Free My King The President by Tom Lewis Page B

scribbled a note, and turned it around so that I could see it.
    GOOD LUCK/STAY IN TOUCH
    As soon as he knew I’d read it, he deftly slid it under his desk calendar. “Those two guys out there were here an hour ago waiting for a piece of you, too. I think they mean business.”
    Since I had nothing to lose, I thought it best not to have to tell Frye, or anyone else, that there were no diaries. Nor did I want to talk to anybody but Cal about Jean Tyndall. I needed to buy some time, and stood there a minute trying to think of a way to dodge Frye and his assistant. One crazy idea finally came to me. It had worked once before. Might again. “Ernie, I don’t want to talk to those guys out there just now. Is Dean Pittman still on the sports desk?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “Could you do me favor and call him? Ask him to meet me in the first floor men’s room. Also, after I’m gone, please call my Dad at the Mayflower. Ask him to meet me at the dock.”
    “Okay.” He reached for the phone and I walked out to face Frye. “Now, guys, I’ll answer all your questions, but first, I have to go pee. Be right back.”
    Dean Pittman and I are the same height, build, and have more or less the same complexion. In the past, people at the Post had often gotten us mixed up. He was already inside the men’s room when I got there. “What’s up, Jeb?”
    “Remember the time we pulled that switch when you had to duck out on that lady golfer? About five years ago?”
    “Sure, I do. You saved my ass that day.”
    “I need you to save mine today. Right now. You up for it?”
    “Why not?”
    It cost me twenty bucks, a good hat and a brand new London Fog raincoat, but when he left, doing a credible hundred yard dash to the front door, I figured it would take Frye and his buddy at least two, maybe three blocks to run him down, only to be triple pissed when they realized they had chased the wrong guy. That was plenty of time for me to snatch Walt from his desk and hustle to the parking ramp. The Plymouth made it out, and all the way to Georgetown with me hunkered down in the back seat. Walt pulled into the parking lot of the Sheraton and stopped the car before he said anything, bless him, and then asked me who I was running from.
    I climbed from the back seat to the front. “Walt, I don’t want to get you into any more trouble than I probably already have. With Ernie, I mean. Look, you’re a really bright guy, and you must have already realized I’m working on something pretty important, and in the process, I’ve made some people just a tad upset.”
    “Like Judge Koontz?”
    “Like Judge Koontz and the FBI! If I told you anything more, much as I’d like to, I could put you between a rock and a hard place, and I don’t want to do that. I hope you understand.”
    “I think I do. Need-to-know kind of thing, right?”
    “Exactly. So if you want to cut out, now’s the time.”
    “Not me. What do you want me to do?”
    “How are you coming with those names?”
    “Still working on it, but I did manage to track down your Master Sergeant.”
    “Mackenzie? Where is he?”
    “In the V.A. hospital at Bethesda.”
    “What’s wrong with him?”
    “I’m not that good, Jeb. I don’t know.”
    “Never mind, I’ll find out. There is one other thing. Could you set up a computer in my hotel room? Maybe tie it into yours at home?”
    “Sure I can, with about a thousand bucks.”
    “Ouch. Well, it’ll be worth it, I think.” I figured Walt could find a better bargain on a computer than Cecil could, so I wrote him a check on the spot. “How soon could you—?”
    “Not a problem. Maybe by tomorrow.” He grinned at me. “First thing, I’m going home and call in sick. Won’t fool Ernie Latham, but what the hell.”
    “Good man. Listen, I may not be at the Mayflower when you get everything ready. Here’s my room key. I can get another one when I get back.”
    “You’re going to Bethesda?”
    “I don’t want you to know where I’m