by Stuart Woods
“He has been in for dinner.” Thomas looked at Stone. “Are you thinking he might be your man?”
“It’s a possibility; do you have an opinion?”
Thomas shrugged. “I’ve seen the man only once; he spoke with a very good British accent.”
Holly, Dino and Genevieve arrived in the bar, and Stone let the matter drop.
22
They ordered drinks and sipped them while Thomas tended to other guests. “Who was the man in the black suit?” Holly asked.
“That was the fabled Colonel Croft,” Stone said, “and I’m glad you didn’t get to meet him.”
“Why?”
“A very creepy person, and by all accounts, very dangerous. He also has a bit of an accent that I can’t place. He doesn’t sound like the other islanders.”
“So he’s the one who’s bugging our cottage?”
“I think we can assume that. I’m afraid I sort of put my foot in it with him.”
“How so?”
“We were talking about the tourist trade here, and I told him I’d heard that it would be expanded by the arrival of casinos. He didn’t like hearing me say that.”
“Why not? It seems innocuous enough.”
“According to Thomas, it’s a closely guarded secret,” Stone said.
“But Harry Pitts told us about it at Irene’s; if it’s so secret, how does he know about it?”
“It struck me that Harry was extremely well informed about just about everything to do with St. Marks-especially for someone who’s only been here for a few days.”
“Irene must have brought him up to date,” Dino suggested.
“Perhaps,” Stone said, “but from here on in, don’t mention the casino business to anybody. I don’t want to raise any more red flags with the colonel. And Holly, when you talk to Lance tomorrow ask him to find out what he can about the gentleman.”
The following morning at ten, Holly called Lance. “What did you find out about Robertson?” she asked.
“Very interesting,” Lance said. “Mr. Ian Robertson doesn’t exist. He doesn’t have a British passport, he doesn’t have a driver’s license, he doesn’t have an airplane registered in his name in the U.K., and he doesn’t have a birth certificate.”
“But there must be a number of people by that name in the U.K.; it sounds like it could be very common.”
“There are around two dozen,” Lance said, “but none of them squares with any of the information about himself that Mr. Pemberton gave to the St. Marks housing authority when he made application to buy a house here. Foreigners have to apply for permission to buy. None of the other Robertsons are his age, which he says is fifty-seven, none of them have his middle name, which he says is Osmond, and none of them owns an airplane. All of them, however, have driver’s licenses, and most of them have passports. The airplane registration number you gave me belongs to an airplane that has been removed from the British Registry and listed as destroyed in a fire.”
“I see. Lance, how did you come up with the information from the St. Marks housing office?”
“That brings me to another matter,” Lance said. “Write down this phone number.”
Holly found a pen and paper in her bag. “Shoot.”
Lance gave her the number. “It’s a cell phone; call that number at twelve-fifteen P.M. sharp, today, from your satphone. A man named Bill Pepper will answer. Make an appointment to meet with him.”
“Okay. Who is he?”
“He’s one of ours, planted in an offshore casino there as a computer programmer. You may be of help to each other.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about him before?”
“It wasn’t necessary for you to know about him before.”
“Then why now?”
“Stop asking questions,” Lance said sharply. “Meet him; see what you can do for each other.”
“There’s something else,” Holly said.
“What?”
“Stone wants to know about a man in the St. Marks Home Office named Colonel Croft.”
“Ask Bill Pepper about him. Good-bye.”
Holly joined the others on the beach and reported on her conversation with Lance.
“I don’t get it,” Stone said. “If Lance already has a man in St. Marks, why did he send us down here?”
“How the hell should I know?” Holly said irritably.
“Take it easy; I’m curious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m curious. I’m sorry if I was short, but Lance was very irritating. He’s usually very smooth and courteous.”
“Maybe something else is eating him.”
“I had the impression that he was introducing me to this Bill Pepper very reluctantly.”
“Well, if the guy is working undercover in one of the Internet casinos, maybe he’s concerned about blowing him.”
“Yeah, okay; maybe he was just in a bad mood,” Holly said.
At precisely twelve-fifteen, Holly dialed the number she had been given.
“Yes?”
“It’s Holly Barker.”
“My wife and I will be at the inn for dinner at eight this evening; I’ll be wearing a bright green linen jacket. At nine-fifteen, before the dessert course, I’ll go to the men’s room. You wait until I’m gone, then walk past the ladies’ room and out into the parking lot. I’ll be sitting in a white Toyota Avalon; join me. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He hung up.
23
Holly made sure her group was already seated for dinner when Bill Pepper and his wife arrived. They were placed three or four tables away, but the bright green linen jacket marked him well. He was in his late thirties, blondish hair, the very picture of the young American businessman.
Holly and the others talked through dinner about everything but why they were there-Robertson and the colonel. Holly was worried that even the tables might be bugged.
At nine-fifteen, Pepper rose from his chair and, ignoring them, walked out of the dining room toward the men’s room. Holly waited the prescribed minute, then headed for the ladies’. At the end of the hallway, past the restrooms, she opened a door with a big red “EXIT” sign over it and stepped into the parking lot. It took a moment for her eyes to become used to the darkness, then, a few yards away, the overhead light went on in a car, then went off again. She made her way to the white Avalon and got in. “I’m Holly Barker,” she said, offering her hand.
“Bill Pepper,” he said, shaking it.
“Is that a trade name?”
“Probably. What do you want to know?”
“Have you found out anything more about this Robertson? Or about Pemberton or Weatherby?”
“I think-and this isn’t official opinion yet, since not enough people at Langley agree-that Robertson, as he calls himself, is an Englishman named Barney Cox, who Scotland Yard believes is one of four men who robbed a shipment of money at Heathrow Airport about nine months ago. They got away with something over a hundred million pounds sterling.”
“I read about that in the papers; I didn’t know the police there had identified them.”
“‘Identified’ is too strong a word. All they know for sure is that Cox disappeared simultaneously with the robbery, and they only know that because his wife made a missing persons report a day later.”
“Did she have any information about the robbery?”
“No; all she knew was that her husband went to work one day and didn’t come back. They had been married for more than thirty years and had two grown children.”
“Did he have a criminal record?”
“No, he was an ordinary civilian; he sold computers to businesses. In fact, he was director of sales for his company.”
“Why do you think Robertson is Barney Cox?”
“Description, timing, money, and the fact that he says he’s retired from the computer business, which, if he is Cox, is a stupid thing to say.”
“Do you have any other possible identities in mind f
or him?”
“Well, I don’t think he’s the Lindbergh baby; did you have somebody else in mind?”
“Not really.”
“Then what are you doing in St. Marks?”
“I take it Lance didn’t tell you.”
“No, but he didn’t tell me not to ask, either.”
“Don’t ask.”
“Okay, sure.”
“And what you’ve just told me is as much as you have for thinking Robertson is Barney Cox?”
Pepper threw up his hands. “Lance told me to tell you what I know about him; that’s what I know and what I think. Oh, I forgot, he has a false identity, which is what Barney Cox would have, too. Anything else?”
“Tell me about Colonel Croft.”
“Ah, now there’s a piece of work. His real name is Maurice Benet, and he’s Haitian.”
“That explains the odd accent.”
“It explains a lot of things. When Benet was twenty, he was a captain in Papa Doc’s Tonton Macoutes. You know about them?”
“The Haitian secret police?”
“They were a happy band of murderers and torturers, whose main job was to scare the shit out of anybody who had a discouraging word to say about Papa Doc or his regime. They did this by kidnapping, torturing and murdering anybody who annoyed them, then delivering the mutilated corpse home to the family.”
“How did he end up in St. Marks?”
“When Baby Doc’s regime fell, Benet and a cohort of his escaped the island with a large bundle of various currencies and island-hopped for a while, ending up here, in the happy arms of Sir Winston Sutherland. Sutherland found a place in the police force for him and his buddy, and he’s been clawing his way up ever since. He’s been a little more restrained than when he was in Haiti, but he’s matured, I guess. He still scares the shit out of people, though.”
“How did you identify him?”
“I followed him into a bar and got his right index fingerprint off a bar glass. It’s confirmed; there’s no guessing about this guy.”
“Is he wanted anywhere?”
“Sure, he’s wanted in Haiti, but that place is such a mess they probably wouldn’t know what to do if he turned up on a street corner in Port-au-Prince.”
“How’d you get hold of Robertson’s application for buying a house?”
“I’ve been hacking into the government computers almost since I arrived here a year ago. I can find out just about anything you’d want to know, and a great deal you wouldn’t want to know.”
“I want to know if Colonel Croft has any real interest in our party.”
“If you’re here, he’s interested. I hope to God you didn’t yank out those bugs on your phones, because if you did, he’s going to be all over you.”
“I didn’t; they’re still in place; we’re just being careful what we say when we’re in the house.”
“I hear you’ve been up to Irene Foster’s.”
“Yes.”
“She’s probably bugged, too; did you say anything indiscreet there?”
“Certainly not, and I don’t think she’s bugged, because when Stone Barrington happened to mention to the colonel he’d heard that casinos were going to start opening here, Croft got tense. We heard about that from Irene’s buddy Harry Pitts at her house, and if she had been bugged, Croft would already have known about our conversations there.”
Pepper checked his watch. “I’ve got to get back,” he said. “If I stay any longer, my wife’s going to think I’m fucking you.”
Holly laughed. “She sounds like a suspicious woman; she must have cause.”
“Let’s not go into that.” He handed Holly a card. “That’s my satphone number; I’ve got one just like yours. Have you noticed that there’s a scrambler button on it?”
“Yes, but Lance hasn’t told me to use it.”
“When you call me, use it. You can reach me any day at twelve-thirty P.M. for five minutes. No other time.”
“Got it,” Holly said, tucking the card into her bra.
“Give me a minute before you go back to the restaurant.” He got out of the car and returned to the dining room.
Holly waited, then joined the others. Pepper was paying his check and leaving.
“Interesting?” Stone asked.
“I’ll tell you when we’re out of here,” she said.
24
Bill Pepper and his wife, Annie, paid their check and left the inn.
“So, did you fuck her?” Annie asked.
“I would have, if I’d had the time.”
“I thought so.”
They were quiet for a while.
“Did you think she was attractive?”
“You got a look at her; what do you think?”
“I think she’s attractive.”
“Well, I won’t be seeing her again; we’ll talk only on the satphone.”
“Satphone sex!”
“Scrambled satphone sex!”
They both laughed. They arrived home and got undressed for bed.
“I’ve got to call in,” he said to his wife. “Anything you want to pass on?” She was Agency, too.
“Not to Lance Cabot,” she said.
“You’d better start being nice to him.”
“You think he’s going to get the job?”
“I think he will if this Holly Barker’s assignment pans out.”
“What’s her assignment?”
“This is between you and me, okay? Nobody else ever hears about it.”
She fluffed her pillow and got into bed. “Okay.”
“Lance sent her down here to find Teddy Fay.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“I kid you not.”
“Lance thinks he’s still alive?”
“The Director thinks he might be still alive, and that’s enough.”
She shook her head. “Hang on a minute while I connect the dots.” She was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I can’t connect the dots.”
“The dots run all the way to the president; does that help?”
Her eyebrows went up. “Ooooh; reelection!”
“You’ve just connected the dots.”
“Why don’t they just leave well enough alone? Nobody else is looking for him.”
“I’ll bet you a blow job the FBI still is.”
“I won’t take that bet,” she said. “Teddy got away from them twice; Director Bob must be pissed off.”
“Yeah, and he’s the kind of guy who, once he’s pissed off, stays pissed off, until somebody makes him happy.”
“You think they’d arrest Teddy if they found him?”
“My guess is, not until after the election. After all, it was Will Lee who pulled Director Bob out of the ranks and gave him the big job. The guy must have some sense of gratitude.”
“You’d think.”
“Ms. Barker thinks this guy, Robertson, might be Teddy Fay.”
“The one you think is the escaped airport bandit?”
“I’m right; I know I am.”
“Excuse me, but aren’t you the guy who thought that coffee merchant in Cairo was Osama bin Laden?”
“That has nothing to do with this. Besides, the guy was very tall. And he had a beard.”
“Right. So tell me why you think Robertson isn’t Teddy Fay.”
“Instinct.”
“Uh-oh, instinct. You should never follow your instincts, darling. Let me guess, Robertson looks like Teddy.”
“He looks like the description of Teddy that Lance gave Holly Barker.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Come on, Billy, use your noodle a little; just consider it. What about Robertson conflicts with what’s known about Teddy Fay?”
Pepper was silent. “Teddy wouldn’t be stupid enough to use an identity that couldn’t be confirmed.”
“Nothing else, huh?”
“Not much.”
“Name some little thing about R
obertson that conflicts with his being Teddy.”
“His identity doesn’t check out, okay? All right, nothing else, but nothing conflicts with his being Barney Cox, either.”
“Tell me, in your wildest dreams, who would you rather be responsible for bringing in: Barney Cox or Teddy Fay?”
“Well, Barney Cox, of course. If I brought in Teddy Fay, nobody would ever know; Langley would sit on it.”
“Lance would know, and if he gets the DDO job, that would be nice.”
“Yeah, but only Lance would know, and suppose he doesn’t get the job?”
“The director would know, and that means the president would know.”
“Why do you think that? You think Lance would tell her if I busted Teddy? He’d see that he and his acolyte, Barker, got the credit; then he’d get credit for sending her down here. And the director wouldn’t tell the president until he’s out of office. He wouldn’t want to know a thing like that.”
“You have a point.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe we’d get a nice transfer out of it?”
“What’s wrong with St. Marks? I’m working practically alone-ah, with the woman I love-in my very own country; I have nobody local breathing down my neck, except the guy at the embassy. And you’re having the time of your life; your tennis game has never been better.”
“If we were a couple of years from retirement, St. Marks would be heaven,” she said. “But we have careers ahead of us. In another year, Langley will forget we’re here, and we’ll be left to rot on the vine. But if you could make Robertson as Barney Cox, the Brits would love you for it; maybe you could join MI6.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. Think of some way we can make hay out of Barney Cox.”
“If we were the police, we’d be world-famous in an instant, have our pictures in every newspaper in the world, but that’s not who we are, is it? If we’re responsible for busting Cox, only the Agency is going to know; Langley is not even going to tell the Brits.”
“They’d be very pleased if we busted Cox for the Brits. They could lord it over MI6 for years.”
“Well, there is that. All right, you want me to see what I can find out at the tennis club?”