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Page 59
Ryerson all the while. Ryerson blinked at the light and complained, "I lost my glasses when you started to chase me."
Morgan said, "What are you doing here?"
"Where's Anna Neville? Is she here? I understand you're going to be her keeper."
Morgan stared. The man's chutzpah was amazing. Ryerson looked absurd, squatting on the floor and asking questions like a lawyer in a courtroom. "I could have broken your neck, or shot you for peeping in windows, Ryerson."
Ryerson said, "I'm a journalist, I have a right to investigate a story"
"You used to be a journalist," Morgan said. "Tonight you're a peeping tom."
"You'd like to shoot me, wouldn't you? Maybe Kellner and the President would hang a medal around your neck for killing a reporter" Ryerson's voice was frightened, but defiant. The pistol in Morgan's hand made him sweat. He had been chased and captured by a bloody fascist, naked as a Doukhobor, and just as crazy. It made clear thinking impossible.
Ryerson gathered up his courage and said, "My source tells me you're the designated troubleshooter with the Neville woman. You're bound to fail. She's with the CCND and they'll never let you get close to her. Besides, her whole family hated people like you and Kellner."
Morgan snapped the safety on the Ruger and slipped it back under the mattress. "Go home, Ryerson," he said wearily. "It's too late for your games."
Ryerson scrambled to his feet and glanced at the packed B-4 bag. "Where is she, Morgan? What are your orders? What will happen to her?"
Morgan regarded the reporter coldly. "Happen to whom?"
"Anna Neville, for Chrissake. You're going to hide her somewhere so she can't talk, can't tell her story to the public, right? How far will you bastards go to shut her up?"
"You're an idiot, Ryerson."
"The people have a right to know."

 
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