“Yes,” a man’s voice said.
“You know who this is,” Rawls replied. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“I want to find a guy we used to know at work,” Rawls said. He spoke the name. “Remember him?”
“Yes. I don’t see how I can help.”
“Do I have to remind you that you would be in my company at this very moment, had I chosen to—”
“All right,” the man said, cutting him off. “Do you have his last address?”
“Sixty-nine Riverview Drive, Arlington. Mail is being returned from that address. They’re not forwarding.”
“You have any clue where he might be?”
“He’s traveling, I think, but he’s got to have a base somewhere.”
“Does he have any family?”
“He had a wife. I don’t know if she’s still alive.”
“Kids?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re a big help.”
“I do what I can.”
“How will I get in touch with you?”
“Email me, but be circumspect.” Rawls gave him a Hotmail address.
“Give me a couple of days,” the man replied.
“Thanks for your help,” Rawls said, and hung up. He replaced the phone in the book and went back to his computer. He logged on to the Internet and checked his email. There was one from Hotbooks.
“Dear Fast Eddie,” she wrote. “I’m still wet from your last email. I printed it out and took it to bed with me last night, and I still can’t get it out of my mind.” She described what she had done to herself while reading it, then what she would have done to him, if he had been there. “Are you sure there isn’t some way we can get together soon?”
Rawls wrote back that he’d love to, but the demands of work kept him constantly on the road. “I’m in Kansas City right now, putting out a fire, then I have to go to Witchita, then to L.A. Believe me, I’d rather be with you. We’ll work it out soon.” He would, too, just as soon as he had a fix on this guy, as soon as he was a free man again. Rawls finished his workday and went to the rec room to wait for dinner. There had been a time when he had been uncomfortable in the company of large numbers of prisoners, but he had grown accustomed. Anyway, when prisoners were gathered in the yard or the common room, they tended, like everybody else in the world, to gather in groups that had something in common—murder, rape, gang activity—and Rawls nearly always sat with the stockbrokers, accountants, bankers, and other con men who, in their past lives, had worn suits to work. Today, however, he took a seat with a tall, skinny man who sat alone at one of the steel tables.
“Hello, Nickolai,” he said. “I hear you wanted to talk.” Rawls had known the man professionally, when they were working opposite sides of the street in Scandinavia. Nickolai had posed as a chauffeur for the KGB at the USSR embassy in Stockholm, and later, in Washington, until CIA people had caught him working in their embassy without a diplomatic passport. His lengthy interrogation had been a disappointment, and now they kept him on ice in Atlanta for a time when they might want to exchange him for an American agent. But time had overtaken Nickolai; the USSR was defunct, and it was extremely unlikely that he would ever be exchanged.
“Hello, Ed,” Nickolai replied. He sounded less mournful than usual. “I wish you to send a message to your people at Langley.”
“What sort of message?”
“I have something to offer them in exchange for… exchange.”
“Yeah? And what would that be?”
Nickolai’s thin mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “I cannot tell you that, of course. Not until we have established contact.”
“And what makes you think they would want to hear from me?” Rawls asked. “I’m no more popular at Langley than you are.”
“Ah, but you have friends, right, Ed? People whose friendship is stronger than… what you were punished for.”
“Maybe, but what’s in it for me?”
Nickolai looked serious, now. “I may be able to get myself sent home and you released from this place.”
Rawls laughed heartily. “Nickolai, don’t you understand that ”home‘ isn’t there anymore? Everything has changed. The KGB, or whatever they call it now, is run by people your children’s age. Everybody you knew there is dead or pensioned off.“ He waved an arm. ”This is your home now.“
“Ed, I can make my way in the new Russia. Don’t worry about that. But aren’t you interested in getting out of here before you die?”
“Well, sure, Nickolai, but you’re going to have to convince me that what you’ve got is important enough to get us both out before I’m willing to contact anybody at all. Now tell me about it.”
“And what’s to keep you from acting for yourself and forgetting all about me?”
“Well, I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, Nickolai. After all, who else in here could do what you want?”
Nickolai sighed. “Ed, do you give me your word that you will not act just for yourself, that I go, too?”
“Yeah, sure I do. Now tell me what you’ve got. We’ve been talking too long already.”
Nickolai placed his hands on the table and interlocked his fingers. “Tell them that I can give them this fellow who’s killing your reactionaries everywhere.”
Rawls blinked and looked shocked, because he was. “And how the hell can you do that?” he asked.
“Because I know his name.”
“And how the hell do you know his name?”
“In my former profession I had reason to know this man’s work,” Nickolai said.
“You’re not making any sense, Nickolai,” Rawls said. He was alarmed, and he had to get this out of the man.
“Ed, just as your people tried to know as much as possible about our people, so did we try to know as much as possible about your people.”
“Are you saying that this guy was a Company man?”
“Precisely.”
“Did I know him?”
“No, you would have been in very different jobs.”
“How do you know for certain that the name you have is the guy they want?”
Nickolai shrugged. “I know, that’s all. When they check out the name, they will have their man. If he’s not the man, then they have lost nothing. They will not owe me—or you—until they have arrested him.”
“What’s the man’s name?” Rawls asked. “They’ll want to know that right away.”
“Of course they will, Ed, but that will have to come directly from me to them.”
“And how will you do that?”
“I’m sure you could arrange a telephone call. I will give this information directly to Ms. Katharine Rule.”
“You think the director is going to call you on the phone?”
“I suppose that depends on how badly they want this person. Tell them to act quickly, before he kills somebody else important.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Rawls said. “In the meantime, don’t you mention this to anybody else, you hear?”
“I will deal only with you, Ed, unless I become convinced that you can’t help. Then I’ll have to use other means.”
The dinner bell rang and both men got up and joined the crowd heading toward the mess hall. Rawls was frightened and angry. Unless he played this right, Nickolai could screw up his chances for a pardon.
30
THR CABINET MEETING WAS breaking up at Number 10 Downing Street, and people were filing out, putting on their coats against the driving rain outside. Ridgeway’s private secretary came and stood close to him. “General Sir Ewan Southby-Tailyour and the lady from military intelligence are waiting,” he said.
“Show them in as soon as everyone is out the front door,” Ridgeway instructed. “No, better put them in my private study now, and I’ll join them in a moment.”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” the man replied.
Ridgeway packed some papers into a dispatch box and gave them to an assistant, then he dictated replies to some letters. He dismissed his staff for the day and went through the bookcase door and into his study. The two people waiting came quickly to their feet.
“Sir Ewan,” he said, extending his hand.
“Prime Minister.” General Sir Ewan Southby-Tailyour was a handsome man with thick, white hair, wearing a beautifully cut uniform. He was the senior commander of the Royal Marines, and a former commando himself.
“Good afternoon, Carpenter,” he said to the woman.
Although he knew her name was Felicity Devonshire, the intelligence people preferred sobriquets. She was an elegant, handsome woman in her late thirties, dressed in a tweed suit designed to deemphasize her sexuality, which Ridgeway thought was a failure.
“Good afternoon, Prime Minister,” she said warmly.
“Please sit down,” he said. “I believe the sun is well over the yardarm. Please let me get you something to drink.”
“A dry sherry, please,” Carpenter said.
“A small whisky,” Southby-Tailyour replied.
Ridgeway went to the concealed liquor cabinet and made the drinks, asking with his eyebrows how much water the general wanted in his Scotch. Then he mixed himself a large bourbon with ice. The president of the United States had given him a case of Knob Creek, and he kept it in an unlabeled decanter, so that no one would know he was drinking American whiskey.
He handed the drinks around, then sat down and took a long pull on his drink. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I hope I haven’t pulled you away from something terribly important.”
The two people made demurring noises.
“There’s something I’d like you to look into and make a recommendation on— Good God, do you two know each other? I didn’t introduce you.”
“We met on a previous occasion,” Carpenter said.
“Oh, good. Well, what this is about is Sealand.”
Carpenter seemed to stifle a smile, while Sir Ewan just looked interested.
“You both know about it?”
They nodded.
“Now I know it isn’t terribly important to us in any sort of strategic or even tactical sense—”
“Might make a nice bombing practice range,” Sir Ewan said.
“… but I’ve had a query about it from the American president.”
“Why on earth would he be interested in Sealand?” Carpenter asked.
“You know, I expect, that these Sealand people are offering Internet and cell phone services from the island.”
Both nodded.
“I expect you’ve heard, too, that there have been a series of murders of important conservative political figures in the U.S.?”
They nodded again.
“Well, there seems to be a connection. The fellow who’s committing these murders is running a personal website on one of Sealand’s servers, and President Lee and his security people would very much like to know who registered this site—his name and address, if possible, and anything else that might help them run him to ground.”
“Well,” Sir Ewan said, smiling, “I think my people would enjoy putting on a little show to gather this information.”
“And I think I’d enjoy going along,” Carpenter said.
“We don’t want this all over the papers, if we can help it,” Ridgeway said. “Can we help it?”
“Perhaps not,” Carpenter replied, “unless we can get in and out without causing a ruckus.”
“Could your chaps do that, Ewan?”
“I should think it’s highly likely, if I choose my people well. But still, if the people on the island twig, and they want it known, well…”
“So there’s a risk of it becoming public?”
“A not-unreasonable risk,” Southby-Tailyour replied.
“If it should break, I would not like to see your names mentioned,” Ridgeway said.
“Thank you, sir,” Carpenter replied. “I should think we could guarantee you that that will not happen.”
“Quite,” the general said.
“Well then, get back to me with something soon?” The PM stood up, and so did his guests. “Carpenter, could you stay for a moment?” he asked.
“Of course, Prime Minister,” she replied.
He waved her back to her chair and waited until the door had closed behind Sir Ewan. “Well, Felicity, how are things going at your firm?” he asked.
“We’re making the adjustment,” she said. “I suppose we would adjust more quickly with the question of the appointment resolved.”
“Ah, yes,” Ridgeway said. “Sir Edward’s replacement.” Sir Edward Fieldstone, the head of British Intelligence, had been murdered in the men’s room of the Four Seasons restaurant in New York some weeks before, while Carpenter had sat at dinner in the dining room with the director of the FBI. “I’m working on that.”
“I’m sure you are, sir.”
“You know, Felicity, were you a few years older, your name would be on the short list to succeed Sir Edward.”
She appeared surprised. “Well, that’s very flattering, Prime Minister.”
“I believe I could successfully appoint a woman,” he said, “perhaps even a beautiful woman.” He waited for the compliment to sink in. “But not a beautiful
young
woman.”
“How nice to be referred to as young!” Carpenter replied, smiling, “and just when I was beginning to feel old.”
“Your conduct in the operation in New York was much appreciated, and I think no one assigns any responsibility to you for the death of Sir Edward. Fortunately, we have been able to blame the FBI for that one.”
“Quite.”
“And of course, we are all very relieved to have that woman, La Biche, out of the picture. I must say, it took courage to do what you did.”
“It was necessary,” she replied, gazing into her drink.
“You are quite a remarkable woman, Felicity,” he said. “If I thought there were the slightest chance of success, I’d be inviting you for a quiet dinner for two this evening. My wife is at Chequers for a few days.”
“You are kind, Prime Minister, but our positions make that impossible.”
“Of course they do,” he replied, chuckling to cover his embarrassment at being rejected. “Well, back to our original subject. What do you think are the chances of pulling off this Sealand thing without making the papers?”
“Well, there is always the Official Secrets Act,” she said, referring to the act of Parliament that made it possible to hide almost anything from the public. “But, of course, that doesn’t apply to the European media, and these days…”
“Quite, quite.”
“I think there are three possibilities for an outcome,” she said.
“And they are?”
“One, we go in, find what we want, and get out without being discovered. I think this is the least likely, but it could happen.”