‘He’d better not be, because every day Dexter’s at Langley is a day too many for me. Let’s hope Jackson can supply us with enough rope to hang her publicly. And while we’re at it, let’s hold the execution in the Rose Garden.’
The Chief of Staff laughed. ‘That might have the double advantage of getting a few more Republicans to vote with us on the Safe Streets and Crime Reduction Bill’
The President smiled. ‘Who’s next?’ he asked.
Lloyd glanced at his watch. ‘Senator Bedell has been waiting in the lobby for some time.’
‘What does he want now?’
‘He was hoping to talk you through his latest set of proposed amendments to the Arms Reduction Bill’
The President frowned. ‘Did you notice how many points Zerimski has picked up in the latest opinion poll?’
Maggie began dialling the 650 number moments after she had turned the key in the lock of their little house in Georgetown. Connor started to unpack, listening to one end of the conversation between his wife and his daughter.
‘Just phoned to let you know that we’ve arrived back safely,’ Maggie tried as an opener.
Connor smiled at the unconvincing ploy. Tara was far too acute to fall for it, but he knew that she would play along.
‘Thanks for calling, Mom. It’s good to hear you.’
‘Everything all right at your end?’ asked Maggie.
‘Yes, fine,’ Tara said, before spending the next few minutes trying obliquely to assure her mother that she wasn’t about to do something impetuous. When she was convinced that Maggie was convinced, she asked, ‘Is Dad around?’
‘He’s right here.’ She handed the phone across the bed to Connor.
‘Can you do me a favour, Dad?’
‘You bet.’
‘Please explain to Mom that I’m not about to do anything silly. Stuart’s already rung twice since I got back, and as he’s planning to’ - she hesitated - ‘to come over to the States for Christmas, I’m pretty sure I can hang on until then. By the way, Dad, I thought I’d better warn you that I already know what I’d like for Christmas.’
‘And what’s that, my darling?’
‘That you’ll pay for my overseas calls for the next eight months. I have a feeling that might end up being more expensive than buying that used car you promised me if I get my PhD.’
Connor laughed.
‘So you’d better get that promotion you mentioned when we were in Australia. Bye, Dad.’
‘Bye, darling.’
Connor hung up, and gave Maggie a reassuring smile. He was about to tell her for the tenth time to stop worrying, when the phone rang again. He picked up the receiver, assuming it would be Tara again. It wasn’t.
‘Sorry to call the moment you arrive back,’ said Joan, ‘but I’ve just heard from the boss, and it sounds like an emergency. How quickly can you come in?’
Connor checked his watch. ‘I’ll be with you in twenty minutes,’ he said, and put the phone down.
‘Who was that?’ asked Maggie, as she continued unpacking.
‘Joan. She just needs me to sign a couple of outstanding contracts. Shouldn’t take too long.’
‘Damn,’ said Maggie. ‘I forgot to get her a present on the plane.’
‘I’ll find her something on the way to the office.’
Connor quickly left the room, and ran down the stairs and out of the house before Maggie could ask any more questions. He climbed into the old family Toyota, but it was some time before he could get the engine to splutter into life. He eventually eased the ‘old tank’, as Tara described it, out onto Twenty-Ninth Street. Fifteen minutes later he turned left on M Street, before taking another left and disappearing down a ramp into an unmarked underground carpark.
As Connor entered the building, the security guard touched the rim of his peaked hat and said, ‘Welcome back, Mr Fitzgerald. I wasn’t expecting to see you until Monday.’
‘That makes two of us,’ said Connor, returning the mock-salute and heading towards the bank of elevators. He took one to the seventh floor. When he stepped out into the corridor, he was greeted by a smile of recognition from the receptionist who sat at a desk below the boldly printed caption ‘Maryland Insurance Company’. The directory on the ground floor stated that the distinguished firm occupied the seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth floors.
‘How nice to see you, Mr Fitzgerald,’ said the receptionist. ‘You have a visitor.’
Connor smiled and nodded before continuing down the corridor. As he turned the corner, he spotted Joan standing by the door of his office. From the expression on her face, he suspected she had been waiting there for some time. Then he remembered Maggie’s words just before he left home - not that Joan looked as if a present was uppermost in her thoughts.
‘The boss arrived a few minutes ago,’ Joan said, holding the door open for him.
Connor strode into his office. Sitting on the other side of his desk was someone he’d never known to take a holiday.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Director,’ he said. ‘I only …’
‘We have a problem,’ was all Helen Dexter said, pushing a file across the desk.
‘Just give me one decent lead, and I’ll do all the groundwork,’ said Jackson.
‘I only wish I could, Chris,’ replied Bogota’s Chief of Police. ‘But it has already been made clear to me by one or two of your former colleagues that you are now persona non grata.’
‘I’ve never thought of you as someone who gave a damn about such niceties,’ said Jackson as he poured the Police Chief another whisky.
‘Chris, you have to understand that when you were a representative of your government, it was all above board.’
‘Including your kickbacks, if I remember correctly.’
‘But of course,’ said the policeman nonchalantly. ‘You’ll be the first to appreciate that expenses still have to be met.’ He took a gulp from his crystal glass. ‘And as you know only too well, Chris, inflation in Colombia remains extremely high. My salary doesn’t cover even my day-to-day expenses.’
‘From that little homily,’ said Jackson, ‘am I to understand that the rate remains the same, even if one is persona non grata?’
The Chief of Police downed his last drop of whisky, wiped his moustache and said, ‘Chris, Presidents come and go in both our countries - but not old friends.’
Jackson gave him a thin smile before removing an envelope from an inside pocket and sliding it under the table. The Chief of Police glanced inside it, unbuttoned a tunic pocket and slipped the envelope out of sight.
‘I see that your new masters have not, alas, allowed you the same degree of latitude when it comes to - expenses.’
‘One decent lead, that’s all I ask,’ repeated Jackson.
The Chief of Police held up his empty glass and waited until the barman had filled it to the brim. He took another long gulp. ‘I have always believed, Chris, that if you’re looking for a bargain, there’s no better place to start than a pawn shop.’ He smiled, drained his glass and rose from the table. ‘And remembering the dilemma you are currently facing, my old friend, I would begin in the San Victorina district, and I wouldn’t bother to do much more than window-shop.’
Once Connor had finished reading the details of the confidential memorandum, he passed the file back to the Director.
Her first question took him by surprise. ‘How long is it before you’re due to retire from the service?’
‘I come off the active list on the first of January next year, but naturally I hope to remain with the Company.’
‘It may not be quite that easy to accommodate your particular talents at the present time,’ Dexter said matter-of-factly. ‘However, I do have a vacancy I would feel able to recommend you for.’ She paused. ‘As director of our Cleveland office.’
‘Cleveland?’
‘Yes.’
‘After twenty-eight years’ service with the Company,’ said Connor, ‘I was rather hopi
ng you might be able to find me something in Washington. I’m sure you know that my wife is the Dean of Admissions at Georgetown. It would be almost impossible for her to find an equivalent post in … Ohio.’
A long silence followed.
‘I’d like to help,’ Dexter said in the same flat tone, ‘but there’s nothing suitable for you at Langley at the present time. If you did feel able to take up the appointment in Cleveland, it might be possible to bring you back in a couple of years.’
Connor stared across the table at the woman he had served for the past twenty-six years, painfully aware that she was now using the same lethal blade on him as she had on so many of his colleagues in the past. But why, when he had always carried out her orders to the letter? He glanced at the file. Had the President demanded that someone should be sacrificed after he had been questioned so closely about the CIA’s activities in Colombia? Was Cleveland to be his reward for all his years of service?
‘Is there any alternative?’ he asked.
The Director didn’t hesitate. ‘You could always opt for early retirement.’ She sounded as if she was suggesting the replacement of a sixty-year-old janitor in her apartment building.
Connor sat in silence, unable to believe what he was hearing. He’d given his whole life to the Company, and like so many of its officers, he’d put that life on the line several times.
Helen Dexter rose from her place. ‘Perhaps you’d let me know when you’ve reached a decision.’ She left the room without another word.
Connor sat alone at his desk for some time, trying to take in the full implications of the Director’s words. He recalled that Chris Jackson had told him of an almost identical conversation he had had with her eight months before. In his case, the position he’d been offered was in Milwaukee. ‘It could never happen to me,’ he remembered telling Chris at the time. ‘After all, I’m a team player, and no one would suspect me of wanting her job.’ But Connor had committed an even graver sin. By carrying out Dexter’s orders, he had unwittingly become the cause of her possible downfall. If he were no longer around to embarrass her, she might survive yet again. How many other good officers had been sacrificed over the years, he wondered, on the altar of her ego?
Connor’s thoughts were interrupted when Joan entered the room. She didn’t need to be told that the meeting had gone badly.
‘Anything I can do?’ she asked quietly.
‘No, not a thing, thanks, Joan.’ After a short silence he added, ‘You know I’m due to come off the active list soon.’
‘On the first of January,’ she said. ‘But with your record, the Company’s certain to offer you a large desk, civilised hours for a change, and perhaps a long-legged secretary thrown in.’
‘It seems not,’ said Connor. ‘The only job the Director had in mind for me was to head up the office in Cleveland, and there certainly wasn’t any mention of a long-legged secretary.’
‘Cleveland?’ repeated Joan incredulously.
Connor nodded.
‘The bitch.’
Connor glanced up at his long-serving secretary, unable to hide a look of surprise. This was the strongest language he had heard her use about anyone in nineteen years, let alone the Director.
Joan looked him in the eye and said, ‘What will you tell Maggie?’
‘I don’t know. But as I’ve been deceiving her for the past twenty-eight years, I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something.’
As Chris Jackson opened the front door, a bell rang to warn the shopkeeper that someone had entered the premises.
There are more than a hundred pawn shops in Bogota, most of them in the San Victorina district. Jackson hadn’t done so much footwork since he had been a junior agent. He even began to wonder if his old friend the Chief of Police had sent him off on a wild goose chase. But he kept going, because he knew that this particular policeman always made sure there would be another envelope stuffed full of notes at some time in the future.
Escobar looked up from behind his evening paper. The old man reckoned that he could always tell, even before a customer had reached the counter, if he was a buyer or a seller. The look in their eyes, the cut of their clothes, even the way they walked towards him. It took only a glance at this particular gentleman to make him feel pleased that he hadn’t closed early.
‘Good evening, sir,’ Escobar said, rising from his stool. He always added ‘sir’ when he thought it was a buyer. ‘How may I assist you?’
‘The gun in the window …’
‘Ah, yes. I see that you are most discerning. It is indeed a collector’s item.’ Escobar lifted the counter lid and walked across to the window. He removed the case, placed it on the counter, and allowed his customer to have a closer look at its contents.
Jackson only needed a cursory glance at the handcrafted rifle to know its provenance. He wasn’t surprised to find that one of the cartridges had been fired.
‘How much are you asking for it?’
‘Ten thousand dollars,’ replied Escobar, having identified the American accent. ‘I cannot let it go for any less. I have already received so many enquiries.’
After three days of traipsing round the hot and humid city, Jackson was in no mood to bargain. But he didn’t have that amount of cash on him, and he couldn’t just write out a cheque or present a credit card.
‘Can I leave a down-payment,’ he asked, ‘and pick it up first thing in the morning?’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Escobar. ‘Although for this particular item, I would require a 10 per cent deposit.’
Jackson nodded, and removed a wallet from his inside pocket. He extracted some used notes and passed them across the counter.
The shopkeeper counted the ten hundred-dollar bills slowly, then placed them in the cash register and wrote out a receipt.
Jackson looked down at the open case, smiled, removed the spent cartridge and put it in his pocket.
The old man was puzzled, not by Jackson’s action, but because he could have sworn that all twelve bullets had been in place when he had bought the rifle.
‘I’d pack up everything and join you tomorrow,’ she said, ‘if it weren’t for my parents.’
‘I’m sure they’d understand,’ said Stuart.
‘Maybe,’ said Tara. ‘But it wouldn’t stop me feeling guilty about all the sacrifices my father’s made over the years so I could finish my PhD. Not to mention my mother. She’d probably have a heart attack.’
‘But you said you’d find out if your Faculty Advisor would allow you to finish off your doctorate in Sydney.’
‘My Faculty Advisor isn’t the problem,’ said Tara. ‘It’s the Dean.’
‘The Dean?’
‘Yes. When my Faculty Advisor discussed the idea with him yesterday, he told her it was out of the question.’ There was a long silence before Tara said, Are you still there, Stuart?’
‘Sure am,’ he said, followed by a sigh that would have done credit to a Shakespearean lover.
‘It’s only another eight months,’ Tara reminded him. ‘In fact I can even tell you how many days. And don’t forget, you’ll be over here for Christmas.’
‘I’m looking forward to that,’ said Stuart. ‘I only hope your parents don’t feel I’m imposing on them. After all, they won’t have seen you for some time.’
‘Don’t be silly. They were delighted when I told them you’d be joining us. Mom adores you, as you well know, and you’re the first man Dad has ever had a good word for.’
‘He’s a remarkable man.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I suspect you know exactly what I mean.’
‘I’d better hang up, or Dad will need a raise just to cover my phone bills. By the way, it’s your turn next time.’
Stuart pretended he hadn’t noticed how suddenly Tara had changed the subject.
‘It always seems strange to me,’ she continued, ‘that you’re still at work while I’m fast asleep.’
‘Well, I can think of one w
ay of changing that,’ said Stuart.
When he opened the door, the alarm went off. A carriage clock in the outer office struck twice as he swept aside the bead curtain and stepped into the shop. He stared across at the stand in the window. The rifle was no longer in its place.
It took him several minutes to find it, hidden under the counter.
He checked each item, and noted that one cartridge was missing, placed the case under his arm and left as quickly as he had entered. Not that he had any anxiety about being caught: the Chief of Police had assured him that the break-in would not be reported for at least thirty minutes. He glanced at the carriage clock before closing the door behind him. It was twelve minutes past two.
The Chief of Police could hardly be blamed if his old friend didn’t have enough cash on him to buy the rifle. And in any case, he did so like being paid twice for the same piece of information. Especially when the currency was dollars.
She poured him a second cup of coffee.
‘Maggie, I’m considering resigning from the company and looking for a job that means I don’t have to travel so much.’ He glanced across the kitchen table and waited to see how his wife would react.
Maggie replaced the coffee pot on the warmer and took a sip from her own cup before she spoke. ‘Why now?’ she asked simply.
‘The Chairman has told me I’m to be taken off kidnap and ransom and replaced by a younger man. It’s company policy at my age.’
‘But there must be plenty of other jobs in the company for someone with your experience.’
‘The Chairman did come up with a suggestion,’ said Connor. ‘She offered me the chance to head up our field office in Cleveland.’
‘Cleveland?’ said Maggie in disbelief. She remained silent for some time, then said quietly, ‘Why is the Chairman suddenly so keen to see the back of you?’
‘Oh, it’s not that bad. After all, if I turn the offer down, I’m still eligible for a full retirement package,’ said Connor, making no attempt to answer her question. ‘In any case, Joan assures me there are several large insurance companies in Washington who would be only too happy to employ someone with my experience.’
The Eleventh Commandment (1998) Page 7
