Alongside Night(21)

Three. Unless he could make trustworthy countereconomic contacts, the gold would remain of no use to him. And he was running out of blues frightfully fast.

Finally, four. Even if his resources were unlimited, he still had no idea of how to proceed with getting his family free. He did not even know of anyone who did.

Conclusions. He had to hide out with someone who could be trusted—someone who could act as a business agent for him. Hobson’s choice: the only person whom he was at all inclined to trust was Phillip Gross. Elliot checked his watch; it was coming up on noon. Phillip and he were both scheduled for first lunch; he decided to walk over to Ansonia and catch him before Contemporary Civilization.

He never made it to Ansonia’s second floor. Elliot had just climbed the stairs past the first floor when he ran into Dr. Fischer on her way down. They both stopped, staring at each other for several heartbeats. Then Dr. Fischer said softly,

“Come into my office, please.”

He thought about running. He knew that if he ran, nobody could catch him. But there was something about the way Dr. Fischer seemed to be looking right through him that made him decide not to run. He followed her past the reception area into her office.

Dr. Fischer closed the inner door. “There were police here this morning asking about you,” she said, “asking if anyone knew where you were. They said they were making inquiries Alongside Night

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for your mother, that you had gone on a rampage when you learned your father was dead.” She paused a moment. “They mentioned that you had taken one of your father’s guns.”

Elliot nodded. “I was wondering what story they’d come up with.”

“It’s true? The Administration has murdered your father?”

Elliot turned white. “How much have you heard? What’s your source?”

“Only rumors,” Dr. Fischer said quickly, calming him. “It is being said in many places that your father did not die of natural causes.”

Elliot took a deep breath. “As far as I know, ma’am, my father is still alive. At least he was yesterday afternoon when—”

“Afternoon?” she interrupted. “But your sister said—”

He waved it away. “My sister was acting. My mother’s orders.”

“But she was so convincing,” Dr. Fischer said.

“She’s a drama student at Juilliard.”

Dr. Fischer went to her desk, pulled out a cigarette which she inserted into a holder, and lighted it. After taking a deep drag, she said, “It’s dangerous for you here, Elliot. The police will return—next time, I fear, with a search warrant.”

“I was planning to see if maybe Phillip Gross could put me up.”

She looked as if the idea surprised her, then smiled slightly.

“Yes. Very good. But you should not be seen together, even here. You may stay here until shortly before Phillip’s class is out, then walk to his apartment. I’ll tell him that you’ll be waiting for him nearby.” Elliot nodded. Dr. Fischer relaxed slightly, took another drag on her cigarette, and smiled again. “Have you eaten lunch?”

After two cheeseburgers, apple brown Betty, and milk, which Dr. Fischer brought down to him from the cafeteria, Elliot resigned himself to a wait while Dr. Fischer sat at her desk do-76

Alongside Night

ing paperwork. He got out his Paris Match and began struggling through an article questioning whether EUCOMTO

should sell its new hypersonic transports to the People’s Republic of Taiwan. At two thirty, Dr. Fischer told Elliot that the coast was clear, and he left Ansonia. It was set up that he would meet Phillip on the approach to his Lincoln Towers apartment. Elliot walked west on Seventieth Street to the junction of Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue, then, after checking for police, he crossed over to Amsterdam. He walked down a block to the Lincoln Towers driveway, leaned against he wall of the now-empty public library—out of sight of the Lincoln Towers guardhouse—

and covered his face with the Paris Match. Periodically, he glanced over the top.

At a quarter past three, Phillip showed up. Elliot lowered the magazine, allowing Phillip to spot him, then waited for the traffic light to change. Several moments later Phillip crossed Amsterdam and joined him. “Fancy meeting you here,” Elliot said dryly from behind the magazine.

Phillip assumed an habitual sardonic expression. “Come on,”

he said tapping Elliot on the shoulder. “We’re exposed out here.”

They started into the complex, Phillip nodding to the security guard as they passed, and to the German doorman at 180

West End Avenue when they entered the building. A few minutes later they entered his seventh-floor apartment, furnished in the eternal New-York-Jewish-Upper-West-Side mode. Phillip told Elliot to wait, then disappeared a few moments into one of the bedrooms. “I had to reset the burglar alarm,” he explained when he returned. They took off their outer coats, Phillip hanging them up, then he suggested Elliot make himself more comfortable by removing his jacket as well. Elliot hesitated a moment, then took it off, revealing his holstered revolver. Philip looked at Elliot queerly. “You know how to use that thing?” he asked. Alongside Night