"Im afraid that will cost you, lady."
"What service could you possibly render to me that I would pay for?"
"Information."
"Of what nature, what value?"
"Thats two different things, and to be perfectly honest, I can answer the first but I cant put a price on the second. Only you can."
"Then answer the first."
"Okay. Someones looking in the sewers for a couple of people who may or may not be you and the kid, emphasis on the not, because it would be too farfetched. But then, Ive got a wild imagination."
"I see." Bajaratt froze. So near, so close! "We are who we are, Mr. Reilly," she said, her control at maximum. "Who might the others be?"
"Like I said, sewer rats. Hustlers, maybe Mafia drug missionaries looking for better markets, or just plain scam artists from Sicily who know who to hold up."
"We could be mistaken for such people?"
"h.e.l.l, not on the surface. The womans a lot younger than you, and the kids described as an illiterate, muscle-bound thug."
"Its all preposterous!"
"Yeah, thats what I kept thinking, but as I say, Ive got a crazy imagination. Do you want to meet?"
"Certainly, if only to put this insanity to rest."
"Where?"
"In a city or town called Fairfax, theres an inn or a hotel of sorts called the Shenandoah Lodge."
"I know it. So do most of the wandering husbands in Washington-surprised you could get in. Ill be there in an hour."
"Ill be in the parking lot," the Baj said. "I dont care to upset Dante Paolo, barone-cadetto di Ravello."
Ashkelon!
Forever. What news?
Were about to enter phase one. Prepare for countdown.
Allah be loved; Allah be praised.
Praise an American senator.
Are you joking?
Not for an instant. Hes come through for us. The strategy was successful!
Details?
You dont need them. Still, in case I dont survive, his name is Nesbitt. You may have need of him after Im gone. And your Allah knows, h.e.l.l be vulnerable.
The limousine, driven by Poole, pulled into the entrance of the Shenandoah Lodge. The Van Nostrand name secured two adjoining double rooms despite the lateness of the hour and the disheveled appearance of the three travelers.
"What do we do now, Tye?" said Cathy, walking into the room Tyrell and Poole were sharing.
"Order some food, get some rest, and start making calls-oh, my G.o.d!"
"What is it?"
"Stevens!" cried Hawthorne, rushing to the telephone. "The police... they could cripple Charlotte, take the pilots into custody, the whole scenario could be blown away!"
"Can you stop them?" Neilsen asked as Tyrell dialed furiously.
"It depends when they got there.... Captain Stevens, four-zero emergency!... Henry, its me. Whatevers happening at Van Nostrands, you have to push every b.u.t.ton youve got to keep it quiet!" Hawthorne fell silent, listening intently for nearly a minute. "I have to take back a few of the things Ive laid on you, Captain," he said finally, less excitedly, relief in his tone. "Ill call you in a couple of hours with some names. Put each one under a microscope, twenty-four-hour details, telephone logs, sc.u.mbag material, the whole bag of dirty tricks.... Good thinking, Henry. By the way, Ive been doing some thinking too, reevaluating maybe, on another subject. This may sound crazy at a time like this, but how well did you know Ingrid?" A sad smile creased Tyrels face, his eyes briefly closing. "Thats what I thought. Speak to you around midnight. Will you be at the office or at home?... Right, I shouldnt have asked." Hawthorne hung up the phone, his hand still on it as he raised his head and spoke. "Stevens antic.i.p.ated the scenario. Hes pulled a black drape over the Van Nostrand estate."
"But the mans dead!" exclaimed Poole. "What about all those dead bodies? How the h.e.l.l are they going to keep all that quiet?"
"Fortunately, only one patrol car went out there, and Stevens reached police headquarters a few minutes before the two patrolmen called in. He put the clamps on all communications relative to Van Nostrands death, backing it up with something called an "alternating data-based security code forwarded by naval intelligence."
"Just like that?"
"That, Lieutenant, is apparently the way things are done these days. You dont say "keep it quiet anymore, computers do that. You cant be in the spook business unless youre a walking manual of high technology. No wonder Im history."
"Youve done pretty well so far," said Cathy. "Better than anyone else."
"Id like to, Id really like to. If only somehow to give something back to Cooke and Ardisonne, two other "has-beens.... G.o.d d.a.m.n that b.i.t.c.h and everyone she deals with! I want those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!"
"Youre gettin closer, Tye, close even."
Close, thought Hawthorne, taking off his cotton bush jacket now stained with sweat and dirt. Close ...? Oh, yes, he had been close, so close he had held her in his arms, making love as if the fragments of a shattered dream had been pieced together, dark night turned into a glorious dawn, the sun bursting over the horizon permitting a new and wonderful day. G.o.d d.a.m.n you, Dominique! Liar, liar, liar. All you ever said to me were lies. But Ill find you, b.i.t.c.h, and blind you as you blinded me, make you feel the pain I feel. G.o.d d.a.m.n you, Dominique, I spoke of love and felt love; you spoke of love and there was only deceit. Worse-far worse-at the roots there had to be hatred, the essential loathing the user has for the used.
"But where is she, Jackson?" Tyrell asked out loud. "Thats the real question, isnt it?"
"I think youre overlooking something thats terribly important," Neilsen interrupted. "Youve established that shes here, this close to Washington, so the Presidents security measures will be raised to the zenith. How can she possibly penetrate that shield?"
"Because the man cant stop doing his job."
"I thought you said all appearances, even local trips, were called off. Hes isolated, quarantined, a prisoner in his own house."
"I know all that. What bothers me is that she knows it too, but its not stopping her."
"I see what you mean. The leaks, the killings-Charlie, Miami; even you on Saba and here with Van Nostrand. Who are these people who support her? For G.o.ds sake, why?"
"I wish I knew the answer-the answers to both questions." Hawthorne sat down on the bed, then lay back on the pillow, his hands behind his head. "I have to go back, back to Amsterdam and all the G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupid games that were played, the casualties that were never made public, no body counts there, pal.... A leans on B for one reason; B on C for another, seemingly unrelated; C on D for something off-the-wall with rearranged words, and finally D reaches E, who penetrates because he or she can, and its what A wanted in the first place. The chain is so convoluted, you cant follow it."
"Apparently, you did," said Neilsen, a touch of admiration in her voice. "Your service record made it quite clear: You were outstanding."
"Sometimes, not always, and mostly by accident."
Poole was sitting at the desk, running his hand through his light brown hair. "I wrote down what you just said about A, B, C, D and E, and since I was pretty alert in math, includin geometry, trigonometry, calculus, and a touch of nuclear physics, were you sayin that these people in Amsterdam were programmed in differently calibrated spheres? Like in disa.s.sociated quadrants?"
"I havent the vaguest idea what you mean."
"But you just said it."
"Then Ill stand by it. What did I say?"
"That none of the letters knew exactly what was goin on except the first and the last."
"Its oversimplified but essentially correct. Its called using blinds, contacts who might sense something but have no specifics to reveal, and usually dont suspect anything."
"What makes them do it?"
"Greed, Lieutenant, ultimately money. Either up front or with information they can use for extortion and even more money."
"You think thats whos behind this Bajaratt?" asked Cathy.
"Not really, the cores too organized, too powerful. But that core-the nucleus-has to use others for loose and not so loose ends; for things they dont want traced, always careful so that if they are traced, those being used cant lead back to the major players."
"Like a certain Alfred Simon in Puerto Rico?" suggested Poole.
"And an air controller who was always there but whose name Simon didnt know?" said Neilsen.
"Both up to their necks in Little Girl Blood and her suppliers," agreed Tyrell. "Each controlled, each expendable; and if Simon was an example, neither could offer anything of substance."
"But he did," objected Cathy. "He gave you a name, two names."
"One a washout, a highly respected D.C. attorney who should put a psychiatrist on retainer, but other than that, zip ... and the second was an accident, Major. I wasnt kidding before; my "outstanding service record is filled with accidents, just like the majority of my more successful former colleagues. A word, a phrase, a casual remark that somehow stays with you, and somewhere down the road an image fits. Theres a click in your head-another accident-because the odds against your remembering are loaded dice not in your favor."
"That was Neptune, wasnt it?" said Andrew Jackson Poole.
"Yes, it was. Simon mentioned something to the effect that his manipulator, Mr. Neptune, looked like he stepped out of an ad in Gentlemans Quarterly, or a magazine like that. By G.o.d, he was right. Van Nostrand, even when he was about to have someone killed in front of his eyes, was a fashion plate."
"I wouldnt call your remembering an accident," said Neilsen. "Id call it training."
"I didnt say I was an idiot, I was merely pointing out the odds. A short, garbled statement by a blindsided owner of a wh.o.r.ehouse so hung over he weaved like a spinnaker in half-dead air. Its not the sort of thing you write home about. As I said, just chance."
Hawthorne lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He was dead tired, his legs still fired with pain, his arms aching, his head throbbing. He was vaguely aware of Cathy and Pooles good-natured squabbling over the room-service menu, but his thoughts were still focused on accidents. The accidents of his life, so many accidents, beginning with the one that had brought him into the navy. He was a college graduate who had switched majors so frequently he invariably forgot which one it was if questioned, finally ending up with astronomy. "Why not try single-st.i.tch rug weaving?" his father, the professor, had asked. "Just stay away from my cla.s.ses, son. Your mother would never understand my refusing to pa.s.s you."
Actually, the astronomy course wasnt that stupid; hed been sailing since he could climb aboard a boat, and came to refine celestial navigation to the point where a quick glance without a s.e.xtant could put him reasonably on course. He had been a relatively talented athlete, his size and build leading to varsity status, but his lack of commitment, as well as the company, precluded a suggested career in sports; he had no desire either to stay in training or have his body a.s.saulted. After the University of Oregon (no tuition for offspring of tenured professors), he was at a loss; he had managed a respectable 3.2 average since the courses he chose were interesting to him, but few were interesting to the corporate employers who looked for business administration, economics, engineering, or computer science. Then came accident number one.
On the streets of Eugene, two months after his mother had framed his essentially useless degree, he pa.s.sed a navy recruiting office. Whether it was the attractive posters showing ships at sea, or because he was restless to do something, or a combination of both, was a question he never a.n.a.lyzed, but he walked inside and enlisted.
His mother had been appalled. "Youre not remotely the military type!" she had said.
His younger brother, who was already a straight-A student in high school, as well as president of the honor society, added, "Tye, do you understand that youll have to follow orders?"
His bemused father offered him a drink and was more trenchant than the other two. "Scratch a drifter with half a mind and youll usually find someone who wants a little structure in his life. Anchors aweigh, son, and as the proctors of Salem said when they unearthed a warlock, "G.o.d have mercy on your soul. "
Fortunately, the navy had practiced a certain self-serving mercy. After reviewing Hawthornes accomplishments as a young sailor, which were considerable, including the skippering of large sails and several dozen blue ribbons, he emerged from the San Diego training base as an ensign a.s.signed to destroyer duty, which led to the second major accident.
After two years he was afflicted with battleship-gray claustrophobia. He looked around for something more expansive. A few land-based a.s.signments opened up, but they were logistic jobs-desk work, which he wasnt interested in, but there was one that sounded like fun, if he could get it: protocol officer in The Hague.
He got it, as well as another stripe, a lieutenant (j.g.), and he hadnt the slightest idea that protocol was an observation ground for potential naval intelligence personnel. All the fun and games and emba.s.sy receptions and tours for the fat cats, civilian and military, were part of the course. Then one morning, after six months, he was called in to the charge daffaires office, praised beyond his minor contributions, and told he was elevated to lieutenant, senior grade.
"And by the way, Lieutenant," the emba.s.sy executive had said. "Wed like you to do a little favor for us." Accident number three. He said yes.
Tyrells counterpart at the French emba.s.sy was suspected of pa.s.sing Franco-American intelligence to the Soviets. On the pretext of an upcoming dinner party, would Lieutenant Hawthorne take the man out for some heavy sympathetic drinking, pump him, and learn what he could? "Incidentally," the charge daffaires had said, handing him a tiny plastic bottle of Murine eye drops. "Two dabs of this in a drink will loosen the tongue of a mute."
Accident number four. Hawthorne never had a chance to use the ersatz eye drops. Unlucky Pierre was at the end of his rope and, filled with wine, spelled out his terrible confession, claiming to be both heavily in debt and having an affair with a Soviet mole who could expose their relationship and destroy him.
Accident number five. Probably due to several bourbons, Tyrell suggested that if the distraught Frenchman gave him the names of his KGB contacts, he could say that his patriotic counterpart was actually working for NATO because he suspected that there were leaks in his own emba.s.sy. Hawthornes cheeks were sore for a week from the Frenchmans kisses of grat.i.tude. The man became a valuable double agent, his turning credited to the protocol officer. Which led to accident six.
The commanding general of NATO summoned him, a man Hawthorne truly respected because he wasnt a debutant bra.s.s a.s.s, but a straight-talking boss in shirtsleeves. "I want to send you on, Lieutenant, because you not only have the qualifications, but, more important, you dont advertise them. Im sick to death of the egos around here. Things get done with quiet people, observing people. Okay with you?"
Okay what? Certainly, General, whatever you say, sir. Tyrell was so much in awe of the man that certain specifics were either glossed over or delivered in such subtle militarese that the flattered Hawthorne enthusiastically agreed to his new horizons. Accident six had him flying back to Georgia for an exhausting twelve-week stay, an officer officially a.s.signed to naval intelligence.
Upon his return to The Hague, presumably to resume his duties, the accidents came one after the other, some more accidental than others. He was becoming good at his real job. Fueled by the widespread hypocrisy and corruption that were rampant throughout NATO, Amsterdam had become the hub of the underground networks where money took the place of commitments, major and minor. He ran a.s.sets throughout the Netherlands, with side trips all over Europe, tracking down the despicable who brokered death along with payoffs. It was the mounting deaths, the useless killings, that finally caused him to break in his own way.
Suddenly, Tyrell was aware that Cathy was standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at him. He raised his head. "Wheres our lieutenant?" he asked.
"Hes using the phone in my room. He remembered he had a date tonight-four hours ago."
"Id like to hear how he explains that away."
"You probably wouldnt. Hes no doubt telling her hes been testing an experimental aircraft, very hush-hush, and sustained a neck injury during a thirty-eight-thousand-foot dive."
"Hes a piece of work, that kid."
"He certainly is.... What were you doing? Having one of your eyes-open naps?"
"Hardly. Just one of those brief spells when you ask yourself why youre where you are-even why youre who you are, maybe."
"I know the answer to the first. Youre here hunting down this Bajaratt woman because you were one of the finest intelligence officers in the navy."
"Thats not true," said Hawthorne, sitting up against a pillow as Neilsen sat down in a chair several feet from the side of the bed.
"Stevens allowed that you were, even if he may have done so reluctantly."
"He was trying to calm your fears, thats all."
"I dont think so. Ive watched you in action, Commander. Why deny it?"
"Because, Major, I may have been pa.s.sably effective for a few years, but then something happened and whether my superiors realized it or not, I became the worst man in the field. You see, I didnt care anymore who won or lost the stupid games. I cared about something else."
"Do you want to tell me about it?"