Spy Who Jumped Off the Screen : A Novel (9781101565766)

by Caplan, Thomas

  “Sometimes one thing, sometimes the other, sometimes something else entirely.”

  “I see,” Philip said. “Play this role well and you will be handsomely compensated.”

  “Instruct me and I will do my best.”

  “Now I want you to put on the panama trilby you see on the seat of that chair by the door through which you came in. I’ll adjust the angle for you and the brim. Once that’s done, you will take it off, hold it in your left hand and not put it on again until the very instant you leave this building. When you do put it on, arrange it exactly as I have shown you. My car will be waiting for you. It is a dark blue Mercedes S600 with Gib number plates and tinted windows. Assume the owner’s seat, rear right, as though you’ve never sat anywhere else. Breathe deeply, pause, then collect the newspaper you will find folded in the seat-back pocket in front of you and begin to read it. The driver knows what to do. He will take you on a circuit of the harbor and airfield. Whenever the car stops and it seems appropriate to do so, retract the window, but before you do, be certain you are wearing these,” Philip said, handing his impersonator a leather case bearing a pair of custom-made Italian sunglasses. “Choose a ship or an aircraft, look at it intensely for a moment, as if you are trying to discern what is going on aboard it, then raise the window as if you’ve satisfied yourself. That’s all there is to it. It should not be a difficult assignment.”

  “No,” agreed the young man, “it won’t be.”

  “One more thing,” Philip added, with a transient smile, “say as little as possible.”

  “Understood,” said the German.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” Philip told him, and with that retreated to the reception room where two secretaries were seated at opposing desks.

  “I shall be going out shortly for a few hours to see to some business,” Philip instructed them. “Should Miss Cavill come by in the meantime, please ring me at once. Ask her to make herself at home in the office. It is, after all, hers. She may be alone, or she may have Mr. Hunter with her.” Philip watched the secretaries carefully, wondering if they, too, had already seen the video of Ty and Isabella’s embrace. “One more thing,” he said. “I wonder if you could round up the files relating to Mr. Santal’s last venture with Sir Timothy Fan Dang Foo.”

  “That would have been a while ago,” replied the buxom woman whose desk faced Ian Santal’s office. “They’d be upstairs in the records room.”

  “Not to worry.” Philip smiled. He had expected that she, the office’s unofficial archivist, would be the first to answer. “If you could have them on my desk when I return, I’d be grateful.”

  “I’ll just go and have a look,” she told him.

  “Thank you,” Philip said.

  Back in his office, he addressed the young man. “We’re almost ready. If you would excuse us for a moment,” he said, indicating the dressing room in which the man had recently changed.

  The man withdrew immediately.

  When he had, Philip beckoned Andrej toward his desk. “Ready?” he inquired.

  “The men are in place,” Andrej told him.

  “What about the incendiary device?”

  “All neatly tucked away in the bottom drawer of that campaign chest,” Andrej said, pointing to the brass-trimmed walnut cube at the center of an interior wall.

  “And you’ve changed the office access codes?”

  “Not yet, but they’ve been prepared. When you call the number you have for the device, you will not only trigger a twelve-second countdown to detonation but effect the change of access codes and thus enforce a barrier in both directions. No one will be able to enter or leave this room without them.”

  “That’s good. The fire will purge any record of the change, of course.”

  “Exactly and there will be no record anywhere else. It will also devour any clue as to its origin.”

  “The fire is a necessary piece of business, Andrej. Certain things must be erased, and it will erase them. In the process it should also serve to confuse the curious, which is to our advantage. One thing it most definitely is not, however, is a crime of passion.”

  “Of course not,” Andrej dissembled. “For it to be that, you would have to be overcome by a passion you don’t feel.”

  “Just so,” Philip said. “In any event, I shall miss you, Andrej. It has been fun, hasn’t it?”

  Andrej nodded. “You will always be welcome at my villa.”

  “Yes, well, when you’ve finally bought it, let me know, and I may take you up on that. There are some lovely women in the South of France. In the meantime, I’ve downloaded everything I need off site,” explained Philip, walking slowly toward then rapping gently on the door to the dressing room. “So, all that remains is for you to escort our young friend out.

  “Take this iPhone,” Philip told the young man when he emerged.

  “It’s brand-new, isn’t it?” remarked the young man.

  “I bought it and one just like it this morning. Don’t talk into it. Rather hold it intently, as though you are listening to something important and can’t be distracted. Give a quick and friendly wave to the secretary in the next room as you pass her, but don’t stop. She will see only the back of your head if you move quickly. The woman who ordinarily faces her has gone on a fool’s errand, so you’ll have no trouble standing in for me once you hit the street.”

  When the young man and Andrej had left, Philip returned to the dressing room, where he carefully removed all his clothing except for his shorts and folded it into a duffel. From a second duffel, he removed a pair of peacock blue Bermuda shorts, a pair of swim trunks to substitute for undershorts, a white tennis shirt, a rope belt and a pair of Top-Sider deck shoes, which he put on without socks. At Ian’s desk he proceeded to load the second duffel with the three slim attaché cases bearing the gems that Sheik al-Awad had purchased from Guardi, the same ones that had been delivered to Isabella both at Pond House and shipboard and that Philip had taken from Surpass that morning. Then, balancing one bag in either hand, he beat his retreat through the cavernous gallery that led to a spiral of old stone stairs that eventually emerged at the base of the Rock.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Ty Hunter looked in the mirror, then at Isabella and laughed. The wardrobe available at NATO HQ on a moment’s notice had been limited and, emerging from the ladies’ and gentlemen’s cloakrooms almost simultaneously, they found themselves dressed identically, in blue sneakers, white socks, pressed khakis, web belts with brass buckles and navy blue, short-sleeved madras shirts that constituted the post’s unofficial summer civilian dress.

  “Fancy a G&T?” inquired Ty.

  “I think I’d rather a Pimm’s,” replied Isabella.

  “Next joke,” said Oliver. “You wasted a lot of precious time in those showers.”

  “Three minutes,” Ty said, “tops.”

  “I took no more than two,” Isabella countered.

  “Easy, Ollie,” Ty said. “If we’re going to play these roles, we have to look the part. I don’t know about Isabella, but that shower is in my rider.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I beg your pardon. For a moment I forgot. It’s not what you do that matters, but how you look doing it.”

  “You’ve got it,” Ty said. “When this is all over, if we’re still alive, you should come back to L.A. with me. I’m pretty sure Netty would take you on.”

  Amused but not distracted by Ty’s suggestion, Oliver pressed, “On the way over here, you said you had an idea.”

  “It’s a long shot,” Ty said, “but Isabella’s right. There might be a way I could get through to President White without going through George Kenneth.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “What time is it there?”

  “Washington’s six hours behind us, so it must be almo
st eight-thirty in the morning.”

  “A lot’s happened while they were sleeping,” Ty mused. “Do you have a number for the White House?”

  “I have Kenneth’s direct number and his mobile, but not a number for the switchboard.”

  “Never mind, it shouldn’t be that difficult to find,” Ty said, already maneuvering the touch pad of the new BlackBerry Oliver had given him. When he had found it, he tapped in the number and waited. As the recording played, he looked up and repeated it out loud. “‘If you know your party’s extension, you may enter it now. Otherwise please remain on the line.’ If I knew it,” he said with a wry smile, “would I—Oh, hello, yes, good afternoon, or good morning rather. This is Ty Hunter. I wonder if you could connect me with Daphne White.”

  “Did you say your name was Ty Hunter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does Miss White know you?”

  “She does. I recently visited the family at Camp David.”

  “I’m afraid Miss White is unavailable at the moment,” replied the White House operator.

  “Most teenagers are unavailable at this hour once school’s let out for the summer,” Ty said. “It is very important I speak with her.”

  “You said you were a guest at Camp David. Let me see if we have a number for you, then. Yes, here it is. You’re John Tyler Hunter, is that right?”

  ‘Yes.”

  “And is your number still the same?”

  “Actually, it’s not,” Ty said. “That phone was damaged. What’s my new number?” he asked, gesturing to Oliver, then fumbling until his friend had written it out for him.

  The operator said, “Could you tell me, please, what your old number was?”

  “Of course, but it doesn’t work any longer.”

  “I’m sure you understand that we have to confirm that you really are Ty Hunter. Sorry for the trouble.”

  “Of course,” Ty said, drawing a breath as he gave her his old, unpublished number.

  “I’ll leave word for Miss White with the Ushers’ Office,” the operator said. “Can she reach you at your new number?”

  “Yes,” Ty replied, “she can. And please tell her that it’s urgent.”

  “I already have. And, Mr. Hunter, my husband and I both loved The Boy Who Understood Women.”

  “Thank you,” Ty said as he hung up.

  “Nothing beats a try but a failure,” Oliver said.

  “It’s too soon to call it that,” Ty told him. “While we wait for a teenager to wake up, we should do something useful.”

  “The boys who know what to look for are looking for it,” Oliver said, “and so far the geeks are in chains. I feel helpless, and I don’t like feeling helpless.”

  “Where’s your on-site geek?” Ty asked.

  “Bingo? He’s just down the hall. Why?”

  “I’d like to borrow him for a while.”

  “Are you going to let me in on your plan?” asked Oliver.

  “Or me?” added Isabella.

  “You and I,” Ty told her, “are going to a pay our dear friend Philip a visit.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “More than that, it’s necessary. The clue we need, if there is one, is most likely in Ian’s office.”

  Isabella frowned. “What’s Bingo’s role?” she asked.

  “Bloodhound,” Ty said.

  At which moment Oliver’s mobile rang. He listened with concern, said only “Thank you” to the caller, then, after he had disconnected, said, “Frost’s been spotted.”

  “Goody,” Ty said, “where?”

  “By the western edge of the harbor,” Oliver said. “He’s keeping an eye on one of the barges.”

  “Where are your men?” Isabella asked.

  “Searching it,” Oliver told her.

  “That sounds promising.”

  Oliver’s phone rang again. This conversation was even briefer than the first. The instant it concluded, he said, “Frost’s moved on.”

  “Have they lost him?”

  “No, he’s checking out another barge—at least that’s what they think.” He paused. “Three warheads, three vessels,” Oliver said. “It makes sense in a way.”

  “Or does it?” Ty countered.

  “We’ll miss Philip if we go to the office,” Isabella said.

  “So much the better,” Ty said.

  Oliver said, “We’re missing something. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t shake this feeling that it’s important.”

  “Or maybe we’re taking too much on board,” Ty said. “It’s not like Philip to expose himself.”

  “Isabella?” Oliver asked.

  “The Philip I know would gloat in private,” she replied.

  “Exactly,” Ty agreed.

  “You two and Bingo go to the office,” Oliver said, “find out what you can there. I’ll shadow Frost.”

  “We’ll need a protocol,” Ty said.

  “Keep the GPS on your BlackBerrys on,” Oliver said. “We’ll text each other every fifteen minutes. GHU will mean no change. D, for ‘delta,’ will mean change, to be elaborated by e-mail or voice.”

  “What does GHU stand for?” Isabella asked.

  “‘God help us,’” Oliver said. “I’ll chase up Bingo for you, then we’re off.”

  “Right,” Ty said. “Let’s cover ground before it covers us!”

  They were still in their navy car a few minutes away from Ian’s office when Ty’s phone rang. “White House operator,” said a male voice. “Is this Mr. Ty Hunter?”

  Ty held up a finger to silence Isabella and Bingo, who were chatting about computer-aided design software. “This is he,” Ty said.

  “I have Miss Daphne White calling for you. Please hold.”

  Ty heard a quick beep, after which the operator said, “Miss White,” and Daphne’s high, adolescent voice came immediately on the line. “Hi, Ty,” she said. “This is a surprise. I mean, when the ushers told me you’d called, I was like, ‘Get out of here, I can’t believe it!’ How are you? Are you well?”

  “I’m fine,” Ty said. “I hope you are.”

  “I’m good,” Daphne said. “Are you coming to Washington? I hope that’s why you’re calling.”

  “One day,” Ty said. “I’m not exactly sure when.”

  Daphne paused. “That’s too bad,” she said finally.

  “Look, Daphne. I hate to bother you with this, but it is very important that I talk to your father and that no one on his staff knows I’m talking to him.”

  “Why?” Daphne asked, her tone abruptly suspicious.

  “I can’t tell you that,” Ty said. “I wish I could.”

  “That sounds strange.”

  “Can you get a message to him?”

  “Of course I can. He’s my father. Anyway, he’s off campus at the moment, giving a speech at a breakfast somewhere.”

  “In D.C.?”

  “Yes.”

  “When he comes back, would you ask him to phone me on this number?”

  “I have a question I want to ask you first, though, okay?”

  “Sure,” Ty told her.

  “I mean, like, is this very important because he’s the President, or is it more a personal thing?”

  “The former,” Ty said. “It’s not personal at all.”

  “Okay, then,” Daphne said, “why not?”

  “Remember,” Ty said, “only he should know about this, and he should not get anyone else involved until we’ve spoken.”

  “I heard you the first time,” Daphne said. “Where are you anyway? Those sirens in the background sound foreign.”

  “Gibraltar,” Ty said.

  “That’s awesome,” Daphne said. “I’ve
never been there.”

  In the courtyard outside the front entrance to Ian Santal’s office, in the shade of an umbrella raised above an empty café table, Ty huddled with Bingo and Isabella. “What would you like to do that you haven’t been able to?” he asked Bingo.

  “The simplest thing, as I explained to Oliver, would be to jigger the accounts.”

  “To which Washington has responded that you could bring down the world’s financial system in the process?”

  “They’re politicians,” Bingo said with unmasked exasperation. “Which is another way of saying that they’re natural-born critics. Most of them can barely navigate Windows or OS X. They have no idea how elegantly what I want to do can be done. At the same time you hoover the funds, you make it look like a simple computer error. All that your victim, if he’s legitimate, would have to do in that case would be to spot the error and ask for it to be corrected. Pas de problème! Now, if he’s not legitimate and it’s going to raise a lot of eyebrows when he asks for his missing tens of billions that he can’t account for having had in the first place, then damn straight it’s going to cause his ulcer to bleed.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Ty said, and followed Isabella into the discreet entrance.

  In Ian’s outer office, both secretaries welcomed the impromptu trio. The more slender and severe of the two, whose desk was just outside Ian’s door, said, “Mr. Frost had to step out for a moment, but before he did, he especially asked that I make you comfortable.”

  “That’s very kind,” Isabella said, glancing warily at Ty.

  “Did he say how long he would be?” Ty asked.

  “I’m afraid he didn’t, but he’s not long usually. Gibraltar’s a small place. He did ask me to ring him on his mobile when you arrived. Or, if you’d like, you could ring him.”

  Isabella smiled. “Let’s wait a few minutes,” she suggested. “It would be much nicer to surprise him.”

  “I wouldn’t want to get crossways with him,” the secretary said. “He seemed to be expecting you. Are you sure you’ll be able to surprise him?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Isabella said, her inflection suddenly proprietary. “Let’s give it that long, if you don’t mind.”