“I’m not surprised, given yesterday’s announcement. Let him know that I was delayed by traffic accidents on the interstate, and that I’ll be there in two hours.”

“I’ll tell him as soon as he wakes up.”

Macher hung up and tried to see into the future. Getting ahold of the strong case had given them a leg up, he thought. Knott’s announcement had been received respectfully by the media; now they would start digging into Knott’s past. He’d been working for years to make sure that there was nothing in that past that would cloud the man’s political future, even to committing murder. With the handing over of the strong case to St. Clair, Macher would be the hero of all their efforts, and he intended to make the most of it. He would go from being in charge of an at-arm’s-length security company to being an important executive in St. Clair’s business empire. They couldn’t afford not to give him that, because he knew too much to be cold-shouldered. He was going to place that case in St. Clair’s hands personally, and reap the attendant rewards.

Traffic was clearing; he picked up speed.

59

STONE GOT A CALL from Mike Freeman.

“Yes, Mike?”

“My people in England tell me that all opposition around your estate has disappeared. They’ve apparently been withdrawn.”

“I expect that St. Clair has heard about Martha’s statement by now, and if so, she would no longer be in danger.”

“Should I withdraw my people, then?”

Stone thought about it. “Wait until tomorrow morning, but leave two people with them. If they can find out where the family is, the press and media are going to want to interview Martha, and they will be very pushy about it.”

“All right, I’ll do that.” He hung up.

Joan buzzed. “Ed Rawls on one.”

Stone pressed the button. “Yes, Ed, where are you?”

“North of Portland. I’ll get a room in Augusta and fly tomorrow morning. The forecast is good.”

“What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you’d heard anything from St. Clair or his people?”

“Nothing at all?”

“Not a peep,” Stone said.

“How about Knott?”

“Nothing from him, either, but I haven’t expected any of them to contact me.”

“I just wondered,” Ed said. “Good night.” He hung up.

Stone went upstairs to his study and poured himself a drink. He glanced at his watch. Half an hour to go.

—

ERIK MACHER PULLED up before Christian St. Clair’s double-width town house. One of his people was guarding the door. He got the strong case out of his trunk and trotted up the stairs.

“Good evening, Mr. Macher,” his man said.

“Don’t let them give me a ticket,” Macher replied, and rang the bell. Another of his people answered it. “Where is Mr. St. Clair?” he asked the man.