Rod had waited until Lawrence left, then when Nolan finished eating he followed him. The MP went to the men's room and Rod was right behind him.

"Gerald, this is a break, I was going to call you."

The man stood in front of the urinal, giving Rod a nervous glance. "What do you want, Proctor?"

"You let the phony video change your mind, didn't you? Doesn't change the fact it's a bad bill."

He finished and went to the sink to wash his hands. "Who said it was phony. Looked pretty damn real to me."

"Your people had that made up to discredit Lawrence personally, not just politically. Dirty pool, Gerald. You want to see real?"

Gerald tore a section of paper towel from the dispenser and began drying his hands as Rod held up a picture in front of his face. The drying slowed, and the paper fell to the floor.

"Now that's real, and I think you know just how real."

"Where- Rod, you wouldn't use that . . . oh, my God."

Rod put the picture away, handing some more paper to the sobbing MP.

"Our side would prefer not to get down in the mud with Bradford, but he chose the weapons. All we want is a majority vote to stop his criminal defence bill, and keep his lobbying cronies from milking the public purse."

"What do you want from me?" The voice was so soft Rod had to lean over the sink to hear.

"I'd like you to speak to your people. Convince them that they are supporting a bad bill – and don't feel alone, Gerald, there are more photos."

"Is this- is this why Bradford's in the hospital?"

"No comment. But he was quickly convinced of the error of his ways."

"You are a bastard, Proctor."

"And your lot are all saints. Sticks and stones, Gerald. Keep your public image in mind while you think of voting for that bill."

Rod left, and Gerald turned to the mirror reflection of a bleak, hopeless, helpless, fool.

****

The ceiling seemed crooked and it wavered as Warren opened his eyes and tried sitting up. He grabbed his head and his hand came away wet – blood.

"Oh crap . . ." He hauled himself up by the arm of the sofa and leaned precariously while trying to focus. The upturned chair and the cushion lay like leftovers on the floor. He groped his way toward the kitchen, using the sofa and the door frame for support. In the reflection from a night painted window, he could see a line running from his scalp to his chin.

He turned on the tap and splashed water on his head and face. A painful probe with his fingers revealed a small gash, the source of the coloured water swirling down the drain. He pushed his tea towel against the wound and took a deep breath.

"Lynne!" The events flooded back and he called her name again as he ricocheted down the hall, from wall to wall, to his empty bedroom. He made his way into the bathroom and had a good look at the wound, digging out his first aid kit and selecting the best of what it had to offer for repairs.

Warren sat at the kitchen table, stricken. The drink he'd poured disappeared in one swallow and he choked back a cough. Where was Lynne? Had that creep taken her? Had he hurt her? Was he the one who killed the guy in the hotel? He didn't have a clue how to proceed, no manuscript solution for this, he thought.

First thing, reasoned, was to keep things in order as much as possible. He called into work and explained he'd had an accident and would require more time off. The compromise was to have manuscripts couriered to his apartment for editing. His next move – was another drink – he had no next move. Warren felt sick.

****

The binding on her wrist was too tight to do anything about, and the fact that it was pitch black out did nothing to help her situation. She stumbled as her captor pushed her through the doorway into the stairwell, telling her to climb and to hurry up. They entered a large room with big transom windows, Lynne recognized as factory style, and a long table covered in electronic equipment.

"I'm going to untie you and you can sit in that chair, quietly and without any funny business. You try anything and I will hurt you."

The threat sounded eerily real – too real – and Lynne obeyed, sitting and rubbing her wrists.

"What do you want from me, I told you what we did, and you didn't have to hit my friend so hard."

"Boo hoo. What I want is what was on those papers. What did they say?"

"They meant nothing to us, just random comments we didn't understand. Only the name Grainger, and when we contacted him, they kept the papers, thanked us and sent us on our way."

Sabbi got a bottle of water from a rusting refrigerator beside the table.

"Okay, then," he took a long swig, offering her none and leaned toward her. "What about the man that jumped out of your taxi at Kent station?" He had no idea if it was her or not, but the eyes gave her away and he cheered silently at his luck.

"I don't know what you're talking about. What man?"

He gave her the night and the time and watched her face carefully.

Lynne knew he didn't believe her and she worried if he also knew about the envelope. In for penny, she thought.

"I can't remember every fare I carry. Maybe I did. I don't remember. Why? What's so important about him?" It hit her suddenly that this could well be the killer and she might well be next if he didn't get what he wanted.

Another man entered the room and they both looked up in surprise.

"I got the cover back off the camera, Sabbi. Anything else you need?"

Lynne watched the man called Sabbi cross the room and deliver a slap to the face of the new arrival.

"Get out! Get out and don't come back until I call you." He stood rigid by the door, fists clenched as the man fled. After a moment he turned back to Lynne, eyes furious.

"Did you find anything in your cab after that night? Something you might have kept and not turned in?"

"No. No I didn't." So his name is Sabbi.

"Why did you and your friend go to the hotel then?"

Her voice failed her and she knew right away that she had given them up.

"Here's what we are going to do, Miss Kirk. You are going to phone your boyfriend and tell him that he's to come here right away, and bring whatever you found, if he doesn't want you to experience some very nasty treatment."