"Marty Velmano, please," Gray said. "Yes, this is Gray Grantham with the Washington Post, and I need to speak to him. It's very urgent."
"One moment, please," the secretary said.
A moment passed, and another secretary was on the phone. "Mr. Velmano's office."
Gray identified himself again, and asked for her boss.
"He's in a meeting," she said.
"So am I," Gray said. "Go to the meeting, tell him who I am, and tell him his picture will be on the front page of the Post at midnight tonight."
"Well, yes sir."
Within seconds, Velmano said, "Yes, what's going on?"
Gray identified himself for the third time, and explained about the recorder.
"I understand," Velmano snapped.
We're running a story in the morning about your client, Victor Mattiece, and his involvement in the assassinations of Justices Rosenberg and Jensen."
"Great! We'll sue your ass for the next twenty years. You're out in left field, buddy. We'll own the Post."
"Yes sir. Remember, I'm recording this."
"Record all you want! You'll be named as a defendant. This will be great! Victor Mattiece will own the Washington Post! This is fabulous!"
Gray shook his head in disbelief at Darby. The editors smiled at the floor. This was about to be very funny.
"Yes sir. Have you heard of the pelican brief? We have a copy."
Dead silence. Then a distant grunt, like the last gasp of a dying dog. Then more silence.
"Mr. Velmano. Are you there?"
"Yes."
We also have a copy of a memo you sent to Sims Wakefield, dated September 28, in which you suggest your client's position will be greatly improved if Rosenberg and Jensen are removed from the Court. We have a source that tells us this idea was researched by one called Einstein, who sits in a library on the sixth floor, I believe."
Silence.
Gray continued. "We have the story ready to run, but I wanted to give you the chance to comment. Would you care to comment, Mr. Velmano?"
"I have a headache."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"Will you run the memo word for word?"
"Yes."
"Will you run my picture?"
"Yes. It's an old one from a Senate hearing."
"You son of a bitch."
"Thank you. Anything else?"
"I notice you've waited until five o'clock. An hour earlier, and we could've run to court and stopped this damned thing."
"Yes sir. It was planned that way."
"You son of a bitch."
"Okay."
"You don't mind ruining people, do you?" His voice trailed off, and he was almost pitiful. What a marvelous quote. Gray had mentioned the recorder twice, but Velmano was too shocked to remember it.
"No sir. Anything else?"
"Tell Jackson Feldman the lawsuit will be filed at nine in the morning, just as soon as the courthouse opens."
"I'll do that. Do you deny you wrote the memo?"
"Of course."
"Do you deny the existence of the memo?"
"It's a fabrication."
"There's no lawsuit, Mr. Velmano, and I think you know it."
Silence, then, "You son of a bitch."
The phones clicked, and they were listening to the dial tone. They smiled at each other in disbelief.
"Don't you want to be a journalist, Darby?" Smith Keen asked.
"Oh, this is fun," she said. "But I was almost mugged twice yesterday. No, thanks."
Feldman stood and pointed to the recorder. "I wouldn't use any of that."
"But I sort of liked the part about ruining lives. And what about the lawsuit threats?" Gray asked.
"You don't need it, Gray. The story takes up the entire front page now. Maybe later."
"There was a knock at the door. It was Krauthammer.Voyles wants to see you," he said to Feldman.
"Bring him in here."
Gray stood quickly and Darby walked to the window. The sun was fading and the shadows were falling. Traffic inched along the street. There was no sign of Stump and his band of confederates, but they were there, no doubt waiting on darkness, no doubt plotting one last effort to kill her, either for prevention or revenge. Gray said he had a plan to exit the building without gunfire after the deadline. He wasn't specific.
Voyles entered with K. O. Lewis. Feldman introduced them to Gray Grantham, and to Darby Shaw. Voyles walked to her, smiling and looking up. "So you're the one who started all this," he said in an attempt at admiration. It didn't work.
"She instantly despised him.I think it was Mattiece," she said coolly. He turned away and took off the trench coat.
"Can we sit?" he asked in general.
They sat around the table-Voyles, Lewis, Feldman, Keen, Grantham, and Krauthammer. Darby stood by the window.
"I have some comments for the record," Voyles announced, taking a sheet of paper from Lewis. Gray began taking notes.
