The Collectors (Camel Club 2)

something’s coming.”

A car had pulled out from Trent’s driveway. As it slowed to make the turn onto the road, Stone focused his binoculars on the driver’s side.

“It’s Trent.”

Annabelle looked around at the deserted area. “It might be a little obvious if we start tailing him.”

“We’re going to have to chance it.”

Luckily, another car pulled past them, a station wagon with a mom driving and three small kids in the backseat. Trent pulled ahead of the station wagon.

Stone said, “Okay, that car’s our buffer. If he checks the mirror, he’ll see a family, nothing more. Hit it.”

Annabelle put the truck in gear and pulled into line behind the second car.

They made it to Route 7 twenty minutes later through a series of back roads. As they did so, a few other cars joined the procession, but Annabelle managed to keep behind the station wagon, which, in turn, was right behind Trent. When they reached Route 7, a main artery into Tyson’s Corner, Virginia, and Washington, D.C., the traffic picked up considerably. D.C. was an early-to-work sort of place, and major roads were routinely jammed as early as five-thirty.

“Don’t lose him,” Stone said urgently.

“I’ve got it covered.” She expertly maneuvered the truck through traffic, keeping Trent’s sedan within sight. It helped that it was getting light now.

Stone glanced at her. “You seem to have tailed people before.”

“Just like I told Milton when he asked me a similar question, beginner’s luck. So where do you think Trent’s headed?”

“I hope to work.”

Forty minutes later Stone was proved correct as Trent led them to Capitol Hill. As he turned into a restricted area, they had to break off surveillance, but they watched as an automatic security barrier lowered into the ground and a guard waved him in.

Annabelle said, “If only that guard knew the guy’s a spy and a murderer.”

“Well, we have to prove that he is; otherwise, he’s not. That’s the way it works in a democracy.”

“Almost makes you wish we were fascists in this country, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Stone said firmly.

“So what now?”

“Now we wait and watch.”

Even before 9/11 undertaking surveillance near the Capitol was not easy going. Now it was nearly impossible unless one was nimble and tenacious. Annabelle continually had to move the truck, until they’d found a place close enough to see the exit Trent would have to come out of, and far enough away that the cops would not hassle them. Twice Stone had dashed across the street and bought them coffee and food. They listened to the radio and swapped a little bit more of their personal histories, along with large doses of conjecture on what their next move should be.

Milton had phoned Stone on a cell phone he’d loaned his friend. He had little to report. The police were being very tight-lipped about things, and consequently, the media kept running the same information over and over. Stone put the phone away and settled back in his seat, took a sip of coffee and glanced at his partner. “I’m surprised you’re not complaining about the monotony. Stakeouts aren’t easy.”

“The gold always comes to patient people.”

Stone looked around. “I’m assuming Trent will be working a full day, but we can’t chance that.”

“Isn’t the Library of Congress around here somewhere?”

Stone pointed up ahead. “A block that way is the Jefferson Building, where Caleb works. I wonder how he’s getting on. I’m sure the police were there today.”

“Why don’t you call him?” she suggested.

Stone phoned his friend’s cell but Caleb didn’t answer. He called the reading room next. A woman picked up and Stone asked for Caleb.

“He left a while ago to get some lunch.”

“Did he say how long he’d be gone?”

The woman said, “Can I ask what this is in reference to?”

Stone clicked off and sat back.

“Anything wrong?” Annabelle asked.

“I don’t think so. Caleb just went off to get some lunch.”

Stone’s phone rang. He recognized the number on the screen. “It’s Caleb.” He put the phone up to his ear. “Caleb, where are you?”

Stone stiffened. A minute later he put the phone down.

“What’s up?” Annabelle asked. “What did Caleb say?”

“It wasn’t Caleb. It was the people who are holding Caleb.”

“What!”

“He’s been kidnapped.”

“My God, what do they want? And why are they calling you?”

“They got the number from Milton. They want to meet to discuss things. Any sign of the police, they kill him.”

“What do they mean they want to meet?”

“They want you, me, Milton and Reuben to come.”

“So they can kill us?”

“Yes, so they can kill us. But if we don’t go, they’ll kill Caleb.”

“How do we know he’s not already dead?”

“At ten o’clock tonight they said they’d call and let him talk to us. That’s when they’ll tell us where and when the meeting is.”

Annabelle drummed her fingers on the worn steering wheel. “So what do we do?”

Stone studied the Capitol dome in the distance. “You play poker?”

“I don’t like to gamble,” she answered with a straight face.

“Well, Caleb’s their full house. So we need at least that or better to be able to play this hand. And I know where to get the cards we need.” However, Stone knew that his plan would test the limits of friendship to the max. Yet he had no choice. He punched in the number, which he knew by heart.

“Alex, this is Oliver. I need your help. Badly.”

Alex Ford sat forward in his chair at the Secret Service’s Washington Field Office.

“What’s going on, Oliver?”

“It’s a long story, but you need to hear it all.”

When Stone finished, Ford sat back and let out a long breath. “Damn.”

“Can you help us?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“I hope you do. It sounds like we don’t have much time to pull this together.”

Albert Trent left Capitol Hill that evening and drove home. Leaving Route 7, he followed the meandering back roads to his isolated neighborhood. He slowed as he approached the last turn before his driveway. A pickup truck had run off the road and hit something. An ambulance and a utility truck were there along with a police car. A uniformed cop was standing in the middle of the road. Trent drove cautiously ahead until the policeman stepped forward with his hand up. Trent rolled down his window and the cop leaned in.

“I’m going to have to ask you to turn around, sir. That truck skidded off the road and hit an aboveground natural gas pressure regulator and caused a major surge in the pipes. Damn lucky he didn’t blow himself and the neighborhood sky-high.”

“But I live right around the bend. And I don’t have gas in my house.”

“Okay, I’ll need to see some ID with your address on it.”

Trent dug into his jacket pocket and handed the officer his driver’s license. The cop hit it with his flashlight and then handed it back.