“Mr. Yancey himself, sir. As I understand it, he received a tip.”
“A tip? He got a tip? And he’s authorized a full-scale investigation on that basis alone?”
“The tip came from a very reliable source, Mr. President.”
“Who?”
“Senator Armbruster.”
David swung his gaze toward Spence, who launched into a vicious, albeit silent, spate of obscenities. Lowering himself into a chair and massaging his temples, David imposed a rigid calm over his voice. “I see. Senator Armbruster probably just forgot to discuss it with me beforehand.”
“The senator said that Mr. Martin has been missing for almost two weeks.” After an uneasy pause, he added, “Mr. President, Mr. Yancey assumed that Senator Armbruster was acting on your behalf.”
“Well of course he was,” David said smoothly. “I too have become increasingly disturbed by Mr. Martin’s absence. What I don’t understand is why Mr. Yancey is looking for Mr. Bondurant.”
“Sir, Bondurant recently told Senator Armbruster that Mr. Martin had been to his place in Wyoming. As far as anyone can tell, that was the last report on Mr. Martin’s whereabouts.”
“Has Mr. Bondurant been apprehended?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“And track down Mr. Yancey. I wish to speak to him immediately.”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll convey the message right away.”
David disconnected. “Well, do you want to suddenly reappear and put a stop to this nonsense?”
Spence paced for a moment. “No. I can operate better if I’m not visible. But I’ll order my men to look the other way if they spot Gray. We sure as hell don’t want him questioned by the FBI or Yancey.”
“Yancey,” David repeated with rank dislike.
William Yancey had seemed the perfect man for the position of attorney general in the Merritt administration. Ten years David’s junior, he was as young and aggressive as Robert Kennedy had been when his older brother appointed him to that job. Like Kennedy, Yancey had distinguished himself in criminal prosecution, both in state and federal jurisdictions. He was charismatic, attractive, and articulate. So David had asked him to sign on, and he’d regretted it ever since. Yancey was too sharp, too industrious, too honest. Yancey and Bondurant would be a dangerous pairing of like minds.
“As soon as Gray sees this news story, what’s to stop him from strolling into Yancey’s office and volunteering that you’re buried in his root cellar?”
“He won’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“First, because it would put him out of commission. At least temporarily. He’d have to explain why he shot me and imprisoned me in his cellar. It would take time to get to the bottom of that, time that Gray doesn’t want to spend. Second, when he saw Howie Fripp’s body, it was as good as a calling card. Gray knows I’m no longer in that cellar.”
David frowned. “Timing’s suddenly become critical, hasn’t it?”
“Very.”
“Dammit, we don’t need this,” he said angrily. “What the hell was Clete thinking?”
Spence indicated the telephone. “I suggest you ask him.”
* * *
“I really don’t understand why you’re so upset, David,” Clete said, flicking his cigar ashes into a china ashtray bearing the presidential seal.
The senator had responded immediately to the President’s summons. With the complete understanding that an enraged David Merritt was waiting for him, he’d approached the meeting in an upbeat frame of mind. Pulling off a tricky double-cross always put him in a good mood.