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A.R.Yngve
PARRY'S PROTOCOL
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Chapter 11
The phone booths on the sidewalk outside were all smashed.
Abram walked into one of the graffiti-scribbled booths and stood there. He pulled out his agency-issue phone and punched in the number of the person on the top of his list: Bettina Avarez, San Diego. There was a busy tone. He dialed the next number: Giordano Bruno, Los Angeles.
After four signals, a young male voice with almost no accent answered: "Who is it?"
"My name's Lemercier. May I talk to Giordano Bruno?"
The voice at the other end slowly breathed out, then in.
"What's your business with him?"
"Tell him that it's very important that I may talk to him. It concerns a fellow acquaintance of ours -- Rymowicz."
The voice suddenly sounded more interested.
"Do you know Dr. Rymowicz? Where is he?"
"We can't talk about it on the phone," Abram said with exaggerated gravity. "Could we meet? I'm in San Diego now, but I could be in L.A. in less than three hours."
"It's a few minutes past one... Could you be here after eight o'clock tonight?"
"Yes. Thank you."
The voice cut off the call loudly. Abram tucked away the name list, and extracted a Greyhound Bus timetable from his pockets. He made another call, for a cab. Less than two minutes later, a YellowCab braked at the phone booths. Abram opened the backseat door and got inside.
"Where to?"
"Bus central. Fifty bucks if you step on it."
The taxicab left the campus with a roaring start.