Shall We Tell the President? by Jeffrey Archer Page B

rather bored. “What’s the matter?”
    â€œWhere’s Stames? Where’s Calvert?” Mark demanded.
    â€œThey went home just over an hour ago.”
    Oh hell, what should he do now? Aspirin was not a man to confide in, but he was the only person Mark could seek any advice from. And although Stames had carefully instructed him not to speak to anyone about the details until they had seen the Director, this was an emergency. He wouldn’t give away any of the details, he would just find out what a Hoover man would have done.
    â€œI have to find Stames and Calvert, wherever they are. Any suggestions?”
    â€œWell, first of all, have you tried the car radio stations?” asked Aspirin.
    â€œI asked Polly to check. I’ll try her again.”
    Mark picked up the nearest phone. “Polly, did you locate Mr. Stames or Mr. Calvert on the car radio?”
    â€œStill trying, sir.”
    He seemed to wait endlessly, endlessly; and nothing happened. “What’s going on, Polly, what’s going on?”
    â€œI’m trying as hard as I can, sir. All I can get is a buzzing sound.”
    â€œTry One, Two, Three, or Four. Doesn’t matter what you try. Try every station.”

    â€œYes, sir. I can only do one at a time. There are four stations and I can only do one at a time.”
    Mark realized he was panicking. It was time to sit down and think things through. The end of the world hadn’t come—or had it?
    â€œThey’re not on One, sir. Not on Two. Why would they be on Three or Four at this time of night? They’re only on their way home.”
    â€œI don’t care where they’re going. Just find them. Try again.”
    â€œOkay, okay.” She tried Three. She tried Four. She had to have authorization to break the code for Five and Six. Mark looked at Aspirin. The duty officer was authorized to break the code.
    â€œThis is an emergency—I swear to you it’s an emergency.”
    Aspirin told Polly to try Five and Six. Five and Six are Federal Communications Commission to the FBI. They are known by the initial KGB: it always amused FBI men to have KGB as their network call code. But at that moment it didn’t seem particularly funny. There was no reply to be had on KGB 5. Then KGB 6 was raised; likewise nothing. Now what, dear God, now what? Where did he turn next? Aspirin looked at him inquiringly, not really wanting to get involved.
    â€œAlways remember, son, C-Y-A. That’s the ticket. C-Y-A.”
    â€œCovering your ass will not help me to locate Mr. Stames,” said Mark, forcing himself to speak calmly.
“It doesn’t matter, Aspirin, you get back to your crossword puzzle.”
    Mark left him and went into the men’s room, cupped his hands under the tap and washed his mouth out; he still smelled of vomit and blood. He cleaned up as best he could. He returned to the Criminal Room, sat down, and counted to ten very slowly. He had to make up his mind what to do, and then to carry it out, come what may. Something had probably happened to Stames and Calvert, he knew something had happened to the black postman and the Greek. Perhaps he should try and get in touch with the Director, although it was an extreme course. A man of Mark’s rank, two years out of training, didn’t just pick up a phone and call the Director. In any case he could still keep Stames’s appointment with the Director at 10:30 the next morning. 10:30 the next morning. That was half a day away. More than twelve hours of not knowing what to do. Nursing a secret that he had been told not to discuss with anyone. Holding information he couldn’t impart to anybody else.
    The phone rang and he heard Polly’s voice. He prayed it would be Stames, but his prayer was not answered.
    â€œHey, Mr. Andrews, are you still there? I’ve got Homicide on the line. Captain Hogan wants to talk to you.”
    â€œAndrews?”
    â€œYes,