward in a dead run. He'd left Evans on the floor of the tunnel, his hands bound with his own belt. The knots wouldn't hold him forever, but maybe long enough for Peter to find Eleanor and call the police. When he had to choose between apprehending Evans and saving Eleanor, it had been no contest. Eleanor came first. If Evans got away, he'd catch him again. The years had only magnified the research scientist's insanity. Where once he'd been cunning and brilliant, now he was so far gone that he wasn't even thinking clearly.

Peter skirted the structure, dodging from shadow to shadow around the tidal basin that balanced each side of the rotunda. Brightly colored paddleboats were docked in line for the night. Inside the rotunda, he could catch shadowed glimpses of Jefferson's statue, a bronzed figure, standing tall among the columns.

The back of the memorial was unlighted. His nerves quickened as he moved around, trying to find the place where Eleanor might be tied. Evans had said she was in there, but Peter knew his old opponent could very easily have been setting up an ambush.

He worked his way back to the front, where the floodlights gave a contrast to dark and light that made it impossible to see into the shadows. Attentive to any movement, he mounted the steps. As he approached the top, he saw the revolver lying on the step.

"A .38," he whispered as he bent to retrieve the weapon. He checked the chamber and found three bullets left. Sniffing the barrel, he could tell that the gun had recently been fired. He clamped his jaw at the thought of Eleanor. He made a silent vow that Arnold Evans would pay a severe price if Eleanor was harmed in any way.

Careful to walk silently, he entered the rotunda dome. He held the gun before him with every intention of using it if he had to. Again and again he asked himself why Evans would choose the Jefferson Memorial as a place to leave Eleanor. It didn't make any sense. None at all.

Like an elusive shadow, he slipped from column to column, circling the entire rotunda. There was no sign of Eleanor. "Damn Evans," he whispered tersely, "another of his tricks." But the question why still remained.

He was edging back to the steps when he heard the first wail of the sirens. The cars were coming directly toward the memorial. He counted five, then three more. Whatever had happened, it must have been a major crime wave. He watched as the police jumped from their cars and ran toward the memorial.

He looked around to see more police coming from the opposite direction, straight toward him. Gazing across the water at the approaching cops, he saw that one paddleboat was drifting along lazily, untied. It passed from dark to light, moving slowly in a circle. Something about it captured Peter's attention. With mounting horror he saw a hand dragging the water, and finally the form of a man slumped on his side.

In a flash he had a perfect understanding of Evans motivation and of his last words. There was no time to check who the victim was, no time to answer questions. He looked at the gun he held in his hand. It was a perfect setup. First Magdalena, now himself. And Eleanor? Was she dead or alive?

"Hold it, mister!" a cop called to him.

Peter didn't answer. He dashed into the shadows of the rotunda. Besides the lack of lights, there was a treacherous twenty-foot drop at the back. Peter sprinted as fast as he could and leaped to the ground. Rolling as he landed, he scrambled to his feet and ran. Behind him he heard confused noises from the police; they'd obviously discovered the body and begun to pursue him in earnest.

The gun was still clutched in his hand. He started to throw it aside, then realized that his fingerprints were all over it. Another thought crossed his mind. He might still have cause to use the weapon when he retrieved Evans from the tunnel.

There was no time to get his car. He ran toward the Capitol and the place where he'd left Evans.

Winded and frantic with worry, he finally stood outside the Cannon Building, debating whether to go in or not. The sound of voices warned him to duck behind some shrubs. Evans and Charles Breck came out of the building together. Their voices were low, but audible.

"Why would he go after Nottingham?" Breck asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine. You know how those people are. He was seen at Sam's party earlier this evening, threatening to make trouble. Then Sam got the urgent call to go to the memorial, or his family would be hurt." Evans rubbed his head. "Curry wanted to kill me, too."

"What about the ape?" Breck asked, sounding greatly bewildered.

"Sam would want us to go on with the gift. After all, we've put a lot of time and effort into this project. What happened tonight doesn't change the fact that Issac Demont will enjoy the orangutan."

"I suppose you're right," Breck said. "The ceremony is tomorrow night. Are you sure she's ready? She acted a little unstable to me. I don't understand why she's so nervous."

"She'll be fine," Evans reassured him. "I've added a new little element to the presentation. I'm sure you'll love it."

"President Demont is a very proper man. Nothing in bad taste, I hope."

The scientist laughed. "Trust me, Charles. I know how much you want to become director of the CIA. Bad taste is the furthest thing from my mind."

"I hope so. I certainly hope so. See you in the morning."

"Maybe the afternoon. As I mentioned, I have some polishing touches to put on the orangutan and the…addition."

Breck and Evans got into their cars and drove away.

Peter lowered the gun. His hands were shaking. He'd come within an inch of blowing Evans to bits on the walk in front of a federal building. Only the fact that he needed Evans alive had restrained him. He needed him to find Eleanor.

Keeping an eye out for police cars, he circled the Cannon Building parking lot to flag a taxi. With Magdalena in jail, there was only one person he could turn to, Betty Gillette. He settled into the back seat and tried to think.

His suspicions about Breck and Nottingham fell perfectly into place. Those two were involved with Evans in something other than training a monkey to curtsy and grovel. Breck obviously wanted high position and power. Nottingham had wanted it, too, but in the grand scheme of things, Nottingham had been expendable. He was necessary only as a corpse, a frame for a murder rap.

And Evans? His needs were obvious. Funding and a place to work. What had he said? Some Third World country, where missing children weren't such a big issue? Fury clouded Peter's thoughts for several blocks.

When it finally cleared away, he returned once again to the puzzle of Familiar and Eleanor.

"Here's your stop," the cabby said as he pulled to the curb.

Peter paid the fare and got out. Betty's apartment building was on the other side of the university, but not that far from campus. In a lot of ways it was similar to the building where Eleanor lived, except there was no doorman, only an intercom system, so that a guest could be buzzed inside.

"Betty, this is Peter," he said when she answered. "I need your help."

"Where's Eleanor?" Betty's tone was frantic. In the background there was the sound of two cats squaring off for a fight. "Hush!" she threatened them.

"I can't find her. I'm afraid she's in serious trouble. Can I come up?"

"No." There was a pause. "I'll come down and talk to you. My apartment is a wreck. There's a coffee shop down the block. I'll meet you there in ten minutes. I've been thinking, Peter, and I'm really worried about Eleanor."

"Ten minutes," he said, his own worry accelerating. He hurried against the chill wind to the Java House, a small, cozy specialty shop that featured varieties of freshly ground coffee.

Betty was sitting with him in less than ten minutes. Her features were drawn with worry. "I haven't heard a word from Eleanor," she said as she took a chair. "Where could she be?"

"I don't know," Peter replied. "A lot of things have happened." He didn't know how far to trust her. The truth was, though, that his options were running out. He had to have a confidante and he needed Betty's help. He decided on the truth. "Tonight I was framed for a murder."

"What!" Her eyes widened and she involuntarily drew back. "Who?"

"Representative Nottingham, I think. I only caught a glimpse of a body in one of the paddleboats." He patted his pocket. "But I picked up the murder weapon, and I ran."

"Peter!" she whispered, leaning forward. "What is going on? Where is Eleanor?"

"If my worst fears are correct, she's being held by…an old enemy. Arnold Evans."

Betty's face paled. "Why would he hold her prisoner?" Her hands were trembling so badly that she had to set down her coffee cup.

"I haven't put all of the pieces together yet. But when Eleanor took in that stray cat, she became the focus for Evans and his high-level friends."

"How did they even find out she had the cat? I mean there are about a million stray black cats in this town. What was so unusual about the one she took?"

"It came from Evans's lab. I thought for a long time that maybe the cat carried some information. A clue was a small notch on the tube that reminded me of Evans. If only I could find the person who robbed the lab, they might know." Peter turned the coffee cup in his hand.

"What kind of thing?"

"Plans of some sort. Something of value to Evans, but I don't know what."

"I think you're jumping to conclusions." Betty picked up her cup and finished the coffee. "I have to go."

"Can I borrow your car?"

"Sure." She reached into her purse and pulled out the keys. "It's around back, a blue Tercel." Fear danced in her eyes. "Be careful, Peter. This Evans character, he must be a real SOB."

"He is," Peter agreed. "You don't even know him and you suspect what type of person he is."

"Yeah," she said, putting a bill onto the counter as she walked away.

Peter sat a moment longer, watching the night outside the café window. Each moment that passed might bring additional danger to Eleanor. His gut instinct was that Evans had her and planned to use her in some way. But how? And where? If only he could lay hands on Familiar. The more he thought about it, the more he believed the cat held all the answers. Or at least a lot of them.

If Evans had Eleanor, then the most logical place would be at his lab. Peter bolted from the table. The lab! Cold fear nearly locked his knees as he paid for the coffee and ran out of the café into the night. What was Evans doing to Eleanor if he had her in the lab?

He found Betty's Tercel and roared out of the parking lot. He had a clear memory of where Eleanor told him the Behavioral Institute was located. It was about five miles from her campus, tucked back on a dead-end road that looked deserted. Eleanor! She had to be safe. She had to be!

By the time he arrived at the institute, his head was clearer. The race of fear and emotion had calmed, giving him time to plan. He parked the car half a mile down the road, wondering how, in a city as crowded as Washington, Evans had found a place so isolated and remote. But then, the work Evans did wouldn't bear the close scrutiny of neighbors.

No cars were parked in front of the brick building, and there was no sign of life. Peter hugged the surrounding growth of small shrubs and wild bushes as he made his way toward the front door. He saw the small wires of the electric alarm that were glued to the windows. It would be like Evans to have a highly sophisticated burglary system.

At the front door he peered through the tiny square of reinforced glass. The hallway that came into view was empty. The interior walls were a dull institutional green. Gloom and depression seemed to swell from the dirty, brownish floor.

It was the same scenario he remembered so well. Evans was oblivious to his most basic surroundings. As a young researcher, he'd often worn the same clothes for days at a time. He'd never seemed to notice the need to wash or change. He could work in a hole in the ground and never feel the dirt or damp.

The Behavioral Institute wasn't quite that bad, but there was a pervasive atmosphere of hopelessness. Peter had a sudden urge to destroy the building, brick by brick. He wanted to put an irrevocable end to Evans's work.

He moved from the front window to the east side of the building. The windows were high slits, further protected by thick iron bars. Jumping, he grabbed two bars and pulled himself up. He could see a large, empty room. He spotted the empty cages where Familiar and the other felines had obviously been contained.

"Where is that damn cat?" he asked.

"Meow!"

The sound at his elbow was like a jolt of electricity. His body tensed, he dropped to the ground and rolled.