“Then call the next guy on your list. Good night.”

“Wait!” Mark said. “You know the lookout on the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“I can find it.”

“Thirty minutes.” Mark paused “Be careful, they’re watching you. Try to stay alive, Jack Rudly. You’ve got a job to do. And revealing your father’s murderer is only part of it.”

Mark heard Jack’s sharp intake of breath, and continued. “You want to know how I know? I’m one of them. I helped. I’m a killer. But I’m not helping any more.”

Mark hung up.

The moon had long since disappeared in the fog. From where Jack stood, the Golden Gate Bridge should have been a glorious sight but dense tendrils of mist obscured the looming structure, leaving only a milky whiteness in its place.

Jack leaned against his rental car. Three-thirty in the morning and thirty minutes since the phone call that had compelled him to the bridge.

His father, murdered? My God, it made sense. It fit with his investigation, but just the thought caused him a sharp ache in his chest.

He peered up at the sky, noting that the stars were lost to the marine layer that shrouded everything above a couple hundred feet. He listened to the waves pounding the shore, and to the periodic moans of a distant foghorn.

Jack dug into the pocket of his worn leather jacket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes. Strange city. Desolate place. Probably not one of his brighter moves.

He sucked on his cigarette. The tip glowed orange-red in the murky darkness. The moist air grew still, eerie and oppressive. He shivered in the dampness and turned to get back inside his car.

Headlights suddenly blinded him as a car rolled to a stop directly in front of his vehicle.

The car door opened, but the interior light did not go on. A tall figure exited on the driver’s side, then paused near the open door. He remained a vague silhouette behind the headlights. “State your name,” he ordered.

Jack couldn’t make out the man’s features or what he was wearing. “Jack Rudly.”

“Good of you to come. You’ll understand if I ask you to remain where you are.”

Jack recognized the voice from the telephone call. “It’s damn cold out here. Let’s go get a drink somewhere and talk?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then at least tell me who you are.”

“Someday that will be evident, but for now, you’ll just have to trust me.”

“It’s almost four in the morning, and you obviously want to talk to me, but I can’t trust you as a source if I don’t know your identity.” Jack backhanded the moisture weeping out of the dense fog from his forehead.

The man grunted. “There aren’t any easy answers to this one, so you can take it or leave it. But I promise you, if you walk away now, you’ll regret it. And so will a lot of other unsuspecting people.”

Jack tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground. “Tell me about my father. Or did you just mention his name to get my attention?”

“Use your head. Think. Mr. Rudly… murder and the presidency.”

“I told you. I don’t like riddles.”

“Sure you do. You’re a journalist.”

“I’m out of here.” Jack reached for his car door handle.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you a break,” the man said quickly. “I know you went digging in Missouri during the campaign.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’re not the only one with contacts. Something was bothering you, Mr. Rudly, or you wouldn’t have gone snooping around. You asked me why I picked you? Your background had something to do with it, but mainly I picked you because you weren’t wrong. Listen to your gut. That something you were searching for is still there. And it started before the death of your father.”

Jack’s heart pounded. “What does my dad have to do with anything? And what’s all this shit about murder? All I got in Missouri was a lot of conjecture and a handful of air. Nothing I could verify.”

“You haven’t looked in the right places. Neither did your father.”

“You keep bringing up my dad. Tell me how this involved him?”

“If I had all the answers, I wouldn’t need you.” An anguished note crept into the man’s voice. “God, maybe this was a mistake. I’ve probably misjudged you. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m in too deep… it’s too late. Fuck it. Never mind.” He got back into the driver’s seat of the car.

“Wait.” Jack stepped fonvard.

“Stop.” A hand rose above the door.

Jack saw the Athene of a gun. He extended his arms, palms turned outward. “Relax, man. You obviously thought I could help, but you’re not giving me much to go on. What did you mean when you said the press was allowing this to happen?”

“Move back.”

Jack quickly obliged.

The gun dangled loosely from the man’s fingertips. “If the press doesn’t report the truth, the people don’t get the truth. Remember, we’re only as far from becoming a dictatorship as the people we elect to represent us. Everything can be changed, and things are changing. The Council is seeing to that.”

Jack’s breath caught. “Tell me about the Council.”

The man laughed. “All, so now I’ve got your attention.”

Jack inched forward. “Who’s involved?”

“We both know who I’m talking about. I’ve allowed this to happen. Good men are dead, I should have stopped it. But I was afraid, so I pretended not to know. God have mercy on me.”

He paused. “You’ll know me, Jack Rudly. One day my identity will be made perfectly clear. Just watch the front pages. The article will be like the one about your father.”

Jack stiffened. “Why was he killed?”

“Your father liked to talk. He said a lot of things that weren’t appreciated.” He exhaled unsteadily.

“How about Fields and Miles? Were they murdered too?”

“You’re on the right track. But I’ve stayed too long.” The man held up an envelope, then placed it on the ground. “I’m leaving some information. After I drive out of here you can get it. But think about it before you accept this, because this will pull you in. And once you’re in, you’ll either bring them down or you’ll die trying. Your father died trying.”

Jack folded forward as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Putting his hands on his knees he steadied himself. Dear God. he’d been right. He should have followed his instincts, ignored his dad’s objections, and intruded into his investigation. If he had, his father might still be alive.

Jack lifted his gaze and watched the car recede into the darkness. After he caught his breath. Jack stepped forward, picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a cassette tape and one sheet of paper. Written on it was: CIeopatra1600.com:password: Caesar.

Jack threw his luggage on the bed and glanced at his watch: 4:10 P.M. “Shit, the day is shot.”

He strode into the bathroom. He would have been in Jefferson City hours earlier, but his departure from San Francisco had been delayed by dense fog. He supposed he was lucky to have gotten a flight at all.

Jack filled a glass with tap water and took a sip. He stared into the mirror and the blue eyes he’d inherited from his father. Pain caught in his throat. His father had been murdered. He should have known. It made perfect sense. How could he have ignored the obvious for so long? Guilt weighted his heart. He’d failed to see the truth from the beginning. He’d failed his father.

He walked back into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and re-read the E-mail he’d accessed by using the password the unknown man at the bridge had given him.

Winston.

Professional as always. Payment can he obtained through the usual source.

C