sitting in a restaurant with a good bottle of wine, or at home listening to a CD of Mahler's Ninth Symphony, or undressing Pippa Harpenden. But then he thought of the rewards that the takeover would bring. First there would be the money: sixty million dollars was his share. Then the chance of political power, with Jim Proust in the White House and himself as surgeon general. Finally, if they succeeded, a new and different America for the twenty-first century, America as it used to be, strong and brave and pure. So he gritted his teeth and persisted with this grubby exercise in snooping.
For a while he found it relatively easy to track Logan through the slow-moving Washington traffic. He stayed two cars behind, as in the gumshoe movies. The Mark VIII was elegant, he thought idly. Maybe he should trade in his Town Car. The sedan had presence, but it was middle-aged: the coupe was more dashing. He wondered how much he would get trading in the Town Car. Then he remembered that by Monday night he would be rich. He could buy a Ferrari, if he wanted to look dashing.
Then the Mark VIII went through a light and around a corner, the light turned red, the car in front of Berrington stopped, and he lost sight of Logan's car. He cursed and leaned on his horn. He had been woolgathering. He shook his head to clear it. The tedium of surveillance was sapping his concentration. When the light turned green again he screeched around the corner and accelerated hard.
A few moments later he saw the black coupe waiting at a light, and he breathed easier.
They drove around the Lincoln Memorial, then crossed the Potomac by Arlington Bridge. Were they heading for National Airport? They took Washington Boulevard, and Berrington realized their destination must be the Pentagon.
He followed them down the off-ramp into the Pentagon's immense parking lot. He found a slot in the next lane, turned off his engine, and watched. Steve and his father got out of the car and headed for the building.
He checked the Mark VIII. There was no one left inside. Jeannie must have stayed behind at the house in Georgetown. What were Steve and his father up to? And Jeannie?
He walked twenty or thirty yards behind them. He hated this. He dreaded being spotted. What would he say if they confronted him? It would be unbearably humiliating.
Thankfully, neither of them looked back. They went up a flight of steps and entered the building. He stayed with them until they passed through a security barrier and he had to turn back.
He found a pay phone and called Jim Proust. "I'm at the Pentagon. I followed Jeannie to the Logan house, then trailed Steve Logan and his father here. I'm worried, Jim,"
"The colonel works at the Pentagon, doesn't he?"
"Yeah,"
"It could be innocent."
"But why would he go to his office on a Saturday evening?"
"For a poker game in the general's office, if I remember my army days."
"You don't take your kid to a poker game, no matter what age he is."
"What's at the Pentagon that could harm us?" "Records."
"No," Jim said. "The army has no record of what we did. I'm sure of that."
"We have to know what they're doing. Isn't there some way you can find out?"
"I guess. If I don't have friends at the Pentagon, I don't have them anywhere. I'll make some calls. Stay in touch."
Berrington hung up and stood staring at the phone. The frustration was maddening. Everything he had worked for all his life was imperiled, and what was he doing? Following people around like a grubby private eye. But there was nothing else he could do. Seething with helpless impatience, he turned around and went back to his car to wait.
Chapter 50
STEVE WAITED IN A FEVER OF ANTICIPATION. IF THIS WORKED, it would tell him who raped Lisa Hoxton, and then he would have a chance of proving his innocence. But what if it went wrong? The search might not work, or medical records might have been lost or wiped from the database. Computers were always giving you dumb messages: "Not found" or "Out of memory" or "General protection fault."
The terminal made a doorbell sound. Steve looked at the screen. The search had finished. On the screen was a list of names and addresses in pairs. Jeannie's program had worked. But were the clones on the list?
He controlled his eagerness. The first priority was to make a copy of