by Stuart Woods
Carpenter hung back on the opposite side of the cockpit and watched the sixteen-foot pile of rubber become a boat.
“Team on deck,” Sir Ewan shouted down the hatch, and two other dark shapes joined them. The dinghy was slipped over the side, and, while two men held the bow and stern close to the yacht, the others began jumping into it, timing the boat’s rise with the waves. They were hove to with the storm jib aback, and the yacht’s wind shadow made a fairly calm area to leeward.
Carpenter looked down into the heaving dinghy and launched herself toward it, putting her faith in the Royal Marines’ desire to manhandle a woman. She was caught and lowered into the boat with only a minimum of groping. Four men began paddling toward the island.
At first there seemed no place to land, but as they progressed, a shallow bay opened behind a point of land, and when they were a couple of hundred yards out, a flash from the sky illuminated a short jetty.
“Thank God for the lightning,” the sergeant said. “Otherwise we’d have to use our torches and probably get spotted.” “We were told there wouldn’t be sentries,” Carpenter said. “Don’t believe everything you’re told,” the sergeant replied. “Just be ready to handle it.”
They came up on the leeward side of the jetty, and two marines jumped out and made the dingy fast. From that point, no one issued orders; everyone did as he had been instructed.
While the men fanned out to their assigned positions, Carpenter and Roofer followed the sergeant toward the only light. It began to rain heavily, and the light seemed to blink on and off as they approached, finally becoming steady as the outline of a portable building became visible.
Carpenter hunched up her slicker and pulled its hood tight around her head, for shelter and better visibility. She and the sergeant ran to a window and looked inside. Through the rain-spotted glass they could see the dimensions of a large room, lit by a single lamp on a desk. A single figure, a young woman, sat at the desk. “Looks good,” Carpenter said.
“Not yet,” the sergeant replied. “Check the other windows.”
They ran around to the other side of the building and found another window lit. Inside, a large lump of a man was slumped over a desk, apparently asleep, illuminated by a single lamp and the glow from a computer screen.
“Double trouble,” the sergeant said. “I can only use the blowpipe on one at a time, and they’re in different rooms.”
“I’ve got my compressed air pipe,” Carpenter said. “I’ll take one.”
The sergeant thought for a moment. “I’ll take the guy, you take the woman. We’ll go in as quietly as we can and try to sneak up on them.”
Carpenter shook her head. “The woman is in profile to the door. As soon as we go in, she’s bound to see us. And as soon as we open the door, she’ll hear the weather outside. Let me go in first and close the door behind me. Give me five seconds, or until I’m well past the office door. I’ll take care of her, then you can do the man.”
The sergeant shrugged. “Why not?”
Roofer spoke up. “What do you want me to do?”
“Stay outside. Don’t come in until I call you,” the sergeant said.
Roofer nodded.
They walked back to the door. “Ready?” Carpenter asked rhetorically, then opened the door, walked in and closed the door behind her.
The woman at the desk looked up as Carpenter entered. “What?” she said.
“God, it’s filthy out there,” Carpenter said, shucking off her slicker and hanging it on a hook by the door. She pulled off her watch cap and shook her hair free, then she started toward the woman at the desk, a hand in her pocket.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. “You weren’t on the boat this afternoon.”
Carpenter approached the desk, smiling. “They made a special run for me. I’m doing the software updates.”
“What fucking software updates?” the woman asked. “We download the software updates.”
Carpenter heard the door open and close behind her.
“Who’s that?” the woman asked.
Carpenter’s hand closed on the cylinder in her pocket and she brought it out. “It’s a new kind of disk drive,” she said, walking around the desk behind the woman, as if to look over her shoulder at the computer monitor.
“I don’t get this,” the woman said, as Carpenter held the cylinder near her neck and fired it. There was a small hiss, the woman slapped at her neck, and then she seemed to dissolve into a heap.
Carpenter stretched her out on the floor and glanced toward the door in time to see a large mass hurtle out of the office and collide with the sergeant. The blowpipe flew from his hand and bounced off the wall, out of his reach.
The man was very big, bearded, and bellowing. “And who the fuck are you, my man?” he yelled, sitting on the sergeant, a hand at his throat.
Carpenter began running toward them, aware that she had fired her only dart, and as she did, the outside door opened and Roofer stepped inside. Quickly, before Carpenter could get there, he held out his cylinder before him and fired it in the general direction of the big man’s head.
“Ow!” the man yelled, clawing at his face. He ripped the dart out and tossed it away.
“Oh, shit,” Carpenter muttered to herself. “The blowpipe, Roofer!” she called out, as she picked up a heavy bookend from a table and threw it at the big man’s head. It caught him high on the skull and knocked him off the sergeant, but he immediately began to get to his feet.
Carpenter threw the other bookend at him, striking him in the chest. Roofer tackled the man from behind and, for his trouble, was shucked off like a shawl.
Carpenter, out of weapons, pointed a finger at the man. “Listen to me, you stupid son of a bitch!” she yelled.
“Huh?” the man said, turning toward her.
“Do you know who I am?”
“No, I don’t,” he said, not noticing the sergeant’s movement.
“Well, you’d bloody well better get on the phone and find out, hadn’t you?”
The man looked at her, baffled. “The phone? Who am I supposed to call?”
The sergeant blew his dart from three feet, and Carpenter and Roofer simultaneously threw themselves onto the man.
“Just hold him!” the sergeant yelled, grabbing an arm.
Roofer grabbed the other arm and the man shook him like a puppy.
“Listen to me!” Carpenter shouted, inches from his face. “Listen to me!”
The man looked at her, ready to say something, then his knees gave way, and he fell forward, like a long sack of potatoes.
Carpenter stepped out of his way. “Nighty-night,” she said. “Roofer, get on the computer.”
The sergeant was on his hands and knees, searching for something.
“What are you looking for?” Carpenter asked.
“The other dart,” the sergeant said. “Help me. We’re going to need it.”
Carpenter began looking, too, and a moment later, the sergeant found it. He went to the big man, who was not quite unconscious, and stuck it into his neck.
“I don’t know how long this is going to last on someone of his size,” the sergeant said, “so tell your man to hurry.”
Carpenter looked over her shoulder. Roofer was at the computer, typing rapidly.
36
Carpenter wrung the mop into the pail and turned to the sergeant. “Do you think you could do something around here? We’ve got to clean up.”
The sergeant reluctantly took a dry mop from the broom closet and began going over the area Carpenter had wet-mopped.
“Thank you,” she said. She turned to Roofer, who had been working at the computer for half an hour. “What about it?” she asked.
“It’s a tough one,” he said. “These people know what they’re doing. Do you think there might be some paper files with this information?”
“Perhaps you didn’t notice, but there are no filing cabinets in this building.”
“Oh.” He began typi
ng again.
Carpenter checked the time. “It’s going to start getting light in less than an hour, and we don’t know what time the watch changes.”
“Pressure won’t help,” Roofer said. “Kindly shut up and let me work.”
Carpenter resisted the temptation to ream out the junior officer. He was right, after all.
The sergeant sat down at a table and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Don’t do that.” she said. “Have you noticed that there are no ashtrays in the building? If they’re all nonsmokers, they’ll smell the smoke.”
The sergeant sighed and put away the cigarettes.
“Go and check on the big one.” she said.
The sergeant got up and went into the office, then came out again. “Sleeping like a baby,” he said. “I put him in the same position he was in when we arrived. When he wakes up, he’ll think he had a bad dream.”
“He’d better not wake up,” Carpenter muttered. She was looking at the door to the outside when the knob started to turn.
She waved at the sergeant to get his attention, then pointed at the door. The sergeant tiptoed toward it and took up a position to one side.
The door opened, to reveal one of their own men. “When are you going to be done?” he asked. “It’s going to start getting light soon.”
“Shut up and get back to your post,” the sergeant said. “We’ll be done when we’re done.”
Carpenter walked over to Roofer and stood looking over his shoulder.
“If you want to help,” the young man said, “wake up those people and torture them until they give you a password.”
Carpenter picked up the woman’s purse and dug out her wallet. “Try Susan,” she said.
Roofer typed. “No good.”
“Try Anne, with an e.”
“No good.”
Carpenter found a National Health card and read off the number. “If that doesn’t work, try the last four digits.”
Roofer typed. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “I’m in.”
“Good, now find the client list, and let’s get on with it.”
“What’s the website’s name again?”
“ACT NOW.”
“Right.”
Carpenter replaced the wallet and put the purse back where she had found it.
From inside the adjoining office came a loud moan. Carpenter ran to the door and looked inside. The big man was trying to lift his head. It fell back onto the desk with a thud.
She ran back to Roofer. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I’m doing a search,” he said. “It’s a slow computer.”
The sergeant stood and picked up one of the bookends Carpenter had used. “I’ll put him to sleep,” he said.
“No,” Carpenter replied. “He’s not awake yet. Just watch him.”
Roofer typed a few keystrokes. “Got it!” he shouted.
Carpenter ran to the desk and looked over his shoulder. “Print it out, and quickly!”
Roofer hit the print button and collected a sheet of paper from the machine.
Carpenter snatched it from him, folded it, and put it into the hip pocket of her jeans. “Put the computer back the way you found it,” she said, grabbing the young woman under the arms and heaving her toward the desk.
“Done,” Roofer said, standing up and helping Carpenter with the woman.
They put her in her chair, folded her arms on the desk, and laid her head on her arms.
The sergeant clapped his hands, and they both turned and looked at him. He pointed to the office. The big man was waking up.
Carpenter ran over, took the bookend from him and put it back in its place. She got into her slicker and led the way out the door.
It was still raining, but not as hard, and a dull light was penetrating the heavy clouds. They ran toward the jetty, collecting the others as they went, and soon they were in the dinghy headed toward the point.
The sergeant produced a handheld radio. “Mother, this is baby,” he said.
“Go ahead, baby,” the general’s voice came back.
“I’ve begun my journey.”
“I’ll switch on the masthead light.”
As they cleared the point a wave struck the dinghy, and Carpenter slipped off her seat into the bottom and about two inches of water. She clawed her way back, then felt in her hip pocket for the sheet of paper. It was wet. She pulled it out, stuck it under her slicker and her shirt, next to a breast. It was cold and clammy, but it soon absorbed her body warmth.
A moment later, the sergeant pointed to a light in the distance. “There!” he shouted. “Make for the light.”
Five long minutes later, they were alongside the heaving yacht, and men were pulling Carpenter on deck.
“Shall we sink the dinghy?” the sergeant asked.
“No,” Sir Ewan called back. “It might wash ashore. Get it aboard and suck it out.”
The men heaved the large dinghy aboard, connected it to the pump, and hit the reverse switch. The dinghy began to collapse.
Carpenter went below, found her small duffel and retrieved the satellite phone. She slid back the hatch, pulled the spray hood over her head, and tapped in a number.
“Yes?” a voice said almost immediately.
“It’s Aunt Rose,” she said. “Your cousin lives in Arlington, Virginia. Do you want me to read you the name and address?”
“No,” the voice said. “Bring it ashore and fax it. How was your journey?”
“Piece of cake,” she said.
“Good Auntie,” he replied, then broke the connection.
Carpenter went below and made herself a mug of tea, adding a lot of brandy.
37
Bob Kinney jerked awake. He had a terrible pain in his neck, where it rested on the arm of the sofa, which was too short for his body. “What?” he said.
“The White House Situation Room is on the phone,” his secretary repeated.
Kinney leapt off the sofa and grabbed the phone. “Bob Kinney.”
“Agent Kinney, you’re getting a fax any minute, now. It goes to the president first.”
“Was the mission a success?”
“Completely, as I understand it.”
“Who is the guy?”
“I haven’t seen the name. It will be in the fax. I did hear that it’s an Arlington address.”
“Thanks.” Kinney hung up. Kerry Smith had appeared at the door.
“Wake up the team,” Kinney said. “The Brits got the name, and they’re faxing it to us momentarily.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t have it yet, but he has an Arlington address, and we’re going to roll the minute we’ve got the name.”
“Great!” Smith replied, then went to start waking people.
Kinney stuck his head out the door. “Assemble everybody in the garage!” he yelled after Smith’s disappearing back. Smith waved and turned a corner.
Kinney went back to his secretary’s desk and stared at the fax machine. “Come on,” he said under his breath.
“You know that talking to it doesn’t work,” she said. “Go sit down, and I’ll bring it to you the moment it arrives.”
The fax machine rang.
Kinney went and stood over it, willing it to print faster.
The machine made the requisite noises, then slowly spat out a sheet of paper. Kinney snatched it from the machine and read it aloud. “Edward E. Coulter, Riverview Road, Arlington.” He furrowed his brow. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“What was it again?” his secretary asked.
“Edward E. Coulter.”
“Edward Eugene Coulter?”
The name came like a spear through the heart. “Our CIA retiree? The one we talked to?”
“The one who’s dead,” she said helpfully. The phone rang, and she picked it up. “Yes, Mr. President, he’s right here.” She handed him the phone.
“Bob Kinney,” he said, feeling sick to his stomach.
<
br /> “Bob, they faxed me this name,” the president said. “Edward E. Coulter. Isn’t that the retired CIA guy, the one who died?”
