Her eyes were swamped with tears and her mind overrun with guilt. Had she become so unapproachable her father no longer trusted her? Was I so self-absorbed in my own importance that I forfeited my family values. 'Please forgive me, father.'

Meredith's motivation took on new resolve. 'Dad, this is now for you.'

The fact her father had referenced, and indeed endorsed Calin Roberts as a credible source prompted so many questions. Which Calin Roberts had contacted her father? She knew there were at least two surviving members who'd acted as Roberts. Were there more? Who had threatened her Father? And who had he approached with his later enquiries?

On a piece of paper she'd taken from the drawer beneath the computer she listed two sets of names. The list on the left were dead, those on the right remained alive. Her father topped the non-survivors list. His name followed by Alex Bryant, Marvin Trent and lastly General William Thomas. Intuition screamed loud, there had to be some connection. Calin Roberts sat alone on the right hand side of the paper. In brackets beside the name she added the number two. Meredith hoped one of Calin's had the answers. All she now needed was a way of contacting him.

Meredith sensed the column on the left would grow longer and if the people alleged to be behind the allegations of Roberts had their way, the number on the survivor's side would decrease by one. She pencilled her name beneath Calin's. She then added another name, Kate Brereton.

What to do? The answer was both simple and obvious, immediate action was required. The difficulty arose in processing the plan from thought to practice. She couldn't do it from here. But the cabin would serve as her base. She'd head back to Washington. First though, she needed a bank, an untraceable bank.

Meredith returned to the drawer where the computer had been stored. Something about the drawer appeared odd. The drawer's flooring panel was a different timber from the drawer's side walls. Closer inspection provided the answer. She saw screws. When released, the timber slid backwards revealing its gold mine. She had located her bank.

The cash was bundled in two inch blocks, a quick calculation suggested around fifty thousand. Where had it all come from? A Smith and Wesson sat next to the cash. She checked it out, it was loaded. Meredith took that also. She mounted the bike to go shopping.

Prior to leaving, Meredith attacked her hair with scissors; the meticulous hair styling gave way to shaggy and unkempt. She slung a large canvas bag over her shoulder. She removed all make-up with the exception of lipstick. It was layered on as if applied by a cross-eyed beautician. Next, again in front of a mirror, she practiced her walk. Now she not only dressed like a drunk, she had perfected the gait, three steps forward and one sideways. She was almost ready for her reappearance in the most powerful city in the world.

On the outskirts of D C she found what she wanted, a rundown mall with a number of second-hand clothing stores. She entered the one run by The Salvation Army. It was one of the few charity organisations she trusted. She needed at least six different outfits. With the selections completed, she exited the change room. The almost ready had graduated to the completely ready. Meredith now believed she was as good as invisible, no one would recognise her.

She argued about the price. "Thought you people cared about the poor." In anger Meredith threw her money on the counter. Her outburst though hadn't finished. "You're just like the rest of 'em. S'all about the profit; screw you."

"You left something in here," the young shop assistant called as she cleared up the mess the woman had left behind. It was too late; the woman had vanished into the flow of pedestrians.

The girl handed a sealed envelope to the store manager. She opened it to find two words, 'Thank You.' Beneath that card lay $2,000.

"Who was she?" asked the girl.

"Don't know, but she reminds me of someone, I'm sure I've seen her somewhere."



She found a park bench and pulled out a bottle wrapped in a crumpled brown paper bag. It contained water. She raised it to her lips. Passers-by looked on in disgust. Another homeless old drunk. What they didn't see was the phone hidden by the bottle. For the first time since fleeing the hospital she switched the phone on and scanned through a long list of messages. Most expressed condolences for her father's passing. They were ignored, to be handled at a later time. There were five from her deputy, demanding she make contact. He too would be sorted out at the appropriate time.

Meredith found what she wanted, fifteen messages left by her personal assistant. She scanned through them quickly. One demanded immediate attention; it bore the name of Kate Brereton. Meredith's eyes welled up as she read; the young woman had been found, hanged in a hotel room in Vegas. The column of survivors dwindled by one whereas the list of victims lengthened. There was no mention of Calin Roberts, or Arthur Ashe. How could she initiate contact with him?

Meredith's suspicions intensified. Why Kate Brereton? How had she been tied into the Calin Roberts investigation? Memory provided the answer. Meredith had mentioned Kate's name to her assistant. From there it had no doubt flowed into the ear of the Deputy during bedtime discussions.

'If you can't defeat your enemy, use him.' This had been one of her father's pet expressions. She understood the strategy but wasn't sure how she could implement it. Meredith knew communication with Calin was her most urgent need. She also knew her deputy was now her enemy. Was there any possible way of combining these two realisations? Could she provoke her deputy into promoting her cause? She smiled; men had two weaknesses, sex and ego. She'd leave the sex to her assistant. She'd attack his other vulnerability.

She dialled his personal cell. It was a number known by very few, Meredith had found it on her assistant's phone. It answered immediately.

"We still on for tonight, honey," he answered. Meredith could think of nothing more repulsive.

"No."

"Where are you?" His tone conveyed shock; it wasn't the voice he had anticipated.

"That's none of your concern, Walter. I've taken possession of my father's diary and it makes for good reading. Everything he said has is fact eventuated. I've also been in contact with both Calins and the case against you is comprehensive to say the least. Guess it's now a case of who has the most credibility, you or me." Meredith disconnected and threw the phone in the first trash can she passed.

She knew how he'd respond. He had something she didn't, access to media. He'd call a press conference.

A new thought surfaced. She located a public phone in a hotel lobby, she called Walter's number again. It was busy. She then tried her assistant's personal cell, it too responded with the engaged chime. The man was so predictable. Meredith then called her own office line. It answered on the third ring.

"Director Paslow's office."

"Tell him killing Kate Brereton will get him life." Meredith paused; she had trouble controlling her anger. She forced herself to remain calm. She had to sow the seeds of dissent; divide the enemy. "Listen to me, Delta, you've got one chance. Go now, before it's too late and broker a deal with the DA, because if you go to court, you too will get life." On hearing the line click dead, Meredith shuffled across the lobby mumbling incoherently. Patrons cleared a path for the old drunk.

Meredith rose from the park bench, took another sip of water and then half walked and half staggered across the park to a public toilet. Fifteen minutes later she emerged, another person. The hair, a wig she had located in the Salvation Army store, was long and dark, the clothing more in line with a young business executive and the stride brisk. She wore little make-up and fashion glasses shaded her eyes. An expensive designer bag hung from her shoulder. She was neither beautiful nor plain. But she was in a hurry.