Free Fade Out by Patrick Tilley Page A

pleasure.’
    Connors sat up, straightened his tie and unfolded his napkin. Seagren started to move away. Be generous, Connors. You can afford a little warm humanity on a day like this.
    â€˜Miss Seagren.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜You have a beautiful pair of knees.’
    â€˜Why – thank you very much, sir.’
    â€˜My pleasure,’ said Connors, master of the common touch.
    As they filed out through the door at Andrews Field, Seagren was there in her smart little cap along with the rest of the cabin crew. Good-bye. Good-bye. Good-bye. Then it was Connors’ turn.
    â€˜Good-bye, sir. Hope you enjoyed the flight.’
    As Connors stepped over the doorsill he glanced back over his shoulder half-expecting to catch Seagren’s eye but she was already giving Press Secretary Silvermann the same smiling good-bye line.
THE WHITE HOUSE/WASHINGTON DC
    In addition to his office down the hall from the President, Connors had a small room with a fold-up bed and a cupboard where he kept a change of clothes. The phone rang as he was zipping up a fresh pair of pants.
    It was Charlotte Annhauser. Her family was in the top third of the Washington social register and still rising. They had met about nine months ago. Not only had her parents approved, they had actually started the rumour that the two of them were going steady.
    â€˜Bob?’
    â€˜Hi, Charly. Just got back in.’
    â€˜I thought you were going to call me this weekend.’ Her voice had a plaintive edge to it.
    â€˜That’s what I thought too.’
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜Oh… it all got kind of busy.’ Connors began to load up the pockets of his clean suit with the contents of his old one.
    â€˜I see.’ A pause. ‘Are we going to be able to get together this week?’
    â€˜Yeah, we might just about make it.’
    â€˜It would be nice if I could show you off at the Schumans’ on Friday. Could you bear having supper with them?’
    â€˜I was hoping I might get to see you before that.’
    â€˜Well, you’re the one with the key.’
    Connors pulled his reading glasses out of the breast pocket of his old jacket and found a piece of folded paper. ‘Charly, listen, whatever happens, I’ll definitely call you tonight. Okay?’
    â€˜Okay.’
    â€˜And we’ll fix up something.’ Connors began to unfold the small piece of paper.
    â€˜Bob – ’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜Do you know anything about this big Russian thing?’
    â€˜What big Russian thing?’
    â€˜Well, there’s a rumour going around that they’ve put some kind of huge bomb up there in space.’
    Where the hell could that idea have come from? thought Connors. And just how far had it spread?
    â€˜People have been talking about it all weekend.’
    â€˜Really? Oh…’ He tried to sound bored. ‘What does it say in the papers?’
    â€˜Hardly anything. The
Post
gave it about eight lines on an inside page. But they only say what someone in England thinks it is.’
    â€˜What have the Russians said?’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    â€˜Then there’s your answer.’
    â€˜I know. That’s what worries me. If it’s nothing, why is everyone keeping so quiet about it?’
    I can’t fight logic like that, thought Connors. ‘Charly – ’ he began.
    â€˜I know, you have to go.’
    â€˜I’ll call you this evening. I promise.’
    â€˜Okay, but listen – if the Russians have done something sneaky and we’re all about to get blown to pieces, you’d tell
me,
wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜Charly, don’t worry about the Russians. It’s all under control. Believe me.’
    â€˜I knew it,’ said Charly. ‘Something terrible’s happened. Is it the Chinese?’
    â€˜Good-bye, Charly.’
    Connors hung up and looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. On it, in firm feminine