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are you, Liz?”
    The dark eyes flashed momentarily up to meet his. “Only my lovers call me Liz,” she said, and was gone.
    â€œIt’s Calvert, boss. I can’t make my mind up about this one. I don’t know if he’s a jerk or for real so I’d like to run it past you.”
    â€œFine, Barry. Shoot.”
    â€œWell, it could be serious, or just a hoax. He may even be nothing more than a small-time thief trying to get off the hook for something bigger. But I can’t be sure. And if every word he said turned out to be true, I figured you ought to know immediately.” Barry relayed the salient parts of the interview without mentioning the Senator, stressing that there was an added factor he did not want to discuss over the phone.
    â€œWhat are you trying to do, get me in the divorce courts—I suppose I’ll have to come back to the office,” said Nick Stames, avoiding his wife’s expression of annoyance. “Okay, okay. Thank God I got to eat at least some of the moussaka. I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Barry.”
    â€œRight, boss.”
    Calvert depressed the telephone cradle with his hand momentarily and then dialed the Metropolitan Police. Two more quarters, leaving sixteen in his pockets. He often thought the quickest way to check out an
FBI agent would be to make him turn his pockets inside out; if he produced twenty quarters, he was a genuine member of the Bureau.
    â€œLieutenant Blake is on the front desk. I’ll put you right through.”
    â€œLieutenant Blake.”
    â€œSpecial Agent Calvert. We’ve seen your Greek and we’d like you to put a guard on his room. He’s scared to hell about something so we don’t want to take any chances.”
    â€œHe’s not my Greek, damn it,” said Blake. “Can’t you use one of your own fancy guys?”
    â€œThere’s no one we can spare at the moment, Lieutenant.”
    â€œI’m not exactly overstaffed myself, for God’s sake. What do you think we’re running, the Shoreham Hotel? Oh hell, I’ll do what I can. But they won’t be able to get there for a couple of hours.”
    â€œFine. Thanks for your help, Lieutenant. I’ll brief my office.” Barry replaced the receiver.
    Mark Andrews and Barry Calvert waited for the elevator, which was just as slow and reluctant to take them down as it had been to take them up. Neither of them spoke until they were inside the dark blue Ford.
    â€œStames is coming back to hear the story,” said Calvert. “I can’t imagine he’ll want to take it any further, but we’d better keep him informed. Then maybe we can call it a day.”
    Mark glanced at his watch; another hour and forty-five
minutes’ overtime, technically the maximum allowed an agent on any one day.
    â€œI hope so,” said Mark. “I just got myself a date.”
    â€œAnyone we know?”
    â€œThe beautiful Dr. Dexter.”
    Barry raised his eyebrows. “Don’t let the boss know. If he thought you picked up someone while you were on duty, he’d send you for a spell in the salt mines in Butte, Montana.”
    â€œI didn’t realize that they had salt mines in Butte, Montana.”
    â€œOnly FBI agents who really screw it up know there are salt mines in Butte.”
    Mark drove back to downtown Washington while Barry wrote up his report of the interview. It was 7:40 by the time they had returned to the Old Post Office Building, and Mark found the parking lot almost empty. By this time at night most civilized people were at home doing civilized things, like eating moussaka. Stames’s car was already there. Goddamn him. They took the elevator to the fifth floor and went into Stames’s reception room. It looked empty without Julie. Calvert knocked quietly on the chief’s door and the two agents walked in. Stames looked up. He had already found a hundred and one things to do