"Ah, senor, I see neither of us has gotten much sleep between tragedies. Her husband was killed last night and she this morning-and you, a stranger to both-unaccountably show up at both places."
"Cut it out, Lieutenant, I havent got time for your bulls.h.i.t. What happened?"
"You seem to have an extraordinary interest in this couple. Perhaps to deny your own involvement."
"Oh, sure, I dispatch each of them, then conveniently show up at the scenes of dispatch. Boy, am I smart. Now, come on, what happened?"
"Oh, be my guest, senor," said the detective, leading Hawthorne through the crowd into the living room of the condominium. It was a mess, furniture upturned everywhere, and everywhere shattered gla.s.s and china. However, there was no blood, no corpse. "This is the scene of your "dispatch, exactly as you expected to find it, am I right, senor?"
"Wheres the body?"
"You do not know?"
"How could I?"
"Perhaps only you can answer that. You were at the airport galley last night where we found the body of the air controller, the husband."
"Because someone kept screaming that he was in there!"
"And now you are here. Why is that?"
"Thats confidential.... We cant have it all over your newspapers-we cant allow it."
"You cannot? Who are you, may I ask?"
"Tell me what happened, then maybe Ill answer."
"So the americano gives me orders?"
"Its a request, sir. I have to know."
"We will play your clever game, senor." The detective led Tyrell through the kneeling and bent-over fingerprint personnel to the balcony. The sliding doors were apart, the floor-to-ceiling screen split, as if by a heavy, sharp knife, the screen itself bent outward. "That is where the woman was pushed to her death nine stories below. Is it not familiar to you, senor?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Put the handcuffs on him!" the detective ordered the police officers behind Hawthorne.
"What?"
"You are my primary suspect, senor, and I have my reputation to think of."
Three hours and twenty-two minutes later, after vociferous arguing with a stubborn, self-important detective, Tyrell was permitted to make his very private telephone call. It was to Washington, and thirty-eight seconds after he hung up, a lower-echelon subordinate in the police department signed him out of jail with cursory apologies from his superiors. Hawthorne had no idea where Alfred Simons Cadillac was being held, so he took a taxi back to the hotel.
"Where have you been for the past five hours?" Catherine asked.
"I rented a car downstairs and was about to slam a few knockers around this town!" added Poole.
"I was in jail," Hawthorne replied quietly, lying down on the couch. "Did you get Simon out?"
"With some difficulty," answered Neilsen. "To begin with, a somewhat snockered Mr. Simon did, indeed, think Id be a nice addition to his stable-which was more of a compliment than I got from you."
"Mea culpa."
"So we drove Simon to the base and poured a bucketful of coffee into him," Cathy continued. "Frankly, I dont think it helped much, he propositioned me twice in the wheelchair on the way to the aircraft."
"Hes ent.i.tled. Hes a bona fide hero."
"Ent.i.tled to me?"
"I didnt say that, I only said he was ent.i.tled to ask."
"Where do we go now?" asked Poole.
"What time is it?"
"Twelve minutes to three," answered Neilsen, watching Tyrell closely.
"Then weve got twelve minutes until we find out," said Hawthorne, sitting up, suddenly aware that he was perspiring ... and the room was cool.
With each minute that pa.s.sed, Tyrells anxiety grew, uncontrollable images of Dominique/Bajaratt adding fury to his anxiety. He knew it would happen-he wasnt doing anything. Instead, he just kept moving, pacing aimlessly, almost grateful for the wasted hours at police headquarters, where the arguments and the pointless shouting had occupied him.
"Its three oclock, Tye," said Cathy. "Would you rather we leave?"
Hawthorne stopped his erratic pacing; he studied both air force officers, his eyes shifting back and forth. "No," he said. "I want you here because I trust you."
"We care for you, Commander," added the major. "Thats equally important."
"Thank you." Tyrell walked to the telephone and picked it up. He dialed.
"Yes?" The voice from Fairfax, Virginia, was cold, the single greeting drawn out as if the man speaking were reluctant to talk.
"Its Hawthorne."
"Please wait." There followed a series of short beeps before NVN returned. "Now we may speak freely, Commander," continued the voice, considerably more pleasant, "although our conversation would hardly be incriminating to either of us."
"Are we on tape? Is that what the noises were for?"
"Quite the opposite, were on scrambler. A tape would only record garbled sounds. For both our sakes."
"Then you can say what you want to tell me. About Amsterdam."
"Not fully, for I need your eyes to complete the story."
"What do you mean?"
"Photographs. From Amsterdam. They show your wife, Ingrid Johansen Hawthorne, in the company of three men at four separate locations-the Zuiderkerk Zoo, the Rembrandt House, aboard a tourist ca.n.a.l boat, and at a cafe in Brussels. Each photograph indicates a confidential and highly intense conference. I am convinced that one, if not all three, were responsible for your wifes death, either by compromising her, or by the act itself."
"Who are they?"
"Not even on scrambler, Commander. I said one if not all three, and in truth Ive identified only one. However, Im certain you can identify the other two, but I cant. The files are closed, beyond my reach."
"Why are you so certain I can do that?"
"Because Ive learned that they were among your covert a.s.sets in Amsterdam."
"Thats more than thirty, perhaps forty, people.... You write that there was a Baaka connection."
"In the sense that the Baaka spreads its largess through Amsterdam as well as Washington."
"Washington?"
"Most definitely."
"And the "aborted strategy that may have come back? If two plus two is four, youre relating it to a current situation."
"I certainly am. Do you recall that five years ago, approximately three weeks before your wife was killed, the President of the United States was to attend a NATO conference in The Hague?"
"Sure, the whole thing was called off and moved to Toronto a month later."
"Do you remember why?"
"Of course. Wed picked up word that a dozen hit teams had been sent out of the Baaka to a.s.sa.s.sinate the President ... and others."
"Precisely. The Prime Minister of Great Britain and the President of France among them."
"But wheres the relationship, the connection?"
"I will explain it to you when you get here-after you identify the two unknown men, which Im sure you can do. My plane will be at the General Aviation area at the San Juan Airport by four-thirty; the counter will direct you.... Incidentally, my name is Van Nostrand, Nils Van Nostrand. And should you have any doubts about me, feel free to have your naval contacts put you in touch with the secretary of state, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and the secretary of defense. For G.o.ds sake, dont mention a word of what Ive told you, but I believe theyll vouch for me."
"Those people are heavy cannons-"
"Also close friends and a.s.sociates for many years," Van Nostrand interrupted. "If you simply say, in effect, that in your current professional status Ive asked to meet with you, Im quite sure theyll encourage you to do so."
"Which eliminates the need to make the calls," observed Hawthorne. "Im traveling with two a.s.sociates, Mr. Van Nostrand."
"Yes, I know. A Major Neilsen and a Lieutenant Poole, presently a.s.signed to you by Patrick Air Force Base. Im delighted to have them accompany you, but Im afraid I cannot permit them to be at our meeting, Theres a fine motel several miles down the road. Ill make reservations, billed to me, of course, and after you land, my car will take them there."
"Christ!" exploded Hawthorne suddenly. "If you had this information, why the h.e.l.l did you wait so long to reach me?"
"It hasnt really been that long, Commander, and for obvious reasons, the time is right."
"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, whos the man in the photographs you did identify? Im a professional, Van Nostrand, and Ive carried around in my head the names of more doubles and triples than you can count-while having pleasant dinners with all of them!"
"You insist?"
"I insist!"
"Very well. The man youve suspected for five years. Captain Henry Stevens, currently head of naval intelligence." Van Nostrand paused, then said, "He had no choice. It was either you killing him or the Soviets killing your wife. Stevens and she were lovers; they had been for several years. He couldnt let her go."
17.
The figure moved in and out of the shadows along the path in Washingtons Rock Creek Park, the intermittent streetlamps no match for the summer foliage. He heard the rushing waters from the ravine below and knew he was near the meeting ground; there was a bench equidistant from two lights on the dirt path. Half darkness, mostly darkness, for neither man could ever be seen with the other; it was a commandment never to be broken. Each was a Scorpio.
Seeing his colleague already seated on the bench, the glow of a cigar in his hand, David Ingersol approached, glancing back and forth, making sure they were alone. They were; he joined the man.
"h.e.l.lo, David," said Scorpio Two, a heavyset, balding man with red hair, a puffed face, and a blunt nose.
"Good evening, Pat. Humid night, isnt it?"
"They say it isnt going to rain, but those a.s.sholes are usually wrong. I even brought an umbrella, one of that stupid kind that telescopes so short you can put it in your pocket, which is about all the d.a.m.n things good for."
"I forgot one. I have a lot on my mind."
"Thats pretty clear. The last time we met was over three years ago."
"This is far worse."
"Is it?"
"Its insane, you must know that," said Scorpio Three.
"I dont make such judgments. Im a pretty wealthy man for following orders, not questioning them."
"To the point of your own self-destruction?"
"Hey, come on, Davey, we left the acolytes brigade years ago when we sold our souls to the Providers."
"That sort of philosophical abstraction doesnt interest me. What does is protecting the a.s.sets weve accrued, what weve earned. That twisted, sick old man is dead, and with him went the senile insanity that produced this madness.... Ask yourself, ORyan, what possible benefit can we expect from an a.s.sa.s.sination-multiple a.s.sa.s.sinations?"
"None, except for the fact that we didnt stand in the way, which Could be one h.e.l.l of a benefit. Say, between our living or our being killed."
"Good G.o.d, by whom?"
"By the maniacs who are obsessed with this operation. Shes not acting alone; she has her followers just as Abu Nidal and his types do. Maybe its a smaller circle, but its no less committed and no less resourceful. No, David, we do what Scorpio One tells us to do, and should anything happen to derail this crazy locomotive, he can report that we fulfilled our obligations. No blame can be directed at us."
"Report ...?"
"Jesus, Counselor, dont undermine my regard for your legal abilities by telling me you havent thought through the Scorpios place in the scheme of things. Well, maybe the law doesnt require such devious a.n.a.lysis, which I dont believe for a minute, but Ive been an intelligence officer for twenty-six years, and I can spot a pyramid when a G.o.dd.a.m.n triangular quadrilateral ma.s.s is in front of my G.o.dd.a.m.ned eyes. We may be three-quarters up; Scorpio One, seven-eighths, but theres a higher level and were not it."
"Im fully aware of the hierarchy, ORyan. Im also aware of something you know nothing about."