And then Locke realized. “You know about my mother.”
“More than that, lad,” Burgess said with no emotion in his voice. “It was I who captured her.”
Chapter 11
“What we got here, gentlemen,” Calvin Roy said, “is a mess that stinks worse than a corn pasture ’round planting time.”
The Undersecretary of State leaned over his desk and faced the two men seated before it: Louis Auschmann, deputy National Security Adviser, and Major Peter Kennally, director of the CIA.
“The autopsy on Charney just came in,” Roy continued. “Some bastard shot him four times and we can’t find hide nor hair of the man he put in the field.”
“I should have been consulted about that,” Kennally said dryly. “You don’t send amateurs into the field without proper clearance and cover.”
“Sprinkle your manure somewhere else, Major,” Roy snapped. “Charney had full clearance to do whatever he damn well pleased whenever he damn well pleased. He answered only to this department and I approved of the human option deployment, as did the Secretary himself.”
“And now your human option is the subject of a manhunt in London. Killed a Colombian diplomat and damn near killed a cabdriver.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure he had his reasons and I’m betting Charney’s death confirms them.”
“Unless he killed Charney as well. He could have been a foreign all the time. We’ve got to consider the possibility that this whole scenario was set up by him.”
“The bullets that killed the Colombian don’t match up with the ones that killed Charney,” Auschmann pointed out.
“Standard procedure dictates he wouldn’t have used the same gun twice,” Kennally said.
“Screw your standard procedure up your asshole, Major!” Roy’s face was furious. “I asked you here to help me figure out what in hell is going on, not to recite chapter and verse from the spy manual. You read the report I sent over summarizing what Charney thought he was on to?”
Kennally nodded. “And all I could draw from it was that he wasn’t on to anything concrete.”
“Not then anyway, but it looks plain to me that whatever it is seems to be hardening real fast and I’d like to find out what before someone else gets buried, maybe a whole mess of people. Charney was pro, Major. He worked for you long enough for you to know that.”
“All the same, he placed a lot of credence in Lubeck’s report.”
“You heard the tape. You blame him?”
“You’re saying there’s a connection between Lubeck’s death and Charney’s….”
Roy feigned shock. “Man, oh, man, move that boy to the head of the class.”
“So where does Locke fit in?”
“Right now, Major Pete, nowhere we can find him.”
“And San Sebastian?”
“Fire stopped last night. Just got the first report from the team that went in. Nothin’ within twenty miles that’ll tell us a damn thing. Lots of human bones, though, roasted clean through. Whole town’s been burned to a crisp.”
“Obviously someone went through great pains to cover their tracks,” Auschmann concluded.
“When I want the obvious stated, Louie, I know I can always turn to you. Now how ’bout telling me something less obvious, like what in the hell happened to Charney?”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t call nobody, that’s what I mean. Instead of using the regular channels and making an emergency report, he gets himself killed trying to deliver it to our Professor Locke.”
“There’s no record of his having requested backup at any time yesterday,” reported Auschmann. “Also no contact was made with our people at the embassy.”
“Charney was never the solo type,” noted Major Kennally.
“So what made him change?” Roy wondered. “Maybe he didn’t cross the usual channels ’cause he was afraid they might collapse under him.”
“A leak?” from Kennally.
“Maybe.” Roy paused. “Or maybe something worse than a leak.”
“Like,” Auschmann said, “discovering that certain forces in our government were part of what he had uncovered.”
“Yup, Charney must have found that the shit on somebody’s shoes led right back to our doorstep.”
“He wouldn’t have called in because the wrong person might have answered,” added Auschmann, a dapper man in his early thirties with a Harvard degree and high aspirations. “Time was probably a factor. He had to go it alone.”
“But he went to Locke,” said Kennally.
“The only one he knew he could trust when they started closing in.”
“When who started closing in?” Roy asked loudly. “What I got, fellas, is one dead agent and one college professor running around England wanted for murder.”
“Has Scotland Yard been of any help?” asked Kennally.
“Dumb bastards couldn’t find a pile of shit if they were standing knee-deep in it. They threw a net over the Dorchester and Locke slipped through it. Didn’t even realize he had until they decided to plant a man in his room and found Charney’s body and evidence our professor had just left. The trail was still hot but before they could follow it, somebody set off the damn fire alarm.”
“Locke maybe,” Auschmann said.
“In which case he’s a lot more resourceful than we gave him credit for, unless you cover such things at the Academy, Major Pete.”
“And now he’s alone,” said Kennally.
“Maybe not,” said Roy. “Charney would have sent him to someone. Poor guy didn’t drag himself all the way up there with four bullets in him just to die on the plush carpeting. No, he told Locke something, a whole lot more than we know now.”
“The solution’s obvious,” said Kennally. “We find Locke.” The major leaned back. “Only where do we start? Charney could have sent him anywhere.”
“No,” countered Auschmann, “not anywhere. Since Locke hasn’t made contact with any government branch or foreign embassy yet, it’s safe to assume Charney steered him away from us.”
Roy nodded, interlacing his fingers. “Pull Charney’s file, Louie, and go over it with a magnifying glass. Brian had lots of contacts in England. Find the one he would have sent Locke to.”
“Why England?”
“Because Charney was a pro and he knew Locke wasn’t. Distance would be a factor, travel something to be avoided at all costs.”
“And since Locke didn’t come in,” said Kennally, “it’s possible, even probable, that Charney used him to replace himself.”
“Which would win him the benefit of Charney’s killers … and Lubeck’s,” added Auschmann.
“Unless we find him first,” said Roy, “and that, fellas, is just what we’re gonna do.”
The one-eyed man walked into the bar quietly, doing his best not to be noticed. It was difficult. He was large and powerfully built, with dark features, black hair, and a pair of eyes that were sharp as steel. People moved out of his way, stealing a brief extra glance, as he walked toward a table in the rear occupied at present by a single dark-haired woman chain-smoking over a glass half full of melted ice cubes.
“We lost him,” the woman reported.
“So I gathered,” said the one-eyed man. He sat down. “Something confuses me about your report. You say the American came alone to the park?”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t right. They should have sent others.”
“There was only Alvaradejo, they thought. Hardly the need for others.”
The one-eyed man pulled his chair in closer. “You also say the American rushed from the park. Would you describe his motions as panicked?”