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r a bit。 Then the subject dropped the passenger at a Metro station and he was gone by the time we could get a man into the station。 Subject is heading your way now。 He'll be there in about five minutes。〃
〃Get someone over to Smoke Judy's place。 See if they can spot him ing home。 And get a list of the license numbers of the cars parked around that bar where the subject picked up his passenger。 Run them through the puter。〃
〃Okay； boss。 Anything else？〃
〃When will the photo be ready？〃
〃Tomorrow。〃
〃Okay。〃
〃And I put a stakeout on the storage lot。 Thought we might get a warrant tomorrow and search it。〃
〃The subject will be making some phone calls tonight or tomorrow。 Be ready。〃
〃You really think he's going to move？〃
〃He's got to。 He's got to go for checkmate or concede。〃
〃Keep your gun handy。〃
On Sunday morning Luis Camacho was painting the yard furniture when Harlan Albright hailed him across the back fence。 He came through the gate and settled himself on one of the chairs waiting for its spring coat。
〃I have another brush in the garage if you want to help。〃
Albright grinned and sipped his coffee。 〃Who said Tom Sawyer is dead？ Sorry。 I gotta go run some errands this morning。〃 He looked at the house。 〃Where's Sally？〃
〃Went to visit her mother。〃 Camacho was working on a table leg and didn't look up。
〃Oh。〃
〃Women；〃 Luis muttered。
〃Yeah。 Gonna stay a week or two？〃
〃Dunno。〃
〃Like that； huh？〃
〃Yeah。〃
〃And the boy？〃
〃He went too。 It's been years since he spent time with his grandparents。 He didn't want to go； of course。〃
Albright watched Camacho work on the table。 The paint ran down the brush onto his fingers； which he wiped on the grass。 〃May rain this afternoon； you know；〃 Albright said。
〃Just my luck。〃
〃What would you say to packing it in and going home？〃
Camacho put the paintbrush in the can and stood up。 He looked carefully at Albright； trying to read his expression。
〃You mean Russia？〃
〃Yeah。 You been here what？ Twenty…eight or …nine years？〃
〃Thirty…one。〃
〃Yeah。 Are you ready to go home？〃
〃I can't even speak the language anymore。 When I hear it I have to concentrate real hard to get the drift； and then I can't think of the proper response。 I been dreaming in English for over twenty…five years。 Want some more coffee？〃
〃Okay。〃
Luis took his cup and went inside。 He returned in a moment with Albright's coffee and a cup for himself。 They both sampled the brew； then sat in silence。 Birds were squawking vigorously in the tree behind them。 Camacho took a deep breath and exhaled slowly。 How could he leave？ He liked this place and these people。
Albright broke the silence。 〃You really think Caplinger is the Minotaur？〃
Luis considered。 〃He could be；〃 he said at last。 〃It fits。 He has the necessary access； he was on the official guest list of that party three years ago when the first letter was stuck in the ambassador's coat。 He's an egomaniac； likes the power trip。 It's possible。〃
〃But why？〃
Camacho shrugged。 〃List all the possibilities and look at them。 Pick the one you like。〃
〃I've done that。 And you know what？ I got the sneaking suspicion that the real reason wasn't on my list。〃
〃Why does a happily married man start buying tricks on a street corner？ Why does a man in his fifties steal a few hundred from the petty…cash drawer？〃
〃That was the shortest reason on the list。 Nut case。 But I don't think so。〃
〃Happens all the time。〃 Camacho drained his cup； set it out of the way and got back to the painting。
〃Royce Alien Caplinger；〃 Albright said； pronouncing the name slowly。 〃Sixty…three years old。 Estimated net worth； 132 million。 Son of a druggist。 Grew up in St。 Paul。 Married twice。 Second wife died of a heart attack six years ago。 Hasn't remarried； though he's screwing his secretary who's worked for him for fifteen years。 He's been doing that about once a month for ten years。 She's forty…two； never married； modestly attractive； had a hysterectomy eight years ago。 Caplinger collects American Indian art； pays too much； sometimes gets good stuff； sometimes bad。 Buys what he likes and to hell with the experts。 Has a copy of every book ever written about MacArthur and the best MacArthur memorabilia collection in existence。 Time said he has every piece of old junk Mrs。 MacArthur ever threw out。 What else？ Oh yeah。 He has two grown children； two dogs； and drives a fifteen…year…old Jaguar。 Owns an estate in Virginia near Middleburg。 Gives his entire government salary to charity。〃
〃Was involved in a panty raid when he was in college and was suspended for a semester；〃 Camacho said without taking his eyes from his work。
〃That too。 The rattling bones from his youth。〃 Albright tossed the dregs of his coffee into the grass and laid the cup on his lap。 〃So； Dr。 Freud； has Caplinger gone over the edge？ Is he copulating with Mother Russia？〃
Albright rose and； dangling the cup from a finger； ambled through the gate。 Thirty minutes later Camacho heard his car start out front and drive away。
Albright drove to a Wat…Mart store near Laurel。 After browsing for ten minutes； he used the pay phone in the entryway。 No one answered at the number he tried。 He waited exactly one minute and tried again。 The third time someone picked up the phone。
Albright talked for almost a minute。 The other party never spoke。 Then Albright hung up and went back into the store； where he wandered the aisles and handled merchandise for another half hour。
When he left the store he drove aimlessly for an hour。 At Burtonsville he stopped for gas and bought a can of soda pop； a Dr Pepper。 He drank the contents as he drove north on Route 29 and used a rag in the car to carefully wipe the fingerprints from the can。
Approaching the outskirts of Columbia； he took the off…ramp for Route 32； made an illegal left turn at the top and a sweeping right down onto Route 29 headed south as he scanned the mirrors。 No one followed。 No choppers or light planes in sight。 At Route 216 he turned right from the through lane at the very last instant； just as the stoplight turned green。
He was on two…lane blacktop now； a local county road。 He watched the mirror。 A car turned from 29 onto this road； but it had been traveling north。 He didn't recognize it Local traffic passed him going the other way。 Pulton was a tiny village…just a few farms； a church and a small post office with a few nearby shops…1。1 miles west of Route 29。 Albright angled left onto Lime Kiln Road。 This asphalt ribbon was more narrow and twisty as it followed the natural descent of a creek。 He was in an area of beautiful homes set in huge meadows well back from the road。 Trees lined the fences and horses grazed on the lush grass。 The car that had followed him from Route 29 turned left at Reservoir Road and went up a little bill into a sprawling subdivision。
A half mile past Reservoir Road Albright slowed the car。 There it was； right beside the road…a stone…drinking fountain fed by a pipe from a spring。 He eased to a stop and slammed the gear shift lever into park。 From the floor of the backseat he selected a 7…Up can； grasping it with a rag。 He slid across the seat； opened the passenger door and