“While I was away, I asked about your other friend, Martin. There’s good news. We were right. He’s alive.”
“Martin Kessler?” Aisha beamed. “I knew it. Where is he?”
“Far away. But he’s alive. He is most certainly alive.”
“Does Elizabeth know? Can Elizabeth find him?”
“It’s Elizabeth who told me. That was my other stop.”
“Wait a minute,” said Aisha. “You can do that?”
“Do what?”
“That. Make these stops. Popping into peoples’ heads.”
“More or less. Isn’t that what I’m doing with you?”
“Yes, mother, but I’m dreaming.”
“So was she.”
THIRTY SIX
It was one in the morning, Angola time, when Jose Matala was awakened by his phone. The interior minister switched on a light and dragged the receiver to his ear. He looked at his alarm clock and asked, speaking Portuguese, “Why am I called at this hour?”
An accented voice said, “Wake up. Clear your head. This is Alameo calling. Speak English.”
Matala gasped in surprise; he glanced at his wife. She appeared to be still sound asleep. He whispered, “Alameo? What…what is it that you want?”
“You will extend my courtesies to Artemus Bourne and then you will give him this message. You will tell him that I am coming for him. But first I will set VaalChem ablaze.”
Matala said, “Listen…that message he sent you. I have only passed it on. I know nothing of this woman and this girl.”
“His message did reach me. It disturbed my rest briefly. But then I soon learned that Mr. Bourne is a liar…”
“Oh, yes. A liar. He cannot be trusted.”
“Nor can you, you toady. But you will do this for me. Bourne’s threat was empty. More than that, it was stupid. But the mere fact that it even entered his mind to harm that innocent child…”
“This was bad,” said Matala. “I said that to him. When he told me, I said, ‘This is bad. Very bad.’ You can ask him. This is what I told him.”
“Make the call.”
“It is…true that you are going to set VaalChem ablaze? Might I ask when this is intended?”
“What you’re asking is whether you have time to pack your bags and get to the airport in Luanda. What you’re asking is whether it is time to go abroad and visit the money you have stolen from your people.”
“Stolen? Not so. I am a modest civil servant.”
“Oh, shut up, Matala. Make the call.”
Bourne answered the ring when he saw the name of Jose Matala on his read-out. He listened as Matala gave an account of his stalwart performance against Kessler.
“He called you are liar. I said he is the liar. He said your threat was empty. I said his threat was empty.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Bourne. “I’m sure that put him in his place. He said he’s about to set fire to VaalChem?”
“He will not get near. I have dispatched tanks and soldiers. Six tanks and also two fire trucks.”
“And he seemed to be saying that I don’t have Stride?”
“This name was not mentioned. He only spoke of a child. He refers, I assume, to the birthday girl female that you said you would cut up on your table.”
“Cut up? Oh, vivisection. I was teasing when I said that. You didn’t tell him that, did you?”
“No,” said Matala. “I told him, however, that I would cut him if he did not treat you with more respect.”
“I am touched.”
“When I return,” said Matala. “this will be my priority.”
“You’re about to take a trip? Why am I not surprised?”
“It is my wife who must travel. I had promised to go with her. She requires facial surgery. This was long ago planned.”
“Facial meaning cosmetic?”
“One’s wife must be presentable.”
“I’m sure that she’ll be stunning. Bon Voyage.”
Bourne used the same telephone to call Chester’s pager. Chester returned the call almost at once.
Bourne said, “Ease my mind. Do you have them or don’t you?”
“Absolutely. They’re…both right behind me.”
Bourne caught the slight hesitation in his voice. He said, “No names. We’ll avoid using names. But give me some hint of who they are.”
“You already know. But, okay. Big long step.”
“Uh-huh.” Very clever. A stride. “And the other one?”
“Um…I don’t know. Candles?”
“Well chosen,” said Bourne. “When might I expect you?”
“Depending on traffic? A half hour.”
“And all is well? I’ll have reason to smile?”
“This trip hasn’t all been a barrel of laughs. I’ll tell you when I get there. Thirty minutes.”
A banner day for the telephone company, thought Bourne. His own phone had hardly stopped ringing. More cancellations. More unwanted Eggs Florentine. Not a good a day for the Bloody Mary mix people or the makers of fresh-squeezed O.J.
Not long after Lilly, Howard Leland called and cancelled. He called from Connecticut of all places. He had taken it upon himself to confer with Paul Bannerman in the interest of preserving VaalChem’s good work.
“Well, jolly for you,” Bourne responded. “Any luck?”
“Some, I think,” said Leland. “Let me ask you straight out. Did you order the attack on Roger Clew?”
“In truth? And this is true. I was aghast.”
“I’m…not sure that you’ve answered my question,” said Leland.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Howard. Would I admit it if I had? If I did, it was something that got out of hand in a way that was contrary to my wishes. If I did, it has cost me more than you know. Get over it. Move on. Water under the bridge. Let’s get back to saving the world.”
“Thank you,” said Leland.
“Have we put that to rest?”
“We may need to discuss it. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
“Don’t expect to be fed. You’re scratched off.”
“One more question,” said Leland. “Who is Martin Kessler?”
“You don’t know?”
“I’m asking.”
“Don’t you ever talk to Quigley? Do you read his reports? Martin Kessler is a mercenary, a murderer and rude. Martin Kessler has played hob with our Angolan interests. Martin Kessler is a kraut, former Stasi, former communist. Martin Kessler is a trickster and a practical joker. I could show you three examples of his light-hearted whimsy. Martin Kessler’s better know as Alameo.”
“Alameo….is Kessler?”
“I could not have said it better.”
“And what is Paul Bannerman’s interest in Angola?”
“I don’t know,” Bourne answered. “Perhaps none at all. His main interest seems to be in Martin Kessler. They are very much cut of the same cloth, you know. They and Roger Clew, whom we’re no longer discussing, and others I could name of that ilk.”
“You mention ‘others,’” said Leland. “Do you refer to Kessler’s friends?”
Bourne hesitated. “Which friends are you speaking of?”
“I don’t know. None in particular. But Bannerman has asked me to give you this message. If any of Kessler’s friends should be harmed in any way, he assures you that you will not live out the week. And neither will ‘some’ on your guest list.”
Bourne grunted. He asked, “And you don’t know which friends?”
“I do not. But clearly, he has someone in mind. He believes, and I suspect, that you know who he means.”
“Well, I don’t, so don’t trouble your head.”
Damn, thought Bourne. Bannerman knows that I have Stride. Kessler must have called him in a dither. Well, no matter. Let him bluster. This is doubly why I have her. To insure the good behavior of both of them.
“And you say that he’s threatened some of those on my guest list? So it’s him. He’s the one who distributed the exchan
ge between General Tubbs and Roger Clew.”
“He’s as much as admitted it,” said Leland.
“How could he have gotten it? To say nothing of that list?”
“I don’t know,” said Leland, “but while we’re on the subject, what are you going to do about that ship?”
“What ship? Tubbs’ death ship?”
“Yes, Artemus. That one,” said Leland, his words dripping. “The one that the Red Cross is screaming about, as is World Heath in Geneva. The one that’s brought VaalChem to their attention. The one that has twenty children on board. What help can you offer? Can you save them?”
“Why should I?”
“I don’t know. Common decency? You do have the antivirals.”
“That ship is Kessler’s doing, not mine,” said Bourne. “He broke it; he can fix it. I’ll watch.”
“You’ll do nothing?”
“I said that I’ll watch. We may learn something useful. Controlled, isolated, it’s the best sort of field test.”
Leland didn’t respond. There was silence on his end. Then, “You really are a son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you.”
“Big picture,” snapped Bourne. “Big picture. Big picture. Must I remind you that you are the secretary of state? Think global. World view. Not of one stupid ship. Put that rust bucket out of your mind."
“We’ll speak again soon.” said Howard Leland.
“What was Bannerman’s threat? That I won’t live out the week?”
Leland had broken the connection.
“What have you turned into? His messenger boy? Are you there? Did you hang up on me?”
Dead air.
“Well, let me tell you something. Are you there? No, you’re not. I don’t care. I’ll tell you anyway. No, I won’t. Yes, I will. We’ll just see who lives out the week and who doesn’t. I’ll show you a field test you won’t soon forget.”
Bourne slammed his phone onto its cradle.
He rose from his chair. He said, “So mad, I could spit.”
He said, “That’s it. No more calls, no more weasels, no more cowards.”
He said, “Calm yourself, Artemus. They’re beneath you, every one of them. And you’ve spent too much time in this basement. Go upstairs to your study, put on some music, have a brandy. Strike a match to the fireplace, a nice cozy blaze. Take your atlas from its stand and peruse it, caress it. Your atlas never fails to smooth your brow. The big picture. The world. Your personal oyster. But calm down lest you spill your brandy on it.”
Bourne left the room. He passed his bank of monitors. Motion on two of them caught his eye. It was only his guards on patrol in their jeeps. He was about to turn away when he saw new activity. One of the guards at his north gate, the one approached through dense forest, had stepped out into the road and was raising the barrier. And there was Lilly’s van coming up the dirt road.
Oh, bless you, Chester Lilly, thought Bourne.
His joy was short-lived. He thought he might go insane. Lilly had driven the van into the stables. Bourne had gone outside to await his arrival. He still was dressed in his robe.
He wanted to tell Lilly to pull right up front. The household staff had been dismissed; there was no need to be furtive. Are they both still unconscious? All well and good. Have Toomey and Kuntz bring them into the house. You and I will drag them down to the basement and show them to their new quarters.
Lilly emerged from the stables by himself. He said, “I didn’t want to say on the phone. We had a few problems on the road.”
He began his recital of how his man, Kuntz, had managed to suffocate Stride. Soon after that, Kuntz got into a brawl with a family of tourists looking on. “All we did was stop for gas. There was this thing with some farmer. We got out of there before the cops could be called. But they would have described Kuntz and the van he was in. Kuntz had to go. I had to use my best judgement. Besides, he deserved it for Stride.”
Bourne was barely listening to Lilly’s account. He was in his own mind. Stride is dead?
“As for Toomey, not only did he slit Stride’s friend’s throat, he left his own blood all over Stride’s house. It’s the same blood he left in Clew’s parking garage. He had to go. I took their ID. I dumped them in some swamp. They’re both alligator food. With luck, they won’t ever be found. I drove up the road a little. I found some parked cars. I couldn’t dump the van, but I stole some new plates. The cops would have been looking for a van with three men in it. They would have been looking for Virginia plates, which is why…”
“Stride is dead?” asked Bourne softly. “Did you say Stride is dead?”
“Yeah, she is, but hold on. That might not be all bad. Anyway, that van still has Toomey’s blood in it. We have to torch it and junk it real quick.”
“You…see an advantage to Stride being dead? You assured me that she was alive.”
“She was. But then Kuntz…”
“Never mind about Kuntz.”
“Okay,” said Lilly, “but what’s done is done. Stride’s dead, but no one else knows that she’s dead. The kid doesn’t know either. It was good we kept the kid. We take Stride to the basement, we strap her down like you planned. We lock the kid in Winfield’s old room.”
“Um…and then?”
“The kid wakes up, we let her look in through the window. We tell her Stride’s drugged. She’s not going to know different. You get word to Alameo, you tell him we have them. He wants proof? Let him talk to the kid.”
Oh, how I hate you, thought Artemus Bourne.
“I know you’re pissed,” said Lilly. “My guys let me down. But with Clew, that was Claire. Claire was yours. She wasn’t mine. Even so, I took care of it. I cleaned up their mess. The question is what to do now.”
Make the best of it, thought Bourne. And plan Lilly’s slow death. Something rectal. On a tall sharpened pole.
“Bring them,” said Bourne. “Carry them to the basement.”
“Another thing I was thinking…that basement’s pretty cool. Turn the thermostat down a few degrees more and Stride’s body will keep for quite a while.”
“See there? A silver lining already,” said Bourne. “Whatever would I do without you?”
“Longer term, you’ve got your freezer. Stick her down with the heads. The thing is, longer term, you don’t want to keep her here. You want to make them think you’ve got her stashed somewhere else, but you ought to hold on to the kid.”
Bourne moistened his lips. The thought actually had some merit. That’s assuming that the girl was… “She is alive, isn’t she?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s okay. I heard her talking.”
“She’s awake?”
“No, in her sleep. For the last forty miles. Phenobarbital does that, I guess.”
Bourne nodded. “It would. It’s an hypnotic.”
“Hallucinating, right? Just as well. Kept her quiet. I don’t think she even realizes we took her. She thinks she’s someplace else with her mother and two, maybe three, other women she mentioned. It didn’t sound like Stride was one of them, but she talked about Stride. She definitely thinks Stride’s still alive.”
“Thank pheno for small favors,” said Bourne.
“The only time she got excited was just now when I pulled in. Her mother found some guy named Martin Kessler.”
“Say again?”
“She was still out; don’t worry. She settled right down.”
Bourne said, “No, back up. Her mother found Kessler?”
“Yeah, that’s how it sounded. Who’s this Kessler?”
“Why would the girl’s mother be looking for Kessler?”
“You’re asking me to make sense of a dream? Anyway, who is he? You know him?”
Bourne’s eyes had narrowed. “No, no, stay with the mother. Is it possible that the mother is Elizabeth Stride? Did it sound as if Stride could be her mother?”
Chester shrugged. “I didn’t really get that impression. But it’s possible, I guess. By their ages, just barely. And the coloring�
�s the same. I never thought about that.”
“And therefore might it follow that Kessler is her father?”
“Someone has to be, I guess. So who’s this guy, Kessler?”
“Martin Kessler happens to be Alameo. Alameo is Martin Kessler.”
“Hold it,” said Lilly. He raised his hands. He stepped back. “Let’s stick with one who’s who at a time. You knew right along what Alameo’s real name was? How come you’re only telling me now?”
“I told you that Alameo is one of his names. That should have suggested that he might have others. He was only of interest in his present context. What do you care what his name was before? What would you have done with that knowledge?”
“I could have known him a hell of a lot better,” said Lilly. “Maybe had a lot more leverage against him. I could have found out where his mother lives. I’d have snatched her long before this.”
“I’m ahead of you. He has no one. Only Stride.”
“And now a daughter?” asked Lilly.
“Perhaps. If God is good. How long will she be unconscious?”
“I don’t know. Ask the doctor who gave us the shots.”
“No need. I can wait. We’ll let her sleep it off.”
“I’m going to need some sack time myself. I’ve been up two days and a night
now. You want me to stay here or sack out at my own place?”
“You may stay,” said Bourne. “Take the smaller of the guestrooms.”
“With the cameras? No thanks. I might want to take a shit. I’ll use one of the maids’ rooms, top floor.”
“As you wish.”
Bourne could not have cared less where Lilly bedded down. His mind was on the near-miraculous gift that may have been dropped in his lap. Was it too much to hope for? Kessler’s daughter with Stride? Even Kessler’s without Stride or Stride’s without Kessler. And Chester Lilly found her by the purest of chance. Even imbeciles get lucky now and then.
“Get the van,” he said to Lilly. “Let us get them downstairs.”
He could scarcely wait for the girl’s head to clear. They would have a nice chat. Just the two of them.
THIRTY SEVEN
It was five in the morning, Angola time. Kessler stood on the heights near the waterfall at Cuanza looking out upon VaalChem, some three miles distant. He watched through his night vision scope. He had watched the arrival of the tanks and the soldiers and the gathering of fire trucks, a score of them.
Bannerman's Ghosts Page 35