"Yes."
"Can you check with the Secret Service and see if the president is planning some unannounced visit on Monday, something that isn't on his published schedule?"
"I'll take care of it," Harry said, then he jumped.
"What's the matter?"
Harry was clawing at his belt. "My phone just goosed me." He snapped it open. "Yeah?"
"It's me," Ham said. "This thing is working, huh?"
"Are you scrambled?"
"Yes. And a good thing, too, because they're monitoring cell phone use with a scanner twenty-four hours a day. Did you do something to jump up the reception out here?"
"Yes, we installed a portable cell. I take it John noticed."
"Right."
"Where are you now?"
"I'm out by the lake. Hang on a second."
Harry listened, and suddenly, the phone seemed to explode in his ear. "Ham?"
"Yeah? Sorry about that; I'm supposed to be practicing shooting."
"Is it safe for you to talk?"
"Yeah, but let's make it quick. I don't have any more information about what they're planning, just that it's on Monday, and it's two or three men in a limo."
"We got that over the smoke detector," Harry said.
"I'll call you back if I get any more information. Tell Holly I'm okay." Ham broke the connection.
Harry snapped his phone shut. "Ham got the phone. Thank God for that."
"Anything new?"
"Nothing. I'd better call the White House."
Ham sat cross-legged, the Barrett's rifle resting on a tripod attached to the gun's barrel. He unplugged the earphone, wound up the cord and stuffed
it into a shirt pocket. He dropped the tiny phone in, too. It hardly made a bulge in the baggy fatigue shirt pocket.
He watched the movement of the trees, made a guess about the wind and fired again. He hit a tree, but not the one he was aiming for.
53
Ham finished firing for the morning. He stowed the rifle in the rear of the jeep and was about to get in when he saw a roll of duct tape on the floor of the rear seat, and it gave him an idea.
He lay down on his back in the footwell of the driver's seat and looked under the dash. Satisfied, he tore off a strip of the duct tape, stuck the phone and the three batteries to it, and taped them to the underside of the dash, satisfied that even hard bumps wouldn't dislodge them. Feeling better, he drove back to Peck's house for lunch.
Harry knew the head of the White House Secret Service detail, so he cut some red tape and called him directly. He got a voice mail tape and left a message. Five minutes later, his phone rang. "Hello?"
"Harry, that you?*
"Chip, how are you, boy?"