“Jim,” Starling answered warmly, shaking Marsh’s offered hand. “Most folks do,” he added, ignoring Francesini’s sideways glance at him.
The two men drew up chairs and placed them beside Marsh’s bed, settling themselves into them.
“And how can I help you?” Marsh asked expecting Francesini to say something, but Starling continued.
“As I understand it, you and your partner, Greg Walsh were sailing when your yacht was in collision with something else; possibly a submerged object.”
A not very impressive beginning, Marsh concluded.
“And unfortunately your partner is still missing.” Marsh nodded. Starling pressed on. “Was there a reason why you were sailing in that area? Where you were hit?”
Marsh shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
“We are trying to establish a reason for your friend’s death.”
“Who said he was dead?”
Starling seemed slightly taken aback at Marsh’s response. “I’m sorry; it was an assumption.” Francesini glanced at his boss. He seemed to be enjoying Starling’s lumbering efforts at getting to the point, if indeed there was a point to be got to!
“Were you out fishing? Were you out as some part of a business contract? There has to be a straightforward explanation.”
We weren’t fishing, thought Marsh, but he is. Why?
“What kind of straightforward explanation do you want? We were out fishing and I was cleaning my rifle when something struck our boat and I ended up with a bullet in my leg. Will that do?”
Starling stiffened, affronted by Marsh’s acerbic response. “I think you’re playing games with us, Mister Marsham.”
Marsh shook his head. “Seriously, but aren’t we all playing games then?”
Starling and Francesini exchanged glances. “What do you mean?” Francesini asked.
“What I mean is that you are no more from the immigration department than I am from the Moon.”
This seemed to stun the two men. Then Starling relaxed, realising that Marsh was too astute to be fooled for too long. “Why do you say that?”
Marsh shifted his position, pushing the pillows up behind his back. “Well, first of all, two men in suits do not come visiting from the immigration department over an incident which is outside their jurisdiction; an incident which occurred outside territorial waters and one in which there are no witnesses.”
“You told me you were sunk just off the coast,” Francesini complained.
“So I lied. No different to what you two are doing. Now, do you want to tell me who you really are and why you want to talk to me, or do I discharge myself and go home?”
Starling seemed to consider this for a few moments. “OK Mister Marsham,” he said eventually. “We’re from the C.I.A. And yes, you are right; we have no hold over you. Whatever happened to you and your friend is a matter for the Jamaican authorities, and I assume they will almost certainly want to pass it on to your own people. But we are deeply interested in your partner, Walsh.”
This caught Marsh by surprise and another piece of the jigsaw slipped into place.
“Greg? Why?”
“Before I answer that, can you tell me if he has been acting differently lately?”
Greg was on to something, Marsh was sure of that now.
“In what way?” he asked.
Francesini sat forward and held his hand up towards Starling, preferring to take over the conversation.
“Greg Walsh came to me a few months ago. He apparently had completed some oceanographic work for a leading oceanographer by the name of Hakeem Khan although he wouldn’t tell me who the guy was at first because he was still honouring client confidentiality. But he was concerned with the figures he was coming up with and what he euphemistically described as ‘other things’.”
“Why would he come to you?”
“Well, he didn’t exactly come to me; it was in a kind of roundabout way. He couldn’t take his doubts to the Bahamian authorities because he couldn’t rely on their security. Plus the fact that he didn’t think they would take him seriously. Those were his words, not mine. So he contacted someone he knew who had past links with us: a retired agent.”
Marsh nodded knowingly. “That would be old Mancini.”
“You know him?”
“Knew him,” Marsh said. “He died a couple of months ago. Natural causes,” he added. “So, what then?”
“What he spoke to me about was what you might call low grade material. But he was quite convinced of his fears. I thought he was a bit paranoid at the time. I agreed to put it on file and ‘keep an eye on it’.” He lifted his finger and touched the side of his head. “But what he told me began to nag away at me. So I contacted him and asked him to do some more probing. Trouble was that his contract with the client had finished.”
Starling stood up and walked to the end of Marsh’s bed. He stood there, arms stiff, holding the end of the bed, facing Marsh. “We want to know if he took you into his confidence. After all, you are his business partner.” He waited but when he saw Marsh shake his head, he carried on. “I have to accept that you are telling me the truth, but can you tell me if there is anything that Greg Walsh kept on file that you have access to that might give us a look into his affairs?”
“Like what?” Marsh asked.
“Computer files, hard copies. Something locked away; anything that he would have kept separate from the business. If you can give us his cell phone number, we can check the records of all his calls.”
Marsh knew he wouldn’t be able to help them. If Greg had been up to something secret, well he sure as hell kept it secret from him. Unless Helen knew.
“Look,” he said to the two of them. “I really don’t know that I can help you.”
“You could look through his papers,” Starling told him. “Look for anything that might connect with….”
“His paranoia? His low grade intelligence?” Marsh reminded him.
Starling got serious then. “Marsh, please don’t trivialise this. We cannot tell you what it is we are looking for and why. All we can do is ask you to cooperate in any way you can. And I can tell you that your friend’s low grade intelligence has been upgraded. It is now extremely important.”
Marsh knew that this was his ticket home. Once there he could do some rummaging around through Greg’s things and tell the C.I.A. there was nothing to be found. He hoped! But now he was beginning to get just a little bit scared. Greg was dead and he had been shot. It just might be a good idea to have the might of the C.I.A. on his side.
“OK,” he said after a while. “What do you want me to do?”
Chapter 6
Marsh walked into the arrivals lounge at the Grand Bahamas International Airport at Freeport wearing a fresh set of clothes that Francesini had bought for him in the Navy shop at Guantanamo Bay. The C.I.A. man had used some of the money from Marsh’s wallet, which he had to change for Marsh because of the state it was in after its long immersion in the ocean. He had also arranged for the renewal of Marsh’s credit cards, driving licence etc., which had also suffered. Marsh had picked up a few other personal items at the shop on the base which included the small flight bag he was carrying. The whole business meant Marsh had been kept at the base a couple of days longer than he would have liked, but under the circumstances there was little he could do.
He felt happy and relieved to see the Bahamian sunshine flooding in through the airport windows. He was home now. He was walking with a slight limp, but the doctor had assured him that because it was little more than a flesh wound, there would be no lasting damage and he would be fine within a week or so.
A he walked through the arrival doors into the main lounge, he saw Helen in the crowd. Just the sight of her made his pulse quicken. She was searching the faces of the arriving passengers, her dark hair shimmering as she moved her head. Although Marsh had no luggage and had cleared customs before his fellow passengers, he was still caught up with those people emerging from other flights.