Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 14

by Shoot Him if He Runs

  “I believe you did, Lance, and that’s one of the main reasons you’re under consideration for the job he never had a chance to fill.”

  “Thank you, Kate.”

  “I know it’s difficult working for Hugh English, but he was kind enough to postpone his retirement and keep doing the job until our vetting procedure is complete. Be nice to him, won’t you?”

  Lance had always found Hugh English grating, but he had been smart enough to keep it to himself and not join in the chorus of complaints from the other, younger men in his former station. “Of course; he’s a good man.”

  “Lance, are you going to leave in a huff if you don’t get the job? Go out and make some money as a consultant for the networks and the oil companies?”

  Lance was considering doing just that, if he didn’t get the job. He took a deep breath. “No,” he said. “I’m a career officer; I’m here for the long haul.”

  “Good,” Kate said, getting to her feet. “Thank you, Lance; keep me posted on progress in St. Marks.”

  “Certainly, Kate,” Lance said. He returned to his office more slowly than he had come. Could Lee really be considering him, or was that just a ruse to keep him pumped on the business in St. Marks?

  The balance could tip either way, he thought. He’d have to do something to get a thumb on the scale.

  13

  Teddy Fay’s cell phone vibrated against his ribcage. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Elliot?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Tito, the maintenance manager at Nevis Aero Services.”

  “Yes, Tito?”

  “We’re just about done with the annual on your airplane. You need a new set of spark plugs—I’d suggest the platinum ones—and your starboard main gear tire is pretty close to needing replacing.”

  “The platinum plugs are fine, and go ahead and replace the tire. Do you have a replacement from the same manufacturer of the other two?”

  “Yes, sir; they’re Goodyears, and we stock those. Will you be picking up the airplane when we’re done? It should be ready tomorrow.”

  “What’s the bill going to come to?”

  “A little under three thousand.”

  “Charge it to the credit card number I gave you, and leave a copy of the bill on the seat. I’ve rented hangar number four, so put the airplane in there and lock it up. The combination on the lock is 4340.”

  “Yes, sir; it’ll be in there by tomorrow night.”

  “Thank you, Tito.”

  “Let us know if you need anything else.”

  “Will do.”

  Teddy hung up and continued driving. Less than a minute passed before the phone vibrated again. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Martin?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Cornwall Shipping Agents; the shipment you told us to expect arrived this morning. It should clear customs by noon tomorrow.”

  “Oh, good; what’s the tariff going to be?”

  “Around eight hundred dollars.”

  “All right; charge it to the credit card number I gave you.”

  “Do you want it delivered?”

  “How large is it?”

  “Two wooden crates, one about eight feet long, the other about five feet. Not all that heavy, though.”

  “I’ll pick them up tomorrow afternoon, then. Will they be ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir, just back up to our loading dock and tell the man on duty you want shipment number 00028, and make sure he gives you both crates.”

  “See you then.” Teddy hung up. This was all coming together very well, he thought. His purchase ostensibly included all the tools he would need, but he was going to have to buy a chain saw.

  Right now, though, all Teddy needed was a drink.

  14

  Kate Lee was dropped by her driver at the White House entrance, and, led and followed by her Secret Service agents, she took the elevator to the family quarters. The two agents remained at the downstairs elevator door. It was nearly eight o’clock, and she was exhausted.

  As she got off the elevator she was grateful for the smells coming from the family kitchen. She flung her coat at a living room chair, dropped her bulging briefcase on the floor beside it, then walked into the kitchen.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the man in the apron with his back to her, “who do I have to fuck around here to get a drink?”

  Will Lee looked over his shoulder, turned the steaks on the grill of the Viking stove and came toward her. “You’re looking at him,” he said, kissing her and dragging a stool up to the kitchen island for her. He went to the freezer and extracted a full bottle of premade, very dry martinis, poured her one in a crystal glass and dropped in two olives. He handed her the drink. “My new speciality,” he said, picking up his own glass. They raised their glasses, gazed into each other’s eyes and took large sips.

  “Mmmmm,” she said, “and what is the secret of this libation? What gives it that interesting something?”

  “That interesting something is that the olives are stuffed with anchovies.”

  “But I hate anchovies,” she said.

  “That’s why it was a secret.”

  “This is the second time you’ve fooled me with anchovies: the first was when you put pureed anchovies into a hollandaise sauce.”

  “You’re forgetting the caesar salad dressing,” Will said. “Anchovies are an important ingredient of that. I think that what you are learning here is that you absolutely love anchovies.”

  “Only when I don’t know I’m eating them,” Kate said.

  Will turned the steaks. “How was your day?”

  “Like all my days: unrelenting.”

  “Anything special?”

  “I spoke with Lance Cabot about the business in St. Marks.”

  “And?”

  “He says things are going swimmingly. Holly Barker has made contact with Irene Foster; in fact, she and the others are having dinner at her house, presumably as we speak.”

  “Well, I’m glad they’re all getting along together so swimmingly. Is this going to help find Teddy Fay?”

  “Maybe, and we should never speak that name. The Republicans may have bugged our kitchen.”

  “I find a little paranoia a good thing in a director of Central Intelligence,” Will said, “but not that much paranoia.”

  “I’ll try to tamp it down,” Kate said.

  Will put the steaks on large plates, added baked potatoes and haricot verts and motioned for Kate to follow. He led her into the living room to a table for two in an alcove overlooking the White House grounds, their favorite place for dining alone. He seated her, lit the candles and poured the California cabernet that he had already opened, then sat down. They raised their glasses and dug into their food.

  “This is the best steakhouse in the world,” Kate said.

  “You certainly know the way to a fellow’s heart,” Will replied.

  “Did the new polls come in today?”

  “Yes, and we’re looking good. I’ve got at least a twelve-point lead over any one of the three likely Republican challengers.”

  “I wish it were more.”

  “Who doesn’t? But I’ll take twelve points.”

  “That lead could vanish in the blink of an eye if it became known that…what’s-his-name is alive, having escaped two huge federal efforts to capture him, especially since the public has been repeatedly assured that he’s dead.”

  “If that happens, I’ll deal with it,” Will said. “It will help that the ranking Republican senator on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence knows the truth.”

  “It won’t help if he decides to leak the information to some right-wing talk show host.”

  “If he does that, he’ll have to explain why he waited for so long after he found out to tell anybody. I don’t think he would enjoy that; he’s up for reelection too, you know.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “I know you don’t like to talk about this, Kate, but suppos
e Lance’s people find Teddy and capture him? What then?”

  “We could build a special prison for him at Guantánamo Bay.”

  “He’d break out of it inside a week. What instructions have you given Lance in the matter?”

  “I’ve given him no instructions whatever.”

  “And is he going to interpret the lack of instructions as a license to do whatever he feels like doing?”

  “I haven’t told him to do that, either.”

  “You’re hoping Lance will just make it go away.”

  “I’m hoping all sorts of things: I’m hoping Teddy is in a block of ice in Antarctica; I’m hoping he was eaten by a shark the last time he went swimming; I’m hoping he’ll put a bullet in his brain, then fall into an active volcano.”

  “Yes, Teddy is an inconvenient person.”

  “I’m also hoping he wishes to remain dormant, because if he took it into his head to start killing people again…Well, I don’t know how we would handle that.”

  “Perhaps leaving him alone wherever he is is the best move.”

  “We’ll have that option, if Lance’s people find him on St. Marks. We could just keep him under surveillance and hope for the best.”

  “I like that option best,” Will said, “except the surveillance part; he’d twig immediately.”

  “You never give me official orders when we’re drinking.”

  “Just think of it as a firm suggestion.”

  “I think that, tomorrow morning, when we’re both entirely sober, you might give me a written finding to that effect that I can log and store in my safe at Langley.”

  “But then I would be on record as saying that a murderer, having been found, should remain free. God knows,” Will said, “I would hate to see him tried. I think I’d rather invade Iran or Korea.”

  “Remember, we don’t have an extradition treaty with St. Marks, yet.”

  “State has been working on that since their new prime minister took over.”

  “Do you think you could possibly slow them down?”

  “I think it would be impossible to slow them down, since they’re already going as slowly as possible, with no help from me.”

  “If Teddy is in St. Marks, and we sign an extradition treaty, he could bolt for other, less arresting climes.”

  “And then we’d have to start all over again?”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s the perfect conundrum, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  15

  Thomas arranged for Stone to rent a car for the remainder of their stay, and early in the evening they drove up Black Mountain for dinner at Irene Foster’s.

  “Funny,” Holly said as they climbed the steep road, “I didn’t notice before but there are underground power lines running alongside the road, and a pipeline, too. See the markers?” She pointed them out.

  “Odd for a small island to go to the expense of putting power and water underground in what seems to be a fairly sparsely populated area.”

  “The houses may be sparse, but they’re expensive,” Holly said. “The rich usually are willing to pay for preferential treatment.”

  Irene’s gate was open, but after they drove through, it closed behind them. An SUV and a smaller car with a rental sticker were parked in the paved parking area, and as they got out of their car, Harry Pitts appeared on the front porch to greet them.

  “I see you found the place,” Harry said.

  “It was easy,” Stone replied. “There’s only one mountaintop in St. Marks.”

  “You have a point,” Harry said. “Come on in, and let me get you a drink.” He led them into a fairly large, comfortably furnished living room and waved them to seats. “Irene’s busy in the kitchen; she’ll be out in a little while. Are you still drinking those vodka gimlets? I made some.”

  “You betcha,” Holly said. “It’s easy to sell this crowd gimlets.”

  Harry produced martini glasses and a frosty Absolut bottle, the liquid inside tinged with green, and poured for everyone. “Cheers,” Harry said, raising his glass.

  “Wait for me,” Irene said from the kitchen door. She entered the room looking cool and well pressed, not like someone who had been cooking all afternoon.

  The men stood and greeted her, and Harry handed her a gimlet. “I’m afraid I had one too many of these last night,” she said, “but this time I didn’t get a head start.” Everyone sat down.

  “This is a marvelous place,” Holly said. “How’d you find it?”

  “The usual way, through an agent. Actually, Thomas Hardy was a big help. He knew that Sir Winston Sutherland had bought up here and that he was bringing in electricity and water. The place had been on the market for a long time for lack of utilities. There’s a large cistern under the house, and water was collected from the roof, and although the house had been wired in hope of power, it didn’t happen until the PM made it happen. Before there were just a small generator and a lot of oil lamps.”

  “So, you got in ahead of the rise in property values that must have come with the utilities?”

  “Thanks to Thomas, yes. I got the place for half what it would bring now.”

  “Where is Sir Winston’s place?”

  “Just down the hill a couple of hundred yards, after what used to be the guesthouse for this one. I couldn’t afford the guesthouse when I bought, and an expat English couple bought it, but they seem to be rarely here. I’ve never met them.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Stone said, “that since the last time I was here the island has taken on an air of prosperity. Has St. Marks attracted some new manufacturing or something?”

  “Or something,” Harry said. “It’s called offshore Internet gambling.”

  “How does that work?” Genevieve asked.

  “A business establishes what amounts to a casino, except it’s entirely virtual. Anyone with an Internet connection, anywhere in the world, can play, and winnings or losses are credited or debited to a credit card. There are half a dozen establishments here, and they are hugely profitable. Each of them employs a lot of people, many of them islanders. The managers and computer people are almost entirely from abroad—the States, Europe and Asia—and those people are buying property and building houses. Irene got in under the wire, but it’s getting harder and harder to hire construction people. I tell you, if I lived here I’d start a construction company.”

  “Is there any sort of regulation for the industry?” Dino asked.

  “Not really. The United States is trying to ban Internet gambling, but not very successfully. When they started pressing the credit card companies not to process charges from offshore casinos, the casinos just offered their own credit cards, through offshore banks. A gambler can go online, fill out an application and get a credit line in less than two minutes. The card is mailed to him within a week, and he can use it anywhere, like any other credit card.

  “The U.S. has arrested a couple of casino operators when they passed through American airports, but as long as they don’t enter the States, they’re safe. The U.S. and St. Marks have no extradition treaty, and negotiations have been bogged down for years.”

  “Is there any local regulation in St. Marks?” Dino asked.

  “A government department has been set up to regulate the casinos, but rumor has it, the only enforced regulation is to pay Sir Winston Sutherland for the privilege of operating.”

  “Sir Winston seems to have a finger in every pie,” Stone said.

  “Indeed he does,” Irene said. “There are rumors that he’s pulling in over a hundred million dollars a year for himself, and he’s established an offshore banking system much like that of the Cayman Islands. He owns his own bank, and his friends own all the others.”

  “So he’s St. Marks’s Papa Doc, then?” Dino asked.

  “Sir Winston is, practically speaking, almost as much a dictator as Papa Doc Duvalier was in Haiti, but he’s smarter and more benign; he spreads the wealth around. The per capita income on the
island is said to have doubled within the past few years, and it’s expected to double again. Of course, it was pretty low to begin with, but now there are businesses like car dealerships where there were none before. A few years ago, if you wanted a car, you had to go to a dealer in St. Martin or Guadeloupe or Antigua. Now you can buy a Toyota or a Volkswagen off the lot, and there are rumors that Mercedes and BMW dealerships are on the way.”

  “I can guess who’s going to own those,” Stone said.

  “Sir Winston and his friends, of course,” Irene replied.

  “So who’s getting hurt?” Holly said.

  “The suckers,” Harry replied, “the losers at gambling. The casinos have a slightly lower profit margin than the Las Vegas establishments, so they’re attractive to gamblers, but they still lose, just like in Vegas. The casinos operate without infrastructure—they don’t have to invest in building hotels or producing entertainment. There are rumors that those things are in the offing, though, and that will goose tourist income enormously.”

  A uniformed black woman came into the living room. “Dinner is served, Miss Foster,” she said.

  Irene rose, led them into the dining room and seated them at a beautifully arranged table, while Harry poured a French wine.

  Stone nodded toward the view from the dining room window. “I can see a couple of roofs,” he said.

  “The big one is Sir Winston’s,” Irene replied. “The two smaller ones are the former guesthouse, now owned by the Weatherbys, and another small house, owned by the Pembertons; I haven’t met them, either.”

  16

  It was nearly midnight when they left Irene’s house, after a good dinner and a lot of talk.

  “That must be the driveway to the old guesthouse,” Holly said, as their headlights flashed over a gate. “And then the Pembertons, and this one coming up must be Sir Winston’s place. I wonder why there’s no guard.”

  “Look,” Stone said, pointing, “there’s a guard shack up the driveway, about thirty yards after the gate.”