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Page 163
that NSA was monitoring her calls, the telephone ferrets would be just a trifle more alert at those well-defined intervals.
She dialed the number of the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco, where Ryerson liked to stay. As she waited for a connection, she examined herself in the wall mirror, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. The gesture had always been one of her most successful moves when on the prowl, and she practiced it often.
Ryerson answered after four rings. Very likely he was having breakfast in his room. On Russian money, Marina thought. But he had, as the Americans said so inelegantly, a nose for news, and he was persistent.
"I need more money," Ryerson said without preamble.
"When do you not?" Marina asked coldly.
"I have a story. A great one."
"I am not interested in furthering the cause of freelance journalism." Marina had had this conversation with Ryerson before. There were times, and this was one, when her instinct warned her that Joe Ryerson knew very well the source of the funds she gave him, and the destination of the information he gave her. "But tell me, anyway," she said.
His voice on the telephone was ragged and tired. "No need to be in my face."
"I don't know that expression. It sounds very trendy," she said.
"Bitch. Maybe you don't need to know this."
"Good-bye. Call me when you get back." Marina waited, smiling to herself.
"Okay, I said I would tell you."
"I am listening."
"All right. Try this on for size. Vincent Kellner's man, Morgan, killed three people last night. My information is solid. I bribed a cop. Gave him my last hundred."
Marina's heartbeat quickened. Ryerson's reputation for tricks sprang to her mind immediately. Surely he wouldn't try to fool her. She had seen John Morgan at a Georgetown re-

 
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