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A knock on the door. Davis stepped forward but the aide waved him back and called, "Yes?"
"Kathryn Dance and Deputy Harutyun are here," the campaign staff security man traveling with them, a massive fellow named Tim Raymond, called from outside.
Simesky opened the door and the two entered. The aide gave Dance a smile.
Davis had been amused at Simesky's flirting earlier with Dance, at Kayleigh Towne's house; there was no reason why a single man who was witty and charming shouldn't turn his attentions toward an attractive single woman about his same age. But at this meeting, they were both pure business.
"Congressman, Peter," Dance said.
Her green eyes quickly but calmly took in all the rooms, presumably for security threats, lingering briefly on the windows. Davis noted that she was now armed; she hadn't been before. This made him a bit more uneasy.
Simesky asked, "Where are we with all this? What do we know?"
Dance said, "We're still trying to find Edwin. Michael O'Neil--a deputy from Monterey--and the others are back at the sheriff's office working on that. He's vanished from the mall where he sent the website post. His car's still there but he could have other wheels. Until we have a better idea where he is, we want to get you to that safe house as soon as possible. Are you ready to leave now?"
"Sure. Where is it?"
Harutyun said, "A place we use about a half hour north of here, in the woods."
"Yes, all right." He grimaced. "I just don't want to be seen as running from this guy."
Simesky said, "We go through this a lot, Bill. People aren't going to care. They'd rather have a live candidate than a dead martyr."
"I suppose." Davis thought of something. Kathryn Dance was with a statewide agency so he said to her, "Could you get police to my house in L.A.? I'm worried about my family."
"Of course. I'll call our office and have a CBI team there, with tactical LAPD. We work with them a lot."
"Thank you," he said, feeling some relief, tepid though it was. He gave her the address and Susan's phone number.
Dance made the call and then disconnected. Officers, she said, were en route. Davis was all the more impressed with her for her cool efficiency and decided that, as Peter had suggested, she'd be perfect in his administration.
Then, thank you, Lord, his wife called. "Honey?" the woman blurted. "Jess came to the school. What's going on? Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes ..." Davis explained the situation, adding that there would be some police or troopers at the house in just a minute or two. "There's a little security thing. Probably nothing. Don't open the door for anybody but the police. They'll be from the LAPD and the California Bureau of Investigation."
"What is it? Another threat from those isolationist idiots?"
"No, this is just a crazy guy, looks like. We're ninety-nine percent sure he's not down there but I just want to make sure you and the kids are all right."
"You're sounding too calm, Bill," Susan said. "I hate it when you sound that way. It means you're not calm at all."
He laughed. But she was right. He was too calm.
Dance tapped her wristwatch.
"I'm fine. I've got police here too. I have to go. I'll call you in a bit. Love you."
"Oh, honey."
He reluctantly disconnected.
Simesky called Davis's other aide, Myra Babbage, who was at the local campaign headquarters, and told her to join them at the safe house.
Then, with Dance and Harutyun leading and Tim Raymond in the rear, Davis and Simesky moved quickly through the hotel corridor and down into the garage, where they climbed into a sheriff's office Tahoe SUV.
Dance said to Harutyun, who was driving, "I'd say lights, no sirens for two or three miles. Bust it, really move ... and use side streets and alleys. Then flashers off and normal stream of traffic to the safe house."
"Sure thing."
