Page 82 of The Ruling Class

Until he told me that he could take care of himself, it hadn’t occurred to me that whatever he had planned for tonight might be dangerous.

“What are you going to do?” I asked softly.

“I’m just going to show up. See people. Be seen.”

Be seen.Why would Henry want to be seen?

“Henry, either you tell me exactly what you’re doing, or I’ll tell my sister you’re up to something.”

The silence on the other end of the phone line grew decidedly chillier. “Fine,” he said stiffly, glaring at me through the phone. “I’m simply interested to see if Carson Dweck has gone back to his source in the West Wing for information on my grandfather’s murder, and if that source is at all curious about how Carson got his information.”

It took me a few seconds to process that statement. Henry had told the reporter everything we knew. I’d taken him at his word when he’d said that he’d done it so that Ivy wouldn’t be the only one looking into this.

But if the reporter went back to his source, if his source was in any way involved in the conspiracy …My mind raced.

“You’re trying to draw the third player out,” I realized.

I wanted to believe that Dweck wouldn’t reveal Henry as the source of his information about the justice’s assassination. I wanted to believe that hadn’t been Henry’s plan all along.

“So that’s it?” I said. “You start making noise, then parade around at a state dinner and see who takes the bait?”

“I assure you, I have no intention of parading.”

“I assureyou,” I replied, “that this isn’t going to work. Even if our missing conspirator has heard that you’re asking questions, even if he or she thinks you know too much, they’re not going to make a move in front of three hundred of the president’s closest friends.”

I could practically hear Henry’s subtle, pointed smile in response to those words. “Then you don’t need to worry about me,” he said. “Do you?”

I hung up the phone. I took a second to tamp down on my temper, to think this through. In a crowd, with security, Henry would probably be fine. But I couldn’t help thinking that Henry’s grandfather might well have been poisoned at an event just as posh and secure as this one.

Biting the bullet, I did the only thing Icoulddo. I called Ivy. No answer. I called Bodie. No answer. Wherewerethey? I called Adam. No answer. Ivy again. No answer. I kept calling.

It was four o’clock. A quick internet search told me the state dinner, honoring the queen of Denmark, started at 7:30 p.m.

Another call. Still no answer.

Henry was going to do this. I wasn’t going to be able to stop him.Fine, I thought darkly. I called him back.

“I’m going with you.” My words came out equal parts promise and threat.

“As whose date?” Henry asked. “Unless your sister is willing to rustle you up a last-minute invitation—and I think we both know she is not—you have no way in the front door.”

He was right. Sneaking into a state dinner wasn’t like sneaking into a movie. It was probably a felony.

“This is a big mistake, Henry.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I suppose,” he said finally, “that is the only kind of mistake I make.”

He hung up the phone. I tried Ivy again. Bodie again. Adam again.Where were they?

Finally, I called Asher back. “We have a problem.”

“I won’t say I told you so,” Asher replied. “But let’s just take a moment of silence to think about the fact that I was right.”

I didn’t have time to acknowledge the quip. “What does a person wear to a state dinner?” I asked.

“Why?” Asher said. “Are we invited?”

“You aren’t,” I told him. “But with a little luck, I might be.”