the kid escape?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll save it for later.”
“You could be implicated, you know.”
“Not if you guys sign our little agreement.”
“We’ll sign it, don’t worry.” One of the phones rang, and Trumann grabbed it. As he listened, K. O. Lewis hurried to the table and brought his own cellular phone. He jumped into his chair, and leaned across the table, his eyes glowing with excitement. “Talked to Washington. We’re checking the hospitals right now. Everything looks fine. Director Voyles will call here in a minute. He’ll probably want to talk to you.”
“How about the plane?”
Lewis checked his watch. “It’s leaving now, should be in Memphis by six-thirty.”
Trumann placed a hand over his phone. “This is McThune. He’s at the hospital waiting for Dr. Green-way and the administrator. They’ve made contact with Judge Roosevelt, and he’s on his way down there.”
“Have you de-bugged her phone?” Reggie asked.
“Yes.”
“Removed the salt shakers?”
“No salt shakers. Everything’s clean.”
“Good. Tell him to call back in twenty minutes,” she said.
Trumann mumbled into the phone and flipped a switch. Within seconds, K.O.’s phone beeped. He stuck it to his head, and broke into a large smile. “Yes sir,” he said most respectfully. “Just a second.”
He jabbed the phone at Reggie. “It’s Director Voyles. He’d like to speak with you.”
Reggie took it slowly, and said, “This is Reggie Love.” Lewis and Trumann watched like two kids waiting for ice cream.
A deep and very clear voice came from the other
end. Though Denton Voyles had never been tond ot the press during his forty-two years as director of the FBI, they occasionally captured a brief word or two. The voice was familiar. “Ms. Love, this is Denton Voyles. How are you?”
“Just fine. The name’s Reggie, okay.”
“Sure, Reggie. Listen, K.O. just brought me up-to-date, and I want to assure you the FBI will do anything you want to protect this kid and his family. K.O. has full authority to act for me. We’ll also protect you if you wish.”
“I’m more concerned about the child, Denton.”
Trumann and Lewis glanced at each other. She had just called him Denton, a feat no one had dared to attempt before. And she was not the least disrespectful.
“If you want, you can fax me the agreement here and I’ll sign it myself,” he said.
“That won’t be necessary, but thanks.”
“And my plane is at your disposal.”
“Thank you.”
“And I promise that we’ll see to it that Mr. Fol-trigg has to face the music in Memphis. We had nothing to do with the grand jury subpoenas, you understand?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Good luck to you, Reggie. You guys work out the details. Lewis can move mountains. Call me if you need me. I’ll be at the office all day.”
“Thank you,” she said, and handed the phone back to K. O. Lewis, the mountain mover.
The assistant night manager of the grill, a young man of no more than nineteen with a peach-fuzz mustache and an attitude, walked to the table. These people had been here for an hour, and from all indications they
had set up camp. There were three phones in the center of the table. Some papers were lying about. The woman wore a sweatshirt and jeans. One of the men wore a cap and no socks. “Excuse me,” he said curtly, “can I be of assistance?”
Trumann glanced over his shoulder, and snapped, “No.”
He hesitated, and took a step closer. “I’m the assistant night manager, and I demand to know what you’re doing here.”
Trumann snapped his fingers loudly, and two gentlemen reading the Sunday paper at a table not far away jumped to their feet and whipped badges from their pockets. They stuck them into the face of the assistant night manager. “FBI,” they said together as they each took an arm and led him away. He did not return. The grill was still deserted.
A phone rang, and Lewis took it. He listened carefully. Reggie opened the Sunday New Orleans paper. At the bottom of the front page was her face. The picture was taken from the bar registry, and it was next to Mark’s fourth-grade class photo. Side by side. Escaped. Disappeared. On the run. Boyette and all that. She turned to the comics.
“That was Washington,” Lewis reported as he placed the phone on the table. “The clinic in Rockford is full. They’re checking on the other two.”
Reggie nodded and sipped her coffee. The sun was making its first efforts of the day. Her eyes were red and her head was hurting, but the adrenaline was pumping. With a