Ian smiled naughtily. “Really,” he said, “I hope not.”
“What I do know is that you and Philip have had a business as well as a social relationship, that the young man’s an acolyte of yours and now working for your friends Wazir and Fateen Al-Dosari.”
“All true,” Ian said.
“I rest my case.”
“Signet rings are not at all uncommon. As for any other elements of confusion, it’s frequently hard to tell purebred dogs apart.”
Aurelien hesitated before saying, “I thought you should know.”
“And now I do. Thank you, my friend.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Shaded by an awning of wisteria and palm fronds, Luke Claussen sat on the terrace of the Rock Hotel in Gibraltar, sipping his glass of manzanilla and wondering why Admiral Cotton had booked lunch for three rather than two. The old art deco hotel, which dominated a panoramic view of the Bay of Gibraltar, the Spanish mainland and the Rif Mountains of Morocco in the distance, had a distinctly colonial air. Its white wrought-iron furniture, starched pink tablecloths and tended gardens reminded Luke of Kansas City, especially Mission Hills, where he had grown up.
“Sorry to keep you,” Giles Cotton said upon arrival.
Luke stood, and they shook hands quickly. “Such a delightful place to wait,” Luke replied.
Cotton ordered a manzanilla for himself. It was not his habit to drink during the day, but he was determined to keep his guest company. Luke Claussen was just the sort of man in whose corporation a retired naval officer with a distinguished record might find a suitably rewarding position. “That stuff is hard to resist,” he said, glancing at Luke’s pale sherry. “Something about its salty side, I suppose. Thank you for coming to see me, especially on such short notice.”
“I was honored when you called. In fact, I’ve been hoping for the chance to talk to you, or at least to someone who might be able to give me an idea of what the hell’s been going on.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I’ve had reports that the authorities are scrutinizing our ships as though they suspect something foul,” Luke said. “If there is a problem, I’d like to know about it more than they would.”
“Which authorities?”
“The Italians, for a start, but ever since my father got us involved with a project in Russia—something he immediately regretted, by the way, and withdrew from as soon as he was able to—there seems to have been a change in how we at Claussen are perceived. I can’t say by which department or service or even country. It’s more of a general thing, but I’ve had many reports that my people feel there are eyes on them that there didn’t used to be.”
“Is that what’s brought you to this part of the world?”
“I’m embarrassed to say that it isn’t. A leopard can’t change his spots overnight. I came for the fun of it.”
“Please forgive me for asking, but as no one around here was quite sure, is your connection to Claussen Inc. a formal one?”
Luke laughed. “An interesting choice of words,” he said. “I’m not our company’s CEO or even chairman of its board, although I suppose if I suddenly went mad, I could be. It’s still a private company, as perhaps you know.”
Giles Cotton nodded.
“Very few in the world are as large. When it came to business, my father was an absolute genius. As the bearer of his genes if not abilities, I now find myself the company’s principal shareholder. Because of that, people tell me things.” As Luke finished, he was aware that something over his shoulder had caught the admiral’s attention. Then he sensed the approach of another person, a shadow at first, then the sound of footsteps.
“Afternoon,” Oliver Molyneux said breezily, withdrawing the chair at the place setting beside Luke.
“Afternoon,” Giles Cotton said, without standing. “Luke Claussen, Oliver Molyneux. Oliver Molyneux, Luke Claussen.”
The two men regarded each other and shook hands, whereupon Oliver sat.
Admiral Cotton tapped the face of his watch.
“Sorry,” Oliver said. “Couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. There was a delay at the frontier. I see you’ve already got a head start on me.”
“Order whatever you like,” Giles Cotton said. “I must say you look very refreshed for a man who’s been stuck in traffic.”
“I was up in Valderrama playing golf,” Oliver explained matter-of-factly.
“Really,” Luke said. “I was there yesterday.”
Oliver smiled. “Actually, I was just having the admiral on. I wasn’t really in Valderrama, much as I would like to have been. I settled for a run through lovely La Línea instead.”
“Anything to get the old heart rate up,” Luke mused. “Are you a golfer?”
“Guilty,” Oliver replied.
“I am, too. I don’t know why. I’ll never be any better than average.”
“One plays against oneself,” Admiral Cotton said, “or one is doomed to disappointment.”
“My grandfather disapproved of the game entirely,” Oliver said. “He felt that it was for people whose estates weren’t large enough to walk around.”
Luke laughed. “But you disagreed?”
“Yes, perhaps because the estate went to my father’s elder brother.”
“What line of work are you in, Mr. Molyneux?” Luke asked.
“I’m a civil servant,” Oliver said.
“Here or in Britain?”
“Wherever.”
“And what brings you to Gibraltar, if I may ask?”
Admiral Cotton studied both men and kept his silence.
“Actually,” Oliver said, “I am here, amongst other reasons, because I rather desperately need your help.”
Luke looked perplexed. After a moment he said, “And how can I be helpful?”
“First by allowing me to ruin your holiday,” Oliver told him. “Then by making a damned unpleasant spectacle of yourself.”
“Why would I do either?”
“It’s a long story.”
“It’s a long afternoon.”
“Not only is the story long, it’s complicated and incomplete. And I’m not even at liberty to tell you everything I know.”
“I only met you a moment ago. Why should I believe a word of what you’re telling me?”
Oliver glanced in the direction of Admiral Cotton.
“Well, I grant you that you come with good references,” Luke said. “Do I have a choice in this matter?”
“Of course you do,” Admiral Cotton said.
“Up to a point,” Oliver added.
“One question before you tell me anything else,” Luke demanded. “Is whatever it is you’re doing being done in the interest of America or just Britain? I am an American, after all.”
“Both,” Oliver replied. “We’re very much a joint task force.”
Luke hesitated, trying to take the measure of both men. “This is crazy,” he said. “I’m the last man you should want on your side. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you. I haven’t amounted to much. I’m a wastrel, a playboy, the latest incarnation of the prodigal son. All I can say is that my father cast a long shadow and there were times I had to run pretty far to escape it. I’ve spent quite a lot of my life searching for adventure. That part’s true. Yet the only kind of adventure I ever seem to find is the artificial stuff, which never does the trick. So here I am up to my ass in the usual nonsense, with a little work thrown in, and adventure with a capital A finds me. Some joke, wouldn’t you say?”
Chapter Thirty
Two hours before sunset, Surpass dropped anchor at the western end of the Bay of Tangier, just within the breakwater. From the avenue d’Espagne along the crescent of waterfront, its dark hull and white decks transfixed
passersby, ever more so as the descending sun inflamed the sky, framing the ship against a briefly swirling palette of gold, coral and summer blue. In the northern distance lay Tarifa, the ancient Spanish gateway to Europe, the port of entry from which the word “tariff” derived, and those aboard Surpass could spot the red-and-white FRS Iberia hovercraft as they plowed the open Med on their opposing transits between Tarifa and Tangier.
From the main deck, Ty surveyed the horizons as the yacht rose and fell in rhythm with the sea. It was a rhythm he knew well from other voyages, first as a child on the Chesapeake, later as a soldier on special ops, and he knew that his body had to get used to it anew each time he set sail. He had adjusted well to this cruise but felt far less sanguine about the success of his mission. He had uncovered no evidence implicating Ian or Philip in any plot to acquire or sell nuclear warheads. Indeed, their behavior was suspicious only if one were predisposed to see it as such. It was true that Ian surrounded himself with a questionable if colorful assortment of business and social acquaintances, but so did many men of great wealth. It proved absolutely nothing. In fact, a compelling argument could be made that no man undertaking the kind of theft and sale the President and his advisers feared that Ian might be involved in would dare squander his concentration on such frivolities at a critical moment.
Philip was another matter. Ty did not like him yet had to ask himself why. The obvious answer was that without Philip Ty would be able to pursue Isabella. Beyond that was the Russian whores’ gossip he’d overheard on the pontoon at the Hôtel du Cap. But what if those women had been making up or embellishing stories? He had to allow for that possibility.
Among the exotic cast of characters he had encountered at Pond House and aboard Surpass, he found it difficult to distinguish likely suspects from innocent bystanders. Having overheard Celia Foo’s complaint about her and her husband’s recent exclusion from Ian’s inner circle, he felt confident they were uninvolved. He felt just as sure that the Al-Dosari twins were trouble and that if a conspiracy was under way they were bound to be part of it. Their recent hiring of Philip to run one of their funds fit neatly into this theory, but it was still a theory based on instinct and conjecture rather than fact. Of the others he’d met, who could say?
Still, he had a disquieting feeling. In a milieu where practically every event, motive and personality was subject to alternative explanations, something seemed out of order. He sensed this in the same way he could tell at a glance that a scene in a film was or wasn’t right. To figure out exactly what was wrong, however, would take much longer. As he reconsidered the events of the last few days, he kept coming back to Raisa Gilmour’s conversation before dinner, then to the extraordinary gems that had arrived for Isabella. Ty appreciated Isabella’s playful designs, but even she had seemed astonished at being asked to adapt them for such magnificent stones. Could the improbability of that commission be related to the sale of weapons of mass destruction? For the life of him, Ty did not see how and thought it more likely that it was simply another instance of Ian’s working in the background to promote his beloved goddaughter. Even so, it bothered him.
If there was any opening to any secret world aboard Surpass, he suspected it would be found in Ian’s quarters, but he had been expressly excluded from them. Why, on the other hand, should he have been included in a discussion of business in which he had no part? At least on the surface, Ian’s behavior seemed perfectly explicable.
His mind was still churning when he was surprised by Ian’s voice behind him.
“¿En qué piensas?” Ian asked.
Ty was careful not to react to the Spanish. “Sorry,” he said.
“What are you thinking?” Ian translated.
“What else could anyone think? What a beautiful evening this is.”
“God’s paint on God’s canvas!” Ian exclaimed. “That’s what I call sunsets like this one. Have you been enjoying yourself?”
“Very much so,” Ty replied.
“I’m glad, although I fear I’ve failed you as a host.”
“Failed me?” Ty asked. “Quite the opposite, I’d say.”
“I would like to have spent more time with you than I’ve been able to so far. Everyone in the world wants to know Ty Hunter. I have the chance and don’t take sufficient advantage of it. Never mind, we’ll make up for it in the days to come. In fact, why don’t you come up to my deck and we can have a drink now? Unless, of course, you have other plans.”
Ty shook his head. “Not one,” he said. “I’m yours.”
Once inside his study, Ian pointed to a leather Queen Anne chair. “What will you have?” he asked.
“It’s too early for a martini. Perhaps a glass of champagne?”
“That would do nicely, wouldn’t it?” Ian pressed a button.
Crispin’s Caribbean voice came over an invisible speaker. “Yes, Mr. Santal.”
“Two glasses of champagne, please,” Ian told him.
“I hope you don’t mind, I Googled you,” Ian said. “Not to pry, but because I was so intrigued to have you aboard. I must tell you that I’ve never seen so many pages devoted to one person in my life.”
Ty felt a sudden tightness in his chest, a deep internal chill. He said, “They’re not all gospel.”
“I’m sure they aren’t, but if even half of what they say is true, it’s been quite a ride, has it not?”
“For which I’m very grateful,” Ty parried.
“I hadn’t realized you’d been discovered whilst you were still in the army.”
“That part’s true.” The question at once convinced Ty that he would have no choice but to act his way out of Ian’s trap—if it was a trap rather than an expression of genuine curiosity. As they spoke, Ty kept his eyes fastened on Ian’s, endeavoring to determine the probability that he had found Ty out.
“What did you do in the army?”
“Hurried up and waited, isn’t that how the old saying goes?”
“What branch were you in?”
Ian Santal was far too sophisticated to raise this question idly. “Intelligence,” Ty replied, making the word seem as banal as he could. He ought to have anticipated this, he thought. The President and George Kenneth and Oliver Molyneux ought to have anticipated it. After all, Ty’s life was largely an open book. Hadn’t it been naïve to suppose that Santal would not bother to read through it? On the other hand, perhaps they had anticipated exactly this turn of events yet felt sure that Ty could make his own story appear less dramatic than it was. Until the President had approached him at Camp David, he’d had no connection to the army or any branch of the government since his discharge. Anyone who searched for one would search in vain. Intelligence, moreover, was a large branch and by itself indicated little. Few of its members were operatives, and the special operations in which Ty had participated kept only the most secret of records. All he had to do was maintain his calm, admit what was true, and in doing so make it seem that that was all there was.
“Intelligence,” Ian pressed on, “can be a very . . . dangerous place to be. I remember a colleague long ago telling me that the life expectancy of an American second lieutenant in the intelligence corps was fifteen minutes. That was in the days of Vietnam and even then doubtless an exaggeration, but one that nonetheless hinted at a larger truth. That lieutenant, after all, would probably have served as a forward interrogator, wouldn’t he? He would have gone out pretty much alone behind enemy lines.”
Calmly, Ty nodded in agreement. “Very likely, he would have.”
“And in Afghanistan? Or in Iraq?”
“The landscapes were different, the principle the same.”
“When you were there?”
“Yes. After all hell broke loose.”
“Fighting the so-called War on Terror, a war on a tactic?”
“For better or worse,” Ty sai
d, “that’s been the world post-9/11, hasn’t it?”
“Technology drives history,” Ian instructed him. “It’s a divine law of nature, not subject to repeal. About certain things and certain trends, at the end of the day one must be a fatalist.”
“I hope you’re wrong about that,” Ty said with a carefully measured sense of irony. “The future’s a pretty scary one if you aren’t.”
“The future is and always has been scary,” Ian mused, “but it has always come to pass. Strength creates resistance that in turn creates strength and so on. The world survives because, before it’s too late, people inevitably find an equilibrium point from which they can manage to stand each other off, just as we, as individuals, survive by finding a similar point at which our warring instincts cancel out each other.”
Ty sipped his champagne, his eye momentarily caught by Ian’s splendid parquet gaming table. The older man’s proclivity for games was all too apparent in the conversation they were having now. “Clearly this is a subject you’ve been thinking about for a long time,” he conjectured.
“Most of my adult life,” Ian assured him. “I know I am thought of, if I’m thought of at all, as a man of action—in the marketplace, of course. In my own mind, however, I’m more of a philosopher. My actions are based on a rigorous logic that I’ve struggled hard to develop over the years. That logic tempers what I observe, experience and learn in any other way.
“Enough of this. You are the man of the moment. Tell me about Ty Hunter.”
“You seem to know a lot already. Are you sure you want to hear more?”
“Doesn’t everyone? Especially from the horse’s mouth? For example, do you miss being a soldier?”
“Not at all,” Ty said. “Apart from my accident, I enjoyed it, but not that much. Everything has its day, and I caught a break. I’d be nuts to pine for the past.”
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