Past Tense (26 page)

Tony and Bob were deep in conversation. “Wasn’t he there, Sam?” Tony asked as she joined them.

“He’ll be in later.”

“Well, no matter. I’ve told Bob to watch for Bennett. The timetable’s been changed. Today’s meeting is at three rather than one. That’s to give us time to set up tighter security.”

“Is Aunt Olivia here today?” Sam asked.

“Not here. She’s at the hotel where the other delegates are staying this morning.”

“What about Bennett and Jason Wheeler?”

“There’s no answer at Wheeler’s place. Bob here finally tracked down a flat Bennett owns. Yesterday. Unlisted number. But there’s no one there either, only an answering machine.”
There was nothing to do but wait. Sam nearly wore a hole in the carpet, pacing from the window to the desk and back. “Why doesn’t Allen phone?” she burst out at one point.

“Another case, isn’t that what the dispatcher said?” Tony leaned back in his chair, glad of a moment’s respite from the constantly ringing telephone.

She clenched her fists at her sides. “Another case. But why now, today?”

Tony smiled gently. “Come here, Samantha.”

She stared at him, then moved across the room, feet dragging. She’d wanted to touch him, but he had been so matter of fact, so occupied with the necessary responsibilities of his position and the threat that meant life or death for one or more statesmen, that he’d became almost a stranger.

She’d only seen him at work a couple of times. On those occasions there had been no pressures on him. Today she was seeing a new side of him, the man who shouldered his duties and put others before himself.

His face was drawn with weariness, the same bone-deep fatigue that had painted dark circles under her own eyes. He reached for her, pulling her down on his lap.

“Sam, don’t worry so. It’s all under control.”

She stirred, unable to settle despite the temptation to burrow against him and shut out reality. “Is it? I won’t be able to breathe freely again until it’s over and everyone’s safe.”

“Me, too. In the meantime, here’s a deposit on account.” He kissed her deeply, his mouth tender on hers, infusing her with a promise of passion. “Sam—”

The telephone rang. Muttering under his breath, Tony reached for it. Awkwardly, Sam stood up. Tony briefly clung to her hand, then let it slide through his as she stepped away.

* * * *

By two-thirty Tony and Sam and several uniformed security people were in the lobby. Bob Green had briefed them thoroughly. “I don’t normally like to have civilians involved in a deal like this, but Maurice St. Clair suggested it.”

Sam looked around. “Where is St. Clair? I would have thought he’d have wanted to talk to us.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Smith. He’s around. I’ve spoken to him. It’s important that you be on the alert. You and Mr. Theopoulos are the only ones who would recognize Jason Wheeler and Price’s driver on sight. While it’s not likely they can penetrate our net, it’s best to anticipate the worst. Of course Price might not use either of these men, but since he thinks you’re safely put away, he may feel he has nothing to worry about. That’s why I had you stay in the office all day, in case he has anyone nosing around.”

The plan sounded simple and foolproof on the surface, but Sam couldn’t shake off an uneasy feeling that they were missing some vital fact. “What about his inside man?” she asked as they scanned the lobby in which an unusual number of people circulated for a normally quiet mid-afternoon.

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked the question. Only a faint tightening of his mouth indicated Bob Green’s resentment. “As I said before, all our people have been thoroughly checked out. There’s no possibility that it’s any of them.”

“But Bennett sounded so sure.”

“Bennett Price was probably bragging,” Green stated with a frown. “Contrary to the plots of mystery novels, criminals do not usually spill everything they’re planning to the first person who asks, even when they’re not in a position to interfere.”

Unhappy, but still convinced of Bennett’s sincerity, Sam gave up. “At least Aunt Olivia’s not here,” she whispered to Tony as Green left them. “It can’t be her.”

“I never believed it was,” Tony assured her quietly.

From their position near the staircase leading to the mezzanine conference room where the first meeting would be held, they had a clear view of the main door into the hotel. Regular hotel guests and tourists had been barred from the lobby.

Promptly at three a limousine pulled up, followed by two more.

“Come on, Sam,” Tony said. “Time to do our stuff.”

He tugged his jacket straight, one hand going up to check the knot in his tie. He tucked her arm through his and walked toward the door to take up their position in a short receiving line.

Sam patted the smooth chignon into which she’d fastened her hair. The suit she wore was beautifully tailored, a designer original much like the clothes she’d worn in Montréal. Used as she had become to casual dress, she’d felt overdressed at first, when she’d put it on. But now she slipped easily into her role as Tony’s assistant.

Since Tony was the division manager of the hotel chain, Bob Green had decided his presence in the lobby as one of the party greeting the visiting delegates would look perfectly natural.

The delegates who had rooms in the Regal Arms emerged from the elevator, their mood relaxed and congenial. They positioned themselves by the door.

As the group from the first limousine entered the hotel, Sam’s jaw dropped. The prime minister of Canada led the team, his long, pleasant face wreathed in smiles. She’d only been told the premier of Québec was representing the political side. Suddenly the conference took on greater significance.

She quickly snapped her mouth shut before anyone could notice, although an unobtrusive nudge from Tony told her he had. “It’s a surprise to me, too, Sam,” he whispered from the side of his mouth.

The prime minister moved along the reception line, graciously shaking hands and exchanging a few words with the other delegates. When he came to Sam, he paused. “Samantha Smith. Haven’t we met? At a reception last year?”

“Yes, sir.” The encounter had been so brief Sam was surprised he remembered.

“Please accept my condolences on your father’s death,” the prime minister said, his genial face serious. “He’ll be missed.”

“Thank you,” Sam murmured.

The lobby had become crowded, making it difficult to keep track of all the people who went in and out of the doors and the elevator. Even knowing the security staff were everywhere, Sam felt nervous, as if the delegates’ safety depended on her alone.

A movement on the mezzanine balcony that connected the stairs to the banquet room drew her eye. Why, she couldn’t have said. A number of security staff were stationed up there, watching all the entrances, resulting in almost constant shifting of positions.

At the moment none of them stood on the balcony as they’d gathered near the head of the stairs. As Sam watched, the door that led to a group of utility rooms inched open. An uneasy feeling clutched at her stomach. She and Tony had checked that door earlier and made certain it was locked.

With a kind of mesmerized fascination she watched as the door swung farther open, very slowly as if the person behind it didn’t want to draw attention to himself. She tore her gaze away from a second. The prime minister and his entourage had reached the middle of the lobby.

She looked back up. The door was closed. Had she imagined seeing it ajar?

“Tony—” She was about to tug at his arm when she looked toward the kitchen doors behind the delegates. Maurice St. Clair. Her tension dropped a notch, yet the back of her neck prickled, as if the fine hairs stood on end.

What was wrong with St. Clair standing at the kitchen door? He was part of the security.

Glancing back up the balcony, she again felt reassured. The

utility door was closed, the rail deserted except for one security man overlooking the lobby.

Her eyes swiveled back to the kitchen.

She froze, her heart jumping into her throat as she saw the drawn gun in St. Clair’s hand. He was slowly raising it, a look of intense concentration on his face.

“Tony, there—” She wanted to scream, but only a thin cry came from her paralyzed vocal cords.

At that instant everything went crazy, although it unreeled before her horrified eyes like a scene in slow motion. Tony grabbed a gun from the security man next to him. In stunned disbelief she saw him lift it and aim straight at the prime minister.

No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible that Tony was the assassin.

“Mr. Prime Minister!” she yelled.

The RCMP officer next to the prime minister pushed his charge to the carpet, casting his own body on him as a shield.

In the same instant Sam lifted her arm to swing at Tony’s, to deflect his aim.

But before she could follow through, it hit her. He had seen St. Clair. He wasn’t aiming at the prime minister. With a supreme force of will, she stopped the motion of her arm in midair.

Just in time. His knuckle whitened and he pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, nearly drowning out the shouts and screams of the bystanders as they threw themselves to the floor.

Like a woman in shock, Samantha fixed her eyes on Maurice St. Clair. He was sprawled on the floor next to the kitchen door, writhing in pain as he clutched his thigh. Blood welled through the white pants he wore, running between his fingers as he tried to quench the flow.

Bob Green scooped up the pistol equipped with a silencer that lay on the carpet beside him.

Tony had left her side to join Green. The prime minister pushed himself to his feet, smiling and brushing away the RCMP officers’ attempts to make a fuss over him.

Samantha let out her pent-up breath.

A sound, faint above the surrounding noise, fell on her ear with an icy warning. The tinkling of the crystal prisms that hung from the chandelier was as ephemeral as a distant bell, but might have been a clang as its significance hit her. She looked up, and her mouth dropped open.

“Oh, no, how did he get in here?”

Tony’s head snapped around at the sound of her voice, following the direction of her gaze.

On the balcony, the utility door stood open. Leaning over the rail, Jason Wheeler lifted a gun.

“Get down,” Sam screamed, hurling herself toward Tony and the prime minister. Twisting her head up as she ran, she took in the direction of Wheeler’s aim. “Oh, no, the chandelier.”

If he could bring it down, the weight of it would crush anyone who was under it.

Parker, behind the counter, covered his eyes.

The prime minister and those around him scrambled for safely, out of line of the heavy fixture.

But the shot was never fired. Half a dozen security men grabbed Wheeler before he had a chance to squeeze the trigger.

It was over. Sam took one step toward Tony and, to her astonishment, her knees suddenly buckled under her weight. She sat down abruptly on the carpet.

She looked at Tony, who wore a stunned expression. Very gingerly he let go of the gun he held and let it slide to the floor.

Then he came over, sank down beside her and pulled her close. “Thanks, Sam. Thanks,” he murmured into her hair.

“Thanks for what?” Relief bubbled in her, making her feel as if she’d swallowed a helium balloon.

“For trusting me. Sam, if you’d knocked against my arm, it either would have given St. Clair his chance or I would have missed him and maybe hit somebody else.”

“I was ready to,” Sam confessed. “But I knew you couldn’t be an assassin. But St. Clair? How did he pull it off? He must have planned it for a long time, to have gotten into the position he was without anyone getting suspicious.”

“Or he got an offer he couldn’t refuse. Remember what Bennett said about enough money?” He pulled himself up by bracing his hand on a nearby chair, and drew her up with him. “Can you stand, Samantha. They’re calling us.”

* * * *

“It was the prime minister he was going to kill all along, wasn’t it?” Sam said. It was Sunday evening and they were enjoying the first restful hour they’d had in days. “The Québec premier wasn’t even close.”

“Looks that way.” Tony arranged her more comfortably against him on the sofa and threaded his fingers lazily through her hair. “I’m glad your Aunt Olivia wasn’t involved. She was as shocked as everybody else by what happened.”

Rain washed down the windows, a soothing counterpoint to crackling of the fire on the hearth. “Do you think the police have enough evidence to charge Bennett?”

“I think so,” Tony said. “St. Clair with his fanatical devotion to the cause probably wouldn’t have admitted anything even under torture, but Jason Wheeler was the weak point. According to Inspector Allen when I talked to him earlier, Wheeler looked about to break. If he talks, he’ll implicate Bennett.”

“Then why did they use him?”

“I gather he was supposed to be the backup in case St. Clair failed, something they didn’t expect to happen. Germain probably masterminded the whole thing, but when he was killed, some of the details fell apart. I guess they had to change the plans.”

“Which must be why Bennett needed more money. Mine.”

“Yeah, it looks that way.” Tony groped among the sofa cushions to find the remote control for the little television that usually remained hidden behind the doors of a bookcase. Pressing a button he turned it on. The news was just beginning.

“The conference went well, better than anyone expected,” Sam commented as the lead story, coverage of the wind-up ceremonies, actually concluded late that afternoon, came on. They listened for a moment as a spokesman described in glowing terms the accord made between the two countries, and gave details of new agreements proposed. “The incident seems to be forgotten. Good thing the media were persuaded to downplay it.”

“Yeah, even Parker agreed that the hotel suffered no serious damage, either physically or in its reputation.” He laughed. “Sometimes I think that man feels more possessive about the place than the owners do.”

Sam laid an urgent hand on Tony’s knee. “Tony, look.”