Whenever O’Hillary turned pedantic and longwinded it meant he was preparing a smoke screen. O’Hillary had an abstract fondness for intrigue as an end rather than a means. He had an infallible intuition for gothic complexities — he thrived on deceptions even when they were superfluous; he was a success in his profession because he had mastered the skill of trick marksmanship — shoot first, then draw a bull’s-eye around the bullet hole.
The principal of survival in Langley was Cover Your Ass; ultimately the decision would come down on one side or the other and O’Hillary would be ready, either way, to end the match with a perfect bull’s-eye — a neat trick and one that might require the sacrifice of a subordinate or two.
Anders knew he had to listen very carefully to O’Hillary now: It wasn’t what O’Hillary said but what he didn’t say.
“I do hope you’re not recording this, Glenn. If things backfire we mustn’t make the error of leaving tape-recorded evidence of our misstatements about, must we.” Like a disagreeable schoolmaster, Anders thought, O’Hillary selected his tone for its prim offensiveness.
“It’s not being recorded.”
“Good. Your instructions — from me, not from above me, and not in writing — are to proceed with the investigation, to locate this man Rodriguez and his little Sherwood Forest band, and to report personally and directly to me and to no one else. You’ll consult with me before taking action of any kind. And you will not take the police or anyone else into your confidence. In other words you must proceed henceforth without police assistance.”
“Then how am I supposed to find them?”
“Wits. Ingenuity.”
“And what am I supposed to tell the police?”
“Tell them the leads proved false. Pull them off the case.”
“You honestly expect me to find Rodriguez without any help?”
“I do. If there’s a man who can do it it’s you.”
“You can butter me up all you want,” Anders said, “but you can’t have me for breakfast. This opens up a provocative can of beans. You want me to find Rodriguez but then keep hands off him. That’s pointless.”
“We must be prepared for whatever decision comes down, mustn’t we. We can do that only by performing thoroughly the task to which we’re officially assigned — the task of intelligence-gathering. Once we fix Rodriguez’s location we can then take whatever action we’re ordered to take. In the meantime nothing is to be filed through normal channels. You’re on your own and I’m your only contact with the company. Understood?”
“In other words if the Administration decides to let him run you don’t want the record to show we knew where to lay hands on him. You want to keep it private because you don’t intend to produce it until it’s absolutely clear you’ll be applauded for producing it. Christ — what a grisly waste,”
“Regardless of provocation you’re to take no action that might jeopardize security. You understand your instructions, don’t you? You’re to find Rodriguez. But you’re to do it in such a way that no one except me knows you’ve done it. Not Rodriguez, not the police, not the agency. No one.”
“We’ll see.” Anders smiled, anticipating the response.
“Don’t give me evasive answers!” He could have heard O’Hillary without a telephone.
It made him laugh aloud. “You’re so easy to string along. Mind your blood pressure. I understand the orders — we may have an argument about it when I get back but I understand them. Anything else on your mind?”
“As long as you’re on the phone you may as well bring me up to date.”
Chapter 12
She awoke stiff and grumpy to the buzz of a distant tractor. Sunlight stabbed in through holes in the cheap blind.
It was too rustic for words. She had to pick a barefoot path across weeds to the privy; she accomplished her morning toilette at the kitchen sink with the aid of the compact mirror from her handbag.
There didn’t seem to be a soul in the house. She was glad of that; it gave her time to collect herself. She dressed in a plaid shirt and blue jeans and desert boots; and rummaged through the Spartan kitchen.
Last night, she thought, they seemed to have reached an understanding of sorts. Her last glimpse of him had discovered a defiant and lascivious grin. She had responded in kind.
It was inevitable, in the circumstances, that she would be tempted toward an unhealthy attachment: Crobey was the only remotely familiar object in this alien world, the only bridge between her and the sanity she’d left behind. But she had to guard against trusting him too much.
As if summoned by her mind a car crunched into the yard. She went to the kitchen door and looked out — it was Crobey but it wasn’t the same little shoehorn car he’d had last night. This one was a high square Bronco, a coiled-cable winch on the front bumper, a drab green paint job and big-lugged tires that looked like cross-country equipment. Undoubtedly it was four-wheel-drive. Crobey stepped down and glanced at her, not smiling, and reached into the back of the truck, from which he lifted a heavy rucksack. He carried it toward the house.
Carole made an ineffectual and self-conscious swipe at her hair. “Good morning.”
“Yeah.” He squeezed past her into the house. When she followed him into the front room she found him dumping the contents of the rucksack on the parson’s table — a jumble of oily blue-black machinery that she belatedly recognized as disassembled guns.
He began to sort things out on the table. There was a flat red steel box; he slid the lid off it and revealed a collection of ramrods, white cloth patches, cans of oil and solvent.
He assembled something out of the parts — it looked like the kind of stutter gun that airborne commandos carried in war movies. Stubby, ugly, wicked. Crobey worked its action with a great deal of sinister clacking.
“I see you’ve been to the arms dealers.”
“One of ’em. If he’s been approached by Rodriguez he’s not admitting it. I’ve got a few more on the list — then we’ll have to widen the net. Caracas, Rio, the Azores.” He gave her a direct glance for the first time. “Glenn Anders is in San Juan.”
“Oh?”
“Flew in last night.”
“How do you know?”
“I haven’t altogether wasted my time since I got here. You’ve got two other people on your payroll besides me and Santana. I slipped them a little something to keep their eyes open — I check in with them now and then.”
“Who are they?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Crobey—”
“Part of the reason they’re willing to deal with me is they know I won’t name them. All right?”
She conceded it. “So Anders is here. Why?”
“I suggest we ask him.”
“We?”
“He wants to meet you. When I was in Mexico City I told him I’d try to set it up.”
“What have you told him?”
“A little bit of the truth. Not too much.” He went back to work on his toys.
She said lamely, “Where’s Santana? Working the farm?”
“No. He’s out looking into the Rodriguez family background.”
“Have we stirred them up at all yet?”
“I’ll ask Anders when I see him.”
“I’m asking you. You’re supposed to be my expert.”
“An expert’s a fellow you hire because he’s the one who knows what experts to call in, and when to call them. Are you going to dispute everything I do? Because if you are I don’t see much point in carrying on. I can’t function if I’m harassed from both sides at once. Do you want me to pack?”