Early evening, as the plane dropped him off in New York Crater, and
picked up another charter. Two cold eggs and some scalding coffee,
eaten standing up at the airport counter. Great for the stomach, but
there wasn't time to stop. Anyway, Dan's stomach wasn't in the mood
for dim lights and pale wine, not just this minute. Questions howling
through his mind. The knowledge that he had made the one Class A
colossal blunder of his thirty years in politics, this last half-day.
A miscalculation of a man! He should have known about McKenzie--at
least suspected. McKenzie was getting old, he wanted a Retread, and
wanted it badly. Before, he had planned to get it through Dan. Then
something changed his mind, and he decided Rinehart would end up on
top.
Why?
Armstrong's suicide, of course. Pretty good proof that even Rinehart
hadn't known it was a suicide. If Carl had brought back evidence of
murder, Dan would win, McKenzie thought. But evidence of suicide--it
was shaky. Walt Rinehart has his hooks in too deep.
They piped down the fifteen minute warning for the Washington Jet. Dan
gulped the last of his coffee, and found a visi-phone booth with a
scrambler in working order. Two calls. The first one to Jean, to line
up round-the-clock guards for Peter Golden's widow on Long Island.
Jean couldn't keep surprise out of her voice. Dan grunted and didn't
elaborate--just get them out there.
Then a call to locate Carl. He chewed his cigar nervously.
Two minutes of waiting while they called Carl from wherever he was.
Then: "I just saw McKenzie. I found him hiding in Rhinehart's hip
pocket."
"Jesus, Dan. We've got to have time."
"We've got it--but the price was very steep, son."