RUN INTO TROUBLE

by

Alan Cook

SMASHWORDS EDITION

“Running and fiction don’t often mix well, typically because few authors who have attempted the trick have been able to capture the authentic nuances of training and racing. But author Alan Cook has pulled it off with Run into Trouble…”

—Peter Rosato for Running Times Magazine

“The main characters are likable, and the story is compelling. As the runners close in on the end of the race, pages turned faster…”

—Sherry Benec

“The plot is most unusual—a thriller set in a race from the San Diego coast all the way to San Francisco. Woven in among the action and intrigue are wonderfully described settings of the California coast.”

—Marilyn Meredith for American Authors Association

PUBLISHED BY:

Alan Cook on Smashwords

Run into Trouble

Copyright © 2009 by Alan L. Cook.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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ALSO BY ALAN COOK

Gary Blanchard Mysteries:

Honeymoon for Three

The Hayloft: a 1950s mystery

California Mystery:

Hotline to Murder

Lillian Morgan mysteries:

Catch a Falling Knife

Thirteen Diamonds

Other fiction:

Walking to Denver

Nonfiction:

Walking the World: Memories and Adventures

History:

Freedom’s Light: Quotations from History’s Champions of Freedom

Poetry:

The Saga of Bill the Hermit

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I appreciate the assistance of my running consultants, Mike, Phil, and Brian, who provided me with information and anecdotes about running. Mike read a draft copy of the book and made good suggestions. Any errors, of course, are mine.

DEDICATION

To Andy, a freedom fighter

CHAPTER 1

They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

—Benjamin Franklin

If the Communists took over, I’d go to them and say, “What do you want me to do?”

—Young woman at a party in the Hollywood Hills, December 1961

***

The taxi driver suddenly swore, causing Drake to snap out of his reverie. He glanced at the back of the head in front of him. The man appeared to be looking in the rearview mirror. Drake spun around in the backseat, and an identical expletive escaped his lips. A truck was overtaking them at a high rate of speed. It couldn’t pass them on the narrow road without crossing into the opposing lane of traffic, and the driver apparently had no intention of doing that.

“Step on it.”

Drake’s order came too late. He instinctively ducked his head an instant before the collision, which drove his face into the thinly padded seat back. The noise sounded like an exploding bomb, and he thought he was back in the army.

Then all was silent. Drake wondered whether he was dead, as he always did after a similar occurrence. He heard a noise. The engine of the truck was revving. He raised his head in time to see the truck backing up. Was the driver planning to hit them again? Probably not. He would have to drive into the field where the taxi had landed after being momentarily airborne. The truck swerved onto a side road. It skidded to a stop and then lurched forward, accelerating back toward Interstate 5.

The rear end of the taxi had telescoped, and Drake realized that a few more inches and he would have telescoped along with it. Through the broken rear window he saw liquid spilling out of what had once been the gas tank. Gasoline. He had to get out of here.

He heard a moan. He realized for the first time that the driver was lying in the backseat beside him. His seat back had broken during the collision.

“Are you all right?”

An answering moan told him that he would have to get them both out. Drake shoved at the mangled door beside the driver, not bothering to look for the door handle, which was surely non-functional. The door was jammed. He tried the door on the other side with equal lack of success. He reached across the driver into the front seat and found the handle on the driver’s side door. Although that door didn’t look as bad, it didn’t respond to his pressure.

The easiest way out was through the rear window; the glass was already broken. Drake knocked out several loose pieces of glass that were still clinging to the window frame. He grabbed the shoulders of the driver who was lying on his back, his body partially on the errant seat back, and tried to lift him. He was greeted with a full-fledged groan.

No time to be gentle. Drake hefted the driver up, ignoring louder groans, and shoved him head first through the window. He stopped for a second to collect his energy and realized he was panting. With a supreme effort, he pushed the body after the head. The driver rolled off what was left of the trunk and hit the ground with a thump.

That had used most of Drake’s strength, but he had to get himself out. He forced his muscles to move. He got his head and shoulders through the opening and became stuck. He couldn’t go any farther. It would be easier to stay here and let things take their course. Which would involve him burning up in a fiery inferno, like the suttee he had seen in India.

You candy ass, he told himself. You’ve gotten yourself out of worse jams than this. Just not recently. You’re out of practice. Do this one thing and you can rest. He wiggled his body slowly through the opening, but when most of it was through, he didn’t have strength enough to stop himself from rolling off the remains of the trunk, just as the driver had done.

He felt pain for the first time as his chest landed on a rock. But he was finished. No, not quite. They weren’t safe yet. He smelled gasoline. He struggled to his feet and grunted as he lifted the driver under his arms near the shoulders, dragging him away from the car into the dirt of the field, which, fortunately, had nothing planted in it at the moment.

He stumbled backward, slowly, the earth and the legs and butt of the driver creating friction, noticing the sweat rolling down his face, his lungs feeling as if they would collapse. How far did they have to go?

A fireball whooshed into the air in all directions; Drake felt the heat from it, even though they were now a safe distance away. He dropped the driver and hit the ground himself, watching in awe as the car was consumed by angry red flames. He hadn’t seen a fire this spectacular in a long time.

How was the driver? Drake sat up and looked at him. His eyes were open.

“How do you feel?”

“My neck hurts.”

Whiplash. He also had some cuts from the broken glass. Drake took out a handkerchief and wiped them off, but they weren’t bleeding badly. If those were the extent of his injuries, he was lucky. He noticed the driver staring up at him.

“You’re bleeding, man.”

Drake put his hand to his face, and his fingers felt the red liquid gushing out of his nose. He had been unconsciously licking it off his lips. He pressed the handkerchief against his nostrils to stanch the flow and jumped as pain radiated through his head. His nose was broken. What else? He needed to take inventory. In addition to the cuts he had suffered from the broken glass, his back hurt. Of course. His body had been twisted when the collision occurred.

He became aware of a car heading toward the still burning taxi, traveling at high speed, coming from the direction of the beach. It must be associated with the race he was supposed to be entering. The car stopped fast, not far from the taxi, and two men jumped out. They got as close to the fire as they could and appeared to be looking for something.

Signs of life, Drake thought grimly. Well, don’t keep them in suspense. He laboriously stood up and waved his hand. They still didn’t see him. “Over here.” Shouting made his head hurt.

***

The one thing Drake insisted on was that the taxi driver get the medical treatment he needed and a brand new car, even if Drake, himself, had to pay for it. Why should he suffer when he hadn’t been the target of the attack? He was collateral damage, as the military liked to say.

“It’s all being taken care of.”

Fred Rathbun had introduced himself as the race coordinator while he and his assistant, a man with a name that sounded like Peaches, helped Drake and the taxi driver into their car and drove them to a hospital in Chula Vista. After spending a lot of time on a pay phone in the lobby, Fred joined Drake in the emergency room where he waited for his x-rays to be developed.

“Giganticorp is going to cover all his expenses and pay him a salary while he recuperates. And we’ll buy him a brand new taxi. Of course, we’re also covering your expenses since you’re a participant in Running California.”

Was a participant. Giganticorp, the sponsor of the ambitious race from the Mexican border to San Francisco, had been difficult for Drake to obtain information about. It was privately owned but apparently wealthy enough to easily afford the million dollar prize that would go to the winning team. That was enough information for Drake who was a capitalist at heart. He viewed free enterprise as a good thing. He had been working as a real estate agent for several years.

Fred wore a business suit, white shirt, and tie. His clothes made him look more like an IBM sales rep than a race coordinator. He smelled of some kind of aftershave. As an employee of Giganticorp, he was first and foremost a businessman, but race coordinators, in Drake’s experience, usually looked as if they could run a race. Fred looked like the conception of an artist who liked circles. His body was round, his face was round, even his short haircut was round.

“Do you have any idea who hit you?” Fred asked.

The question was phrased in an interesting way. Not “Did you get a look at the truck?” or “Did you get a look at the driver?” How much did Giganticorp know about him? Probably not as much as he imagined.

“It was a pickup truck. I didn’t get a look at the driver. I don’t even remember the color. It looked pretty much like any other pickup truck, except that I caught a glimpse of the front bumper before it hit us, and it appeared to be larger than usual—perhaps reinforced.”

“Hmmm.” Fred wiped his sweating face with a large handkerchief. “So you don’t have any idea who it was?”

It occurred to Drake that he’d better be careful in dealing with Fred. He might look like Humpty Dumpty, but looks could be deceiving. “I’m not on any list that I know about.”

“I understand that you used to work for the government on some sensitive projects…”

Fred made it an incomplete sentence that Drake would feel he had to complete. He resisted the impulse.

“Yeah. That was a while ago.”

“Do you want to file a police report?”

Drake hadn’t gotten that far in his thinking. The taxi driver was being taken care of. He was being taken care of. He wouldn’t be able to give the police enough information to help them find the culprit. If this were the work of a former enemy, the police would be powerless, anyway. But why would they come after him now? Because the race would undoubtedly generate publicity? Because his name might be in the papers? It didn’t make sense.

“I don’t think talking to the police would accomplish anything.”

Fred nodded. “The red tape would hold up the race.”

A thought tugged at Drake’s brain. Something about the collision. Just before he had ducked his head, he had noticed something about the truck. Or heard something. That was it. The noise of the engine had lessened. The driver had backed off the gas pedal—perhaps even put on his brakes. He hadn’t hit the taxi as hard as he could have.

What did that mean? Drake decided not to mention it to Fred.

“Isn’t the race supposed to start in…” Drake looked at his watch “…about an hour?” By some miracle, his watch was still working. It was coming up on noon. As he recalled, the race was scheduled to start at one.

“The start has been postponed until tomorrow morning. Casey is with the other runners now, explaining it to them.”

The race was already being delayed because of him. “I’m sorry I screwed it up. Are you going to be able to replace me?”

“Replace you? Of course not. You’re going to be in it.”

“Fred, perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I’m in no condition to run a race. Especially a race of six hundred miles.”

Fred sounded enthusiastic. “You’ll be fine. I just talked to the doctor. The glass cuts will heal quickly. The bruise on your chest is temporary. He’ll put a splint on your nose to hold it in place and protect it.”

“What about my back pain?”

“The x-rays show nothing but a little scoliosis.”

Curvature of the spine. “I’ve had that all my life.”

“That’s what the doctor suspected.”

“But what about the pain? I can hardly walk.”

“We’ll bring in physical therapists, massage therapists, whatever you need.”

“I couldn’t stand for anyone to touch me right now.”

“The doctor’s going to give you a prescription for morphine.”

“How come you know all this before I do?”

“Here comes the doctor now to tell you.”

CHAPTER 2

As Peaches, or whatever his name was, drove Drake and Fred to the Hotel del Coronado where the runners were going to spend the night, Drake reflected that he looked like a classic hood instead of a businessman. His conservative suit didn’t hide his bulging shoulders, and Drake was certain he had a gun concealed beneath his jacket. His only expression was a perpetual scowl. Drake decided that he needed to be as wary of Peaches as Fred, but for a different reason.

The most impressive thing about the Hotel del Coronado wasn’t the gleaming white expanse of the building located on the beach, or the contrasting red roofs, but that it had been in business since the nineteenth century and had played host to “presidents and princes,” as the brochure Drake read stated. If this was typical of how the runners were going to live during the race, he wouldn’t fight it.

His room didn’t have an ocean view. That was a concession to economy. It cost more to see the sea. The room was in the Victorian Building, the oldest part of the hotel, and was labeled quaint, meaning that it wasn’t large and the furniture was old. It had the odor of quaint.

Drake still wasn’t convinced he wanted to be in the race, especially if it were going to get him killed. He hadn’t figured out why anybody wanted to kill him for running the California coast, but somebody must not like him.

He had an out. The person who had recruited him by phone, whose name he had forgotten, had told him that his teammate had already been picked. The recruiter couldn’t tell him who his teammate was, for reasons Drake didn’t understand. Both members of a team had to cross the finish line before both members of each of the other teams, in order to claim the million dollar first prize. He had reserved the right not to participate if he didn’t like his teammate.

Fred wouldn’t tell him who it was on the way to the hotel. “You’ll find out when you get there.”

Why the mystery? Well, he was at the hotel, and he still didn’t know. He was being given a few minutes alone to “freshen up.” He didn’t have any luggage—that had been burned in the taxi—so freshening up consisted of washing his hands to get rid of the hospital smell. And noticing in the bathroom mirror how ugly he looked with two black eyes and the tape that covered his nose and much of his face.

He did have a new shirt and pants. Peaches had purchased them for him while he was at the hospital, because the clothes he had been wearing were covered with blood. Fred had promised that underwear and more clothes, and even a toothbrush and razor, would show up at the hotel. He had yet to see them.

He did one other thing. He opened the bottle of morphine tablets that the doctor had given him, swallowed one, and flushed the rest down the toilet. He knew from his training that morphine was one of the most addictive drugs in existence, and he wasn’t having any part of it, even if it cost him a lot of pain. He wouldn’t be controlled by anything or anybody.

There was a knock on the door. Drake opened it and saw a pleasant-looking man wearing a colorful sport shirt, glasses, and a concerned expression on his face. Youngish, but with a touch of gray in his otherwise dark hair that was neatly in place and cut with precision.

He extended his hand. “Casey Messinger. I’m very sorry to hear about your accident. Terrible thing. I’m looking into it.”

“Nice to meet you.” Drake was surprised at the strength of his grip. His name sounded familiar. “Are you by any chance the CEO of Giganticorp, Mr. Messinger?”

“Call me Casey. And yes, Oliver, I am.”

“Call me Drake.”

They both laughed. Drake immediately liked him. Not just his manner, but he was the first Giganticorp employee Drake had met who might actually be a runner.

“I understand you postponed the start of the race just for me.”

“Yes, but it’s not a problem. We’ll start tomorrow morning at Border Field State Park and still be here in time to cross the Coronado Bridge in conjunction with its grand opening tomorrow afternoon.”

“I take it there’ll be publicity.”

“Lots of press and brouhaha. Yup.”

Drake had to phrase this carefully. “I have a concern. The accident…may not have been an accident.”

“I get your drift. You’re under my protection. As long as you’re part of Running California, you have nothing to fear.”

Big words. Confident words, but, somehow, Drake almost believed them.

“I’m not really going to be in shape to run tomorrow.”

“That’s all right. The first day is ceremonial. Everybody will run together in a group and be given the same time. It doesn’t matter how fast you go.”

Drake hadn’t gathered that from the information about the race. He guessed that the Golden Rule came into play here—he who owns the gold makes the rules.

“May I ask you one more question?”

“Anything.”

“Why are you doing this? Not just the race, itself, but the million dollar prize. I’m sure you could have offered much less—”

“We think big at Giganticorp. This will be great publicity for the company and for the state of California. And for the runners. I know that in the past you’ve avoided the spotlight, but you might get to like it.”

Drake wondered. “I almost forgot. Who’s my partner?”

“Wait here.”

Casey gave Drake an enigmatic smile and left the room.

***

“You look terrible.”

Drake stumbled backward from the doorway. His headache suddenly doubled in intensity. He would recognize that face and musical English accent anywhere, even though the words were far from musical. It was Melody. Or her ghost.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Come…come in.”

She was approximately the last person in the world he had expected to see, this apparition that walked lightly into the room, almost without leaving footprints, and closed the door behind her.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you weren’t killed today.”

She still looked the same, her slim body hidden inside a warm-up suit, belying not only her curves but the strength within, both physical and mental. The sandy hair caught in a ponytail, ready for a run; the pert nose framed by a sprinkling of freckles on the small face.

“Do I have to carry this conversation all by myself?”

“Sorry.” Drake sat down hard on the bed. His legs would no longer support him. “I…I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger, as you yanks would say. They didn’t tell me about you, either, until they were forced to by the accident. All the other runners had partners, except me. When they finally divulged the secret, I almost walked out, just the way you did six years ago. For some reason that I can’t attribute, I waited around to see whether you were alive or dead. I must say, you look more dead than alive.”

“I’ll recover.” At least from the collision. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“You owe me a lifetime of apologies. Let’s see. You leave me with no message and no explanation. I’m frantic, thinking that you’re dead, or at the very least a prisoner in a Soviet Gulag camp. Finally, after months of searching and talking to everybody I can think of, a sympathetic bloke at your embassy does some checking and lets me know that you’re all right but doesn’t know where you are. I wait for word—and wait. For six years I’ve waited. In vain.”

“I had no choice.” Drake felt miserable. “I was ordered to secrecy.”

“Yeah, I remember bloody government secrets. Your government and mine. Don’t let the right hand know what the left hand is doing. But I take it you’ve been out for several years. Why did you quit?”

“It got to the point where I had a hard time telling the good guys from the bad guys.”

“I know the feeling. Would it have hurt you to drop me a line?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me. And I didn’t know where you were.”

“Poor excuses for excuses. You could have written my mum in Rotherfield.”

“How long have you been in the U.S.?”

Melody sat on the edge of the bed beside Drake and appeared to deflate, like a balloon.

“Two years. Our little island became too small for me. I knew where too many bodies were buried, literally and figuratively. So I came to the land of the free and the home of the brave. I may even become a citizen someday.”

“Where are you living?”

“Denver. Running at high altitude is great conditioning for running at sea level. I’m working at a Jack LaLanne health club as a fitness instructor and running the occasional marathon, when I can find one that accepts women. What about you? Tell me your recent history in two sentences or less.”

Nonstop physical activity. That sounded like the Melody he knew. If anybody were in shape for this race, she was.

“I resigned four years ago. I’ve been living with my sister and brother-in-law in Idyllwild, which is about a hundred miles from here. It’s also in the mountains, a mile high, same as Denver. I’ve been selling real estate and working out. I ran Boston last spring.”

“Fancy that. We’re both running marathons. I’m planning to run Boston next year. We might have run into each other, sometime, if you’ll excuse the little joke. Except for your face, you look fit. Well, I guess the first thing we have to decide is whether we’re going to quit while we’re behind or have a go at this.”

“What did they tell you about the collision?”

“That it was an accident. Your taxi was rear-ended, I believe.”

“It was no accident. The truck driver hit us deliberately.”

Melody caught her breath. “What else do you have to tell me?”

“Actually, that’s it. I haven’t had any contact with the agency for four years. I don’t know why anybody would want to eliminate me. I doubt that any of our Russian friends care about me any longer. I don’t want to expose you to any more danger. The one thing I was happy about when I left you was that you would be safe. You were, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t suffer any physical repercussions, if that’s what you mean. Only emotional. I was reassigned. But we were in it together, Drake. We were both professionals. I knew what I was doing.”

“Okay, but this is different. You’re a civilian now.”

Melody turned and looked into his bloodshot eyes with her green ones. When she did that, Drake was sure she could penetrate his brain and his very soul. Slowly her expression changed, and a smile lit up her face.

“To tell you the truth, life has been a bit boring since you left. The year I spent with you was a lot of things, but it was never dull. I don’t know what chance we have of winning the million, but it might be a lovely adventure.”

“Then the first thing we have to do is get me in shape to run.”

Melody’s manner became brisk. “Tell me about your injuries. I assume your nose won’t be a problem, except that it may spoil your pretty-boy looks if it ends up misshapen. That may be a good thing. I won’t be tempted to shag you.”

“I have a few minor cuts, as you can see. Other than that, I have a bruise on my chest…”

Melody began unbuttoning his shirt. When Drake protested, she said, “I’m a certified fitness instructor. Hold still. I’m not going to rape you.”

She pronounced his chest satisfactory. He told her about his back.

“Take off your belt and lie on the bed on your stomach.”

That was easier said than done because the act of lying down was painful to Drake. When he finally got comfortable, she pulled his shirt up and examined his back. She also pulled his pants down a little. His back hurt when she touched it.

“I prescribe an ice pack. You can put ice cubes in a towel. I’ll get you some. Have you got any aspirin?”

“The doctor gave me morphine, but I flushed it down the toilet.”

“That sounds like you. I’ll get you some aspirin. That won’t kill you.”

“There’s something bothering me.” Drake laboriously rolled over onto his back. “You and I being matched for this race is far too great a coincidence.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Giganticorp knows a lot more about us than is good. What we did together was top secret. Especially what we did when we were off duty.”

Drake smiled at the thought. “We need to keep our eyes open.”

“And our mouths zipped. Loose lips sink ships.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously. Of course you’re right. You were always right.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t mind sarcasm coming from her. “I know we’re supposed to meet for an introductory dinner, but I can’t make it.”

“Quite right. I’m the doctor, and I’m prescribing bed rest. Alone. Fortunately, you and I have the only single rooms. The other nine teams are all lads, and teammates have to room together. I’m the lone girl in the race.”

“I’d rather have you for a teammate than any male runner I can think of.”

“Flattery is nice, but it won’t get me into bed with you. I’ve learned my lesson on that score. I’ll be back with ice and aspirin. And I’ll have dinner sent up to you.”

CHAPTER 3

Border Field State Park marks the United States side of the border with Mexico. The route for Running California starts here and wends its way north along the beach past the Oneonta Slough. Some wading may be necessary. The route continues along Imperial Beach and then across the narrow isthmus that separates the Pacific Ocean from San Diego Bay. It may be easier to run on Silver Strand Boulevard (Route 75) than the sand here. Stay on Route 75 and continue to the entrance to the San Diego-Coronado Bridge.

***

The official Giganticorp bus was bright green with “Giganticorp” written on the side in large orange script. Below the company name the words “Running California” were painted on it in purple. The whole scene would have been impossible for Drake to miss, even if Melody hadn’t been standing beside the bus waving frantically at him. He limped over to her.

She looked at him, not trying to hide her dismay. “Where were you? I rang your room, but you didn’t answer.”

“Good morning to you, too. My first problem is going to be getting up these steps.”

The initial step, especially. He’d had enough trouble negotiating a few much lower steps. Drake tried to lift one foot, but the pain in his back stopped him well before it reached the level of the step. If the bus had been able to pull up to the curb in front of the hotel, he might have had more success. The extra nine or ten inches of height from street level was a killer. He did no better with the other foot. His run of the California coast might end right now.

“Could we have a boost here?” Melody called to Peaches who was sitting in the driver’s seat.

Peaches got up and stomped down the steps. Without saying a word, he positioned himself behind Drake, grabbed his elbows, and lifted him up to the first step with about the same effort that it would take most people to lift half a dozen hardcover books from a table. It hurt to be lifted, but Drake squelched a groan. The other steps were lower, and Drake managed to escape further humiliation; he pulled himself up by grabbing the handrails and putting most of his weight on his arms.

Ignoring the stares of the other runners, he stumbled along the aisle and fell into an empty seat.

“Move over—if you can.”

He laboriously moved over to the window seat as Melody sat down beside him. In contrast to his elephantine moves, she was so graceful that it almost looked as if she sat on air just above the seat. Peaches shifted into gear, and the bus started rolling.

Melody looked at him. “I didn’t think you were going to show up. Maybe it would be better if you hadn’t. You’re fit for nothing but lying in a bed of pain.”

“You always did have a way with words. But to answer your earlier question, I was on the floor stretching, and I couldn’t get to the phone when it rang. The pain woke me at four, and I spent the next three hours alternately icing my back and trying to stretch without killing myself.”

“Did you eat?”

“I had room service bring me breakfast. I figured if Casey could afford a million dollar prize, he could afford that. Tell me about the dinner last night.”

“I met the runners I didn’t meet yesterday afternoon. Naturally, they’re completely discounting us.”

Drake shrugged. “They’re not used to seeing women runners. That would work to our advantage, but because of the shape I’m in, they’re quite correct to discount us.”

“There’s another thing.” Melody lowered her voice. “I’m the only one not from California.”

Drake pondered that. “I think we have some questions to ask Casey. Did he make a speech?”

“Actually, he did. He’s quite the orator. He talked about the glorious adventure we were embarking on and how much good it was going to do for the great state of California.”

“Did he mention the million dollars?”

“He managed to toss that in. And he emphasized the tax free part. Although I’m not sure how he’s going to manage that. One thing I’ve learned since I’ve been in the States is that taxes are inevitable, just like they are in jolly old England, and just like it says in the saying.”

“I suspect he’s going to pay additional money to the winners to cover the taxes. Although, if he does that, the additional payment becomes taxable, and he’ll have to give more money to pay those taxes. And then—”

“I get your point. It goes on forever. Well, I’ll let you be the calculator for our team. You always were more calculating than I was.”

***

“We missed you at dinner last night.”

The man avoided looking at Drake’s bandaged face.

“I heard it was a lot of fun.”

He shook hands with the eighth or ninth runner he had just met. He thought this one called himself Glen. The names and faces blurred together, although he realized that their body types were similar—thin and not too tall. Not one was over six feet, and the shortest had only an inch on Melody who stood about five and one-half feet. In contrast, Drake cleared six feet by a couple of inches and had a stockier build.

One of the runners had a name that sounded familiar: Tom something-or-other. Drake mentioned this to Melody who was standing beside him, also trying to learn the names.

“Tom Batson. He’s the only Californian ever to win the Boston Marathon.”

“I should know that.”

“After what you’ve been through, it’s a wonder you remember your own name. These are serious runners. Even if you were healthy, we wouldn’t stand much of a chance.”

Peaches had brought them to Border Field State Park. Drake didn’t know it until he swung himself off the bus using mostly his arms, but Casey had ridden on the bus with them. He was wearing runner’s clothes, and he was going to run with them today. Fred had driven separately. There were no reporters here at the boundary between the United States and Mexico.

Fred herded the runners over to the Mexican Border Monument, a marble obelisk proclaiming the friendship of the United States and Mexico, and took pictures of Casey and the runners. The ugly metal and wire border fence extended on either side of the monument and into the ocean. Drake could see a section of Tijuana through the fence, complete with a bullring, which contrasted to the barrenness on the U.S. side.

Casey addressed the group. “I realize that this is an inauspicious start to a grand enterprise, but you’ll receive a proper sendoff this afternoon at the Coronado Bridge. So let’s get going. We’re going to run up the beach for awhile before we hit the road. There may be some swampy places, but we’re runners, and we don’t mind getting our feet wet, right?”

Everybody echoed, “Right.”

“Okay, follow me.”

Casey set off along the sand at a moderate pace. The runners, all wearing shorts and singlets with Running California printed on them, easily kept up with him. Drake’s clothes had been delivered to his room by the taciturn Peaches. Only his running shoes were his own. Fortunately, he had been wearing them yesterday. If by some miracle he was able to continue, he would have to buy at least one more pair of shoes and break them in as they went.

Drake and Melody started behind the others. At first, Drake could hardly walk, let alone run, but after a while he loosened up a little and accelerated to a slow trot. Melody floated effortlessly beside him.

She watched him closely. “You’re looking a little better. How do you feel?”

“Like somebody is sticking pins into my voodoo doll.”

The cloudless sky proclaimed that it was a California August—summer at its peak. How could anybody feel bad on such a beautiful day?

Surprisingly, within a few minutes Drake felt better. The movement helped. Running elevated his spirits, as it often did. Producing endorphins, or something. They sped up to a jog. He and Melody chatted about inconsequential things. His problems seemed to melt away. He almost forgot that someone might be trying to kill him.

They splashed through shallow water as Oneonta Slough lazily joined the ocean, but wet feet were par for the course for marathoners. Running on sand didn’t jolt his back as much as running on a hard surface, but the tradeoff was that it required more effort because the sand gave beneath his feet. That slowed them down, but speed was the least of his worries.

Soon they were passing a row of houses that were right on the beach. Piles of dark rocks formed a wall in front of them—a breakwater, evidently to ward off extra-high tides. Casey was sitting on one of the rocks. Had he given up already?

He rose as they approached and fell into stride beside Drake. He didn’t look winded at all. He was wearing dark glasses against the August sun.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about. Either I can do it or I can’t. I figure today’s run is the equivalent of perhaps half a marathon. Challenging but not conclusive since we’re going to be running daily marathons soon. We put a man on the moon in July. This can’t be any harder than that.”

Casey laughed. “Giganticorp helped create the technology for the space program. Fred is setting up an appointment with a chiropractor for you after you cross the bridge. We should be able to get you one every day as long as we’re in the populated area of Southern California.”

“Thanks, but it’s going to take more than a chiropractor, I’m afraid. Like rest.”

“Rest is the one thing I can’t promise you, although you’ll get a day off from time to time.” Casey grinned at Drake. “But I know you’ll stick it out. You’ve done harder things in your life.”

From the other side of Drake, Melody said, “Why should we stick it out if we have no chance of winning the money?”

Casey’s face had a look of surprise, whether real or feigned Drake didn’t know. “I don’t believe that for a minute. You’ve got the experience and persistence the others don’t have. They can run a single marathon, but can they run a marathon day after day without burning out? Do they know how to pace themselves? I figure you two should know how to do that. When they start to fade, you’ll eat them up.”

Right. What did he mean about experience and persistence? That Drake was the oldest entrant and thus had more life experience? Age wasn’t a plus here. He had other questions. “Why teams? Running is an individual sport.”

“Practical considerations. A lot of the California coast is pretty desolate, and we don’t have the manpower to keep track of every runner all the time. We figured that you have an incentive to stay with your teammate and make sure he’s okay.”

“I understand that all the runners are from California, except Melody. Why did you pick her?”

“Don’t you like having Melody as a teammate?”

That was a non-answer. Drake and Melody glanced at each other.

Casey must have seen the look. He turned on his ingratiating smile.

“I heard somewhere that you two already knew each other and figured that you might like to run together.”

Drake and Melody exchanged another look. Casey was in effect admitting that he had access to classified information. Either that or he knew somebody who had known them in England. Whatever the truth, they couldn’t probe without being in danger of violating their personal secrecy prohibitions. They couldn’t even admit they had known each other before yesterday.

Drake pulled a canteen from a small pouch strapped to his waist and took a couple of swallows of water without slowing down. He decided to change the subject. “I’m concerned that whoever hit the taxi yesterday—”

“May try again. Don’t sweat it. As long as you’re part of Running California you’re under the protection of Giganticorp. You’re safe.”

It was the second time he’d said that. Melody moved over so that she was on the other side of Casey. “You just said yourself that parts of the California coast are desolate, and you don’t have enough Peaches clones to patrol them.”

“I’ll tell you what. If either of you gets injured in any kind of attack, I’ll give you a million dollars. How’s that for a guarantee?”

Drake smiled. “My sister will love it. But it won’t do me any good if I’m six feet under.”

“You’re not chickening out, are you? After the firefights you survived in Korea?”

Giganticorp had investigated his military career. Found out about Melody. Now Casey was appealing to his manhood. He really wanted Drake on this run. Why? Something to think about. He changed the subject again.

“I wonder if a really high tide ever reaches those houses we passed.”

Casey took in the entire beach around them with a sweep of his hand. “This belongs to everyone. Nobody should be allowed to build houses on the beach.”

“You mean because of the danger that they’ll be washed away?”

Houses on Malibu Beach, north of Los Angeles, were periodically damaged during storms.

“Because the beach belongs to everyone.”

Casey was repeating himself. Drake decided to test him. “According to California law, the part of the beach below the mean high-tide line does belong to everyone. The part above that is private property where it isn’t a government-owned recreation area.”

“The boundary line between public and private property should be at least an eighth of a mile inland.”

Melody laughed. “Based on my observations so far, I would say it’s a little late for that.”

Casey looked up as if searching the heavens for some kind of truth. “Is it?”

Casey stayed with them as they ran along the isthmus between the bay and the ocean. They ran on the silky white sand instead of the pavement of Silver Strand Boulevard because the softer surface was easier on Drake’s back.

“Unidentified vehicle at nine o’clock.”

The other two followed Melody’s pointing arm and saw a jeep coming across the sand at an angle to cut them off. She turned to Drake. “Do we need to take evasive action?”

Although what evasive action they could take without weapons, in the middle of the beach, Drake didn’t know. They certainly couldn’t outrun the jeep. They stopped running and watched it approach. Melody moved away from Drake so that they wouldn’t present an easy target. Casey watched the jeep too, but didn’t seem to be alarmed.

The driver wore a fatigue uniform, and Drake concluded he must be a naval officer. He relaxed a little. As far as he knew, the navy didn’t have anything against him.

The jeep stopped beside them, and the officer bid them good morning. When they responded in kind, he said, “There may still be unexploded shells on this part of the beach from training exercises. For your own safety I recommend that you run on the road.”

“No problem.” Casey smiled at the officer. “We’ll do that. We don’t want to get blown up.”

The officer thanked them and drove away.

Casey turned his smile on Drake and Melody. “False alarm. I told you I’d protect you.”

Drake noticed that he took a large handkerchief out of his waistband and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

CHAPTER 4

The San Diego-Coronado Bridge opens today, Sunday, August 3, 1969. It has a distinctive curve and soaring sweep and is the first structural conquest of San Diego Bay, joining the Island of Coronado and City of San Diego. The bridge is 2.1 miles long and has a vertical clearance of approximately 200 feet, so that the tallest ships can pass beneath it.

***

A crowd had gathered in the park near the entrance to the San Diego-Coronado Bridge to watch the opening ceremony. A platform, covered with red, white, and blue bunting, was set up with seats for Coronado and San Diego city officials. They took turns praising themselves for constructing this magnificent structure.

Fred had herded the Running California group into an area near the platform. Drake, who wasn’t much for speeches, tuned out the droning from the platform and looked at the other people. Many of them were dressed in shorts and T-shirts. The first traffic allowed on the bridge would be pedestrians—runners and walkers. After several hours, the bridge would be closed to pedestrians and opened to vehicle traffic. Drake thought it was a shame that a walkway hadn’t been included on the bridge so that pedestrians could use it all the time.

Drake’s attention was brought back to the platform because the speaker mentioned the name Casey Messinger. He said that Casey had been instrumental in arranging the run/walk that was to take place before the bridge opened to vehicle traffic. He called Casey up to the platform. Casey bounced up the temporary wooden steps to cheers and applause from the enthusiastic crowd, still in his running uniform, shook hands with the official who had introduced him, and went to the microphone.

With a big smile on his face, he raised his arms, as if proclaiming a great victory. “Isn’t this a glorious day?”

Affirmative shouts accompanied more cheers and applause.

Casey waited for the noise to quiet down before he started speaking again. He said how pleased he was that the bridge had been built. Although he didn’t take credit for building the bridge, he had a way of speaking that made it sound as if the whole thing had been his idea. He talked about how everybody here would get to know the bridge personally by covering it on foot.

Then he talked about Running California. “This is the perfect day to start a run of the California coast by going over our brand new bridge. I’d like you to meet the ten teams competing for the prize of a million dollars. Will the runners please come up on the stage?”

Drake hadn’t expected this. Apparently the other runners hadn’t either. They looked at each other, each one unwilling to lead the way. Finally they started toward the steps.

Melody put a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “I expect we’ll have to get used to this sort of thing. Casey wants to get as much publicity as possible.”

In their former lives together they had shunned the spotlight and lived in the shadows. This was a big change. Melody went up the steps behind the other runners, followed by Drake who went slowly and tried to keep the pain of the ascent from showing in his face. He wondered what the crowd thought about the bandage on his face and the cuts on his arms and legs. He heard enthusiastic cheers.

Casey spoke again after the cheers died down. “We hope to do this run every year. Perhaps in the future some of you will be part of it. I won’t take the time to introduce all the runners by name, but I’d like to mention two of them. The first is Tom Batson, the only Californian to ever win the Boston Marathon.”

More cheering. Tom raised his hand.

“The other person I’d like to mention fought in the Korean War. He was awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action. Since that time he has been working to preserve our freedom in a capacity that I can’t talk about here. Rest assured that he is a real hero. Oliver Drake.”

He pointed at Drake. Drake saw this coming when Casey mentioned the Korean War. He didn’t want to be cheered for being a hero. He was just doing his job. But the crowd was yelling. He felt awkward and wanted to hide.

“Raise your arm and smile,” Melody hissed in his ear.

Drake reluctantly raised his arm as cheers engulfed him. Photographers snapped his picture. The Korean conflict, although not widely popular, at least had the advantage of being over, something that couldn’t be said about Vietnam.

Again, Casey waited for the cheering to subside. “Incidentally, Drake—he likes to be called Drake rather than Oliver—didn’t receive his broken nose in combat.”

Titters from the audience.

“He’ll be fine in a few days. I have one more announcement, and then we’ll cut to the ribbon cutting ceremony.”

More titters.

“I think this is the ideal time and place for me to announce that I am going to be a candidate for the United States Senate from the great state of California, running as an independent.”

***

Hundreds of runners and walkers thronged the bridge. Drake and Melody hadn’t started with the first group of runners, because Drake knew he couldn’t keep up with them. Now they were trapped within a large mass of slower joggers. This was fine with Drake, whose back hurt from the effects of the day’s exertions. He wanted nothing more than to be flat on his bed at the hotel.

They didn’t speak until the space around them grew large enough so that they were able to talk without a dozen other people hearing every word.

Melody spoke first. “Surprise, surprise. Yon Casey is ambitious. I thought he had a lean and hungry look.”

“I think you’re misquoting your bard, but in any case, I don’t like the implication that Tom and I are supporting him.”

“And the reference to your secret activities was out of bounds. He could get us into trouble.”

“This whole thing smells like rotten fish.”

“Do you want to drop out now?”

Drake considered. “There’s something going on here that’s below the surface. I’d like to stick around and try to find out what it is, if possible. Let’s see if I can still move in the morning. Are you game to continue?”

“Always.”

CHAPTER 5

From the San Diego-Coronado Bridge the route of Running California heads north on Harbor Drive. Follow it around the bay, south of the San Diego International Airport. Turn right on Lowell Street and jog right on Nimitz Boulevard. Turn right on Sunset Cliffs Boulevard and left on Mission Bay Drive. Continue north along Pacific Beach. It’s all right to run on the road next to the beach here rather than on the sand. Cliffs and rock formations prevent running on the beach through La Jolla. Use the cliff path whenever possible. Otherwise, run on the adjacent streets. North of La Jolla run on the beach. A race official will record the time of each team where the run ends on the sand at Torrey Pines Beach. Please obey all traffic laws when running in populated areas. Race officials will observe the runners at various checkpoints and provide water. Runners taking shortcuts will be penalized by having time added. Any runners not covering the entire distance will be disqualified. Fred Rathbun has final judgment on penalties.

***

When Drake tried to get out of bed the next morning, he knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t even sit up because of the pain in his back. He had spent most of the night in one position, not daring to move. He lay still for several more minutes, wondering whether he could lie there until his back got better. At least he wasn’t in pain when he didn’t move. The pressure on his bladder banished that thought.

He knew that if he could roll over onto his side, there would be less pull on his back when he sat up. He finally managed that because he had no choice, but the pain almost overwhelmed him. He rested for another minute and made it to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He grabbed the aspirin bottle from the nightstand and swallowed several of the white pills without benefit of water, ignoring the acidic taste.

He wondered whether he could lift his legs high enough to pull on his pants.

***

Several of the other runners were already eating breakfast at the Hotel del Coronado’s outdoor Boardwalk Café overlooking the blue ocean when Melody arrived there. Drake wasn’t among them. The air was still cool, but the sun was bright. It would get warm—perhaps too warm for marathon runners. It was a good thing they were running near the water where the temperature was always significantly cooler.

She sat down at a table next to a slightly built man named Aki—she thought he might be Japanese—and ordered a light breakfast.

Aki grinned at her. “Good day for running. I hope it doesn’t get too hot.”

“I hope not.”

The heat was the least of her worries, of which the major one was Drake’s fitness to continue. He had retired early last night, complaining of pain and fatigue. Million dollars or no million dollars, there was no point in torturing him. If they didn’t have a chance, why not pack it in?

“Good morning, Melody. Morning, Aki.”

Casey had a big smile on his face as he sat down beside Melody. He was wearing a conservative business suit with a tie this morning—Melody had to admit that he looked like a businessman—and radiated good humor.

Melody studied his bright red tie. “I take it you’re not going to run today.”

“Nope. Gotta get back to work.”

“Where’s your office?”

“Giganticorp’s headquarters is in San Jose. I’ll grab one of the shuttle flights that tool up and down the coast all day. They’re also going to make it easy for me to keep tabs on how you’re doing.”

He ordered coffee from a hovering waitress, glanced at the menu, and then turned to Melody.

“What do you hear from your teammate this morning?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be down in a few minutes. He looked strong yesterday. He appears to be recovering remarkably fast.”

Casey was either a cockeyed optimist or trying to convince himself of Drake’s good health.

Melody drank her orange juice while she contemplated a reply. Did she dare challenge the mighty Casey—CEO and self-proclaimed senatorial candidate?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to continue. He might injure himself permanently.”

When Casey didn’t immediately say anything, Melody turned to look at him. The intensity in his blue eyes told her that he was fighting to hold back an outburst. He took a deep breath and a sip of coffee.

“He has to continue. He can’t quit now, not at the start. A lot of time and expense has been put into Running California. He has no choice.”

“Doesn’t he?”

Melody and Casey turned around and saw Drake who had come up behind them silently. Part of his expression was covered by the bandage, but his lips were set in a grim line, and an unusual scowl creased his smooth forehead. He wasn’t dressed in running clothes. He sat down laboriously in the seat next to Casey.

Melody broke the silence. “How do you feel?”

“Don’t ask. At least I’m up and walking, which is more than I could say twenty minutes ago.”

Drake ordered breakfast from the menu. Aki looked uncomfortable, excused himself, and left the table. Casey didn’t say anything. He appeared to be unnaturally subdued. Melody couldn’t think of anything more to say. She thought her point had been proved.

Drake managed a smile. “Did I walk in on a funeral? If so, I’d like to know who died. Not me. I’ll be fine. I just need a little rest.”

Casey found his tongue. “You’re right, of course. But you’re in excellent condition, overall. I think if you start slowly and get some more chiropractic treatments, you’ll work your way out of it. To show you my heart’s in the right place, I’ll give you—you and Melody—a thousand dollars just for completing today’s run. Five hundred apiece. Just don’t tell the others.”

Melody bristled. “It isn’t about money.”

Drake smiled for the second time. “Maybe it is about money. All right, we accept. A thousand dollars just for today.”

***

“Tell me again why you wanted to continue.”

Melody sipped water from her canteen and watched Drake as he sat on a rock beside the La Jolla caves and attempted to bend over and touch his feet. He was trying to get the kinks out of his back.

The sweat on Drake’s face wasn’t just from the warm sun.

“I can’t remember. Oh yes, I said it was for the money. Well, the money’s nice, but there’s something more. It’s a feeling I have.”

“Intuition?”

“Intuition is what women have. But something doesn’t feel quite right. Why is Casey willing to pay us a thousand dollars a day to stay in the run? That’s a lot of money. He wants us really bad.”

Before flying to San Jose, Casey had upped his monetary offer from a single payment to a thousand dollars a day—payable when they finished the run.

“Compared to the million dollar prize, a thousand dollars a day isn’t a lot of money. It’s also very clear that he doesn’t want me; he wants you. I’m just your partner. Here to provide you aide and comfort. Although I’m not providing the kind of comfort that Casey probably envisions.”

“I’m not capable of enjoying it right now, anyway. I saw the article about the opening of the bridge in the San Diego Union this morning. Casey got a lot of publicity for his announcement that he’s a candidate for the Senate. There’s a picture of him with us in the background. I have a feeling he’s going to milk this run for the publicity value.”

“What gave you the first clue, Sherlock? That’s not a crime, is it?”

“Not yet. I also keep going back to the accident that wasn’t an accident. Who and why? I don’t have any enemies in the U.S. government that I know of. And it’s a bit late for a foreign government to eliminate me. I’m harmless.”

“Maybe it’s somebody closer to home. Are any of your mates pissed at you?”

“I don’t have many mates. One thing I remember—the driver of the truck slowed down just before he hit the taxi. He didn’t hit it as hard as he could have.”

“He felt sorry for you.”

Drake struggled to his feet. “Right. Well, if we’re going to finish today’s run—and I use the word ‘run’ loosely—before midnight, we’d better get our bodies moving.”

***

“How far behind the others do you think we are?”

Melody wondered why Drake cared how far behind they were.

“We’ve only been doing this for a few hours, so we can’t be more than a few hours behind.”

“You’re so reassuring. I’m glad we’re partners.”

“I try to look on the bright side. Hey, that man isn’t wearing any clothes.”

“This area is called Black’s Beach. It’s clothing optional.”

“You didn’t warn me about it.”

“I like to surprise you.”

“It’s a surprise, all right. But…” Melody looked around as more optional men came into view. “Not necessarily a bad one.”

“Where are the girls? There are supposed to be girls here.”

Melody patted Drake on the back. “Aw, poor Drake. No naked birds to ogle. In your body’s present state it’s probably just as well. We don’t want to place any extra strain on it.”

Drake glared at her. He had already been going slowly and was now moving at what could only be described as at a labored walk.

“It’s not worth it. I’ve been watching you all day. The money isn’t worth your pain and anguish. Let’s call the whole thing off.” Melody repeated her last sentence, singing it to the tune of the song with the same name.

“You always were the sensible one. All right, we’ll tell Fred as soon as we get to our motel, or wherever we’re staying tonight. We’ll leave Casey alone to play whatever game he’s playing.”

***

Although Fred wasn’t wearing a tie, he still looked like a businessman with his pressed pants, expensive shoes, and sweater worn over a white shirt. Because the day was too warm for the sweater, his face was red and wet, and he mopped it with a large handkerchief. Casey had done the same thing. Were plus-size handkerchiefs standard issue at Giganticorp? Fred drove Drake, Melody, and a young woman they hadn’t seen before to their motel near the campus of the University of California at San Diego.

The woman, who was dressed more casually than Fred, in shorts and a Running California shirt, had met Drake and Melody on the beach where the day’s run officially ended. She clicked her stopwatch as they came up to her and introduced herself as Grace Harbison, a Giganticorp employee. She must be one of the race officials mentioned in the written briefing they had received that morning concerning the day’s route. She called Drake Mr. Drake.

She led them up a steep hill from the beach. Grace and Melody climbed it effortlessly, or so it seemed to Drake, but it almost did him in and increased his resolve to quit the race. After they had registered at the motel, Fred escorted them to Drake’s room and asked them both to go inside with him.

He closed the door, sat on the bed, placed an attaché case he was carrying on his lap, and clicked open the metal latches. He raised the top and extracted two bank passbooks, handing one to Melody and one to Drake.

“We have opened passbook savings accounts for each of you at our corporate bank in San Jose. After you finish each day’s run we’ll deposit five hundred dollars in each of your accounts. You can phone the bank to verify your balance and get your passbook updated when you are in the San Jose area. The money becomes yours as soon as you finish the race. Needless to say, don’t discuss this arrangement with any of the other runners.”

“How did you get the passbooks so fast?” Melody asked. “Casey just made us the offer this morning.”

Fred’s already large mouth expanded when he smiled. “We work fast at Giganticorp. If you must know, Grace flew down from corporate this afternoon and brought them with her.”

“I’m impressed.” Melody looked at Drake, waiting for him to speak. He was bending down to stretch his back, his face contorted. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “We appreciate your, ah, generosity, Fred, but Drake has something to tell you.”

Drake didn’t picture himself as a quitter. Telling Melody he was going to quit was one thing; telling Fred was entirely different. It was difficult for him to get the words out of his mouth.

“The situation is this. Running the equivalent of a marathon every day is very hard on an athlete’s body, even an athlete in splendid condition, which I’m not at the moment. I…well I can’t do it. I’m going to have to drop out. We’ll forfeit the money for today.”

“Nonsense.” Fred’s smile never wavered. “I’ve got an appointment with a chiropractor for you in…” he checked his watch, “…one hour. Peaches will drive you. In a week you’ll be as good as new. You’ve got a few challenges, but you’ve overcome worse problems.”

Melody frowned. “How far ahead of us are the others?”

Fred shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We’re paying you to stay with Running California. You add a lot of color to the program. The others all look the same, even Aki. They run the same, like robots. They ran in a posse today, and all nine teams finished within fifteen minutes of each other. We need you two—Melody, because you’re an exceptional woman, and Drake, because you’re a hero.”

Drake was torn. He didn’t feel as bad as he thought he might. Of course, they still weren’t running marathon distance.

Melody apparently didn’t have any conflict. “I’m sorry, Fred, but he can’t do it. We’re through.”

Fred rose from the bed. “There’s a reporter in the lobby who wants to talk to you. This is a good time while you’re still sweaty and have your running clothes on. We want the press to appreciate what you’re doing.”

He ignored Melody’s words of protest and led them out the door.

CHAPTER 6

On the section from Torrey Pines to the Oceanside entrance to Camp Pendleton, we will run on the beach the whole way. Because this is a populated area, it is safer and sometimes faster to run on the beach. You’re used to beach running by now, and it should be no problem. You will be passing through a number of lovely beaches, including Del Mar, Solana, Cardiff by the Sea, Encinitas, Leucadia, Carlsbad, and Oceanside. If the beach is difficult to negotiate at high tide, you can temporarily run on the road.

***

The ringing telephone woke Drake from a dream in which he was attempting to run somewhere, but large rocks and other obstacles kept getting in his way. He opened his eyes. A rosy glow behind the thin curtains told him that the sun was almost up. Should he try to answer the phone? It had been easier for him to turn over during the night than it had the night before.

When the phone kept ringing its persistent double brrrr he couldn’t think of any excuses to ignore it. He reached out his arm and lifted the receiver.

“This is your wakeup call. It’s six a.m.”

Drake growled something back at the too-pleasant voice and dropped the receiver on the cradle. He stretched, trying to get a reading on his back. The pain was still there when he moved. What were they doing today? Oh yes, he and Melody were quitting Running California and going home. They had talked about spending a couple of days together first—on holiday, as she phrased it, but nothing had been settled.

Fred had not only refused to accept their resignations, he had made them talk to the reporter just as if they were still in the race. The young man was a sports reporter by trade and had wanted to talk about the athletic aspects of the race. Drake had played down his injuries while they discussed how one prepared for and maintained conditioning during ultra-marathoning, a term used by the reporter.

It would be fun to be alone with Melody for a few days. Just like old times, hopefully. Drake rolled onto his side, sat up, and headed for the shower.

***

“Mr. Drake?”

Drake turned and saw the middle-aged woman at the reception desk. Her voice sounded like the voice on the phone. He was meeting Melody here. They were going to the café next door to eat a real breakfast. The continental breakfast served by the motel wouldn’t sustain them.

“I have an envelope for you.”

“For me?”

“You are Mr. Drake, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

How did she know? It wasn’t difficult. He was the only guest at the motel with a bandage on his face. Somebody must have told her that. He took the proffered envelope, thanked her, and sat down at one of the small tables in the lobby area where a few early rising guests were drinking coffee and eating sweet rolls.

It was a white business-size envelope with “Oliver Drake” typed on the outside. It had been sealed but only at one spot in the center. Drake tore the envelope open and pulled out a sheet of standard typewriter paper folded neatly in thirds. He unfolded the paper and saw a typewritten note. As he quickly read the note, he got a sick feeling in his stomach. The English was broken and there were spelling errors, but the meaning was clear.

To: Oliver Drake

From: The Syndicate

You not know us but that no matter. We know you. We have great interest in Running California race. We see it as chance to make much money. Many people betting on race. People betting that you and Melody Jefferson not finish race. We bet that you finish race get exelent odds. But then you have acident. We think we know who caused acident but we not able to get out of bet. So you have to stay in race. We know where Melody mom lives in Rotherfield England. As long as you too stay in race she ok. If you quit race she in big trouble. Do you understand? Do not show letter to any one.

Shit. Drake almost said it out loud. He read the note a second time, more slowly. The meaning didn’t change.

“Letter from home?”

Melody placed a hand on his shoulder and started to look over it. Drake’s first inclination was to hide the paper, but he knew she had to see it. He reluctantly handed it to her.

“Brace yourself. It’s not good news. I’ll be right back.”

While Melody read the note, Drake went to the reception desk. He fidgeted impatiently while the clerk took care of a man who was checking out. He finally got her attention.

“The envelope you gave me? Who gave it to you?”

“It was here when I came in at five. I think it came in on Peter’s shift.”

“Where’s Peter?”

“He left at six.”

“So he’s home now?”

“Probably. He sleeps during the day.”

“I need to talk to him. Can you ring him for me?”

The clerk looked dubious. “He might be asleep.”

“He left less than an hour ago. He’s probably eating breakfast or something. Please. This is very important.”

People were lining up at the counter to check out. The clerk apparently decided it was faster to give in than to argue. She checked a list and dialed a number. After a pause she said, “Peter? Hang on. Mr. Drake wants to speak to you.”

She handed the receiver across the counter to Drake. He put it to his ear. “Hello, Peter?”

“Yes.”

“This is Oliver Drake. You were given an envelope to give me?”

“Oh…right.”

“What time was that?”

“Let’s see. Johnny Carson had ended. I was doing some paperwork. It must have been about midnight.”

“Can you describe the person who gave it to you?”

“Not very well. He—or maybe she—I’m not even sure which, was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood and dark glasses. Jeans, tennies. Not too tall, slim build. I didn’t see any hair, because it was covered by the hood. The face was smooth—young looking.”

“Did he—or she—speak to you?”

“No. He came running into the motel like he was trying to catch a bus, handed the envelope to me, and ran out again without saying a word.”

“Did you see a car or anything?”

“No. He disappeared. I was so surprised that I followed him to the door, but by the time I got outside, he was out of sight.”

“You said the face was smooth and young looking. Like that of a young man or woman?”

“Yeah, either one.”

“You didn’t see any lipstick or anything?”

“Nope. I’m not saying she wasn’t wearing lipstick. I didn’t get a good look at the face. It happened so fast.”

“Did you notice anything else about the person?”

“He sure could run fast. That’s about it.”

“Okay, Peter. Thanks for your help. If you think of anything more, could you call…Giganticorp—you must have their corporate number—and leave a message for Oliver Drake of Running California? Leave a number where you can be reached in the evening, and I’ll call you back.”

“After ten I’m usually at the motel. I work the night shift.”

Drake said good-bye and hung up. He turned and found Melody at his elbow. He had been so absorbed in the call that he hadn’t seen her approach. Her face looked ashen under her tan. They needed to talk, but not here with people milling around, including some of the runners.

“Let’s go next door to the café.”

He took her arm and guided her out of the motel. A few minutes later they were seated at a booth that promised some privacy as long as they kept their voices low. He ordered orange juice, scrambled eggs, and toast for Melody—she appeared to be in shock—and coffee and a bigger breakfast, including bacon and potatoes, for himself.

Melody, who had been clutching the piece of paper, laid it on the table. “Do you think this is a prank?”

“If so, the prankster has a lot of information about us, including where your mother lives. I think we have to treat it as real. The first thing we can do is stay in the run. By carrying out the instructions, we hopefully protect your mother.”

And give Melody some piece of mind.

“I want to call my mum and see if she’s all right.”

“I don’t know if we can make overseas calls from the motel. Fred should be able to set it up for us. If necessary, he can patch it through Giganticorp. We can tell him your mother’s been sick. I don’t think we should tell him about the note yet until we have some more information about who it’s from. The writer said not to.”

When they had worked together fighting Communism, they had operated on the premise that they couldn’t trust anyone. That was probably a good approach to follow here.

“How are we going to get that information?”

“After we get to our next stop, I’ll call a guy in D.C. I worked with, see if he’s familiar with any betting syndicates. He’s the only one still working there that I trust.”

***

“I wish we’d been able to reach my mum.”

“She was probably out in her garden. She has such a beautiful garden. We’ll try again this afternoon.”

“Not too late. There’s an eight-hour time difference. If we call at four it’ll be midnight in England. She likes to get her sleep. If I wake her, she’ll think I’m in trouble.”

Drake was trying to keep Melody from worrying about her mother. Just because she didn’t answer her phone didn’t mean that something had happened to her. However, he wished that she had been home.

It was another beautiful day in Southern California. They ran close to the water because the sand was firmer where the high tide had packed it down. Drake’s back had loosened up just a hair, and they were moving faster today than they had yesterday. Flocks of seagulls rose into the air as they approached, and sandpipers scooted out of the way.

They still weren’t close to the other runners. After Grace started them at the bottom of the cliff—Fred had declined to walk down it—the other nine teams quickly ran away from them and eventually disappeared from view. They ran in a posse, as Fred had said, apparently content to stay together for the time being.

Melody glanced at Drake. “You look a bit more like your old self with the bandage off. Your nose is discolored and swollen, though. I don’t know whether you’ll ever be as beautiful as you were.”

He had taken the bandage off before they started the run. “I was tired of wearing that damned thing. I felt like a cripple. That’s a luxury I can’t afford now. Just don’t hit me in the nose.”

“I really appreciate you not quitting. As least we’re abiding by the terms of the letter. I hope it isn’t too hard on you.”

“I’ll survive. I don’t want anything to happen to your mother. Unfortunately, it’s not a long-term solution. Either of us could twist an ankle at any time and not be able to run at all.” Drake was silent for a minute. “One way to keep my mind off my body is to see what we can deduce. For example, the letter is full of grammatical and spelling errors. It was written by somebody whose English isn’t great. A foreigner.”

“Be careful how you speak about us foreigners. Or, it could be somebody who wants us to think he’s a foreigner. Did you notice the incongruity? Even with all the errors, the typing itself is perfect.”

“No typos except the spelling errors, which are consistent. No cross-outs. No evidence that the typist even used that white liquid they use to cover errors. An experienced typist did it, but not necessarily one who knows proper English. And it looks like it’s been typed on a good typewriter, like an IBM Selectric.”

“You mean the one with the bouncing ball?”

“Right. Most business offices use them.”

“He knew where my mum lives.”

“He knows a lot about you. He’s got connections, whoever he is. He knows where we’re staying. This is not a fly-by-night operation.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“Well, yours and mine are all over the letter. Mine are on the envelope, and I even took notes on it. We didn’t exactly follow good evidence procedure. There may be others, but we can’t go to the police.”

“What did you find out about the messenger?”

“Not much. Not even sex.”

“Like yes or no?”

“Like boy or girl. Whoever it was was apparently young—and nimble. Got away before the desk clerk could note any identifying characteristics.”

CHAPTER 7

Drake and Melody decided that if they were going to find out anything, they needed to get better acquainted with the other people associated with Running California. When they arrived at the motel—courtesy of Peaches, who met them, noted their time when they finished the run, and drove them to the motel, all without saying more than five words—the first people they saw were Tom Batson and his running partner, Jerry Kidd.

Drake invited them to have dinner with Melody and him. They accepted and agreed to meet after Drake had his appointment with a chiropractor. Thirty minutes later Drake returned to the lobby, having showered and changed his clothes. He was able to move a little better—he was becoming slightly less stiff. By the time they finished the run, he might be in the kind of shape he should be in right now—if it didn’t kill him before then. Peaches, his driver, was sitting in the lobby reading a magazine about martial arts.

They walked out to the company car. Drake sat in the passenger side of the front seat. In a nod to the warm weather, Peaches was wearing a summer-weight suit with the jacket on to hide his gun, Drake was sure. Although not as tall as Drake, he was broader, with a bull neck and large head topped with short, dark hair. Drake decided to see if he could get Peaches to talk.

In a conversational tone he asked, “How long have you worked for Giganticorp?”

Peaches made a turn onto the street in front of the motel and glanced at Drake. “Long enough.”

That wasn’t a promising start. “Are you stationed in San Jose?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“How many employees does Giganticorp have there?”

Peaches looked at Drake as if he thought Drake were trying to pry company secrets from him. Was Giganticorp so private that they didn’t even release employment figures? What could he ask Peaches that wouldn’t be considered confidential? He wanted to ask his real name, but that would sound like an interrogation.

“I guess Giganticorp is a good company to work for.”

When Peaches didn’t say anything at first, Drake wondered whether he had used up his quota of words for the day.

Finally, he said, “It’s a job. Better than some, worse than others, but it keeps beer in the cooler.”

Encouraged that Peaches had uttered more than one sentence at a time, Drake was going to try to keep the conversation going, but at that moment they arrived at the chiropractor’s office. When Peaches drove him back to the motel an hour later, he had retreated into his shell and only grunted in response to Drake’s questions.

***

“Fred tried to call my mum at noon, but there was still no answer. That would have been eight o’clock at night her time. She should have been home.”

Melody and Drake were waiting in the motel lobby for Tom and Jerry, the runners they were going to have dinner with.

“Did you try again from here?”

“It was too late. I don’t want to call her in the middle of the night there. It would scare her to death. When I was working for the agency, although she didn’t know exactly what I was doing, she suspected enough that she said what she feared most was that call in the middle of the night because something had happened to me.”

Tom and Jerry appeared in the lobby, two runners cut from the same mold: medium height, skinny frame. They wore their hair down over their ears, but not long enough for them to be mistaken for hippies. More like the Beatles. Tom’s was red and Jerry’s was brown. It flopped when they ran.

“Do you want to go to an Italian place?” Tom asked. “Italian food’s good for carbohydrates.”

“There’s one about two blocks from here.” Jerry looked at Drake. “Do you think you can walk that far?”

“I don’t have my cane with me, but I think I can make it.” Drake used an old man’s voice. “If not, you can carry me.” He exaggerated a hobble as they started along the street. Young whippersnappers.

“Congratulations on being in first place.” Melody was trying to direct attention away from Drake.

Fred had posted a typed listing of the teams on a bulletin board in the motel and written down the time of each team so far. Drake and Melody were so far behind that they didn’t even try to figure out how far.

“Thanks,” Tom said. “But we’re only about five minutes ahead of three or four other teams. Not exactly a comfortable lead with so far to go. We’ve had to learn to pace ourselves. A couple of teams tried to break away today, but they ran out of steam and we caught them.”

Jerry nodded. “They underestimate the difficulty of running on sand. It slows you down and takes a lot of energy, something they don’t account for. They think they can run as fast on sand as pavement.”

“I was in the race when you won Boston,” Drake said to Tom. “I was a few hills behind you, however.”

“So was everybody else.” Jerry grinned at his teammate. “He blew them away.”

“Jerry ran under two-thirty in that race,” Tom said.

They were clearly the team to beat. They reached the small restaurant and were seated immediately at a square table for four with a red and white checked plastic tablecloth. It was noisy and friendly. Drake ordered a bottle of beer. Melody had iced tea. Tom and Jerry split a carafe of red wine. Each team had been issued two credit cards for food and incidental expenses.

“How did you two become teammates in this race?” Melody asked.

Tom looked surprised. “I was invited to enter and pick my partner. Jerry and I train together in Redding, so it was a natural. What about you?”

Evasion time. Drake signaled Melody with his eyes. “We didn’t pick each other. Giganticorp picked for us. I guess that’s why we’re in last place.”

Tom looked from one of them to the other. “Didn’t you know each other before?”

How much had Fred let slip? “Only casually. We’d run into each other a few times.”

Jerry laughed. “Run into each other. That’s good. So the beanstalk boys picked you. We call Fred and Peaches and the others the beanstalk boys. Giganticorp—giant—‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’ Get it? You two must have been chosen to add color. A girl and a war hero.”

“I’m not a war hero.”

“We were chosen because we make a good team.” Melody had the look in her eye that Drake knew meant that you better not underestimate her. “If Drake hadn’t been hurt, we’d be doing much better.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Tom said. “I’ve watched you run. You’re the best female runner I’ve seen. And I’ve seen the women who’ve run Boston since they started letting them in.”

Melody picked up male admirers wherever she went. It was obvious that Tom was among that number. Also that she was susceptible to his flattery. Something stirred inside Drake. He tried to squelch it. He’d had his chance and blown it.

Tom looked at Drake. “If you were in top shape I’d be watching over my shoulder for you two.”

“Thanks. Maybe you’ll still have to.”

***

Drake closed the door of the phone booth located at an intersection in downtown Oceanside, not far from their motel. He had walked back to the motel with the others. After they had said goodnight to Tom and Jerry, he had told Melody what he was going to do.

He had decided against making the call from the motel room. Years of covert operations had taught him that if you didn’t want other people to find out what you were doing, you shouldn’t leave a trail, however faint. With the phone booth door closed, nobody would hear him, especially with the traffic noise. He kept his hand over his mouth on the off chance that somebody might be watching through a pair of binoculars and trying to read his lips.

He lifted the black receiver and dialed zero.

“Operator.”

“I’d like to make a collect call to…” Drake gave the long distance number to the operator. When she asked for his name, he said, “Drake.”

He heard various noises while the operator put through the call and then the sound of a ringing telephone. He hoped Blade would be home.

After half a dozen rings the operator said, “Nobody is answering.”

“Let it ring a few more times.”

After about the eighth ring Drake heard the sound of the phone being answered with a brusque hello.

“I have a collect call from a Mr. Drake. Will you accept the charge?”

“Drake? Who does that bastard think he is?”

“Will you accept the charge, sir?”

“All right, all right, put him on.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Drake.”

“You took long enough to answer the phone.”

“What do you mean by calling me collect?”

“Relax. I’ll pay for it. I’m calling from a phone booth.”

“Yeah, just like you paid for all those drinks you owe me. It’ll be a cold day in hell… Speaking of hell, where the hell are you?”

“California.”

“Since you flunked geography you wouldn’t know that there’s a three-hour time difference.”

“You never go to bed before midnight, unless you’ve suddenly gotten senile. I need your help.”

“That’s not new. I bailed you out your whole career. What’s the matter now?”

“I’m in a race called Running California. You ever hear of it?”

“Not a chance. It sounds crazy, just like you.”

“It’s being sponsored by a privately owned company called Giganticorp.”

“I have a vague hit on that one. I think they supply military products to the government.”

“I need more information on them and their CEO, Casey Messinger. He just announced he’s running for senator from California?”

“You mean in nineteen seventy? That’s more than a year away.”

Drake heard a woman’s voice in the background asking who was on the phone.

“Did you get married?”

“Hell no.”

“Another thing. Somebody—or some group—may be betting on Running California.” Drake filled him in quickly on the details, not mentioning the note or the demands. “I need any information you can give me on that.”

“When I find out something—if I find out something—where can I reach you?”

“I’ll have to call you. We’re on the move.”

“I supposed you’ll call collect.”

“Probably. Oh, and there’s one more thing. Do you remember Melody?”

“How could I forget that babe? Although what she saw in you I’ll never know.”

“She’s in the race. She’s been having trouble reaching her mother in England, and she’s worried about her. Do you think you could have an agent check up on her?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Give me her mother’s address.”

Drake did that. “Thanks for the help. I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than you can ever repay.”

“Say hello to your squeeze for me.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

CHAPTER 8

We have obtained permission for you to run through Camp Pendleton on the beach. This is an isolated but beautiful area, and you should enjoy having the beach to yourselves much of the time. Near the north end of Camp Pendleton there is a bathing suit optional beach, but you should be used to this by now. You will have to go up to the road to detour around the San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant. We will post a race official on the beach at the path you should use to exit at the power plant. After passing San Onofre go back to the beach and continue to San Clemente State Beach. You will be leaving San Diego County and entering Orange County at this point.

***

Drake was up before the wakeup call at six, stretching his sore back muscles. Stretching through the lingering pain. If he were going to stay in this race, he wanted to do more than cover the distance; he wanted to compete. Even if they could narrow the time differential that the other teams were beating them by each day, that would make him feel he was accomplishing something.

His body felt a little looser. The good news was that after three days of running he hadn’t suffered any new problems. Actually, to say that they were running was wishful thinking—their average pace hadn’t been more than that of a brisk walk.

He put on his running clothes and then a sweat suit to ward off the morning chill. As he was about to leave the room, he noticed the note he had scribbled to himself in the middle of the night. Nighttime ideas disappeared like the stars when the sun rose. Now if he could only read it. He finally decided it was the letters BB. For “bulletin board.”

He took the threatening note from the envelope in the suitcase Giganticorp had purchased to replace the one burned in the accident and went out to the lobby. He handled the paper with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, belatedly being careful to not leave more fingerprints.

Drake held the note beside the notice on the board that showed the elapsed time of each team. The names of the runners were typed with the times handwritten beside the names. He compared the typed letters of the two documents and noticed immediate problems. The sheet on the board was a Xerox copy, not an original. It had probably been typed in San Jose; copies had been made there. In addition, it had a different typeface than the threatening note. IBM Selectric typewriters had removable type balls. Each ball could have a different typeface. If the note he held had been typed on a Selectric, as he suspected, it might be almost impossible to find the actual typewriter that had done the job.

Melody appeared, also in sweats, looking unkempt, which was unusual for her. She had no makeup on, and her sandy hair had been hastily cinched in a ponytail, but loose strands stuck out of her head in several directions.

Drake tried to make a joke. “You look as bad as I did when you first saw me at Coronado.”

“I couldn’t sleep, worrying about my mum. Fred just helped me call her, but she still didn’t answer the phone.”

“Blade has an agent checking on her. I’ll call him tonight to see if he’s learned anything. The note said she’d be all right as long—”

“I know what the note said. Since we don’t know who wrote it, how can we trust it?”

Good question. Melody was understandably upset. If they didn’t receive any information by this evening, Drake was ready to call in the heavy artillery.

***

“Some researchers invented Gatorade for the University of Florida football team. It replaces carbohydrates and what they call electrolytes—stuff that you lose during vigorous physical exercise. Try it.”

Drake took a swig of Gatorade, finished his banana, and watched Melody shove a mixture consisting of peanuts, raisins, and M&M’s into her mouth.

“I have no problem trying Gatorade, but just be thankful that I suggested we carry the bananas and gorp in our pouches, along with drinks. You whined that it would add too much weight. Aren’t you glad now that we’re all alone away from civilization that we’ve got the food?”

The pouches were held in place by straps around their waists and weren’t really that inconvenient. Some people called them fanny packs, but because “fanny” was a dirty word in England, referring to the female genitals, Drake was careful not to. Liquid was the heaviest thing in a pouch, at a pound for every pint they carried. The food didn’t add that much weight, and Drake was thankful that Melody had insisted they carry it, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He had struggled through marathons before without eating anything and drinking only water. This race was teaching him that it was smart to refuel along the way.

He was also glad that Melody’s mood had improved after they started running, as it almost always did. He was worried about her mother just as she was, but there wasn’t much they could do about it at the moment.

They had picked up their pace today, and the stop to eat and drink was momentary, although Drake did a few bends from the waist to try to keep his back loose. If it weren’t for the pain that still radiated down his legs from his back, on occasion, his legs would be in good shape. His feet hadn’t suffered at all, aided by the fact that much of their running had been on the beach. Melody didn’t seem to have any physical problems. Drake couldn’t recall that she had ever complained about ailments when they ran together in England.

They finished their snack and set off again, upping their pace a little more. The lapping of the waves on the beach and the squawking of sea birds provided background noise, so they didn’t feel completely alone. Drake enjoyed the isolation, however. After some of the things he’d seen human beings do, he appreciated having breaks from most of them. Memories flitted through his brain, but softly, not having the power to stir his emotions at the moment.

Melody broke into his train of thought. “It looks like there are a couple of blokes on the beach ahead.”

“Maybe marines on their day off.”

As they drew closer, they saw that the two people were indeed men. They appeared to be wearing shorts, unremarkable on the beach. Melody, whose eyes were sharper than Drake’s, gave an exclamation.

“They’re two of our runners. One of them has a problem.”

Drake could see that one of the men had his shoe off, and both of them were examining his foot. Melody spoke again.

“That’s Aki, the Japanese lad. The other one must be Mike, his partner.”

Drake and Melody came up to them and stopped.

Drake asked, “What’s the matter?”

Aki looked up from his sitting position on the sand. “I cut my foot.”

Drake could see blood on the bottom of the foot. Aki’s sock, which was lying on the sand, was soaked with blood. He had twisted his leg to get a good look at the foot, as if he were a contortionist. He was in a position Drake could never hope to emulate.

Melody dropped to her knees to inspect the wound. “What happened?”

“I stepped on a sharp rock. It came right through my shoe. I kept running, hoping the pain would go away.”

“He slowed way down,” Mike said. “He was favoring that leg. I knew he’d never last, running like that. Finally, I told him he had to stop.”

Melody pulled a small first aid kit from her pouch, another weight addition that Drake had opposed. She cut a piece of gauze from a roll with a miniature pair of scissors, poured a little water on it from her canteen, and wiped the blood off the cut. Then she took another look at it.

“It probably needs stitches.”

“Shit.” Aki sucked in his breath. “Sorry. But if I take the time to go to a doctor, it’ll take hours, especially in this God-forsaken place. I’ll never finish today’s run. We’ll be eliminated.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” Melody reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a roll of adhesive tape and a foam pad. “I’m going to cover the cut. That will protect it and should reduce the pain.”

She squeezed some disinfectant from a small tube onto a gauze pad, which she placed on the cut. She covered the gauze with a foam pad and taped it firmly to Aki’s foot.

“Wait ten minutes for the bleeding to stop. Then put on your sock and shoe. Start running slowly. If the pain is bearable, you can speed up. That should hold you for today. If we get to San Clemente before you, we’ll arrange for you to see a doctor.”

“Thank you.” Aki looked gratefully at Melody.

Mike said, “Most of the runners wouldn’t have taken the time to stop and help us.”

“It’s a long race,” Drake said. “We need to help each other. Good luck.”

He and Melody started running along the beach. After they had gone a hundred yards Drake looked back at the pair. They were still sitting on the sand.

“This is the first time we haven’t been in last place during a day’s run. And you’ve acquired a couple of new admirers. It’s a good day.”

“It will be a good day if we find out that my mum is okay.”

***

“I’m actually glad you called.”

Blade’s voice sounded upbeat. Drake suspected that he didn’t have a woman with him tonight that he had to impress.

“I take it you’ve got some information for me.”

“One of our girls tracked down Melody’s mother. I like Melody, so I gave it a high priority. Tell her that if she ever wants to come back, the agency has a place for her. And if she just wants to live the life of a princess, she can live with me. I’ll take care of her. Tell her that.”

“Fat chance. What about her mother?”

“Blondie went to her house; she wasn’t there. She went next door and talked to a neighbor. It seems that Mrs. Jefferson is off visiting a friend in Sheffield. Blondie got the number and called her in Sheffield. She’s having a jolly good holiday, as she said.”

Relief flooded through Drake. He had been more worried about her than he had allowed himself to believe. Mona Jefferson had befriended Drake when he had been stationed in England. She had cooked scrumptious meals for him. Melody had complained that he liked Mona more than he liked her. Drake copied down the information about where she was.

“I appreciate you doing that.”

“I know you do, you bastard, but I did it for Melody, not you. I did, however, out of the goodness of my evil heart, make a minimal effort to find out some information about Giganticorp.”

“Shoot.”

“Big G, as it’s called in government circles, develops and manufactures a variety of electronic equipment and other stuff for the military. They have a sweet deal going. Some of their contracts weren’t put out for bidding. They’re privately owned, and I haven’t seen the figures, but a contact at the IRS told me that they are immensely profitable.”

“Ike’s military-industrial complex in action.”

“Looks like it. Casey Messinger, the CEO, is rolling in it. He owns several houses, including one on the Riviera. He’s married to his second wife, a former Miss Galaxy, or something like that.”

“It’s funny that I haven’t heard much about Giganticorp.”

“Nobody has. They keep a low profile. When you’ve got it as good as they do, you don’t want to spoil it by having people ask too many questions. Some generals and admirals own part of it. It’s true that your Casey has filed for the U.S. Senate, but there hasn’t been a lot of publicity about that yet. He’s made his money, so now he wants to become a do-gooder and bask in the love from the proletariat that he deserves.”

“The universe save us from do-gooders. All that is very interesting, but did you find out anything about betting on Running California.”

“Ah, the race. An attempt by the humble Casey to publicize the great state of California—but also himself. He’s been quoted about it in every major newspaper in the country, including the New York Times, Washington Post, et cetera. I even saw Oliver Drake, the military hero, mentioned. It brought tears to my eyes, and I found myself humming ‘God Bless America.’”

“Save it. What about betting?”

“Nada. Zilch. The boys in Vegas couldn’t care less.”

“What about an international syndicate?”

“This is small potatoes for them. Nobody cares, Drake. Except me. I’ve always cared about you. Look how many times I’ve gotten your ass out of a jam—”

“I’ll remember you in my will. Do you have any other information for me?”

“You don’t care about me; you only care about what I can do for you.”

“I’ll call you again in a few days to see if you’ve learned anything more.”

“I’ll wait here—all alone by the telephone—pining for your call.”

Drake hung up. Good news about Melody’s mother. Bad news about the threatening note. It must be some sort of inside job. But inside what? And why?

CHAPTER 9

Today’s run goes through some of the richer areas of Orange County. It starts out on the beach at San Clemente State Beach. Stay on the beach past the private homes that are built on the sand. It will be low tide, and you should have no trouble getting by them. At San Juan Creek in Doheny State Beach get on Route 1 and follow it for the rest of the run. You will pass Dana Point, commemorating Richard Henry Dana who wrote “Two Years Before the Mast,” and Laguna Beach, the home of many artsy people and the annual “Pageant of the Masters.” After passing through Corona Del Mar you will enter Newport Beach. The run ends at MacArthur Boulevard (Route 73). Please observe all traffic laws when you’re running on Route 1.

***

“Maybe I should feel thankful to the person who wrote that note. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have stayed in the race.”

Drake and Melody were running through Laguna Beach on Route 1, past art galleries and other touristy buildings. A horde of shorts-clad tourists competed with them for sidewalk space, often slowing them down.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, but don’t push it. The note said we had to finish the race. My mum was rather shocked when I called her, by the way. She wanted to know how I found out where she was.”

“She always struck me as being very independent.”

“Too independent. I’m trying to talk her into coming to the U.S. and living close to me so I can keep an eye on her, but she won’t hear of it. She says she would miss her friends too much.”

Drake looked behind him. “I wonder how Aki and Mike are doing. I haven’t seen them since we got off the beach.”

“They’ll be okay. Aki said the doctor didn’t think the cut was too bad. He just told him to stay off his feet for a few days.”

“Which of course he isn’t going to do.”

“When did runners ever pay attention to what doctors say?”

“At least we’re not in last place today. There’s someone in worse shape than I am. I’ll be happy when we’re not in last place overall.”

“As I said, don’t rush it.” Melody put a hand on his shoulder. “I feel your competitive fire returning, which isn’t a bad thing. I’m glad to see the old Drake. However, you’ve got to last a few hundred more miles. There’ll be opportunities. In a race this long, things are bound to happen.”

“Like stepping on rocks. And getting rear-ended.”

“I keep seeing signs about the Festival of Arts and “Pageant of the Masters.” What’s that about?”

“The Festival of Arts is an art festival. Ouch.”

Drake recoiled as Melody punched him in the shoulder.

“Well, what did you want me to say? If you’re going to hit me, I won’t tell you about the ‘Pageant of the Masters.’”

“This sounds like something out of Queen Elizabeth’s time. The first Queen Elizabeth. Prithee, kind sir, tell me about the ‘Pageant of the Masters.’”

“I went once. The folks who live here dress up like the people in paintings and sculptures and assume the same poses. They build sets for the backgrounds, and when you add the people and light it properly, you get a tableau that looks like the real thing. The models become the people in the paintings. It’s amazing how they do it, and they’ve been doing it forever.”

“That’s brilliant. I’d love to see it.”

“Well, since it’s going on right now, maybe we can talk Freddy into taking us.”

“Or steal the car and go ourselves. We have tomorrow off, so we don’t have to worry about going to bed early.”

“If it isn’t sold out. It’s very popular.”

“Do they depict nude paintings like ‘The Naked Maja’?”

“Sometimes, although if there are any men in them, they wear loincloths.”

“That’s all right. I’ve seen enough naked men on the beach. What about the women?”

Drake’s smile told her all she needed to know.

***

“May I say how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Thank you.” Melody smiled at Fred.

“You know, it was my idea to invite you to participate in Running California. I’m certainly glad I did. You’ve been a breath of fresh air.”

Drake reflected that this was the first time Melody had worn a skirt since Running California had started and wondered whether that had prompted Fred’s attention to her. It was a short skirt—Mary Quant had introduced her minis into the States a couple of years back—but more of Melody’s legs had been visible below the shorts she had been wearing every day. Somehow the skirt made her look more appealing, more feminine. In addition, she was wearing her sandy hair down without the ponytail. He began to rue the agreement between Melody and himself that they would sit on either side of the round and rolly Fred.

Melody, who was expert at manipulating men, made it sound to Fred as if they were trying to get to know him better. Which was certainly true, as far as it went. Fred had surprised the runners by producing a ticket to the “Pageant of the Masters” for each of them. Peaches drove them back to Laguna Beach from Newport Beach on the bus.

The Irvine Bowl was an outdoor amphitheater with tiers of seats rising gracefully in an arc from in front of the stage. It reminded Drake of a Roman theater he had seen on the island of Cyprus. It also bore similarities to a Greek Odeon, such as those at the Acropolis of Athens. Like the ancient theaters, there wasn’t a bad seat in the place. Not everything of value had been invented in the last hundred years.

The show couldn’t start until dark—about 8:30. It gave them a chance to talk to Fred. Drake decided it was time to change the direction of the conversation from how good Melody looked.

“How long have you been with Giganticorp?”

“Fifteen years. I joined right out of college.”

Melody said, “The Company must have been small then. I’m trying to remember when I first heard of it.”

“It was started in the late forties by a group of retired military officers and scientists who wanted to make sure that the U.S. stayed on the leading age of weapons and war technology. In some ways we got caught flat-footed by World War Two.”

It had grown rapidly and become very large, all in twenty years.

Drake had a question. “Since it started small, as most companies do, how did it get its name?”

“That was a joke. You know how military men are with their big egos. They decided that if they were going to start a corporation, it was going to be a big one. In reality, it started in an old warehouse not much larger than a garage. It was just Casey and half a dozen scientists.”

“How did Casey get involved?”

“His father was a lieutenant general in the army and on the original board of directors of Giganticorp. He died a few years ago. Casey was a senior at Stanford, majoring in business. They were working on a shoestring and needed somebody they could get cheap to head it. They pulled Casey out of school and made him president. I suspect they were planning to bring somebody in over him if they were successful.”

Melody spoke above the murmur of the voices of hundreds of theater-goers, chatting as they drifted toward their seats. “It sounds like Casey was so successful they never replaced him.”

“That’s it in a nutshell. He proved to be good at getting military contracts—although, of course, the connections of the stockholders helped. The corporation grew faster than any of the founders had dreamed.”

“I take it you’ve grown with the corporation over the years.” Melody kept a straight face, not looking at Fred’s waistline. “What’s your position?”

“My official title is Vice President of Marketing Operations.” Fred pulled two business cards out of a pocket of his sport coat and handed one to each of them. “I get involved with a lot of special projects.”

“Like Running California.”

“Precisely. Although I have to admit that was Casey’s idea. He runs almost every day. I’m not a runner, but I admire people who can do that sort of thing.”

Fred was smiling at Melody as he said this.

“Are you going to help Casey with his Senate race?” Drake asked.

“He hasn’t asked me. I was as surprised as anybody when he made the announcement. He doesn’t have an organization yet.”

The sun had set, and the show would start soon. Drake still had a couple of additional questions. He watched Fred’s face closely. “Are you aware of anybody betting on the outcome of Running California?”

Fred looked genuinely shocked. “Betting? You mean betting on who will win?”

“Or who will finish and who will drop out?”

Fred shook his head so vigorously that the flab on his cheeks shook.

“No. This is a clean race. It’s strictly on the up and up. If you introduce betting, you have all sorts of possibilities—such as runners being tainted by the offer of money to do certain things. Why? Have you been approached?”

“No.” At least not in the sense Fred meant. “Just curious. Of course, the prize for the winning team is so much that it might be difficult to tempt anybody to throw the race who was in the running to win.”

Fred laughed. “That was Casey’s idea, too. There’s nothing like giving away a million dollars to get people’s attention.”

“But Giganticorp can afford it.”

“Yes, Giganticorp can afford it.”

The lights went out, and the audience hushed.

Melody spoke, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. “One more question. Are you married?”

“Yes. Since we have a day off tomorrow, I’m flying to San Jose to see my wife and three children. I have two girls and a boy.”

The orchestra started playing. Drake looked up at a million stars twinkling above them and hoped that the rest of the race would be as peaceful as it was here tonight.

***

While the players were depicting a painting that Melody was sure she had seen in the Louvre in Paris, Fred put his hand on her bare knee. A friendly gesture. From a man who had a wife and three children. Why did men like Fred think they were irresistible to women?

When the hand started to move up her thigh, Melody could almost hear his thought process: “Women are docile; she won’t make a scene in a stadium packed with people.”

She gave him a chance to reconsider his folly. When he started to go under her skirt, it was time for action. She laid her hand on top of his fat one. A friendly gesture on her part showing that she was enjoying his attention. She felt for his chubby little finger, giving him some sensory pleasure. She got a firm grip on it.

Slowly she started to bend his finger back. For the first few inches he might have seen it as an enjoyable form of sadomasochism. But she kept going. He tolerated it longer than she thought he would. Did she have to break his finger? Suddenly he snatched his hand away and rotated his body toward Drake. He didn’t look at her during the rest of the show.

***

Drake didn’t have his pants completely off when the telephone rang. He made the mistake of trying to hop to the phone with them around his ankles. A spasm in his back caused him to trip and fall forward. His nose hit the top of the nightstand, and he roared in pain. He sat on the floor with his back against the bed, trembling as he waited for the almost unbearable spears shooting through his nose and back to subside.

The phone continued to ring. He’d better answer it. Was he able to talk? He fumbled for the receiver and picked it up.

“Drake.”

“Are you all right?” Melody’s voice sounded frantic.

Drake cleared his throat and tried to speak above a mumble. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just had a little accident.”

“Is somebody there?”

“No.”

“Drake, somebody went through my things while we were at the show.”

He was now fully alert. “Did they take anything?”

“No, nothing’s missing.”

“Money? Jewelry?”

“I didn’t leave any money in the room. The jewelry I have with me is worthless. Nothing was nicked. What about your room?”

Now he understood what she was driving at.

“Just a minute.”

Drake set the telephone receiver on the nightstand and crawled across the threadbare rug on his hands and knees to his suitcase. His pants were still around his ankles, but he didn’t know whether he could stand yet, anyway. The suitcase was sitting on the floor against the wall of the motel room where he had left it. It took him a few seconds to open the latches because his hands were still shaking from the pain.

The differences were subtle, but he could tell that somebody had been in his suitcase. He arranged his clothes in a certain way from habit, left over from the days when he never knew who would be spying on him. Whoever had looked inside the suitcase had taken pains to cover his tracks, but he hadn’t done quite a good enough job.

Drake crawled back to the phone. “Somebody’s been in my things.”

“I’m coming over.”

“Wait…”

A click told him that Melody had hung up. She was only three doors away, so she would be here in a few seconds. Drake didn’t want her to see him like this. He struggled to a sitting position on the bed and pulled up his pants. He didn’t have his fly zipped or his belt buckled when there was a knock on the door.

“Just a minute.”

He made it to his feet, zipped his fly after fumbling a bit, and put the tongue of the buckle through the first hole in the belt. He tried to walk to the door without limping. He opened the door and saw Melody, clad in a green bathrobe and barefoot.

“You look terrible.”

Drake realized how contorted his face was and tried to smile. “That’s become your standard greeting.”

Melody pushed past him into the room. “It doesn’t look as if you had a spat with anyone. What happened?”

“My own stupidity. I fell and hurt my back and nose.”

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t think I exacerbated anything.”

“I’ll exacerbate you if you did. Did anything get taken from your room?”

“Not that I can tell. I have one more place to look.”

Drake tried to lift the only chair in the room, thought better of that plan, and ended up dragging the chair over to the wall by the window. He carefully stood on it, trying not to let Melody see how much it hurt him to lift his leg. Maybe he had reinjured his back. He pulled a dime out of his pocket and unscrewed the screws that secured the ceiling vent. After he removed the vent, he reached up and pulled down a brown paper bag.

He handed it to Melody and replaced the vent. “Don’t touch them, but are the envelope and letter there?”

Melody looked inside the bag. “Yes, still here. Do you think that’s what whoever it was was looking for?”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Maybe they suddenly realized that we might be able to trace them.”

“We couldn’t get a typewriter match, so it must be fingerprints. Of course our prints are all over them.”

“We won’t add any more.”

“How can we get them checked for prints without raising all kinds of alarms?”

“I’ll call Blade. There must be a local agent who can help us.” Drake went over to the phone.

“Drake, it’s three in the morning in D.C. Blade isn’t going to be happy to hear from you.”

“So what else is new? At least he’ll probably be home. Unless he’s sleeping over at his girlfriend’s.”

Drake got a long distance operator and called collect so that nobody from the motel could determine what number he had called. Blade was even grouchier than his usual self, if that were possible, but he accepted the call and listened as Drake told him what he needed. He promised to have an agent contact them the next day. Drake hung up.

“Whoever did this was a pro. Or at least a semi-pro. No forced entry. Nothing messed up—at least not very much.”

“If we were normal people, we wouldn’t have known about it—unless the thief had gotten the letter.”

“I don’t think you should sleep alone. Whoever it was may come back.”

“Is this your sneaky way of getting me into bed with you?”

“Melody, I’m serious. I’m also in no condition to do anything. Maybe we can swap our two rooms for one with two beds.”

“No.” Melody thought for a moment. “I’m not afraid. I don’t think anybody is going to risk being identified. It’s interesting that they know our room numbers. It certainly looks like an inside job. Which means that they could have taken the letter when it was on the bus with our luggage.”

“That would prove it’s an inside job. We would go directly to Casey.”

“Maybe we should, anyway.”

“Not yet. We’d have to talk to him in person. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him soon.”

“Give me one of your razor blades. If somebody comes into my room, I’ll give him something to remember me by.”

Drake went into the bathroom and came back with the requested blade.

“Be careful.”

“I will. I know how to use this.” Melody gave him a quick hug. “There’s another reason why I can’t stay in the same room with you. I might be the one who couldn’t resist; I might jump your bones.”

She opened the door just wide enough to slip through the crack and closed it behind her.

CHAPTER 10

The ringing telephone woke an irritated Drake out of a sound sleep. Why was Melody calling him? They had agreed that this was their morning to sleep in. The light streaming through the partially opened curtain told him that it was broad daylight outside, so it couldn’t be too early. Better answer the phone. His back gave a twinge as he reached for the receiver, but it wasn’t as bad as last night.

“Drake.”

“Blade asked me to contact you.”

The voice was resonant, like that of a radio announcer. Drake uttered something in reply.

“I’ll meet you and Melody this morning at ten at a coffee shop on PCH. It’s about a mile from your motel. Here’s the address.”

Not “Can you meet me?” He’d better write down the address, but he didn’t have pen and paper handy. Drake asked the man to repeat it. He did, his voice showing impatience. Then the line went dead before Drake could find out his name and how they would know him. A typical spy operation. Drake had been out of the business for too long. He had no desire to return to it.

***

“PCH?”

“Pacific Coast Highway.”

“I thought I was catching on to American English, but you Californians have your own brand.”

“So do other sections of the U.S. Just like your beloved UK. Although I think in the UK it’s more of a class difference.”

Drake began whistling “Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak?” from My Fair Lady.

Melody grabbed Drake’s arm to keep him from crossing a street as the light turned red.

“I could make some comments about class in the U.S. Or ethnic groups. Or what some people call race, although last time I checked we’re all members of the human race.”

Drake was glad they were walking and not running. It allowed him to stretch his muscles without abusing them. The day off would be very helpful to him. He was already planning to take an afternoon nap. It was another cloudless day of California summer, and Melody had insisted they put on sunscreen, just as if they were going to be out running all day. Even with the sunscreen, their faces and limbs had grown several shades darker since the start of the race. In Drake’s case, it helped hide the bruise on his nose. When he looked in the mirror, the image he saw looked almost like he pictured himself.

Drake spotted the coffee shop, which looked a lot like small restaurants everywhere. It was far enough from the motel that they were unlikely to see anybody connected with the race. They walked in at one minute to ten and looked around. Before Drake saw anybody who resembled an agent, Melody nudged him. She directed his gaze to the booth in the corner. A man sat with his back to the junction of the two walls wearing mirror sunglasses. He gave an almost imperceptible nod in their direction.

As they made their way to the booth, Drake spoke under his breath. “Those shades make him look like a California Highway Patrol officer.”

“No remarks. Remember, he’s doing us a favor.”

“At least he knows how to keep his back to the wall—unlike Wild Bill Hickok.”

“Enough.”

They came up to the booth.

Melody extended her hand with a smile. “Melody.”

He shook her hand briefly. “Slick.”

As Drake shook his hand he wanted to say, “I’m sure you’re slick, but what’s your name?”

They sat down opposite him. With his short-sleeved sport shirt he looked like any other tourist except for the bulging muscles in his arms. Even his iron-colored short hair contributed to his look of hardness.

A waitress in an ugly brown uniform immediately bustled up, so Drake ordered coffee and Melody ordered iced tea. Slick was sucking on a tall glass of Coke through a straw. After the waitress filled their cups, there was silence for a minute while Melody put a spoonful of sugar in her glass.

Melody spoke first. “Thanks for helping us.”

“Blade said you were good people and to do whatever you asked.”

It was the same mellifluous voice that Drake had heard on the phone. That was Drake’s cue to open the top of the brown paper bag he was carrying and show Slick the contents.

“The envelope and note may have fingerprints on them. Well, we know they have our prints, but they may have others. We’re hoping you can connect them to people in the government files.”

Slick opened an attaché case he had on the seat beside him. He placed the bag in the case and pulled a couple of items out.

“Since your prints are here, I’m going to fingerprint you now. I know we’ve got your prints on file, but it’s always a pain to look them up, especially since they’re not stored here. This way we can eliminate them from the evidence before we send it back east.”

Drake wasn’t keen on being fingerprinted, but as Slick said, their prints were already on file, so it didn’t make a lot of difference. He and Melody rolled each of their fingers on the inkpad and left their prints on a card, being careful not to smudge them. Because they were in a corner booth, nobody saw what they were doing.

Drake tried to wipe the ink off his fingers with a napkin. “Please don’t share the contents of the note with anyone except Blade. You don’t need to do anything about it. We’re taking care of it.”

Slick raised his eyebrows, as if questioning their ability to take care of the situation, but he didn’t say anything. They agreed that Drake would call Blade to get the results of the fingerprinting. Melody asked how they could get hold of Slick if they needed to talk to him directly.

Slick gave them each a business card. The cards were for the Christian Bookstore and gave an address in Los Angeles.

“Call this number and ask for Slick.”

As he pocketed the card, Drake wondered if it were somebody’s idea of a joke, but he didn’t ask. It was obvious that Slick wasn’t one for small talk. Drake and Melody exchanged looks.

Melody said, “I need to go to the loo and wash my hands.”

As Drake reached for his wallet, Slick said, “I’ll take care of it.”

Drake and Melody went to the restrooms. When they came out, Slick was gone.

***

As the runners filed into his motel room, Drake inspected them for physical problems. The only times they had all been together in the past few days were during the morning ride in the bus to the starting point of the day’s run, and that situation didn’t lend itself to general conversation. With all of the Giganticorp employees off for the day, he figured it was a good time to find out how everyone was doing and ask some other questions.

Aki appeared to be favoring his cut foot, but he didn’t grimace in pain. He and Mike had finished yesterday’s run in last place for the day, but they had finished. The other runners still looked healthy. Drake had to admit that Giganticorp had done a good job picking them.

They sat on the bed and on the floor, chatting and joking. Some stood and leaned against the wall. Drake offered the only chair to Melody, but she eschewed it, preferring to stand beside him. He tried to count attendees. He raised his hand for silence.

“Is everyone here?”

Three of the runners said that their teammates were with their families for the day. Seventeen out of twenty were present. Not bad.

“What’s the purpose of this meeting?”

Drake looked at the questioner who was sitting cross-legged on the rug. “I’m sorry. I still don’t know everyone’s name.”

“Phil.”

“And your partner is?”

“Brian.”

The names rang a bell, but the bodies were interchangeable.

“Let’s have each of us give our name and indicate our teammate. I’m Drake and this is Melody.”

“We know who you are.”

General laughter. However, they did as they were told. That helped a little. Drake suspected that he was the only one, with the possible exception of Melody, who didn’t know all the others.

“I thought we’d get together without the beanstalk gang to see how everyone is doing, any complaints, that sort of thing. Anybody want to lead off?”

“This running in sand is for the birds,” Brian said.

“Especially when we have to run through a flock of seagulls,” someone else cut in.

“I’m serious. It’s hard work and slows us down.”

“It slows everybody down equally.”

“Except those who cheat.”

All eyes looked at the speaker who Drake identified as Glen.

Feeling the stares he continued, “I’m not naming names, but several teams have been running on the street when they were supposed to run on the beach.”

“One team got penalized.”

That was common knowledge, because any penalties, in the form of minutes added to their times, were posted along with the rankings. Drake remembered that it was the team of Harrison and Danny.

Harrison stood up. He had black hair, and his body had a darker tan than most. “We weren’t the only ones. Others did it too, but they weren’t caught. Fred showed us a picture someone took of us. We didn’t see the photographer. They have people watching us we don’t know about.”

“Other than Fred, Peaches, and Grace?” Melody asked.

A five-minute discussion ensued, resulting in agreement that Giganticorp had plainclothes people along the route keeping an eye on the runners. Several of the runners thought they knew what a couple of them looked like.

Drake ended the talk by saying, “There’s nothing in the rules that says they can’t do this. They’re trying to make sure we’re abiding by the rules.”

“Speaking of rules, what about the rule that says we have to share a room?” Phil looked at Drake and Melody. “Apparently it doesn’t apply to you two.”

“He thinks you two should be sleeping together.”

Brian winked at Melody while the other runners broke up.

Phil wasn’t laughing. “Melody could room with Grace. Drake could room with…”

“Peaches?”

More laughter.

“We’ll draw straws to see who rooms with Grace.”

“And Melody.”

Drake wanted to keep the meeting from degenerating into a bull session. “Another subject. Has anybody had any security problems? Losing things out of rooms, suitcases, et cetera?”

The room quieted down.

Danny said, “Why do you ask?”

“No special reason. Security can be a problem when you’re traveling, especially in a group as large as this one.”

“We have Peaches to protect us and our things.”

The mention of Peaches seemed to provoke hilarity. Nobody admitted to losing anything or mentioned that their belongings had been disturbed.

Drake had one more question. “Has anybody been approached to…alter your running in any way and either been threatened or promised something?”

When the resulting buzz died down, a man Drake recognized as Winthrop said, “Are you saying that someone is betting on the race?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m just asking.”

Nobody volunteered any information. Drake didn’t want to make an issue of it.

“I have a complaint about the prize money.”

All eyes looked at Mike, Aki’s teammate.

“There’s only one prize. It’s winner-take-all. What does the team that finishes second get?”

“A case of Rice-A-Roni.”

“An all-expense-paid tour of the California coast.”

“Tom and Jerry aren’t complaining.”

Their lead had increased to over fifteen minutes.

Tom spoke up. “It’s a long race, guys. Anything can happen. You know, we’re taking it one day at a time.”

Cliché city, but it made him a few points. A vigorous discussion ensued. Drake argued that having one prize fostered competition. His argument lost some force, at least for himself, because he and Melody were being paid to run. It was a good thing the other runners didn’t know that. He rationalized it by telling himself that it was an appearance fee, like some elite runners received for entering marathons. Although why he and Melody deserved an appearance fee he didn’t know.

One thing everybody agreed on was that the publicity would help them with their running careers. It was also a great vacation and beat working for a living.

CHAPTER 11

Today’s run starts at MacArthur Blvd. on Route 1. Follow the road through Newport Beach and across the Santa Ana River, being careful to obey all traffic laws. Run on the beach starting on the far side of the river, through the long and beautiful Huntington Beach, then Bolsa Chica State Beach, and Sunset Beach. Return to Route 1 at the far end of Sunset Beach and follow it into Seal Beach. Jog left on Marina Drive and follow it across the San Gabriel River into Los Angeles County. The run ends at 2^nd Street.

***

Drake and Melody actually had several other teams in sight as they crossed the Santa Ana River. In addition, Mike and Aki were behind them.

“There’s Grace to make sure we get on the beach here.” Melody’s sharp eyes recognized her first.

“I’ll bet, from what we heard yesterday, that Fred has cars driving up and down PCH making sure we stay on the beach.”

As they approached Grace, standing on the other side of the bridge, it struck Drake for the first time that she was a very good looking young woman. Clad in shorts and a Running California sleeveless top, she looked like a runner herself. Her long dark hair was in a ponytail, like Melody’s, and her legs were well defined, although she didn’t have the runner’s calves Melody had.

Grace smiled at them as they came up to her. “Congratulations. You’re within five minutes of four other teams. Keep up the good work.”

They stopped momentarily and gulped water in paper cups that Grace had set on a tray. Drake took an extra cup and poured the contents over his head. They waved to her and scrambled down from the highway onto the sand. When they regained their strides on the beach, Drake spoke.

“There’s something about Grace. You know, I don’t think she’s wearing a bra.”

“It took you long enough to figure that out. I think I can say with certainty now that you’re back to being the old Drake. That’s a relief.”

“It must be the hippie influence. I’m sure she doesn’t dress like that when she’s in San Jose. She’d better be careful, or the guys will be all over her.”

“The runners? They’re pussycats. I’ll tell you who she has to worry about.”

“Who?”

“Fred.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No I’m not. During the Pageant he put his hand on my leg.”

“I didn’t see—”

“You were engrossed with what was happening on the stage. It was okay; I’ve faced down men bigger than Fred and ten times as vicious. I took hold of his little finger and bent it back until he decided that his hand would be better occupied elsewhere.”

“You could have broken it.”

“I considered doing that, but the crime didn’t justify that punishment. I think he’s learned his lesson. However, Grace doesn’t know the tricks I know. It might be a good idea if we got to know her better.”

“I agree.”

***

They took Grace to an Italian restaurant.

When they were seated, Melody said, “I hope you like Italian food. We eat Italian a lot because it’s easy to get both protein and carbohydrates in dishes like spaghetti and meatballs.”

“I love it. In fact, I love almost all food.”

“It doesn’t show on you. You have a marvelous figure.”

“Oh, thank you. I like to run—of course not as far as you two. I was on the track team in college. That’s one reason I got to work on the race. I wish I were as thin as you, though.”

“No you don’t. You only get this thin by running fifteen or more miles a day. When the race is over, I’m going to become a glutton and weigh three hundred pounds.”

The waitress came and took their order. Melody ordered iced tea, and Grace ordered a glass of red wine. Drake ordered the darkest beer they had, which wasn’t very dark. He had gotten used to drinking Guinness Stout in England.

Drake knew that if he didn’t assert himself, he might be shut out of the conversation.

“Grace, tell us about your ancestry.”

She had the kind of complexion with a perfect balance between too light and too dark that you don’t get out of a bottle or under the sun, although he wasn’t about to give her another compliment and sound like one of the girls.

Grace laughed. “I’m a mixture of just about everything: white, black, Japanese. I even have some Indian blood—Apache, I think. What about you, Mr. Drake?”

“Please call me Drake.”

Melody put on what Drake knew as her sarcastic smile. “He’s very humble.”

“Oh…sorry…Drake. What’s your ancestry?”

“Most of the European countries, if you go back far enough. With emphasis on English, Scottish, Irish, and German.”

Melody said that she was primarily English, Dutch, and French. Drake wanted to steer the conversation to Giganticorp. He asked Grace how long she had worked for them.

“Almost three years now.”

“You joined right out of college?”

“Yes.”

“And you love it.” Melody said it as a statement, not a question.

“It’s a wonderful place to work. I’ve learned so much.”

The way Grace gushed made it sound like a conditioned response.

“How do you like working for Fred?”

Grace hesitated. “In San Jose he was several levels above me. I didn’t see him very much.”

“But here you’re working directly for him.”

“Yes.”

Several expressions fought for control of her face, none of them happy. It appeared that Melody was onto something, Drake thought. Better that he didn’t interfere.

When Grace didn’t speak for several seconds, Melody spoke again. “Let me tell you a little story. The other night at the ‘Pageant of the Masters’ I sat beside Fred. During the show he touched me inappropriately.”

A look of fright had gained control of Grace’s face.

“I was wondering if anything like that had happened to you.”

Grace remained silent for long seconds. Then she spoke in a pleading voice. “I don’t want to lose my job.” She looked at Drake.

Melody saw the look. “You can talk in front of Drake. He’s safe. Nothing you say leaves the table.”

Grace’s expression changed to one of determination. “Several nights ago when I was in my room there was a knock on the door. I asked who it was. It was Fred. He said he had something to tell me. When I let him in, he said something inconsequential. Then he said how good the Running California shirt looked on me. He began to trace the letters on the shirt with his finger. I jumped back.”

Grace stopped to gain control of her voice. “He told me not to be afraid. I let him trace the letters, hoping that was all he was going to do. But then he put both hands under my shirt.”

She stopped, shuddering.

Melody prompted her. “What did you do then?”

“When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I told him I was going to scream. He told me not to scream and that he was just being friendly. Then he left the room. I felt dirty. I took a long shower.”

“That does it,” Melody said. “Starting this minute, you and I are rooming together.”

Grace’s scared expression returned. “No. Fred wouldn’t like that.”

“I’ll handle Fred. I’ll tell him I’m afraid of the dark. Don’t worry. He’ll agree to anything I say.”

Drake saw that Grace was wavering. “When Melody is determined, she’s like a bulldozer. Nobody can stand in her way. I know.” He smiled ruefully.

“Well…”

“There won’t be any repercussions for you. Your job is safe. We guarantee it.” Drake smiled an empathy smile. “You’re too good a person to have bad things happen to you.”

“Thank you. Oh, there’s one thing. Sometimes I have to get up at night to run errands for Fred. I might disturb you.”

It was Melody’s turn to smile. “As long as the errands don’t involve him feeling you up, you won’t bother me. I sleep like a stone.”

Grace looked from one of them to the other. “You’re such good people.”

“Don’t let it get around,” Drake said with mock concern. “You might ruin our reputations.” He saw the waitress approaching with their plates. “Something smells delicious. Let’s eat.”

CHAPTER 12

Today’s run is being split into two parts. All of it is on hard surface. Start on 2^nd Street and head west into Long Beach. Jog left on Livingston Drive. Jog right on Ocean Boulevard. Follow Ocean west along the beach. Although you are permitted to run this section on beach paths, Ocean is more direct, and if you stay on the left or beach side of the street, you shouldn’t have a problem with cross traffic. You will be able to see the Queen Mary at her permanent dock. Continue on Ocean through downtown Long Beach and across the Gerald Desmond Bridge to Terminal Island. On Terminal Island, Ocean changes to Seaside Avenue. Stop at the entrance to the Vincent Thomas Bridge where your time will be recorded.

The Vincent Thomas Bridge is normally not open to foot traffic, but we have received a special dispensation to have it open it for 30 minutes from 10 to 10:30 a.m. All runners must cross the bridge during this time period. Your time will start again when the bridge opens for us. After crossing the bridge, head south (left). Jog west to Pacific Avenue or Gaffey Street and continue heading south. It is also okay to run on the smaller streets until you get to 25^th Street. Turn right (west) on 25^th. You must be on 25^th Street when you cross Western Avenue. 25^th Street becomes Palos Verdes Drive South. Circumnavigate the fabulous Palos Verdes Peninsula on Palos Verdes Drive South and Palos Verdes Drive West. You will pass Marineland of the Pacific with its orcas, dolphins, and seals. Palos Verdes Drive West becomes Palos Verdes Drive North near Malaga Cove. Jog left on Palos Verdes Boulevard and follow it to Pacific Coast Highway in Redondo Beach where the run ends.

***

Drake was surprised at how well he was adapting to running almost every day. He was controlling his back pain with chiropractic sessions, lots of stretching, and baths that Melody had talked him into taking when they stayed at a motel that had bathtubs in the rooms. Being English, Melody was used to taking hot baths, but she said that for running, a cool bath was better than a hot bath—in fact, the colder the better.

It took Drake a while to become convinced of that, but he found that in fact a cold bath after running was good not only for his back, but also his legs and feet.

When the wakeup call came at 6 a.m., he felt chipper enough to wish the caller a good morning.

“Mr. Drake?”

“Yes.” He was surprised that the desk clerk was still on the line.

“I have an envelope for you at the desk.”

Drake suddenly felt as cold as if he were taking one of those baths.

“Don’t touch it. I’ll be right there.”

He pulled on some clothes and raced out to the front desk, surprising the meek-looking man with glasses who, he was certain, hadn’t expected him so fast.

“Show me where the envelope is, but don’t touch it.”

The man looked scared. “I’ve—I’ve already touched it, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay. I…I think it’s a prank. I don’t want a dragon to pop out at you.”

Slightly mollified, the clerk pointed to the envelope, which was sitting on a table on his side of the counter. He opened the door for Drake, who took a handkerchief out of his pocket, stepped behind the counter, and carefully picked up the envelope by its corner. He smiled at the clerk.

“I have this friend who likes to play practical jokes.”

With his free hand, Drake reached into another pocket and pulled out his wallet. Using dexterity fueled by long practice, he extracted a dollar bill from the wallet using only the one hand, and handed it to the clerk.

“Thanks for notifying me so fast.”

“Oh, the envelope came an hour ago.”

“Did you see who delivered it?”

“It must have happened when I stepped away from the counter for a minute. I had to go to the men’s room. When I returned, it was sitting right here.”

Drake thanked the clerk again and hurried back to his room. He sat on the bed and inspected the envelope. It was a white, business-size envelope and had his name typed on the outside, just like the first one. The printing looked different, however. Several of the letters were slightly smeared, as if from dirty typewriter keys. They had been typed on a manual typewriter, not an electric.

The envelope was sealed in one spot, just like the first one. Drake took the small Swiss Army Knife he carried and slid a blade under the flap to unseal it, being careful not to touch the envelope with his fingers. Holding it with the handkerchief, he opened it and extracted the white sheet of paper inside, using a different part of the handkerchief. He unfolded the paper and read it.

To: Oliver Drake

From: The Syndicate

So far good. You have recovered nice from acident. Good news. Now that you back in top shape we need you to do one thing more. Win race. You long shot, exelent odds. Good for both of us. You get million dollers, we get big money to. You have to start working harder. Maybe we help you. Dont forget Melodys mom. Dont show letter to any one.

Win the race? Why not ask him to fly to the moon without a rocket? The stakes were being raised. Shit. Drake retrieved his wallet and found the card that Slick had given him. He picked up the phone and called the number listed for the Christian Bookstore, not expecting an answer this early in the morning. The call was answered on the second ring by a female voice.

“Christian Bookstore.”

“This is Drake. I need to talk to Slick.”

“He’ll call you back in five minutes, Mr. Drake. May I have your number?”

Drake gave her the number and hung up. He debated whether to tell Melody about the new letter immediately. He decided not to for a couple of reasons, including the fact that he didn’t know Grace’s room number. He opened his suitcase and, using the blade from his Swiss Army Knife, carefully reopened a slit in the lining that he had made after his room had been searched.

He had sewed it up again using the sewing kit his mother had put together for him when he left for college. Fine stitches, just like she had taught him. Even a person experienced in finding things wouldn’t spot them during a fast search. He pulled a copy of the original note out of the space behind the lining. Now he could verify the similarities and differences between the two notes.

He would also make a copy of the new note before he gave it to Slick. If he were careful, he could do it without damaging any fingerprints. The motel had a copier; the clerk at the desk would help him.

***

“We’re running faster today. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Melody’s question brought home to Drake what effect the letter was having on him. It scared the hell out of him. All the runners were in a tight group as they navigated east Long Beach. Of course, if he and Melody wanted to actually win the race, they had to be ahead of the others, not just with them. Way ahead. They were many hours behind Tom and Jerry overall.

“Let’s drop back ten yards. I need to talk to you.”

“We’ll catch them again if they have to stop for a light.”

“I haven’t noticed that they pay much attention to mundane things like traffic lights.”

It was true. The runners tended to keep moving in these urban areas, regardless of traffic, crossing streets against lights, endangering themselves. It was amazing what the carrot of a million dollars did to one.

Drake and Melody dropped back as they turned onto Ocean Avenue. With the beach now on the left, there was little cross traffic, and it was less dangerous and easier to talk. Drake filled Melody in on the letter, trying to keep his voice calm. He watched her face and saw the strain there, but she didn’t interrupt him. He mentioned that he had talked to Slick.

She pulled a bottle of Gatorade from her pouch and took a swig. “How are you going to get the letter to Slick?”

“He told me he’d meet us somewhere along our route. I gave him the route and approximate times.”

“So you have the letter with you.”

“Inside the envelope, inside a paper bag, inside my pouch. I haven’t touched it with my fingers.”

“The desk clerk’s prints will be on the envelope.”

“We’re covered on that. I asked him to give me a piece of paper to write a note on. I had him pick a sheet from the middle of a pile of typewriter paper, so the only prints on it will be his and mine. I even got him to hold it with both hands. I’ll give that to Slick too.”

“Sometimes I’m amazed at your cleverness. What time was the envelope delivered?”

“About five. The desk clerk was away from the desk and didn’t see who brought it.”

“Drake, Grace’s alarm clock went off at quarter to five. I pretended to be asleep, but I watched her out of one eye. She threw on some clothes and went out of the room. She returned a few minutes after five and got back into bed.”

“If she was under orders, they probably came from Fred.”

“She got a phone call about 8:30 last night. She didn’t say who it was, and I didn’t ask, but she set her alarm after the call.”

“I take it you didn’t talk to Fred about your new sleeping arrangements.”

“No. If it was Fred on the phone, he didn’t know I was there.”

“Just out of idle curiosity, did you sleep in the same bed?”

“Yes, since there was only one. Before you get any prurient thoughts, it was a big bed, and girls can sleep together easier than lads. Hey, now that the mist is lifting, I can see the Queen Mary. You stole it from us.”

Drake saw the great ship, too. It was impressive, even at a distance. “As I recall, you didn’t want it anymore.”

“What an excuse. Since Casey is meeting us at the bridge, we have to figure out what we’re going to tell him.”

“I don’t think we can tell him anything right now. He’d want the letter, and I’m giving that to Slick. I don’t want him to know about Slick and Blade. We can’t trust anyone related to the race. If worst comes to worst, we’ll get Blade to help protect your mother.”

“Cold comfort. However, I think we have to grill Grace. If we scare her enough, she might not tell anybody we talked to her.”

“She may be the weak spot that helps us penetrate the impregnable fortress. We have to take the chance of what she might do.”

***

The runners all arrived at the Vincent Thomas Bridge together. The rules stated that times were only recorded to the minute, not the second, and that runners finishing a segment in a group without gaps would receive the same time. Although Drake was glad that he and Melody had not lost any time to Tom and Jerry so far today, it wasn’t enough.

The Cat and Mouse duo, as they were called, were smart runners. Their strategy was not to lead but to stay in the lead pack, so that nobody could gain time on them. They were wise to the occasional team that tried to break away from the pack at an unsustainable pace and didn’t try to go with them. Those teams tired and were later caught by the other runners.

As advertised, the bridge was closed to vehicle traffic at 10, and the runners were started on their run over it. Several photographers took pictures. Since it was Sunday, a number of other runners and walkers who had read about the closure joined them. The Running California group was given a head start of several minutes so they didn’t have to run in a crowd.

As Drake and Melody ran up the ramp, Casey appeared beside them in his running clothes. “Mind if I run with you?”

“Happy to have you along,” Melody said, “but I must warn you that we’re going a wee bit faster than we were the last time you saw us.”

“I think I can keep up with you for the length of the bridge. Then I have to go to a meeting. For some reason I’m drawn to running over bridges, especially bridges that aren’t usually open to foot traffic.”

“How did you manage to get permission to have it closed?” Drake asked.

Casey smiled. “I don’t know if you’ve been reading the papers, but Running California is generating a lot of great publicity for the state. I was able to convince the powers that be that letting us run over the bridge would be good for the local economy, including the shipyards—both Long Beach and Los Angeles.”

Drake shook his head. “It’s a shame they didn’t provide a pedestrian walkway when they built the bridge. I said the same thing about Coronado.”

“If I were in charge, they would have.” Casey was puffing with the uphill climb to the top of the arch. “Say, you are running faster.” He took a look at Drake. “I can’t believe how well you’re doing. No limp, and your face looks almost like the picture of you I saw when we were recruiting. I remember thinking I want this handsome guy to be part of Running California. I figured the photographers would love you.”

Melody frowned. “Don’t compliment him. He’s conceited enough already.”

Casey laughed. “I assume that you two have no more doubts about staying in the race.”

“As long as Tom and Jerry remain in good health, we have about as much chance of winning as I, a non-citizen, have of being elected president.”

Casey looked around to see where the other runners were. He spoke in a low voice. “That’s why I’m paying you.”

That triggered something in Drake’s brain. “Why do you care so much whether we stay in the race? If I continue to improve, we’ll probably move up a few places because of problems like Aki’s having, but Melody’s right about our chances of winning.”

“First, because you’re the only woman in the race.” He nodded at Melody. “We talked to several other women we thought could stick it out, but they weren’t able to commit the time. Second,” indicating Drake, “because you’re a war hero.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m no more a hero than hundreds of other guys. Why didn’t you pick somebody younger who fought in Vietnam?”

“Vietnam’s not a popular war. You’re the one we wanted.”

“One more thing. Putting Melody and me together is too much of a coincidence. How did you know we knew each other?”

Casey smiled. “Do you know who’s on our Board of Directors?”

Generals and admirals who had access to top secret information.

CHAPTER 13

“This road is daft with its patches and rollercoaster ups and downs. It looks as bad as some of our country lanes in the backward areas of England.”

“This is a slide area. A lot of houses were destroyed here a few years ago. The slide is ongoing. They have to keep rebuilding the road. You can see that the sewer pipes are aboveground.”

They were running on Palos Verdes Drive South with the dry brown hill of the Palos Verdes Peninsula on the right and a cliff heading down to the water on the left. A few lonely houses remained on the nearby hillside, some held in place with jacks. They ran past the slide into an area called Abalone Cove. A black Porsche was parked in a turnout ahead. A man was leaning against the car, staring out to sea.

He looked familiar to Drake. “Is that who I think it is?”

“It’s our old friend, Slick. What shall we do, run past him and then stop?”

“Sounds good, although I hate to waste the time when we’re doing so well.”

“We’ll make it short.”

They were still with the pack of runners and didn’t want their rendezvous to be noticed. Casey had long since left them. They ran fifty yards past the turnout where Melody spoke for the benefit of the other runners.

“I’ve got something in my shoe.”

Melody and Drake stopped and let the other runners pass them. They walked back to the turnout where Slick was still looking out to sea as if pining for a shipwrecked lover.

“Aren’t you a long way from home?”

Drake’s greeting purposely had an edge to it. After all, Slick hadn’t exactly exhibited much warmth toward them.

“Good day for a drive.”

Slick finally turned and looked at them. He was dressed in tight jeans and a colorful sport shirt and was wearing his trademark mirror sunglasses. Drake wondered what Slick’s eyes looked like. He suspected Melody was wondering the same thing. She went for tall, good-looking men.

Drake took off the pouch and opened it. He pulled out the bag with the envelope and note. It also contained the page with the desk clerk’s fingerprints. He quickly explained the contents of the bag to Slick.

Melody took a bite of banana. “Have you found any prints on the other note?”

He frowned at them, disapprovingly. “Both your prints are all over the note and the envelope. There are other prints on the envelope, probably from two people. And some prints on the letter. From their position, we suspect they’re from one person. They’re the same as some of the prints on the envelope.”

“The odd person on the envelope is probably the desk clerk at that motel.” Drake thought for a moment. “So we’ve got prints from one unknown person.”

“We sent the letter back east. They’ll be checked against our files, including employees of Giganticorp. We’ve got prints on all of them because everybody at Big G has a security clearance.”

Drake looked down the road. The other runners had disappeared over a rise. “Thanks for your help. We’ve got to run.”

“Don’t let me stop you. Don’t sweat too much.”

Drake and Melody started running at a pace they hoped would allow them to catch the others. In a couple of minutes the black Porsche roared past them in a low gear. Slick didn’t even bother to wave.

***

Drake knocked on the door of the room being shared by Melody and Grace. Melody had just phoned him and hung up when he answered, their agreed-upon signal. Grace didn’t know he was coming. Melody opened the door.

“Drake. Come on in.” She made sure her voice carried back into the room.

As he entered, he saw Grace quickly cover her upper thighs with the short bathrobe she was wearing. She was sitting on one of the beds watching television. She looked startled.

“Mr.—I mean, Drake. I didn’t know you were coming over.”

Melody was also wearing a bathrobe. “We need to talk to you, Grace.” She turned off the TV.

Drake felt uneasy. As Melody had pointed out, he had always been uneasy questioning female suspects, especially the ones who liked him. Melody said Grace liked him.

Drake said, “Yeah, like a father.”

Melody had shaken her head. “Definitely not like a father. She asked me if you and I were…together.”

“Did you tell her about our past?”

“She’s not interested in our past, only our present.”

They had agreed that Melody would be the hard-ass in the questioning, and he would be the good guy, instead of the reverse. Drake picked up a straight-back chair and positioned it so he could sit facing Grace. Since he was the good guy, he gave her a little smile. Melody stood beside her bed, assuming the dominant position in the room. Drake let her speak first.

“Where did you go when you got up early this morning?”

“I…nowhere.”

“Where exactly is nowhere?”

Drake watched Grace’s face closely. When they had talked about Fred, her face had given away her feelings. Now it might be registering fright.

“I…I was running an errand.”

“For whom?”

Grace didn’t answer.

It was Drake’s turn. He spoke in a reasonable voice, as if it were obvious. “You were running an errand for Fred, weren’t you? You said you sometimes run errands for Fred.”

“I can’t tell you.”

She zippered her mouth and hugged her knees. Drake had been trained to read body language. Her actions showed her agitation—and her legs.

Melody spoke. “Let’s see if we can reconstruct what happened. You received a call from Fred last night. He told you he needed you to run an errand for him this morning. You set your alarm for quarter to five. You went to his room and he gave you an envelope. You went out the side door of the motel, circled around, and went in the front door. You put the envelope on the counter and then retraced your steps. You returned to your room and went back to bed.”

Grace had her chin on her knees, and looked as if she might be going to place her hands over her ears and make a noise to drown out Melody.

“You must have looked at the envelope, so you know who it was addressed to.”

No answer, but Grace’s eyes flickered briefly on Drake’s.

“Did you see the contents of the envelope?”

“No.”

She realized what she had said and shut her mouth again. It might be true that she was an unwitting accomplice. Drake decided it was time for a softer line. “The envelope contained a threat to Melody and me. The first one you delivered did also.”

“I didn’t know what was in the envelopes. I was just told to deliver them in such a way that I wouldn’t be recognized. Nobody saw me this morning.”

“But they did the first time. Where did you get the hooded jacket?”

“From Fred. It’s his. He also gave me the dark glasses.”

Melody said, “With all this clandestine behavior, didn’t you feel that something was seriously wrong?”

Grace shrugged her shoulders. “Fred said to think of it as a game, just as the race itself is a game. He said it wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“And you believed him?”

“I’m paid to believe him. He’s my boss.”

“So to recap. You went to Fred’s room; he gave you the jacket, glasses, and envelope. You—”

“He didn’t give me the envelope.”

Melody waited for Grace to speak.

“I got it from a man in the parking lot. He was sitting in a car.”

“Was it the same man both times?”

“I’m not sure. The car was parked in the dark, away from the lights. I couldn’t see his face.”

“It wasn’t Peaches?”

“No. I would have recognized him.”

“What about the car?”

“I think it was the same car. A Ford or something like that.”

“Color?”

“In the dark all cars are black.” Grace looked from one of them to the other. “Are you going to tell Fred what I told you? I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Did you touch the envelope with your bare hands?” Drake asked.

“Fred gave me a pair of gloves, too.”

Melody broke in. “You must have known the gloves were to keep you from getting fingerprints on the envelope.”

“I…yes, I guess so.”

“So that makes you an accessory.”

Grace looked scared again. “What are you going to do?”

She was naïve, and she wanted to keep her job. She had good reason to not like Fred. It was also evident that Fred wasn’t the end of the line in this operation, so getting him out of the way wouldn’t necessarily kill it. Drake had an idea. “Would you like a chance to redeem yourself and keep your job at the same time?”

She nodded.

“It involves keeping an eye on Fred and everything else that goes on. If you see or hear anything suspicious, let Melody or me know. By the way, do you, Fred, or Peaches have a portable typewriter?”

Grace shook her head.

“Do you know the other people who are helping with the race, the plainclothesmen, so to speak?” Melody asked. “Watching for violations, that sort of thing?”

“No. I know there are several of them. Fred deals with them directly. I suspect he feels I’d tell the runners who they are. I-I’m sorry I delivered the notes. What do they say?”

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Drake said. “Not knowing will help keep you out of trouble.” And reduce the chances of her speaking out of turn.

Drake and Melody spent the next half hour briefing Grace on the kinds of things she should be looking for and how she could do it without Fred catching on. Melody softened her tone, and Drake put on his instructor hat.

When they were wrapping up, Melody changed the subject. “After what I’ve done to you tonight, you may not want to room with me anymore.”

“No, I do. I feel safer with you. With both of you. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I get the feeling that you’ll protect me.”

Drake smiled. “We’ll try. We’re not sure what’s going on either. I guess we’re all in this together.”

CHAPTER 14

Today’s run is almost entirely on the beach. Run on the bike path or walking path where available. You will have views of surfers, volleyball players, chainsaw jugglers, piers, marinas, power stations, airplanes, and dolphins if you’re lucky. Starting on Pacific Coast Highway in Redondo Beach, take Avenue I to the Esplanade. Head north and take the first available ramp down to the sand. Follow the bike/walking path to the Redondo Beach pier. Go through the parking structure and alongside the dock to Harbor Drive. Follow it past King Harbor and return to the beach at Herondo. Follow the walking path through Hermosa and Manhattan Beaches, and continue on the bike path through El Segundo Beach and Dockweiler Beach, which goes under the takeoff path from Los Angeles Airport. At the north end of Playa del Rey follow the bike path across the first channel. Turn right and then left on the path to Fiji Way. Follow Fiji Way, turn left on Admiralty Way, right on Via Marina, and left on Washington Boulevard back to the beach. Follow the beach paths through the kooky area of Venice Beach. Continue through Ocean Park, and you’re in Santa Monica. Go through Will Rogers State Beach and Pacific Palisades to Topanga State Beach at the end of Topanga Canyon Boulevard. If this part of the beach is impassable due to high tide, run on Route 1 but watch for cars.

***

“Running on concrete is more jarring to the knees than running on asphalt.”

Drake made this observation as they wended their way past the many souvenir stands of Venice Beach. Interesting characters of all ages and manner of dress threatened to slow them down, but by going single file, the runners kept up a good pace.

Melody did a double take at a man juggling several objects, including a whirring chainsaw, and hoped that his arm wouldn’t be amputated in the process.

“When it’s a choice of concrete or sand, like today, I pick concrete for speed, but, of course, sand is easier on the body, at least for short distances. Because of our new policy of staying with the leaders, when the others are running on concrete, we have to also.”

They had been within sight of the leaders all day. So had Tom and Jerry, which meant that nobody was gaining on them. Drake felt twinges in his back, a result of their faster pace. He was sure that Fred had set him up with a chiropractor for this afternoon, probably in Pacific Palisades or Santa Monica. Fred had been very good about taking care of his needs. Thinking of Fred reminded him that they hadn’t had a chance to discuss what if anything they should be doing about Fred.

They passed the Venice Beach crowd and were in a quieter area. The other runners were spread out enough so they could talk without being overheard. Drake voiced his thoughts. “Fred has taken such good care of us that it’s hard to picture him as being part of this intrigue.”

“Maybe the fact that he’s taking good care of us makes it easier to picture him as a conspirator. If he wants us to win, he should be catering to our every whim. He asked me if I needed a chiropractor, a massage, or anything else. He’s been very solicitous.”

“He wants to get into your pants.”

“If so, he’s not acting on it. Ever since the pageant he’s been the soul of politeness and respect.”

“I’ve tried to think how we could confront him with the letters without all hell breaking loose and Grace getting fired.”

“It could also endanger my mum. We can’t prove anything. I have a feeling that Grace would not be a reliable witness. She’d cave under threats. Whoever’s behind it, it’s more than just Fred.”

Drake grabbed a handful of gorp from his pouch and shoved it into his mouth. He pondered while he chewed and swallowed. “Do you think Grace will talk to Fred about our conversation?”

“I doubt it because she’s afraid of losing her job. However, that fear might make her report things about us to him that don’t implicate her.”

“Making her a sort of triple agent. We have to be careful what we tell her. We can’t trust anybody.”

“Just like when we were working together. We should feel right at home.”

“Now I remember why I left you. It was because wherever you went, trouble followed.”

“Speak for yourself, John.”

***

Drake’s after-dinner regimen mainly involved getting himself ready for the next day. Since the routine included sleeping a lot, it didn’t give him much time for night life. Up to now he hadn’t felt like doing anything, anyway, but as his body healed, he began to have his old urges. So far he hadn’t acted on them beyond wondering whether it was possible for him to patch up his relationship with Melody.

He had just emerged from a cold bath and was drying himself briskly with a too-small motel towel, trying to get some warmth back into his body. He couldn’t take a bath right after they finished running because he’d gone to a chiropractor, but he had to admit that Melody was right and the cold helped, even if hot water was a lot more comfortable.

Sleeping, stretching, chiropractors, cold water. All necessary to keep his aging and damaged body moving. Once they got beyond the populated area of Southern California, daily chiropractic sessions would no longer be an option, so he had to take advantage of that opportunity while he could.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock, and he didn’t feel like going to bed yet. He pulled on pants and a shirt without much of a plan beyond perhaps wandering over to the room shared by Melody and Grace to see if they wanted to play cards or something. The corridor was empty and everything was quiet. Tired runners weren’t noisy at night, so they didn’t disturb the other guests.

Drake remembered that Melody’s room was the first one along the hallway. He knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” It was Grace’s voice.

“Drake.”

The door opened.

“Is Melody here?”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Oh, sorry.” He turned to leave.

“Would you like to come in?”

Drake turned back, surprised, and saw Grace’s welcoming smile.

“Well…I think I’ll—”

“I’m just reading a book. Come on in for a minute and keep me company. I’m lonely.”

“Well, all right.”

He was surprised that Grace was willing to be alone with him in a motel room. She pointed to a chair and sat down herself on one of the beds hard enough that she bounced. Lending credence to the probability that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her Running California tank top. He asked her where Melody was.

“She went out with Tom and Jerry for a drink.”

“Oh.” He was surprised at what he felt. She was a big girl and could do what she liked. She certainly wouldn’t break training. She was probably drinking club soda. “Why didn’t you go?”

“Well, if you want to know the honest truth, I think runners are a little strange with their diets and all the things they do to keep fit. Kind of self-centered.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t mean you. You’re a real person.”

“Thank you, I think.”

They both laughed.

Grace said, “I had a strange conversation with Glen. He told me that every morning he tapes his toes to avoid blisters and his ankles to avoid tendonitis. Then he puts Band-Aids on his nipples to avoid chafing. On a hot day he puts Vaseline on his armpits and crotch, and in what he called his nether regions. He gave a dissertation on how he prepares his bowels so he won’t have to go during the race. If you want to make time with a girl, that definitely isn’t the way to do it.”

“I’ll remember that.”

They laughed again. Drake had an idea.

“Not to change a subject that fascinates me since I’m a runner, but do you think you could find out who the other people monitoring the run are besides you and Fred and Peaches—I mean without endangering yourself?”

“I think so. Fred keeps information like that in his attaché case. We have three vehicles: the bus, a van, and a car. I drive the car and the van, and I’m learning to drive the bus. Of course we have to carry our stuff from one place to the next, some in the bus and some in the van. Fred’s attaché case is usually in the van. It’s just a question of picking the right moment.”

“Does he keep it locked?”

“Yes, but…” She reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a key.

“How did you get that?”

“This morning I was helping him pack up. One of the keys dropped on the floor. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I figured if I were going to be a spy—”

“Didn’t he miss it?”

“He ranted and raved about it being lost, but he’s got another one. He’ll forget about it.”

She was braver than he thought.

“Has he bothered you any more?”

“No.” Grace smiled. “Not since Melody and I started rooming together. I think Melody scares the hell out of him.”

Drake’s thought was that Grace looked so good with her long black hair and dressed in shorts and a skimpy top that she was beginning to scare him. He stood up.

“Well, being a runner in training, I’ve got to do strange things like going to bed early.”

She stood up, facing him, inches away, her voice soft. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He spoke quickly. “No, not tonight. See you tomorrow.”

He edged past her, being careful not to touch her, and made a hasty exit.

CHAPTER 15

Today’s run starts at Topanga State Beach and heads west to Leo Carrillo State Beach on the Ventura County border. You will complete the first part on the sand, which will give you the opportunity to get a seaside look at the mansions of the rich and famous who live on the beach at Malibu. Some of the houses are built close to the high tide line. Depending on the state of the tide, you may occasionally have to run around the columns supporting the structures. Try not to aggravate the owners or their guards. After going through Malibu, we will have somebody stationed to direct you to Route 1 for an easy lope along the road to the end of the day’s route.

***

Melody didn’t mention that she had gone out for a drink with Tom and Jerry. She also didn’t say anything about Drake’s meeting with Grace. Perhaps Grace hadn’t told her. Or perhaps she figured talking about it would lead to a discussion of her own activities.

Drake decided that silence was the best policy on his part. He didn’t have the right to quiz Melody, and he felt uncomfortable talking about Grace. Although he shouldn’t. Nothing had happened between them. And, as a very old and very racist saying went: They were all free, white, and twenty-one. Except that Melody believed everybody belonged to the same race and that traits like color were a miniscule variation because of the latitude where one’s ancestors had lived. In addition, Grace wasn’t just white but a mixture. A mixture of latitudes. So what did that make her? Perhaps anything she wanted to be.

Drake reminded himself to quit following wisps of ideas that avoided the issue and net out what was important. Again. He had a habit of doing that. He had some sort of feeling for Grace, probably not wholesome, and he didn’t want to discuss it with Melody. He was disturbed that Melody went out without telling him, but she didn’t answer to him. So there. End of thought process. He chuckled.

“What are you laughing about?”

Drake’s muscles contracted in a startle reflex as Melody’s question brought him back to the present.

“I was just thinking that these houses are so close to the water that a tsunami from an earthquake like the one in Alaska in nineteen sixty-four would wash them all out to sea. That one uprooted redwood trees.”

“That helicopter is flying awfully low.”

Drake glanced up as the chopper went past them heading east along the line of the beach. He turned his head to follow its flight and could just barely make out Harrison and Danny who were trailing the pack of runners today. Danny had complained that his knee hurt, and Fred had sent him to a doctor who had taken x-rays and recommended that he not run for a while.

That wasn’t an option, of course, and Danny was struggling to stay in the race. Drake wondered whether he and Harrison would be the first team to drop out. Knee problems could be serious, and they were usually not curable overnight.

The rest of the runners were within fifty yards of each other. Yesterday, Drake and Melody had finished within a couple of minutes of the four leading teams.

“We have to figure out how we can gain on Tom and Jerry. Maybe we should try to break away from the pack.”

Melody looked sideways at Drake. “You know how that would end. Try not to worry about my mum. Something will turn up.”

“I’ll call Blade tonight to see if he’s found out anything on the prints.”

“Better give him a few more days.”

“Fred has got to be part of this. I’m going to put him on the rack—”

“Not yet.”

Melody was trying to keep him calm, even though she had more to lose.

The explosion behind them rocked Drake. He caught his balance and turned around in time to see black smoke rising from a beach house and several objects arcing their way toward the smoke from the ocean. His military experience immediately told him that they were shells of some sort.

Even as disbelief filled his mind, the shells hit houses in the vicinity of the one that had absorbed the first blast, sending smoke and debris into the air. Eerie silence followed. Drake glanced out to sea. He thought he saw something disappear under the waves, but he couldn’t be sure. He realized that Melody was clinging to him.

“Bloody hell!”

Her grip was so tight it hurt his arm. The other runners had stopped, also, and were looking at the smoke with their mouths open. The assault appeared to have stopped. Other than half a dozen beachgoers, they were the closest people to the destruction. Drake started running back toward the houses. Melody and the other runners followed him.

Three or four houses had been hit. Anybody who had been inside one of the houses was probably dead. Flames started to shoot up from the wreckage. Whatever the shells hadn’t already destroyed, fires would.

Melody asked the question that had just occurred to Drake. “Where are Harrison and Danny?”

“I don’t see them. They must have been close to those houses.”

The smoke, which had initially surged straight up, was being carried away from them by the prevailing wind. Drake could see the beach in front of the houses. Two men were lying on the sand.

“Look.” He pointed toward the men.

“That’s them. Harrison and Danny.”

Drake and Melody ran up to the pair who were lying amid debris blown from the houses. They were close enough to feel the heat from the flames. Harrison lay face down with his arms and legs spread out at grotesque angles. He had been hit by a large chunk of concrete. There was no way he could still be alive. But Danny was lying on his back and moving. Drake dropped to the ground beside him. His eyes were open. They looked at Drake with fear and confusion. He was in shock.

Blood gushed from a wound in his leg. Melody was already pulling her first aid kit out of her pouch. She extracted a gauze pad, placed it directly on the wound, and pressed. Stop the bleeding. That was the first rule of helping wounded soldiers.

Drake looked at the burning mansions. They were ovens. Nobody could go in there, and nobody could have survived inside them. In the distance he already heard sirens. The local fire company was on the ball. The firemen would keep the fires from spreading to other houses. The paramedics would take care of Danny and get him to a hospital. It was too late for Harrison and anyone who had been inside the houses. Drake didn’t see any other casualties on the beach. Tuesday was a workday and not a beach day. Luckily.

He had to get to someone higher in the hierarchy than the local authorities and tell them what he had seen. An older couple had come out of a house several doors from the conflagration. The man and wife watched in horror. Drake would use their phone to call Blade in Washington. In a few words he told Melody what he was going to do. She nodded and gave a terse response, indicating that she would take care of Danny until help arrived.

Drake rose and became aware of the other runners clustered around them. Phil and Brian had tried to assist Harrison and were shaking their heads in horror.

Drake said, “Danny’s going to be all right.”

As he headed for the house and a phone, he hoped he had spoken the truth.

***

“Harrison’s body is being returned to his parents in Riverside. I’ve talked to them and expressed our condolences. I know how badly you all feel. We’ll take tomorrow off in his memory and hold our own memorial service.”

“So you’re not going to cancel the run?” The question came from Aki.

Casey looked surprised. “We definitely want to continue the run. I visited Danny in the hospital. He wants us to continue as a tribute to Harrison. I think it’s important that we continue.”

“How is Danny doing?”

“A couple of days in the hospital and Danny’s leg will be fine. He lost some blood, but Melody’s quick action prevented him from losing more. He’ll be running again in a few weeks.”

Casey smiled at Melody who was sitting beside Drake in a conference room of the motel. All the remaining runners were there, as well as Fred, Peaches, and Grace. Casey had magically appeared at the motel that afternoon, saying that he had been in the L.A. area on business.

Winthrop raised his hand, and Casey recognized him.

“Isn’t there some…danger to us? Couldn’t there be another…attack or whatever it was?”

Nobody seemed to know what had happened. Drake hadn’t told anybody except Melody and Blade what he had seen. Apparently the others hadn’t seen the shells in flight and possibly a boat like a submarine. He didn’t plan to say anything until he had spoken to the military personnel who were converging on the spot. Coast Guard helicopters were already making flyovers of the Malibu area. He also suspected that naval vessels were cruising up from San Diego.

Casey spoke, carefully choosing his words. “I don’t think there’s any danger. If I did, I wouldn’t allow the run to continue. Although we don’t know what happened, we can be sure that the authorities are looking into it. As an incentive for the remaining nine teams to continue, Giganticorp will pay you a per diem of a thousand dollars a team, payable when you complete the race.”

Drake and Melody were already receiving the per diem. Now all the teams would get it. Casey really wanted the race to continue. He talked about logistics. Today’s run would not count. They would start again the day after tomorrow from the point where today’s run would have ended if it had been completed.

A motel clerk came into the room and got Casey’s attention. He said that a visitor was in the lobby for Mr. Drake. Drake rose and signaled Casey that he had to leave. It was probably somebody from the military. He strode down the corridor and into the lobby, expecting to see a man in a military uniform. Who he saw was definitely military—or more correctly, retired military. He was in civilian clothes. He was—Drake’s father.

Drake was not easily surprised by most events, but this was a surprise. He hadn’t seen his father for over four years. From around the time he quit working for the federal government. It wasn’t that Admiral Justin Drake had disowned him. He just hadn’t communicated with him. He rebuffed Drake’s attempts at communication.

Drake saw his father before the older man saw him. He looked trim and fit as he sat ramrod-straight on the edge of a chair, reading something. Even his civilian clothes were worn with military precision, including a gleaming belt buckle. His short hair was snow white, and the wrinkles on his face had been earned by many years of service and sacrifice for his country.

Drake hated to disturb the peaceful scene, but he had no choice. “Hello, Father.”

Admiral Drake looked up from the piece of paper he was reading. “Hello, Oliver.”

They had always addressed each other formally. The admiral stood slowly, and Drake saw some strain in his face. He suspected his father had arthritis, but he would never admit that his body wasn’t in top shape. He didn’t smile as they shook hands. A hug was out of the question.

“I’m glad you survived the shelling today.”

“I am too. One of our runners was killed.”

“I know. I listened to the news on the way over here. There are four confirmed dead. The involved houses are still being searched for casualties.”

A dozen questions competed with each other in Drake’s head. He chose the least personal one. “How do you know the houses got shelled?”

“I got a call from Andy Anderson. He’s on the board of Giganticorp.”

Admiral Anderson. Drake knew that Anderson and his father had been in the same class at the Naval Academy. That also explained how his father had heard he was in the race. His father lived in Bakersfield, in the San Joaquin Valley. He must have hopped in his car and driven here as soon as he got the call from Admiral Anderson. Drake suspected that his main reason for coming was not to see his only son.

Drake knew the answer to his next question as soon as he asked it. “Why does Admiral Anderson think that the houses got shelled?”

His father looked surprised. “He said you saw shells being fired from a vessel.”

Bad news traveled fast and became exaggerated as it went. Drake had called Blade. Blade had contacted the military. The military pipeline apparently included retired admirals, like Anderson, and now his father. Drake knew one thing for sure. When he made his official report, he would have to word what he had actually seen very carefully and sign a document to that effect, if possible. Wars had been started because of inaccurate intelligence.

Something else puzzled Drake. “Why did you come here?”

“Isn’t the welfare of my son a good enough reason?”

No. It had never been before. Perhaps if he had followed in his father’s footsteps and attended Annapolis instead of enlisting in the army as a private, he would have won his father’s approval. As things stood, he was a failure in the old man’s eyes.

They were still standing in the middle of the lobby with Drake facing the entrance. He saw Slick open the door, stick his head in the doorway, and give a nod to indicate that he wanted to speak to Drake. So Slick was going to debrief him. He didn’t want Slick’s presence here to be generally known, not even by a retired admiral.

“I have to go to a meeting. Are you going to be around for a while, sir? You can have dinner with Melody and me.”

“Melody?” Admiral Drake smiled for the first time. “That’s right; Andy said she was your running partner. Always did like that girl. She’s got spunk. Unfortunately, I can’t make it. Andy and some of the other board members of Giganticorp are coming here. I’m having dinner with them. Maybe we can get together tomorrow. I’m staying overnight.”

Everybody was converging in Malibu. Events were getting curiouser and curiouser. Drake shook hands with his father and headed out of the motel. He saw a black Porsche sitting in the far corner of the parking lot and walked toward it.

***

Drake was sitting on a bed in the room belonging to Melody and Grace who were sitting on the other bed. He had told them both what he had seen or thought he had seen.

Grace looked scared. “Do you think we’re being attacked by the USSR?”

Melody patted her hand. “That’s not likely. If they attacked us, they wouldn’t just destroy a few houses.”

“But it says on TV—”

“You can’t believe everything you see on the telly. Unless…”

“Unless they want to get our attention,” Drake said. “Show us how vulnerable we are.”

“Why would they do that?” Grace asked.

“Negotiating ploy. We’ve been making noises about atrocities happening at the Berlin Wall. People trying to escape from East Germany getting shot. Maybe they just want to direct our attention elsewhere. Anyway, we’ve got destroyers sweeping the area looking for submarines. The marines have set up a machine gun on Malibu Beach and put out barbed wire.”

“Will we go to war with them?”

Melody was the one who answered, saying that she hoped there would be no war. Before dark they had seen a couple of the gray naval vessels off the beach. It brought back memories of Korea to Drake.

He decided it was a good time to change the subject. “We had the two notes you delivered to me checked for fingerprints. There is one unidentified set of prints on the first note, but it doesn’t belong to anybody at Giganticorp. The only prints on the second envelope are those of the desk clerk at that motel. The note doesn’t have any prints on it at all.”

“I’m glad my prints weren’t on them.” Grace didn’t ask how they had gotten the prints checked. She looked conspiratorial. “I have some information for you.”

She pulled a folded sheet of paper out of the pocket of her shorts and handed it to Drake.

“During the confusion today I was able to open Fred’s attaché case and look inside. Fortunately, he’s a neatnik, with all his folders labeled. I looked in one called ‘Personnel.’ It had three sheets in it, each one giving information about a man. I just had time to copy their names and telephone numbers and addresses.”

Drake looked at the handwritten names and numbers to make sure they were legible. He would pass these on to Blade and Slick.

“Good work. Just be careful. We don’t want you to get caught.”

Grace beamed. “I was careful. By the way, Drake, I understand that your father’s here. I’ve never met a real admiral. I’ve seen some at Giganticorp, but only from a distance.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance tomorrow. He’ll like you. He’s got an eye for pretty ladies. Right now he’s out with his buddies telling war stories.” Drake realized he shouldn’t compliment Grace apart from Melody. He said to her, “I forgot to tell you that my father mentioned that he wanted to see you. He said you had spunk.”

“Better that than he said I stunk.”

CHAPTER 16

Today’s run is all on roads, so be extra careful to watch the traffic. It goes from Leo Carrillo Beach to Oxnard Beach Park in Oxnard. Start at Leo Carrillo Beach on Route 1 and run to Point Mugu. You will pass the Point Mugu missile display at Wood Road. Head north on Navalair Road and west on Hueneme Road. Along this stretch you will see many vegetable farms and fruit trees. Turn north on Ventura Road through the city of Port Hueneme and past the Seabee Museum. Head west on Channel Islands Boulevard and north on Harbor Boulevard to Oxnard Beach Park.

***

The memorial service for Harrison had taken place as promised by Casey, but not all of the runners had attended. Some had used the day off to visit their families. Drake didn’t blame them. He had barely known Harrison, himself, and although he attended the service, his main feeling was the “it could have happened to me” syndrome, which he had encountered in Korea when his buddies got shot. He didn’t feel the guilt of “why was I spared?” perhaps because it all seemed so unreal.

Today they were racing again. The disadvantage of running on roads was that the runners had to be constantly alert and often had to run single file. This resulted in them being even more spread out than usual. When Drake and Melody were able to run beside each other, they tried to make sense of what had happened.

Drake’s main questions concerned the response to the shelling. He took advantage of a wide area to pull up alongside Melody. “If you believe the commentators on TV, we’re already at war with the USSR. And yet, I haven’t heard that anybody saw anything more than I did, which was almost nothing.”

“Grace turned the telly on first thing this morning to watch the news. The report said no trace of any boat has been found. Supposedly there are ships patrolling the whole west coast, both Coast Guard and Navy.”

“Or at least a couple of destroyers. Since we’re fighting in Vietnam, we’re spread a little thin.”

“There was also talk that the military might occupy part of the coast. They’ve already sent a force of marines to Malibu, as you know. That’s in addition to the specialists combing the ruins of the houses for evidence as to what happened.”

“The locals must love all the attention. They’re always fighting to keep people off their beaches, and now they’ve got soldiers to contend with. They’d better lock up their daughters.”

“The reporter said the residents asked for the troops. They’re panicked and afraid that more shelling is going to occur. Or some sort of an invasion.”

“Be careful what you wish for. Maybe the commies have a kayak navy out there ready to storm the coast of Malibu. My question is, why did my father show up?”

Melody put on her most concerned voice. “He came to see if his little boy was all right.”

Drake snorted. “If I believed that, you could sell me London Bridge.”

“Too late. Lake Havasu already has it. That’s another thing you stole from us.”

“If we ‘steal’ many more things from you, you’ll be rich enough to buy back the colonies. As you’ll recall, when he was able to fit me into his schedule yesterday, instead of talking to me, my father made time with you.”

“And Grace. Who was thrilled out of her mind to meet a real admiral.”

“The feeling was mutual. There must be a shortage of women in Bakersfield. Maybe things would have been better if my mother hadn’t died.”

Melody nodded. “It’s hard to lose your spouse. Don’t you think he came to see his old military buddies?”

Drake pondered that. “As far as I know, Admiral Anderson is the only one he knows from his years in the navy. I don’t think they’re that close. I’ve heard my father say derogatory things about him.”

Melody took a drink of Gatorade while a semi rolled by; the noise from its powerful engine drowned out any attempt at conversation. Phil and Brian were running a few feet ahead of them. The wind stream that followed the truck blew the cap off Brian’s head. Drake considered ignoring it and making Brian come back and pick it up, but one thing his father had done was to train him in good manners. He reached down and grabbed the cap.

Brian waited for Drake to catch up with him and took the cap from his outstretched hand. He thanked Drake who decided to ask him a question. “What’s your take on what happened? Do you think it’s dangerous for us to run on the coast?”

Brian loped easily alongside them. He was one of the youngest runners and obviously in top condition. He and Phil were in second place overall.

“Naw. Even if that happens again, the chances we’ll be there when it does are infinitesimal.”

“Lightning can strike twice—”

“Life is a risky business.” Brian smiled. “Do you want to live forever?”

***

Casey had left for other climes sometime last night, according to Fred. Drake wanted to ask Casey about the meetings that had been held during the last two days. He was still trying to get a handle on what his father was up to. Why did he care? His father hadn’t cared much for him after he had strayed from the straight and narrow path carefully laid out for him. Why should he care what his father was doing?

Drake decided to ask Fred his questions. He offered to buy him a beer at the local Oxnard pub. Drake used the word pub instead of bar because Oxnard sounded a lot like Oxford in England. Being around Melody brought back the English mannerisms he had learned. Fred drove them a few blocks to a bar that was practically deserted in the late afternoon heat. Drake purchased two draft beers and took them to a rough wooden table Fred had selected.

He didn’t want Fred to know the extent of his estrangement from his father. That was none of his business. However, he could make a kind of joke out of it.

“I was wondering why my father was here meeting with your directors. He doesn’t confide in me very much. You know how fathers are.”

Fred smiled as he took a thirsty sip. “Actually, it wasn’t an official directors’ meeting since only four of the directors were present, including Casey. We’re always looking for opportunities to serve our country.”

“You’re looking for ways to boost your sales.”

“Same thing. The U.S. Government is our biggest customer.”

“What can you sell the government to fend off an invasion by sea?”

“My, you are inquisitive. One would think that you’re a stockholder.”

“I’m a taxpayer. I want to know where my tax money’s going.”

When Fred laughed, he jiggled all over like a plate of aspic salad. “We’ve developed a mini submarine that could be used to patrol the coast. It’s much less expensive to build and operate than a nuclear sub, of course, and only requires a crew of six. If there’s an enemy ship out there, these subs could be used to find it.”

“Have you sold any?”

“The Navy purchased a few to try out, but we’re trying to sell them a whole fleet.”

“What does my father have to do with all this? He’s retired, or supposed to be. He’s not a stockholder in Giganticorp, is he?”

“Giganticorp is privately held, and the names of our stockholders are confidential.”

Drake faked a yawn. “Okay, you’ve given me the company line; now tell me the truth.”

“My gosh, Drake, you’re persistent.” Fred’s smile was meant to be conspiratorial. “All right, here’s the scoop. No, Admiral Drake isn’t a stockholder. He’s a concerned citizen. He’s also a good friend of Senator Leffingwell.”

Drake didn’t know that. Leffingwell was a senator from California. Drake had tried to isolate himself from politics the last few years. His knowledge of the senator was sketchy. A small shaft of light penetrated his brain.

“He must be the member of a key Senate committee for approving military purchases.”

“You’re not as dumb as you look. There’s more. As you know, Casey is running for the other Senate seat next year.”

“He wants Leffingwell’s endorsement.”

“Bingo. Give that man a silver cigar.”

It made sense. Sort of. One thing still puzzled Drake. “How did you get my father to drive down here from Bakersfield on such short notice?”

“We told him what happened to you.”

“Nothing happened to me. It happened to Harrison and Danny.”

“No, I meant the accident with the truck. Of course, we also mentioned that you were close to the houses when they were shelled.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying my father drove here because he was concerned about my welfare?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He’s your father, Drake. He loves you.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

Drake went to the bar and came back with two more beers. He was trying to think of how to broach the next subject. Perhaps the introduction of his father into the scheme of things gave him some leverage. He lifted his glass. “To a successful race.”

“Hear, hear.”

Fred clicked glasses with him. They each swallowed a mouthful of beer. Drake put down his glass. “I’d like to talk about something else for a minute. Since the run started, I’ve received two anonymous letters delivered to motels.”

Fred’s eyebrows went up. “Anonymous?”

His expression looked innocent.

“Yes. Threatening letters.”

“What did they say?”

“The more recent one says that Melody and I have to win the race.”

“What have you done with them?”

“The letters say not to tell anyone.”

“You’ve told me. Why don’t you give me the letters, and I’ll look into them?”

Drake no longer had the originals. Even if he had them, he wouldn’t have given them to Fred.

“I’ve stored them in a safe place. If anything happens to me, they’ll be turned over to the authorities.”

Fred regarded him. “Someone wants you to win the race.”

“You know how much chance there is of that.”

“You’ve moved into ninth place. A few more attacks and you’ll be in first place.”

Drake stared at Fred.

“Sorry. Bad joke. Look, if there’s anything I can do… I’ve tried to get you the best medical care, but I can’t run for you.”

“I just wanted you to know.”

Drake tried to look into Fred’s brain, but he was met with a bland expression that shielded his thoughts.

Fred spoke. “We’re going to step up the pace a little. Each day’s distance is going to be closer to a marathon. We don’t want to drag this out too long. Everybody’s reasonably healthy. I think you can handle it.”

“It’s not a problem for me.”

Drake wondered whether Fred had been keeping the distances down to favor him, just as Casey had ordained that the first day’s run wouldn’t count.

CHAPTER 17

Today’s run goes from Oxnard Beach Park to Carpenteria State Beach in Santa Barbara County. Start by heading north on Harbor Boulevard. However, beginning today we’re going to let you decide when to run on the beach and when to run on a road. In some places along this stretch it may even be advantageous to run on the railroad tracks, but be careful of the spaces between the ties if you do this. Always watch for trains. The additional freedom should give more weight to individual tactics and make the race more competitive. Maybe we won’t see so much running by committee.

***

The handwritten sheets that Fred distributed to the runners each morning before they started bore the unmistakable flourishes of his big round hand. Whatever else you could say about Fred, he had beautiful handwriting. In addition, he wrote in distinctive green ink with a fountain pen, although you couldn’t tell that from the black and white copies that were usually produced at the motel where they stayed.

The runners were gathering in front of the motel in the early morning fog, a magician that made the beach disappear, waiting for Peaches to produce the bus that would take them to today’s starting point. Most wore sweatshirts over their running clothes that they would leave on the bus. They stretched and moved around, trying to get warm and loose. The other runners, including Melody, could stretch their bodies in ways that Drake could never hope to emulate. He was just trying to relax his back muscles so he wouldn’t have spasms.

Since it was only a few blocks to their starting point, they could easily have walked the distance, but Fred insisted that everybody be treated the same so they would get a fair start. Fred was all about fairness, thought Drake. Or was he? Wasn’t this change designed to help Melody and him? Give them an opportunity to break away from the pack by taking a different route? Of course it could backfire if they chose the wrong route. Drake shared the sheet with Melody, wanting to get her reaction.

“I’ll bet Tom and Jerry are in a funk about this.”

Drake was surprised. Only Tom and Jerry? He had been thinking too narrowly. It was true. The new rules were opening the door to all the other teams. Tom and Jerry could no longer guarantee their leading margin by staying with the pack, if the pack split up and went several different ways. The race could get more exciting.

***

“Isn’t that Peaches?”

“Where?”

Drake looked past several of the runners who were ahead of them and over to the side of the road where Melody was directing her gaze. They were running on the road because it was faster than running on the beach. The beach along here got very narrow at times with houses and rocks blocking the way. These beach houses, like the ones at Malibu, were vulnerable to any kind of an attack from the sea. That was crazy thinking. Who was going to attack beach houses? And yet it had happened. It almost seemed like a dream. A beach setting was too idyllic. Maybe it hadn’t happened at all.

Drake finally picked out Peaches. Seeing him here was not unexpected, because he and Grace were often stationed along the way to make sure that everyone was following the correct route. Routes were no longer designated, apparently, but the two still were needed to supply water at places all the runners were bound to pass and check to see that they were all right. Peaches appeared to be in his own world. He wasn’t even looking at the runners. He had his jacket off and was moving in circles. Drake was amazed at how gracefully he moved.

“What the hell is he doing?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but he looks like he’s dancing.”

“Maybe he’s practicing a new form of karate.”

“No, look. He’s got an invisible partner. His right arm is around her waist. His left hand is holding her hand. He’s waltzing. One two three, one two three…”

The other runners gawked at Peaches as they gulped down cups of water he had set out. A couple of them were brave enough to make joking comments as they ran by, comparing him to Fred Astaire. He ignored them. The taciturn man who always looked somewhat ominous had a radiant glow on his face as he whirled around to music that only he could hear.

Drake and Melody grabbed the paper cups without stopping, and spilled water dripped off their chins as they drank. Melody was mesmerized by Peaches. “He’s a lot better than some of the blokes who used to step on my feet.”

“You used to dance?”

“When I was young. Before I met you.”

“I never knew that.”

“Pardon me, but you never struck me as being the dancing type.”

That was true. He had gone to dances when he was in school because that’s where the girls were, but he had never been any great shakes on the dance floor.

Melody was musing out loud as they started running again.

“That’s a new side of Peaches we haven’t seen before. I’m going to try to get to know him better. He might be useful to us in trying to figure out what’s going on here.”

“Be careful. You don’t know anything about him. He might be a…”

“A harasser? Grace says that he’s always treated her with respect. You’re thinking of Fred. I let you deal with Fred. By the way, he didn’t admit to anything, did he? We still don’t know what his connection is with whoever is sending the notes.”

Peaches was a sealed box to Drake. Although he had been alone with him several times going to appointments with a chiropractor, the man hadn’t opened up to him at all.

“If you’re going to talk to Peaches, I’m going to be with you.”

“You’ve talked to Peaches. He hasn’t told you anything. Now it’s my turn.”