“I like KGB,” Stone said. “It has a nice ring to it, and I can’t remember what part of the alphabet they’re using to describe it these days.”
“Your choice?” Viv asked. “Or something else entirely?”
“Come back to me,” Stone said.
“Dino?”
“Valery Majorov.”
“Me, too. Stone?”
“I think Vanessa put it together from whatever her ex-husband left behind in his safe.”
“You think he had a million two in his safe?” Dino asked.
“I know he had more than that in an offshore account with a Cayman bank, and Vanessa had the necessary codes to draw on it.”
“And the bomb?” Viv asked.
“You’ve got me there. Maybe Jack intended to blow up something or somebody.”
“Any candidates for blowing up?” Dino asked.
“Just one: Valery Majorov.”
“That seems a cumbersome way to off a Russian,” Viv said. “I mean, there was a knife and a gun in the package, too. Either would have worked just as well and would have left a lot less debris and collateral damage to innocent passersby.”
“Good point,” Stone said.
“A good question to ask,” Dino said, “is: Why would Vanessa bring a bomb with her to Stone’s house in Key West?”
“Maybe it was the last thing left in the safe, and she just tossed it into her bag as an afterthought,” Viv suggested.
“Maybe she was concerned about it accidentally going off in her apartment,” Dino said.
“So she transferred the risk to my house?” Stone asked. “I consider that a hostile act.”
“Don’t be so touchy,” Dino said. “We’re just brainstorming here.”
“Using whose brain?” Stone asked. “Seems to me, we’re missing one.”
“Now that’s hostile,” Dino said.
“Easy, fellas,” Viv said, holding out a calming hand. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
“Seems to me,” Stone said, “that we have arrived at our destination — the only one that makes any sense.”
“You have a point,” Viv said. “Why don’t we wait until you’ve tried out this theory on Lance, who, as far as I’m concerned, is still a candidate for the bad guy.”
A good suggestion. “I’ll start trying him as we approach Fort Jefferson.”
Stone took out his cell phone, selected the Sonos app, and Oscar Peterson could be heard playing the piano on tiny speakers all around them.
“That’s what we need,” Viv said. “Soothing music.”
Stone woke at dawn, as the engines were starting, then went directly back to sleep. He woke again at mid-morning and looked out a porthole. They were motoring into the harbor at Fort Jefferson, and there was a Coast Guard cutter at anchor there. He got dressed, went on deck, and found Dino and Viv at the rail, looking at the cutter.
“Look who’s on deck,” Viv said without pointing.
Stone looked and sighted Lance Cabot getting into a rubber dinghy and coming toward where they were mooring.
“Why are you surprised?” Dino asked. “Lance does this sort of thing two or three times a week.”
Lance climbed the boarding stairs and set a foot on Breeze’s deck. “Is breakfast ready?” he asked.
As it happened, breakfast was, indeed, ready, and they all sat down.
“Before you ask,” Lance said. “I arrived in Key West and slept at Stone’s house, blissfully without company. I then took the seaplane from Key West International Airport and arrived here an hour ago and was met by the cutter, just in case of unforeseeable problems of any sort.”
“Okay,” Stone said, “are you ready to be grilled?”
“I perceive that this must be about Vanessa’s ready kit,” Lance said. “I had her apartment visited yesterday, and it was missing, so...”
48
Lance looked around him. “Do I detect a whiff of disbelief?”
“Maybe just a whiff,” Stone said. “Why did Vanessa have half a pound of plastique in her go bag?”
Lance shrugged. “Beats me,” he said.
“Beats you?” Stone asked. “You’re the guy who’s supposed to know everything!”
“Well, almost everything. A committee sits and rules on requests for things like mortars, 50-caliber machine guns, and high explosives. I’d have to go through the records and find out who made the request, what the serial number is, and when it was issued.”
Stone reached into the bag and produced the bomb. “Here you go. We did our best to disarm it, but who knows?”
Lance looked at the device as if it were a poisonous reptile about to strike. “Open it, please.”
“Your turn,” Stone said. “So far, we’ve been having all the fun.”
Lance got a well-manicured fingernail under one edge and flipped it open. “Ah,” he said with a sigh. “Disabled. Good job.” He made a phone call and gave somebody a number. “They’re checking.”
Stone looked at Dino and Viv, who both seemed intensely interested in Lance’s conversation.
Lance hung up. “Vanessa didn’t requisition it. Jack Collins did.”
“For what purpose?” Stone asked.
“I’m afraid that information is above your pay grade,” Lance replied regretfully.
Stone waved a hand. “We’re all cleared to the same level you are,” he said.
“Not quite,” Lance replied. “There is a teeny level above you that is reserved for things like high explosives and who receives them in the mail — that sort of thing.”
“You mail that stuff?”
“Well, we wouldn’t mail it to a residence or even a neighborhood.”
“What’s left?” Dino asked.
“Oh, things like drug factories and machine shops that manufacture illegal weapons.”
“So what was Jack’s target when he requisitioned half a pound of plastique?”
Lance gave them another shrug. “Conceivably...”
“Actually,” Stone said.
“For that information I would have to see the minutes of the meeting in question.”
“And you don’t have those on you?”
Lance patted his pockets, like a man who had forgotten his wallet when the check arrived. He held up a notebook. “Actually, I do.”
“We anxiously await,” Stone said.
Lance flipped through his notebook and picked out a scribble with a forefinger. “He requisitioned the explosive for use in the termination, with extreme prejudice, of one Valery Majorov.”
Dino spoke up. “So how’d he miss?”
“One is not always successful in these matters.”
“By ‘one,’ you mean Jack? Or just CIA officers in general?” Viv asked.
“In this case, Jack,” Lance said. “Though it pains me to tell you. Jack had always been successful in the past.”
“So,” Viv said, “what you’re telling us is, nobody’s perfect.”
“Well, not Jack, anyway. On this occasion.”
“What about the other stuff in the bag?”
“Everybody who leaves the Farm, having performed satisfactorily, is given a sort of tool kit, the contents of which are tailored to the milieu in which the officer will serve.”
“What’s in this tool kit that wasn’t in Jack’s?”
“It’s hard to say. Jack may have used some of his tools, then discarded them. Absent fingerprints and DNA, of course.”
“Of course,” Stone said. “Now, what do we do with half a pound of military-grade plastique?”
“Well,” Lance said, “it’s a bit rich for a fireworks display, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Perhaps if you just hold on to the substance for a while, a suitable opportunity will present itself.”