I waited, wondering if he’d tell me it
really wasn’t necessary, but all he said was, “I’ll make sure Bryan
takes the day off and picks you up at LAX.”
“Excellent. I’ll—”
“Bring Gregor along with you, yes?”
“I’ll have to make sure he’s free, but yes.
I’ll talk to you in a little while, big brother.” I hung up and
went looking for Gregor.
* * * *
We flew out of National the next morning,
and as Tony said, Bryan was at LAX to pick us up.
“What the
hell
is he thinking, Bry?”
Gregor demanded once we were in the car, unwittingly echoing Tony’s
words regarding Bryan’s marriage.
Bryan shrugged. “It’s his choice.”
“What do you have to say about it?”
“Nothing. It’s his—”
“I know,
his choice
. Is he going
senile?”
“No, he’s not. And if you say something like
that to him, I swear to God, I’ll knock you down!” He drew in a
deep breath. “Look, Cara Mia is a nice woman, and her daughter is a
sweetheart. You’ll see.”
Gregor subsided, but I could hear his
muttered, “I still think this is all kinds of wrong.”
I sighed. I should never have told Gregor
Cara Mia’s age. He’d stared at me in shock for a moment, and then
snarled, “Never mind his daughter—she’s young enough to be his
grand
daughter!”
To which I’d had no choice but to respond,
“Let’s hold off judgment, all right? If she’s his love, there won’t
be anything we can do about it.”
* * * *
We did see, and if Tony wasn’t besotted,
then he did an excellent acting job. “Cara Mia rides, and we’re
going to take Sunday out on the trail today. Come with us.”
Which was how the five of us wound up at the
Topanga Canyon stable. Gregor stayed behind. Not only did he prefer
his horses under the hood of a car, but someone needed to prepare
dinner.
Tony swung Sunday up onto the saddle before
him, and she shrieked with laughter. He shared a small, wistful
smile with Bryan, and then they trotted on ahead of us.
“Your brother is a good man,” Cara Mia
murmured. She slowed her horse, and I reined in mine to keep pace
with her. “I’m very fortunate he wants to marry me. I knew him when
my father worked for him. He was so kind to us after Dad was
killed.”
“It’s difficult when an officer dies in the
line of duty.”
“It wasn’t even that. It was a stupid
mugging.”
“What does your family think of this
marriage?”
“I’m not close to them anymore. After I
married Adam…” She shook her head. “Would you mind if we changed
the subject?”
* * * *
I was a good judge of character, but God
help me, I couldn’t tell if she wanted Tony as a spouse, a father
for her child, or a meal ticket.
As for Tony…I had no idea if this was an old
man’s last desperate bid to have a family of his own or if she was
his one love.
A week after Gregor and I returned to Great
Falls, Tony married her in a private ceremony, witnessed only by
her daughter and his brother.
* * * *
May started out as a lovely month. The
weather was mild, and at the back of the property, the lilac bushes
were in bloom.
And Mark Vincent was still residing in my
son’s townhouse.
Quinton and I had the horses out this
Sunday, and I decided it might be a good idea to bring it up. If
Vincent planned to continue listing Quinton’s address as his own,
perhaps it might be a good idea to buy them something
monogrammed.
I chuckled to myself, and decided to tease
my son. “Sweetheart…”
He was smiling faintly, and his attention
seemed to be turned inward.
“Quinton!”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mother.” A blush
colored his cheeks and burned the tips of his ears. “What were you
saying?”
“You were a million miles away.” I observed
him thoughtfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “Where were
you?”
“Lost in thought.” He smiled at me, the
picture of innocence, and I wondered what those thoughts might
entail.
“Mark Vincent has been staying with you for
a number of weeks now, hasn’t he?”
“Yes.” He shifted in his saddle. “He has an
apartment lined up, but it needs some work, and until it’s
done—”
“As long as he isn’t taking advantage of
your hospitality.”
“Not in the least, Mother.” He shifted in
his saddle again.
“Why don’t we curtail our ride for today?” I
wasn’t going to comment on his obvious discomfort, but I saw no
need to for him to continue enduring the ride. “It’s unseasonably
warm for this time of May, and I believe I could do with a cool
drink.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” In
spite of how hard he tried to conceal it, I could see his
relief.
“You know I never interfere with your life,
sweetheart, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here. And if you feel
you can’t talk to me, there’s always Gregor, as well as your
uncles.”
“I know, Mother. By the way, how is he?”
“He’s feeling well enough to prepare lunch.”
Gregor had come down with a spring cold earlier in the week. “We’ve
been dining on takeout the past few days. Raphael’s does the most
marvelous chicken soup.”
“Raphael’s? The same restaurant Mark and I
go to?” Quinton seemed surprised. “They do takeout?”
“They do for me.”
He burst into laughter.
We arrived back at the stable and handed our
horses over to the groom who cared for them. I linked my arm
through Quinton’s, and we strolled into the clubhouse.
Once we were seated and our usual order was
brought to us, I took a sip of my grapefruit juice on the rocks and
then got right down to what concerned me.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been quite distracted
today.”
He covered his face with his palm. “I
apologize, Mother!”
“Not at all.” I reached across the small
table and rested my hand on his. “I’m well aware you would never
permit work to infringe on our time together, that you would
consider it the worst of poor taste.”
“No.” He met my eyes steadily.
“Am I wrong in assuming this concerns that
statue of a dog you had delivered to my house?”
“No,” he said again.
“Did you get it for Mark Vincent?”
“Yes, Mother. He had a very similar statue,
only it was ceramic. When his apartment was destroyed in that
explosion, so was the statue.” He ran his forefinger around the rim
of his glass. “He called it Sam.”
“‘Sam’?” To my knowledge, there had been no
one in Mark Vincent’s life by that name. Possibly a character from
literature? However, all I could think of offhand was Dash
Hammett’s gumshoe. “After Sam Spade?”
“You’d think, but he said not. I can’t think
of any other, though, that would appeal to him. Perhaps he just
likes the name.”
“Perhaps, but I didn’t get the impression
he’d do something so mundane.” A thought suddenly occurred to me.
“Did you know your father was an avid Louis L’Amour fan? He
actually met him a few times.”
“Really? I knew he was acquainted with Ian
Fleming. I should have realized he’d know other authors.”
“You’d be surprised.” Nigel had even been
acquainted with Harold Robbins. “He enjoyed all of L’Amour’s
westerns, but he loved
Hondo
best. There’s an autographed
copy that Louis sent him in your father’s study. That was the book
he chose whenever he felt he needed a breather.”
“That’s very interesting to know, Mother,
but I fail to see what that has to do with Mark’s statue.”
“Hondo’s dog was ‘remote and dangerous,’ to
quote the author.”
He stared at me for a long moment. “So,
Hondo’s
dog
was Sam?”
I smiled at him. “He kept everyone at a
distance, you know. Even the man to whom he was closest.”
“Is that supposed to be Freudian,
Mother?”
“You’re so quick on the uptake,
sweetheart.”
“You are amazing.”
“Of course I am. That’s a mother’s job! If
you’ve finished your Perrier, we should be on our way. Gregor has
promised a delicious luncheon.”
* * * *
Three days later, Gregor came looking for
me. “Telephone, Portia. It’s Quinn’s office.”
“Thank you, Gregor.” I took the phone from
him. “This is Portia Mann.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Mann. It’s Janet
Watson.” Quinton’s personal assistant.
We exchanged pleasantries, and then I said,
“Now, suppose you tell me why my son asked you to call?”
She laughed. “You know him so well. He’s
been ordered to Paris and won’t be able to keep his riding date
with you. He should be back a week from today at the latest.”
“Thank you, Janet. I must say I’m a little
surprised he didn’t call me himself.”
“Oh, he would have, but he had to catch his
flight. Director Holmes and General Kirkpatrick wanted him there
like yesterday.”
Edward Holmes was DCI Threat Analysis; RJ
Kirkpatrick ran OIG out of the Pentagon. What did they have to do
with an operation ordered by my son’s department?
“It’s a good thing he keeps an overnight bag
in the office.”
“Yes.” I had no doubt I could get further
information out of her without her even realizing it until later,
but I wouldn’t put her in the awkward position of revealing
intelligence that could well be sensitive. “Thank you so much for
calling, Janet.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Mann. Have a good day,
now.”
“You also.”
* * * *
I was not the kind of mother who tied her
son to her apron strings. Quinton was thirty-seven years old and a
deputy director of the CIA. Therefore, when I didn’t hear from him
in the following days, I wasn’t unduly concerned. There had been
other times when he’d been called away and was out of touch for
weeks, if not months.
It was Memorial Day. Since I had nothing of
importance scheduled for the day, I’d slept in, and I was just now
having my second cup of coffee.
Gregor leaned back against the sink with his
own cup and seemed contented. “What are we going to do today?”
“I believe I’ll do some work in the
backyard.”
“I’ll help you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” It was a pleasure
having him around.
“And I think for dinner I’ll grill us a
couple of nice thick T-bones. Baked potatoes with butter and sour
cream. Grilled asparagus.”
“That sounds wonderful. Perhaps afterward
we’ll find a fireworks display.”
“Works for me.” The phone rang, and he
picked it up. “Mann residence.” He listened for a moment, and then
pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen,
scowling. He covered the mouthpiece. “It’s a McLean area code, Mrs.
Mann, but the name is blocked, and she won’t tell me who it
is.”
I accepted the phone from him. “You have
thirty seconds to identify yourself and explain your reason for
calling.”
“Mrs. Mann, this is April, from Director
Holmes’s office. The Director was…er…wondering if you could spare
the time to see him.”
“When?” I was certain she had amended his
words to be more conciliatory.
“Er…9:15 A.M.?”
I glanced at the clock above the kitchen
window. It was almost five minutes until the hour, and I needed to
shower and dress. Even if Gregor drove the speed limit, it would be
at least 9:45 before we got there, and that was if we didn’t hit
holiday traffic.
“This is rather short notice.” Was Holmes
hoping we would rush and I would arrive there flustered?
“Mrs. Mann…” The poor girl sounded so
miserable I wondered if she’d softened the DCI’s instructions.
“Perhaps you can put Director Holmes on, and
he can explain to me personally what the urgency is.”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Mann, you don’t understand!
He’s extremely busy! He said I was to tell you…to insist that
you—”
“I see.” She had attempted to soften his
words. “Well, I’m so sorry. I don’t believe I’ll be able to see
Director Holmes today. Good-day, young lady.” I hung up and stared
at Gregor.
“Your brother would never have treated one
of his officers that way. Or one of his officer’s wives.” His
expression was stony. Bryan had been overlooked in favor of that
pompous know-it-all, Holmes.
“No. So we’ll just have to show Holmes how
it was done back in the day.”
The phone rang, and Gregor’s eyes glowed as
he picked it up and switched on the speaker. “Mann residence.”
“It’s Edward Holmes.” And he was most
unhappy, which pleased me.
“Oh, good morning, Director. How are you
today?” Butter wouldn’t have melted in Gregor’s mouth.
“Never mind how I am! I need to speak to
Mrs. Mann.”
“One moment, please. I’ll see if she’s
available.”
“She’d better damn well be available! This
concerns her son!”
Gregor met my gaze, his lips in a thin,
tight line, all amusement gone.
“What is this concerning my son, Mr.
Holmes?”
“I can’t speak over an unsecured line;
that’s why I wanted you to come to Langley.”
And summoned me like the rawest of raw
recruits. “You could have done me the courtesy of having your
secretary explain the necessity of such an abrupt command.”
“Now, see here, Portia—”
“Mrs. Mann,” I corrected. I had no qualms in
speaking over him. “Contrary to what you might believe, I do
understand chain of command and how things need to be done.
However, I will not be rushed. I’ll try to get to Langley by
noon.”
“Portia, I’ll—”
I hung up. He had nothing further to say
that I wished to hear. “I detest him calling me by my name. Gregor,
bring the Town Car around, would you, please? I should be ready in
a half an hour.”
“Portia, you know I can get you there in
less than three hours.”
“And you will. But he won’t be expecting
us.”
* * * *
“Mrs. Mann! You can’t go in there! He’s in a
meeting!”