by Tinnean
* * * *
I was a good judge of character, but God help me, I couldn’t tell if she wanted Tony as a spouse, a father for her child, or a meal ticket.
As for Tony…I had no idea if this was an old man’s last desperate bid to have a family of his own or if she was his one love.
A week after Gregor and I returned to Great Falls, Tony married her in a private ceremony, witnessed only by her daughter and his brother.
* * * *
May started out as a lovely month. The weather was mild, and at the back of the property, the lilac bushes were in bloom.
And Mark Vincent was still residing in my son’s townhouse.
Quinton and I had the horses out this Sunday, and I decided it might be a good idea to bring it up. If Vincent planned to continue listing Quinton’s address as his own, perhaps it might be a good idea to buy them something monogrammed.
I chuckled to myself, and decided to tease my son. “Sweetheart…”
He was smiling faintly, and his attention seemed to be turned inward.
“Quinton!”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mother.” A blush colored his cheeks and burned the tips of his ears. “What were you saying?”
“You were a million miles away.” I observed him thoughtfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “Where were you?”
“Lost in thought.” He smiled at me, the picture of innocence, and I wondered what those thoughts might entail.
“Mark Vincent has been staying with you for a number of weeks now, hasn’t he?”
“Yes.” He shifted in his saddle. “He has an apartment lined up, but it needs some work, and until it’s done—”
“As long as he isn’t taking advantage of your hospitality.”
“Not in the least, Mother.” He shifted in his saddle again.
“Why don’t we curtail our ride for today?” I wasn’t going to comment on his obvious discomfort, but I saw no need to for him to continue enduring the ride. “It’s unseasonably warm for this time of May, and I believe I could do with a cool drink.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” In spite of how hard he tried to conceal it, I could see his relief.
“You know I never interfere with your life, sweetheart, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here. And if you feel you can’t talk to me, there’s always Gregor, as well as your uncles.”
“I know, Mother. By the way, how is he?”
“He’s feeling well enough to prepare lunch.” Gregor had come down with a spring cold earlier in the week. “We’ve been dining on takeout the past few days. Raphael’s does the most marvelous chicken soup.”
“Raphael’s? The same restaurant Mark and I go to?” Quinton seemed surprised. “They do takeout?”
“They do for me.”
He burst into laughter.
We arrived back at the stable and handed our horses over to the groom who cared for them. I linked my arm through Quinton’s, and we strolled into the clubhouse.
Once we were seated and our usual order was brought to us, I took a sip of my grapefruit juice on the rocks and then got right down to what concerned me.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been quite distracted today.”
He covered his face with his palm. “I apologize, Mother!”
“Not at all.” I reached across the small table and rested my hand on his. “I’m well aware you would never permit work to infringe on our time together, that you would consider it the worst of poor taste.”
“No.” He met my eyes steadily.
“Am I wrong in assuming this concerns that statue of a dog you had delivered to my house?”
“No,” he said again.
“Did you get it for Mark Vincent?”
“Yes, Mother. He had a very similar statue, only it was ceramic. When his apartment was destroyed in that explosion, so was the statue.” He ran his forefinger around the rim of his glass. “He called it Sam.”
“‘Sam’?” To my knowledge, there had been no one in Mark Vincent’s life by that name. Possibly a character from literature? However, all I could think of offhand was Dash Hammett’s gumshoe. “After Sam Spade?”
“You’d think, but he said not. I can’t think of any other, though, that would appeal to him. Perhaps he just likes the name.”
“Perhaps, but I didn’t get the impression he’d do something so mundane.” A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Did you know your father was an avid Louis L’Amour fan? He actually met him a few times.”
“Really? I knew he was acquainted with Ian Fleming. I should have realized he’d know other authors.”
“You’d be surprised.” Nigel had even been acquainted with Harold Robbins. “He enjoyed all of L’Amour’s westerns, but he loved Hondo best. There’s an autographed copy that Louis sent him in your father’s study. That was the book he chose whenever he felt he needed a breather.”
“That’s very interesting to know, Mother, but I fail to see what that has to do with Mark’s statue.”
“Hondo’s dog was ‘remote and dangerous,’ to quote the author.”
He stared at me for a long moment. “So, Hondo’s dog was Sam?”
I smiled at him. “He kept everyone at a distance, you know. Even the man to whom he was closest.”
“Is that supposed to be Freudian, Mother?”
“You’re so quick on the uptake, sweetheart.”
“You are amazing.”
“Of course I am. That’s a mother’s job! If you’ve finished your Perrier, we should be on our way. Gregor has promised a delicious luncheon.”
* * * *
Three days later, Gregor came looking for me. “Telephone, Portia. It’s Quinn’s office.”
“Thank you, Gregor.” I took the phone from him. “This is Portia Mann.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mann. It’s Janet Watson.” Quinton’s personal assistant.
We exchanged pleasantries, and then I said, “Now, suppose you tell me why my son asked you to call?”
She laughed. “You know him so well. He’s been ordered to Paris and won’t be able to keep his riding date with you. He should be back a week from today at the latest.”
“Thank you, Janet. I must say I’m a little surprised he didn’t call me himself.”
“Oh, he would have, but he had to catch his flight. Director Holmes and General Kirkpatrick wanted him there like yesterday.”
Edward Holmes was DCI Threat Analysis; RJ Kirkpatrick ran OIG out of the Pentagon. What did they have to do with an operation ordered by my son’s department?
“It’s a good thing he keeps an overnight bag in the office.”
“Yes.” I had no doubt I could get further information out of her without her even realizing it until later, but I wouldn’t put her in the awkward position of revealing intelligence that could well be sensitive. “Thank you so much for calling, Janet.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Mann. Have a good day, now.”
“You also.”
* * * *
Chapter 31
I was not the kind of mother who tied her son to her apron strings. Quinton was thirty-seven years old and a deputy director of the CIA. Therefore, when I didn’t hear from him in the following days, I wasn’t unduly concerned. There had been other times when he’d been called away and was out of touch for weeks, if not months.
It was Memorial Day. Since I had nothing of importance scheduled for the day, I’d slept in, and I was just now having my second cup of coffee.
Gregor leaned back against the sink with his own cup and seemed contented. “What are we going to do today?”
“I believe I’ll do some work in the backyard.”
“I’ll help you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” It was a pleasure having him around.
“And I think for dinner I’ll grill us a couple of nice thick T-bones. Baked potatoes with butter and sour cream. Grilled asparagus.”
“That sounds wonderful. Perhaps afterward we’
ll find a fireworks display.”
“Works for me.” The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Mann residence.” He listened for a moment, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen, scowling. He covered the mouthpiece. “It’s a McLean area code, Mrs. Mann, but the name is blocked, and she won’t tell me who it is.”
I accepted the phone from him. “You have thirty seconds to identify yourself and explain your reason for calling.”
“Mrs. Mann, this is April, from Director Holmes’s office. The Director was…er…wondering if you could spare the time to see him.”
“When?” I was certain she had amended his words to be more conciliatory.
“Er…9:15 A.M.?”
I glanced at the clock above the kitchen window. It was almost five minutes until the hour, and I needed to shower and dress. Even if Gregor drove the speed limit, it would be at least 9:45 before we got there, and that was if we didn’t hit holiday traffic.
“This is rather short notice.” Was Holmes hoping we would rush and I would arrive there flustered?
“Mrs. Mann…” The poor girl sounded so miserable I wondered if she’d softened the DCI’s instructions.
“Perhaps you can put Director Holmes on, and he can explain to me personally what the urgency is.”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Mann, you don’t understand! He’s extremely busy! He said I was to tell you…to insist that you—”
“I see.” She had attempted to soften his words. “Well, I’m so sorry. I don’t believe I’ll be able to see Director Holmes today. Good-day, young lady.” I hung up and stared at Gregor.
“Your brother would never have treated one of his officers that way. Or one of his officer’s wives.” His expression was stony. Bryan had been overlooked in favor of that pompous know-it-all, Holmes.
“No. So we’ll just have to show Holmes how it was done back in the day.”
The phone rang, and Gregor’s eyes glowed as he picked it up and switched on the speaker. “Mann residence.”
“It’s Edward Holmes.” And he was most unhappy, which pleased me.
“Oh, good morning, Director. How are you today?” Butter wouldn’t have melted in Gregor’s mouth.
“Never mind how I am! I need to speak to Mrs. Mann.”
“One moment, please. I’ll see if she’s available.”
“She’d better damn well be available! This concerns her son!”
Gregor met my gaze, his lips in a thin, tight line, all amusement gone.
“What is this concerning my son, Mr. Holmes?”
“I can’t speak over an unsecured line; that’s why I wanted you to come to Langley.”
And summoned me like the rawest of raw recruits. “You could have done me the courtesy of having your secretary explain the necessity of such an abrupt command.”
“Now, see here, Portia—”
“Mrs. Mann,” I corrected. I had no qualms in speaking over him. “Contrary to what you might believe, I do understand chain of command and how things need to be done. However, I will not be rushed. I’ll try to get to Langley by noon.”
“Portia, I’ll—”
I hung up. He had nothing further to say that I wished to hear. “I detest him calling me by my name. Gregor, bring the Town Car around, would you, please? I should be ready in a half an hour.”
“Portia, you know I can get you there in less than three hours.”
“And you will. But he won’t be expecting us.”
* * * *
“Mrs. Mann! You can’t go in there! He’s in a meeting!”
“Gregor, wait here, please.” I bypassed Director Holmes’s secretary and walked into his office. He was raising a cup of coffee to his lips, as was the man who was with him.
Director Holmes rose to his feet jerkily, and drops splattered over his tie. “Portia. You’re early! That’s to say…It’s so nice to see you again.” He’d danced with me at the Bosnia-Herzegovina ball, and after making a heavy-handed pass which I’d shot down, he’d apologized and vanished in the crowd. When I spotted him again, he was at Wexler’s side. “Would you care for coffee? Or tea?”
“Nothing. Thank you.” There was no need for me to be rude.
“I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
Because I hadn’t wanted him aware I was on my way.
I looked pointedly at the other man.
“How do you do, Mrs. Mann.” He got to his feet and straightened his tie, giving me what he no doubt considered a charming smile. “I’m Eric Jameson. I’m Director Holmes’s personal private executive administrative assistant.”
“Indeed.”
“Oh, yes. I …uh…I’m a great admirer of your late husband. He did some…uh…really interesting work. I’m especially intrigued by that escapade in Berlin in the early ’60s, when he crossed swords, so to speak, with the KGB. Did you know Sidorov actually intended to kidnap him?”
Of course I was aware of that, since I was the one who’d interfered with the kidnapping. Was Jameson deliberately trying to delay my talk with Edward Holmes, perhaps to give the DCI time to regroup?
“How could she know, Eric?” Holmes snapped. “She wasn’t there!”
Jameson scowled and gritted his teeth.
“Why don’t you return to your office and look further into that matter we were discussing? We’ll continue our conversation later.”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Mann.”
I nodded curtly and watched as he left.
“Your husband left some large shoes to fill.” Holmes gave a weak smile.
“Indeed. Now, suppose we get to the matter at hand?”
“I’m sorry to bring you out here under these circumstances.”
“What, exactly, are the circumstances?”
He cleared his throat and smoothed his hair. “A number of our younger officers are missing. We believe that a rogue antiterrorist organization called Prinzip is behind it. In a joint undertaking with the OIG, Quinton Mann went to Paris in search of them.”
“Might I ask how the OIG became involved in this?”
“One of General Kirkpatrick’s people is also missing, and the General asked Mann to find him.”
I didn’t like to throw my weight around, but, “Perhaps I need to have a word with RJ.”
The director wiped his brow. “Mann was supposed to be in touch with David Cooper, his contact here at Langley. Cooper has informed me that he hasn’t heard from him in twelve days.”
I sank down in the chair vacated by Eric Jameson. “I believe I’ll have that cup of tea now.”
“Yes, of course.” He thumbed his intercom. “April, tea for Mrs. Mann.”
Within seconds she hurried in. “It’s Earl Grey, just the way you like it!”
“Thank you, April.” I accepted the cup and took a sip, a little disturbed that my preferences appeared to be common knowledge at Counterintelligence Threat Analysis. But at this moment there were other, more important things that worried me. “You’re telling me that Quinton was abducted while on assignment in Paris.”
“I didn’t say that. We…er…we really don’t know what’s happened to him.”
“I see. But he’s been out of touch for twelve days. Suppose you tell me what the Company is doing to find my son.”
“The CIA isn’t the only organization that’s lost operatives. The French, the British, the Israelis. I’ve been told that even the WBIS has taken a hit.”
“I imagine that won’t bode well for whoever is doing this.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve heard that Trevor Wallace is very protective of his agents.” More so than the CIA, it appeared. “Whoever is doing this will pay dearly.”
“How have you heard that? What do you know of Trevor Wallace?”
“Really, Mr. Holmes. That’s neither here nor there. Now, this is very illuminating, but it doesn’t answer my question. What is the CIA—”
“Portia, you have to understand. This is a very delicate situation. An internati
onal incident could be started if we don’t tread cautiously.”
“So what you’re saying…” Or more to the point, not saying. “…is that the CIA is going to do nothing.”
“Our hands are tied! The administration—”
I rose to my feet and put the cup carefully on his desk. The temptation to hurl its contents at the DCI’s head was almost too great. I walked out of his office.
“Gregor, we’re done here.”
He paced along beside me.
“Portia!” Holmes caught up with us near the Wall of Honor. “You’re being unreasonable!”
“Mrs. Mann.” I corrected once again. “I refuse to stand for this, Director. Nigel Mann is a star on this wall.” A janitor was dusting the stars, industriously running a cloth over each one as if his hope of heaven hung on how well he did his job, and I couldn’t help thinking the Company cared more for the stars than for the son of one of the men so honored. I curled my fingers into a fist but kept my tone cool. “I will not see my son there as well.”
“I’m very sorry, Portia…Mrs. Mann.”
If he said I was acting like a woman, I would forget I was a lady and punch him.
He reached for my arm, shying back when Gregor stepped forward, making his presence known. “Oh…er…”
This was Novotny, the FBI agent, and he had his game face on.
Holmes scowled at him, attempting to stare him down? It was an idiotic move, and I would have smiled if the situation hadn’t been so dire.
Giving it up as a hopeless case, Holmes turned back to me. “At this point there’s nothing I can do—”
“My son is one of the best you have. If you will do nothing to find him, then I shall!”
“You can’t! It could be deadly! You don’t understand what’s involved, how things are done here! You’re a civilian! And a woman!”
He was spouting rubbish, and I had no desire to hear anything further. I turned on my heel and left him standing there.
Gregor strode out beside me. “Mrs. Mann—”
“Wait until we’re in the car.” Once the Town Car was back on the road, I said, “Let me have the car phone, please.”
“What’s going on, Portia? Holmes’s secretary looked terrified.”
