I once rode.

The trip was in direct violation of my bail agreement--I was not to leave the District

without permission of the Judge. But Mordecai and I agreed that it was a minor violation,

one that would be of no consequence as long as I returned to D.C.

From O'Hare, I took a cab to an inexpensive hotel downtown.

Sofia had been unable to find a new residential address for the Palmas. If I couldn't find

Hector at the Drake & Sweeney office, then we were out of luck.

* * *

The Chicago branch of Drake & Sweeney had one hundred and six lawyers, third highest

after Washington and New York. The real estate section was disproportionately large,

with eighteen lawyers, more than the Washington office. I assumed that was the reason

Hector had been sent to Chicago--there was a place for him. There was plenty of work to

do. I vaguely recalled some story of Drake & Sweeney absorbing a prosperous Chicago

real estate firm early in my career.

I arrived at the Associated Life Building shortly after seven Monday morning. The day

was gray and gloomy, with a vicious wind whipping across Lake Michigan. It was my

third visit to Chicago, and the other two times it had been just as raw. I bought coffee to

drink and a newspaper to hide behind, and I found a vantage point at a table in a corner of

the ground floor's vast atrium. The escalators crisscrossed to the second and third levels

where a dozen elevators stood waiting.

By seven-thirty the ground floor was crawling with busy people. At eight, after three cups

of coffee, I was wired and expecting the man at any moment. The escalators were packed

with hundreds of executives, lawyers, secretaries, all bundled in heavy coats and looking

remarkably similar.

At eight-twenty, Hector Palma entered the atrium from the south side of the building,

stepping hurriedly inside with a swarm of other commuters. He raked his fingers through

his wind-tossed hair and went straight for the escalators. As casually as possible, I walked

to another escalator, and eased my way up the steps. I caught a glimpse of him as he

turned a corner to wait for an elevator.

It was definitely Hector, and I decided not to press my luck. My assumptions were

correct; he had been transferred out of Washington, in the middle of the night, and sent to

the Chicago office where he could be monitored, and bribed with more money, and, if

necessary, threatened.

I knew where he was, and I knew he wouldn't be leaving for the next eight to ten hours.

From the second level of the atrium, with a splendid view of the lake, I phoned Megan.

Ruby had survived the night; we were now at forty-eight hours and counting. I called

Mordecai to report my finding.

According to last year's Drake & Sweeney handbook, there were three partners in the real

estate section of the Chicago office. The building directory in the atrium listed all three

on floor number fifty-one. I picked one of them at random: Dick Heile.

I rode the nine o'clock surge upward to the fifty-first floor, and stepped off the elevator

into a familiar setting--marble, brass, walnut, recessed lighting, fine rugs.

As I walked casually toward the receptionist, I glanced around in search of rest rooms. I

did not see any.

She was answering the phone with a headset. I frowned and tried to look as pained as

possible. "Yes sir," she said with a bright smile between calls. I gritted my teeth, sucked

in air, said, "Yes, I have a nine o'clock appointment with Dick Heile, but I'm afraid I'm

about to be sick. It must're been something I ate. Can I use your rest room?" I clutched

my stomach, folded my knees, and I must have convinced her that I was about to vomit

on her desk.

The smile vanished as she jumped to her feet and began pointing. "Down there, around

the corner, to your right."

I was already moving, bent at the waist as if I might blow up at any second. "Thanks," I

managed to say.

"Can I get you something?" she asked.

I shook my head, too stricken to say anything else. Around the corner, I ducked into the

men's rest room, where I locked myself in a stall, and waited.

At the rate her phone was ringing, she would be too busy to worry about me. I was

dressed like a big-firm lawyer, so I did not appear to be suspicious. After ten minutes, I

walked out of the men's room, and started down the hall away from the receptionist. At

the first empty desk, I grabbed some papers that were stapled together and scribbled as I

walked, as if I had important business. My eyes darted in every direction--the names on

doors, names on desks, secretaries too busy to look up, lawyers with gray hair in

shirtsleeves, young lawyers on the phone with their doors cracked, typists pecking away

with dictation.