by Stuart Woods
“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?”
“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 h
e 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.
He went to the garage, started his vehicle and drove down the mountain, heading over the hills into Markstown. He drove through the hilly streets, his headlights off, past the apartment building where Marcel duBois lived, and up a small hill to a little park that overlooked the residence. He pushed through some bushes to a five-foot wall made of coral, checked his sight lines and walked himself mentally through the shot. All was ready, though he reckoned he would have no more than five seconds from the time duBois left his building until he entered his car.
He would be ready. He glanced at his watch. If he got to bed early, he’d get a good seven hours of sleep before the alarm went off. He got back into the vehicle and headed back to Black Mountain.
Stone and his party lingered over coffee, enjoying the pleasant night air. Thomas came and joined them, bringing a bottle of brandy and some glasses.
“Thomas,” Stone said, “is life going to be easier, with Colonel Croft out of your hair?”
“It’s going to be cheaper for a while, until his replacement, duBois, finds his feet, but soon enough, he’ll be around with his hand out, and I’ll have to pay.”
“That’s a permanent condition, then?”
“The cost of doing business. You know, our native folks would be embarrassed to ask a bribe from someone; that’s why I think Sir Winston hired the two Haitians. Their experience at extracting blood from stones runs long and deep.”
“The St. Marksian reluctance to bribe doesn’t seem to extend to Sir Winston.”
“No, once political power is achieved, embarrassment vanishes. Sir Winston just looks at the money as his due.” Thomas smiled. “But taxes are low, and so is labor, so it all evens out. I’ll get by.”
They all raised their glasses and drank their cognac.
54
Lance sat in the study of his new house, surrounded by boxes of unpacked books, and read one. He needed to clear his head of work, he knew, so he’d be fresh tomorrow, when he started reading operations files again. Still, Holly’s non-communica
tion nagged at him. He dialed her satphone number again and waited: no answer. Then, just on the off-chance, he called his office number and entered the codes for his voicemail.
Holly’s voice came through clearly; she had done everything he’d instructed her to and had come up with nothing. Pemberton and Weatherby were dry holes. She finished with a plea for the jet to pick them up. That didn’t concern Lance, since Carolyn would have already notified her. Having e-mailed her Mona Barry’s photographs, he had done all he could do, too. He hung up, took a deep breath and gave himself over gratefully to Winston Churchill’s account of World War II tank operations in North Africa.
Teddy woke five minutes before the alarm would have gone off. He dressed, brushed his teeth, went to his workshop, grabbed the sniper’s rifle and went outside to his vehicle. Twenty minutes later, he was climbing the hill that overlooked duBois’s apartment building. He parked among some other vehicles, walked into the park and looked carefully around. The sun was not up yet, and the place was deserted. He made his way through the bushes to the coral wall and opened the rifle case.
He fastened the stock to the gun and screwed in the silencer and, first making sure that no one could see him, laid the weapon on top of the wall while he set up a small tripod. Then he hoisted himself up and sat on the wall, waiting for sun.
The sunlight illuminated the top of the building first, then began working its way down as the orb rose. Teddy saw some movement inside the penthouse. He didn’t know in which apartment duBois lived, but he hopped down from the wall and sighted through the powerful scope. He saw movement again, a figure crossing a room behind some sheer curtains.
Then, in an amazing stroke of luck for Teddy, a sliding glass door opened, and duBois, wearing pajamas, stepped into the sunshine striking his deck. Teddy perfected his aim and waited for the man to stop moving.
DuBois took a few steps, then stopped and spread his arms in a great stretch, yawning. Teddy squeezed off the round and saw the red plume from the chest as the tip of the.223 bullet exploded. DuBois staggered backward and fell into the plate glass door behind him, smashing it.
