The woman left the office, and Lance continued to make notes about fixtures and furnishings. He also made a note to himself to add the Drudge Report to his office’s morning reading.
51
Stone woke late in the morning to find the bedsheet no longer covering him. He delayed pulling it up again to enjoy the sight of Holly lying naked on her back, her legs slightly parted, her hair awry.
She opened an eye. “You’re awake?”
“I seem to be.” He slid toward her on the bed, and she turned on her side to greet him.
“Something I can do for you, mister?”
Stone kissed her lightly on the lips, then he rolled her on her back again and kissed her on the nipples. They stood at attention. “Just lie there, and let me enjoy myself,” he said.
“Don’t I get to help?”
“Not just yet.” He worked his way down her body, kissing her navel and her belly. He admired her Brazilian wax job for a moment, then parted her vulva with his tongue.
Holly made a noise of pleasure.
Stone continued playfully with his work, then more seriously, until she heaved and thrashed, while running her fingers through his hair, until she climaxed with a long, loud sigh.
They lay there for a moment, both panting, Stone’s head resting on her belly.
“That’s a very nice way to wake up,” she said, then she rolled him on his back and sat astride him, stroking his penis until it was explosively hard. She slipped him inside her and began moving.
To his surprise, Stone came almost immediately. “Wow,” he said softly.
Holly leaned over and kissed him. “That was quick.”
“I had a head start,” he said, “so to speak. I nearly came when I was doing you.”
“How long do I have to wait for a rematch?” she asked.
“Until after breakfast,” he replied, reaching for the phone. “I’m hungry for more than you. What will you have?”
“It’s nearly lunchtime; Eggs Benedict, orange juice and coffee.”
Stone ordered the same for both of them.
Shortly before noon, Lance was sitting in his temporary office having a sandwich sent up from the cafeteria, when he looked up to see Mona Barry standing in the doorway, holding a laptop. “Good morning, Mona,” he said. “Nice to see you in on a Saturday.”
“I wish I could say it was nice to be here, but I’ve been putting in a lot of time on the photos you gave me, and I have some results, though perhaps not the results you hoped for.”
“Come in and take a seat,” he said, dragging a chair next to him behind his desk, so they could both look at the laptop. “What have you got?”
Mona opened the laptop and pressed a button. “Here are the three photographs you gave me; I’ve run multiple tests on them. I have eliminated Robertson from consideration as Teddy.”
“Why?”
“First, because the Agency people I showed the photographs to unanimously agreed that he is not; too young, wrong facial features. Also, I have been able to confirm that he is, in fact, one Barney Cox, one of four British subjects sought for questioning in a robbery of cash from a company at Heathrow Airport, in London, some months ago. Confidence is extremely high, to the point of certainty.”
“Thank you for confirming that,” Lance said. “I’ll see that the information is passed along to the appropriate authority.”
“Now,” Mona said, “about the other two. At first, the photos seemed to be ordinary British passport shots, the kind you’d get at a dozen photographers’ in the West End of London. I analyzed them right down to the dot level, or rather, the pixel level on the computer, and there were a number of similarities, so much so that I began to think that they might have been taken by the same photographer. What kept throwing me off was that the light was different in the two shots—a slightly different color temperature and with the light coming from a different direction.”
“Is there some way to identify at which studio they were taken?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not there, yet; I’m just walking you through what I found.”
“Of course, go ahead.”
“It turns out that where they were taken isn’t really relevant, though I suspect London. They were taken with a Polaroid camera, the kind that takes four shots at once; very common in photo shops.”
“Not digital?”
“No, that’s what you’d expect if they were taken in a large U.S. city, where the conversion to digital photography may be a bit farther along than in England, but again, that’s not the point. After I had taken that analysis as far as I could without identifying a specific shot, I started to do multiple comparisons of the faces.”
“And…?”
“Well, look at the two faces: you see,” she said, pointing, “the man on the right, Weatherby, has had his nose broken at some point, and his jawline is a little firmer than the other man, Pemberton.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Mona hit a few computer keys. “Now, here I’ve enhanced and enlarged the Weatherby photo: look at his Vandyke.”
“Right, I’m looking at it.”
“What do you see?”
Lance gazed at the enlargement. “A mustache and goatee.”
“But look at what appear to be the roots of the hairs: they seem to have a tiny, thicker dot at the root of each one.”
“Which means?”
“Which means that it’s a false beard, though a very good one.” She moved to another enlargement. “Same at the hairline; it’s a wig.”
“So Weatherby is disguising himself.”
“Yes, but still not the point.”
“Get to the point, Mona.”
“Now look at an enlargement of the broken nose,” she said, moving to another photo. “What do you see?”
“Come on, Mona, tell me.”
“All right.” She pointed at the place where the nose seemed broken. “No pores in the skin,” she said.
“So it’s a false broken nose?”
“Just a clever application of spirit gum, a common theatrical makeup substance.”
“All right, so he has a fake broken nose, too.”
“Right.” She changed photos again. “Now here’s the Pemberton nose, enlarged, alongside the Weatherby shot. Look at the other side of the nose.”
“I’m looking.”
“The other side of both noses is very like that side of Weatherby’s.”
“But not the chin,” Lance said. “It’s softer, less firm.”
“It certainly is, but here’s what happens when I straighten Weatherby’s nose and remove his Vandyke.” She switched to two photos where the hair was cropped out but the faces were enlarged. “What do you see now?”
“They’re beginning to look related,” Lance said. “Brothers?”
“No, there’s spirit gum on Weatherby’s chin, as well as his nose. If we remove that we get…”
Lance furrowed his brow. “Pemberton’s chin?”
“Exactly. They’re not brothers; they’re the same man.” She clicked on two other photos, and images appeared that made the two men look the same.
“Has anybody who knew Teddy Fay seen these?”
“The only two people still in Tech Services who knew him. They both said it could be, but they couldn’t say for sure. Of course, I’ve altered the photos to reflect what I think the men would look like without disguises, but since there are no known photos of Teddy, we can’t be sure it’s him. But I’d put the chances at around seventy-thirty that it is.”
“Well, at least we can have our people hunt down these men—this man, rather—and photograph him.”
“From what I’ve heard about Teddy, that could be awfully hard to do,” Mona said. “But I’ve done this,” she said, switching to a page of a dozen photographs, all different. “I’ve made up this man with various combinations of wigs, mustaches and subtle changes in the face. Why don’t you e-mail this page to our people and see what they can do with it?”
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“I will do so immediately, Mona,” Lance said.
She handed him a DVD. “Here’s everything,” she said. “Let me know how it works out.” She took her laptop and left.
Lance picked up the phone and dialed Holly’s satphone number. No answer and no voice mail. He sat down at his computer, inserted the DVD Mona Barry had given him and transmitted it to Holly’s laptop, along with an e-mail explaining what she had done.
52
Stone and Holly lay on the bed, panting and sweaty. The remains of their lunch were on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“Once more?” Holly asked.
“You’re killing me,” Stone said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“Only joking.”
“Thank God.” Stone changed the subject. “Have you reported in to Lance?”
“Ah, no, not yet.”
“You’re afraid to tell him we aren’t going to find Teddy, aren’t you?”
“Certainly not.”
“You sound uncertain.”
“I’m not uncertain, I’m lazy. I’d rather fuck you than talk to Lance on the satphone.”
“Well, that would be my choice, too.”
“Then you should be a happy man.”
“Tired, but happy.”
There was a rap on the door, and Stone pulled up the sheet. “Come in.”
Genevieve opened the door. “You two feel like a swim?”
“Not since the shark,” Holly said.
“Oh, come on; the shark’s gone. And you don’t even have to get dressed.”
“That’s a thought,” Stone said. They grabbed towels and followed Genevieve, who was wearing only her towel, too. Dino was already in the water, waving them in.
Stone grabbed Holly’s hand, dropped his towel and ran with her into the light surf.
“What a wonderful temperature!” Holly yelled. “It’s just perfect!”
They swam out to the sandbar and stood up to rest for a minute.
“Look,” Stone said, pointing at a sailboat leaving English Harbour, “it’s Harold Pitts.”
“Pretty boat,” Holly said. “You think he’s leaving St. Marks?”
“I don’t know,” Stone said. “I had the impression Harold had begun to think about staying on here with Irene.” They could see a lone figure at the helm; Stone waved, and he waved back. Then he bore away, tacked and began to recede into the distance.
“I wonder where he’s going,” Stone said.
Lance grew weary of waiting for Holly to return his call. He tossed his satphone into his briefcase, got into his jacket and walked out of his office, running into Carolyn, Hugh English’s secretary, in the hallway.
“Hi,” she said. “I’ve booked your jet; it’s the Hawker, and it will be at the St. Marks airport at noon tomorrow.”
“Great, Carolyn,” he said. “I’m on my way home; would you please call the English Harbour Inn in St. Marks, ask for Ginny Heller or Stone Barrington and tell them about the jet? And ask them to let the Peppers know.”
“Of course, Lance,” she said. “Have a good weekend.”
“Oh, I’ll be in tomorrow,” Lance said. “I just have to do some stuff at home this afternoon.” He continued on his way.
Carolyn called the English Harbour Inn, but there was no answer in the room, so she left a message on the voicemail, then she went home, too.
Stone and Holly stood on the sandbar and watched the gray fin cut through the water between them and the beach. “The son of a bitch is back,” he said. Dino and Genevieve were headed for the beach at top speed.
“I hate that thing,” Holly said.
“It’s nothing personal,” Stone replied, not taking his eyes off the fin. “He’s just doing what sharks do.”
“Well, I wish he’d do it somewhere else.”
“You want to make for the beach?”
“Not while that beast is between us and home.”
“Okay, we’ll just wait here for him to come out and take a look at us.”
“We’re not splashing; we’re not bleeding; maybe he’ll just go away.”
“I hope so.” Stone involuntarily reached down and held onto his genitals.
“Are you holding what I think you’re holding?” Holly asked.
“Uh, yes.”
“You think he might find it attractive?”
“I’m not taking any chances; could be a girl shark.”
Once in his car, Lance dialed Holly’s satphone number again. Still no answer. He switched off the phone and tossed it back into his briefcase. There was going to be nothing for her to report, anyway; he felt it. Carolyn would get her the message about the jet, and he could go over everything with Holly on Monday.
Finally, the shark left the area, headed out to sea, and Stone and Holly made for the beach.
“I’d better go call Lance,” she said, toweling herself off and heading for the cottage.
“Kiss him for me,” Stone said.
Holly went into the cottage, got out her satphone, walked outside and dialed Lance’s satphone number. No message, and no voicemail. She dialed his number at Langley; maybe he was working on a Saturday. She got his voicemail. “Lance, it’s Holly; we’re done here, and we’ve come up dry. No leads, no nothing. Get us out of here, will you?” She hung up, then noticed that the message light on the room phone was blinking. She pressed the message button and waited.
“Ms. Heller and Mr. Barrington,” a woman’s voice said, “this is Carolyn Reese, calling for Lance Cabot. Lance would like you to know that a Hawker jet will pick up your party at the St. Marks airport at noon tomorrow, that’s Sunday noon, and he asks that you let the Peppers know. Good-bye.”
Holly called the Peppers.
“Hello?”
“Bill, it’s, ah, Ginny. We’re out of here at noon tomorrow, in a Hawker; meet us at the airport?”
“Well, that’s a relief. You made any progress on the other thing?”
“None, and I don’t think we’re going to.”
“See you at noon tomorrow, then,” Pepper said, then hung up.
Holly showered and put on some clothes, then went outside. Stone, Dino and Genevieve were lying on the beach a few yards away. “Hey, everybody!” she yelled. “We’re out of here at noon tomorrow, and there’s nothing to do but have a farewell dinner tonight!”
She got a round of applause from the beach. “I guess she spoke to Lance,” Stone said.
53
Thomas greeted them warmly at the bar, produced an ice-cold pitcher of vodka gimlets from his freezer and poured each of them one, then another for himself. He raised his glass. “To a safe trip home,” he said.
They all drank.
“How did you know we were leaving tomorrow?” Holly asked.
“The ban on travel has been lifted; could your departure be far behind it?”
“You’re right,” Holly said.
“I hope you were able to achieve the purpose of your visit.”
“There were two purposes,” Holly said, “and they were mutually exclusive. We achieved one of them.”
“Then your visit doesn’t sound like a failure.”
“No,” Holly said, “it wasn’t. I’m satisfied, and I hope my boss will be.”
“Thomas,” Stone said, “are you aware that there’s a large hammerhead shark stalking your beach?”
“Oh, that’s just Fred; he comes and he goes. He’s never attacked anyone.”
“Maybe he just hasn’t seen anyone tempting enough,” Stone said.
“You want to lead an expedition to kill the thing?”
“Uh, we’re leaving tomorrow, remember? I’ll leave you to deal with the consequences of Fred’s finding someone to his taste.”
Thomas went to serve another customer.
“Did you talk to Lance?” Stone asked Holly.
“No, he wasn’t answering. I left a message, telling him we were done, with no joy on Teddy, and he had someone call us about tomorrow’s
jet. It’s at noon, and the Peppers are joining us.”
“Well,” Stone said, “I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t find Teddy; that would have been exciting.”
“Maybe too exciting,” Holly said. “But, anyway, I think that Croft was Teddy’s swan song, if, indeed, he was the one who killed the colonel. If Teddy’s still alive, I think he has gone to ground and will stay there.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Stone said, sipping his gimlet.
The headwaiter called them to dinner.
Stone was surprised to see Irene Foster seated alone in the restaurant. He and Holly walked over. “Good evening, Irene, are you alone?”
“Yes, Harold is sailing his boat up to Ft. Lauderdale, to sell it. I think he got tired of the cruising life.”
“Is he coming back?”
“I don’t think so; we haven’t been getting along very well the past few days; I think he’ll look for greener pastures, and frankly, that’s all right with me. I got tired of seeing him in his recliner, gazing at the TV.”
“Would you like to join us?” Holly asked.
“Thank you, Holly, but I’m just waiting for dessert, then I’ll go home. When are you leaving, Stone?”
“At noon tomorrow,” Stone said. “I want to thank you for your kindness to us while we were here.” He gave her his card. “If you should find yourself in New York, call me and let me take you to dinner.”
“Thank you, Stone, I’ll do that, though I don’t contemplate that sort of travel anytime soon.”
“Good-bye, then.” Holly gave her a kiss on the cheek, and they joined Dino and Genevieve at their table.
Teddy sat at his workbench, cleaning and oiling the sniper rifle. He completely dismantled it and cleaned each part carefully, then reassembled the weapon and dry-fired it a couple of times. He removed the stock and the silencer and put it back into its case.
Finally, he checked the equipment he had so carefully assembled, tightening bolts and wiping any dust away, then he opened the outer doors to his workshop, carried the three pieces outside and bolted them together at the top of the long concrete drain channel that emptied into the little gorge. He did some programming to an electronic device, half the size of a toaster, then fastened it in place and tested it. All was in working order.
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