Alex smiled. “He arrives this evening, Cassie. He’ll have dinner with us.”
“Cool,” Cassie said, then bolted for the door.
“Don’t ….” Mrs. Farnsworth said at Cassie’s retreating back, “… run.”
Alex chuckled as Cassie disappeared. “A bit late, I’m afraid.”
Mrs. Farnsworth smiled. “She’s coming along nicely.”
“You expected that?”
The housekeeper nodded. “Self-assertion. Notice how she tried to play us against each other? A good sign.”
Alex deferred to her judgment. She’d cared for Cassie since infancy, and the shelves of her bedroom overflowed with books on development, special needs, and remedial teaching techniques. Many nights he saw her through the open doorway, pouring over arcane tomes.
He sighed. “I have mixed emotions at seeing innocence replaced by manipulation.”
“Loss of innocence is inevitable, sir, if she’s to achieve independence. We won’t be around forever.”
Alex nodded as they sipped coffee in silence. Mrs. Farnsworth seemed uneasy, on the verge of speaking several times, then studying her coffee.
“The coffee isn’t that interesting. Speak your mind, Mrs. Farnsworth. If it’s about Thomas—”
Mrs. Farnsworth shook her head. “I resigned myself to your friendship with the boorish Mr. Dugan some time ago. It’s this Farley I’m concerned with. He’s not working out, sir.”
Alex stiffened. “Go on.”
“I can’t understand why, without notice, you engaged him as our driver, replacing Daniel after years of loyal service. I’ve managed to keep Daniel busy with other tasks, but he feels wronged. He may leave us.”
“You’re quite right, Mrs. Farnsworth, and I do apologize. The need arose suddenly and for reasons I can’t discuss, but I’ve handled it badly.”
“‘Need,’ sir? What need? Farley’s reckless and unsavory in the extreme, hanging about the kitchen, offending Mrs. Hogan with crude humor, and calling Daniel an ‘old kike’ to his face.” She lowered her voice. “And he ogles Cassie with undisguised lust. The lout must go.”
Alex tried to speak several times before succeeding.
“He’ll leave soon,” he said. “Until then, make sure Cassie is never alone with him.”
“Did you understand what I said, sir?”
“Perfectly,” Alex said through tight lips, “but I can’t discharge him yet. He’s a bodyguard. There have been … kidnap threats against Cassie.”
“Good Lord. From whom? Have you notified the police?”
“Anonymous e-mail threats,” Alex lied, reciting the story Braun invented. “The police are investigating. I hired Farley at their recommendation.”
Mrs. Farnsworth digested the news but focused on the imminent threat.
“Understood, sir. But I still don’t trust Farley. We must replace him.”
“Impossible,” Alex said.
“But surely the agency you engaged—”
“God damn it, woman!” he said, red-faced. “I’ll thank you to stop meddling and do as you’re told!” He glared at her, then seemed to deflate as he sat, elbows on the table and face buried in his hands, as if hiding from his own outburst.
Mrs. Farnsworth sat shocked until Alex spoke again, his head down, avoiding her eyes.
“That was unthinkable. Please forgive me, Mrs. Farnsworth. I’m overwrought with concern about Cassie.”
She stiffened. “As am I, sir. Will that be all?”
“I’ll hire another car and use Daniel to run errands around the office. That will salve his feelings and spare him contact with Farley.”
She rose. “Whatever you decide, sir. I must check on Cassie.”
Alex called her name as she reached the door, and she turned.
“About your … suspicions. Please watch Cassie closely.”
“I always do, sir. I always do,” she said softly.
***
Alex smiled as he watched Dugan rub his stomach in mock distress.
“It’s clear I’ll have to find my own place quickly, Mrs. Hogan,” Dugan said to the cook. “If I stay here too long, I’ll be needing a new wardrobe.”
The cook beamed as she poured coffee. “Sure, and it was nothing fancy, Mr. Dugan,” she said, retreating to the kitchen.
Another Dugan conquest, thought Alex. Thomas had even managed to defrost Mrs. Farnsworth a bit this evening. He noticed the housekeeper’s approving glance as Cassie chatted happily with their house guest.
“Cassie, you have homework, so say good night,” Mrs. Farnsworth said.
“Please, please, may I do it in the morning?” Cassie pleaded.
“No, dear. I’m sure your father and Mr. Dugan have matters to discuss.”
“Oh, all right,” Cassie said, standing to hug Dugan. “I’m so glad you’re here, Uncle Thomas.”
“Me too, Cassie,” Dugan said. “We’ll talk tomorrow after school. Daniel will be driving you home before you know it.”
“Not Daniel, Farley,” Cassie said.
“We’ve a new driver,” explained Mrs. Farnsworth, her distaste obvious.
“And he’s really creepy, Uncle Thomas,” Cassie said. “But Papa says he’ll go away.”
Dugan looked at Alex, confused.
“I’ll explain later, Thomas,” Alex said. “Now Cassie, where’s my kiss?”
Cassie hugged Alex and pecked his cheek as Mrs. Farnsworth stood.
“Will that be all, sir?” the housekeeper asked.
Alex smiled and nodded, hoping to hide the sudden tension, but the look on Dugan’s face signaled he’d been unsuccessful.
“So, what’s up?” Dugan asked, after Cassie and Mrs. Farnsworth left.
Alex hesitated, then lowered his voice. “There have been kidnapping threats against prominent families.”
“You’ve been threatened?”
“Not directly,” Alex lied, “but I was concerned. I engaged Farley as a bodyguard. Turns out he’s not the most personable chap.”
“But why’s Mrs. Farnsworth upset?”
Alex sighed. “I didn’t consult her. You know how proprietary she is regarding Cassie. Farley being a lout made things worse.”
“I see,” Dugan said, but the look on his face said he didn’t see at all. Tactfully, he changed the subject.
“Fill me in on the work situation,” Dugan said. “What about this other guy? How do you envision the work split?”
“His name is Braun, Captain Karl Braun,” Alex said. “He’s director of operations—scheduling, crewing, fuel purchases, payroll, that sort of thing. You’ll be technical director—maintenance, yard repairs, and so on. We’ll play it by ear on overlaps.”
“Sounds fine,” Dugan said. “I’m eager to start.”
Alex hesitated. “There’s really no rush, Thomas. Why don’t you work half days a few weeks to settle in, hunt for a flat, and get your feet on the ground?”
“I want to earn my keep.”
“Of course, of course,” Alex said, “but it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
“OK … I guess,” Dugan said. “Easy does it” was not Alex Kairouz’s style at all.
“It’s settled then,” Alex said, rising. “Join me for a nightcap?”
Dugan yawned. “No thanks. I’m jet-lagged as hell. See you in the morning.”
***
Two hours later, Dugan lay awake in the dark, mulling Alex’s strange behavior. From what he knew, Alex failing to involve Mrs. Farnsworth in any matter related to Cassie was unthinkable. However, even if he had, Dugan didn’t think Mrs. Farnsworth would nurse a grudge when Cassie’s safety was concerned. Something was definitely not right.
Penthouse, Plaza on the Thames
London
28 Maybe
“How is it you’re livin’ like a fuckin’ Saudi prince, and I’m in a bloody closet over a garage?” Ian Farley asked, glaring from the sofa. At six foot and two hundred pounds, he looked like a muscle-bound skinhead, full o
f quiet menace. If he would only stay quiet.
Braun took a sip of brandy, then held the snifter to his nose, savoring the aroma as the liquid slid down his throat. He looked from the dancing fire to the glass wall of the huge living room with its view of Parliament across the Thames. Rain on the glass refracted the lights to dazzling effect. Cuban weather was better, but he couldn’t enjoy the finer things in the worker’s paradise, and Braun was making the most of London. At Kairouz’s expense, of course. He looked at Farley and sighed. No more than his due, given the fools he had to endure.
“Because, Farley, your cover is a servant. You live in servant quarters.”
Farley started to speak, but Braun’s look chilled him.
“And don’t leave the girl’s proximity again, unless she’s at school or elsewhere your presence would be suspicious. Understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
Braun sipped again and studied Farley over the rim of his glass. For all his faults, Farley had the necessary skills—and he was expendable. The rest of the operation was equally lean, his only other operative a techno-geek eager to keep past work for foreign governments secret. Blackmail wasn’t Joel Sutton’s only incentive. Braun had dismissed the IT staff and contracted Sutton at a huge fee, again with Kairouz’s money.
Sutton had bugged Kairouz’s office and phones—office, home, and mobile—and now controlled the company computers. Braun monitored the work phones in real time and other phones via recording. He’d avoided bugging Kairouz’s home; the daily chatter would be tedious to sort through and reveal little. Dugan’s presence might change that.
“With Dugan around, spend time in the house,” Braun said. “Keep your ears open.”
“For what?” Farley asked.
“Signs Dugan is suspicious, of course.” Idiot.
“Not so easy, guv. That bloody Irish bitch hates me. She’d poison me tea given the chance, and that snooty cunt Farnsworth stares holes in me. I ain’t exactly Mr. Invisible.”
Braun sighed. “All right. Do the best you can.”
“OK.” Farley rose to go. “When do I get a go at the retard? Remember our deal.”
“Keep it in your pants, Farley. I’ll tell you when. And you can’t damage the goods. She’ll bring a fortune in the Middle East. The wogs love blonds.”
Farley leered. “I’ll be a regular bleedin’ Sir Galahad. She’ll be cryin’ when she has to leave me, she will.”
Chapter Seven
Offices of Phoenix Shipping
1 June
“How many more?” Dugan asked into the intercom.
“Just one, sir,” Mrs. Coutts said. “A Ms. Anna Walsh in ten minutes.”
“Send her straight in, please,” Dugan said.
He was worried. Had he missed a signal? Ward had told him he’d recognize the agent when she appeared and just to “follow her lead,” whatever that meant. If the last applicant wasn’t the agent, Dugan had screwed the pooch big time.
He looked out the big windows at the Thames just across Albert Embankment and wondered again at Alex’s insistence he use his office. Strange, given Alex’s resistance to hiring a new secretary and his irritation when Dugan pressed the point.
***
Braun sat in his office across the hall multitasking, checking schedules and listening with one ear. The interviews were in Kairouz’s office at his insistence. He wanted a feel for the American, and it was far easier to move Dugan than to bug his temporary office in the conference room. He was pleased Dugan demanded a secretary. The more he fixated on such details, the less time to meddle. And perhaps he’d hire something one might actually want to get a leg over. Braun had shelved his own plan for a playmate with regret. Someone close by was a liability unless they were in on the operation, and he didn’t want to expand the team. He smiled. Maybe Dugan would help him out.
***
“Come in, Ms. Walsh,” Dugan said, leading the final job seeker to the sofa.
She was five four with shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes, a freckled nose, and looked much younger than the thirty-eight years on her resume. A well-tailored wool skirt stopped above the knee, accentuating legs encased in dark silk. The neckline of her designer blouse was revealing, and she exuded sexuality.
She smiled. “My updated CV,” she said, handing Dugan several pages.
He settled in his chair as he read the note attached.
We may be under audio or video surveillance. Follow my lead. Must convey impression I am a tart you are hiring for looks. Conclude by hiring me on the spot.
Dugan nodded. “Ah, well, Ms. Walsh. Tell me about yourself.”
Her recitation was captivating. At typing speed, she crossed and uncrossed her legs; at spreadsheets and software, she leaned in and smiled. By then he was beyond listening. He only belatedly realized her lips had stopped moving.
“Yes… very impressive, Ms. Walsh,” he said, befuddled, turning a page to stall.
“Pardon my digression, Mr. Dugan,” she said, “but your office is beautiful.”
“Actually, I’m borrowing it from the managing director while mine is completed.”
“Well, it’s lovely. And the sofa so comfy.” She smiled. “Will you have one like it?”
“Why don’t I hire you and you can make sure I do?”
“I’d love to,” she said, “depending on salary, of course. The range indicated is below expectations, I’m afraid. Might there be flexibility?”
“We could go a bit higher,” Dugan said. “How’s 10 percent sound?”
“I suppose I could start there until you’re satisfied with my… services.” She smiled. “Then I’ll expect a 25 percent increase.”
Dugan stood and extended his hand. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Walsh.”
Anna rose, moving closer as she took his hand. “Anna, please.”
“All right, Anna. Let’s get the ball rolling.”
***
Mrs. Coutts gave Anna a withering look before turning to Dugan.
“And when is she to start, sir?” she asked, ice in her voice.
“Tomorrow if possible,” Dugan said. “We’ll put her on outfitting my new office.”
Mrs. Coutts looked as if she’d been slapped.
“Under your supervision, of course,” Dugan added, but the damage was done.
“Very good, sir. Come along, Ms. Walsh,” Mrs. Coutts said, moving into the hallway as Anna hurried after.
Dugan watched them disappear and wondered how to patch things up with Mrs. Coutts.
***
Braun stood in his doorway and watched Anna’s retreating backside. Bloody well perfect. And more than enough to distract Dugan. And when Dugan was out of the way, he’d double the slut’s salary if she was accommodating. It was only Kairouz’s money, after all.
M/T Asian Trader
Sembawang Shipyard, Singapore
1 June
Medina leaned on the rail, mentally hurrying his shipmates down the steep gangway in their “goin’ ashore” clothes. The ship floated at a wet berth now, the main deck high above the dock, her tanks mostly empty. The second mate smiled and waved up at Medina, then said something to the man beside him, who shook his head and laughed, undoubtedly at a joke at Medina’s expense. Let them laugh, thought Medina; the last laugh would be his.
He’d volunteered for night watches, citing his desire to explore Singapore by day. He spent those days in internet cafés and, as plans evolved, the electronics shops of Sim Lim Tower, returning to nap each afternoon in preparation for evenings alone on board. Or almost alone. The yard night shift was populated by the sick, the lame, and the lazy—they topped the gangway in search of a sleeping place, never to be seen again except as man-hours on the yard invoice. It had been dicey at first when the American Dugan was around. He’d had an unfortunate tendency to show up at all hours, checking on progress. But with the yard period almost over and the little Italian in charge, things were more predictable on the night watch.
Medi
na entered the deckhouse, climbed the stairs to the bridge deck, then began a slow deck-by-deck descent, walking each passageway to ensure everyone was ashore. He continued into the engine room, where he found yard workers dozing in scattered corners, and then walked the main deck from bow to stern, finding no one. Satisfied, he went to his cabin and locked the door behind him before rooting in his wardrobe locker.
He placed two items on his bed, and then sat in his desk chair and looked at them, still amazed that he’d been expected to strike a mighty blow with such meager weapons. An ancient Makarov pistol with a single clip and a martyr’s vest, now disassembled, were his entire arsenal. His contact had given him the things, said “Allah will guide you,” and left, leaving Medina uncertain and trembling at the prospect of failure.
He smiled now, thinking of his initial doubt, for Allah had been generous in His guidance. Had not Allah given him the interest in electronics years before, and had He not opened Medina’s eyes to the canal’s weak point? And did not the Holy Quran tell of David slaying Goliath with a single stone?
Medina unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out two plastic-wrapped bundles, the last two of twelve to be placed. Each was the size of a cigarette pack, and a length of antenna wire extended from each. They contained plastique, scavenged from his martyr’s vest, and each held a detonator, a tiny remote-ignition circuit of his own devising, a nine-volt battery to power it all, and a small but powerful magnet. Their destructive force was minimal, but each would produce a significant flash, and that was all he needed.
Medina’s mouth was dry. Tomorrow the ship shifted to the refinery loading berth. He had made great progress since Dugan’s departure, but he had to finish tonight. He slipped a charge in each front pocket, donned a fanny pack, and went down to the main deck.
The yard was quiet save distant shouts and welding flashes from the dry docks, but Medina felt exposed in the glare of deck lights. He breathed deep and forced himself to an unhurried walk, up the deck to the vent for number one port ballast tank. Near the vent, he scanned the deck, then pulled a spool of wire and cutters from his fanny pack. He fed the fine wire into the vent pipe slowly to prevent kinks, and when an ample length dangled into the tank below, clipped the wire and bent the free end under the vent opening and wrapped it securely around a bolt head, almost invisible.
Deadly Straits (Tom Dugan 1) Page 5
