«Because she is an illusionniste!» said Ardisonne. «She has eluded the Deuxième, MI-6, the Mossad, Interpol, and every special branch of intelligence and counterintelligence you can name. But, at last, we know she is in a specific area, a sector we can cross and crisscross with all the technological devices we can employ, along with the most vital component we have at our disposal. The human equation: a dragnet, the search led by experienced hunters who know the quarry’s current territory, back alleys, waterfronts, and all.»
Hawthorne studied both men in silence, his eyes roving from one to the other. «Suppose under certain conditions I agreed to help you,» he said finally. «Where would we begin?»
«With the technology you hold in such exalted esteem,» answered Cooke. «Every NATO intelligence station and all police authorities throughout the Caribbean are being wired composite descriptions of Bajaratt and the young man she’s traveling with.»
«Oh, that’s bright!» said Tyrell, laughing sarcastically. «You send out a blanket alert all over the islands and expect responses? You shock me, gentlemen, I thought you knew all the back alleys and waterfronts.»
«What is your point?» asked Ardisonne, not amused.
«My point is that you’ve got barely a thirty percent chance of hearing anything from anyone who spots them, official or otherwise. If somebody does, he won’t come running back to you, he’ll come on to the lady and a few thousand dollars will close his mouth. You’ve been away too long, fellas, this isn’t the land of Oz. Except for places like this, it’s poverty row from island to island.»
«How would you have done it?» said Cooke.
«The way you should have,» replied Hawthorne. «You say she has to have access to the offshore banks, that’s your key; nobody down here provides large amounts of money to strangers except face-to-face. Concentrate on the islands with those facilities, which cuts you down to twenty or twenty-five. Between the two of you, you’ve covered most if not all of them during your tours here. Reach your blinds with a great deal of cash and have them make their own arrangements with the authorities. The back door down here is far more effective than the front entrance. I’m surprised I have to tell you that.»
«I can’t fault your reasoning, chap, but I’m afraid we don’t have time. Paris estimates that she’ll be here for a minimum of a fortnight; London believes far less, say five to eight days maximum.»
«Then you’ve thrown your jockey at the starting gate. You’ve lost the race down here; she’ll stay out of your net.»
«Not necessarily,» said code name Richelieu.
«London was responsible for the strategy,» Cooke explained. «And we didn’t overlook the corruption to which you refer. Accompanying the alert is an addendum that can scarcely be ignored. The governments of England, France, and the U.S. have pledged a million American dollars apiece for information that leads to the capture of the two fugitives. Conversely, should it be learned that such information was withheld, punishment in the extreme will be administered.»
Hawthorne whistled. «Wow,» he said softly. «The hardball is made of concrete. It’s open up for three million dollars or close out with a bullet in your head in one of those dark alleys.»
«Precisely,» agreed the veteran of MI-6.
«You stole it from the old NKVD—even the KGB was prettier.»
«Hardly. It goes back to Beowulf. Very effective.»
«Time, Tyrell!» said Ardisonne. «We must move quickly.»
«When was the alert sent out? The descriptions?»
Cooke looked at his watch. «Approximately six hours ago, five A.M., Greenwich time.»
«Where’s the base of operations?»
«Temporarily Tower Street, London.»
«MI-6,» said Hawthorne.
«You mentioned ‘certain conditions,’ Tyrell,» said Cooke. «May we assume that in the interests of global stability, you’ll join us?»
«You can’t assume a thing. I have no affection for the assholes who run this planet. You want me in, you’ll pay, whether or not they get blown away, and you’ll pay up front.»
«That’s hardly cricket, chap—»
«I don’t play cricket. For my brother and me to really make a go of this business we need two more boats—used, but good, class-A boats. That’s seven fifty apiece, a total of one million five. In my bank on Saint T. by tomorrow morning. Early.»
«Isn’t that rather excessive?»
«Excessive? When you’re willing to pay three million dollars to some informer who may accidentally stumble on this Bajaratt and the kid? Come off it, Geoffrey. Pay up or I’m off to Tortola at ten A.M. tomorrow.»
«You’re a self-important son of a bitch, Hawthorne.»
«Then drop out and I’ll sail for Tortola.»
«You know I can’t do that. However, I wonder if you’re worth the money.»
«You won’t know that until I’m paid, will you?»
CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
The gray-haired Raymond Gillette, director of the CIA, stared at the uniformed naval officer sitting in front of his desk, his gaze an admixture of reluctant respect and disgust. «MI-6, with some help from the Deuxième, did what you couldn’t do, Captain,» he said quietly. «They recruited Hawthorne.»
«We tried,» said Captain Henry Stevens, chief of naval intelligence. There was no apology in his sharp reply as he braced his lean fifty-year-old body in the chair as if conveying a sense of physical superiority over the obese DCI. «Hawthorne was a dupe of the first rank and never accepted the fact. In plain words, he was a goddamned fool and wouldn’t believe us when we presented him with irrefutable proof.»
«That his Swedish wife was an agent, or at least a paid informer, for the Soviets?»
«Precisely.»
«Whose proof?»
«Ours. Meticulously documented.»
«By whom?»
«On-scene sources; they confirmed it to a man.»
«In Amsterdam,» said Gillette, no question in his statement.
«Yes.»
«I read your file.»
«Then you saw how indisputable the data was. The woman was under constant surveillance—Christ, married two months after their meeting to a ranking undercover officer of naval intelligence—and seen, photographed, going into the rear entrance of the Soviet embassy at night on eleven different occasions! What else do you need?»
«Cross-checking comes to mind. With us, perhaps.»
«Covert operations computers do that.»
«Not always, and if you don’t know that, you should be demoted to seaman.»
«I don’t have to take that from you, civilian.»
«You’d better take it from me—from someone who has a regard for your other accomplishments—or you might find yourself in a courtroom, both civilian and military. That is, if you survived twenty-four hours after Hawthorne learned the truth.»
«What the hell are you talking about?»
«I’ve read our file on Hawthorne’s wife.»
«So?»
«You spread the word and had every asset in your Amsterdam orbit swear under N.I. Code Twelve—severe anonymity—that Hawthorne’s wife, an interpreter with full clearance, was working for Moscow. Each was instilled with the exact words right down the line. ‘Ingrid Hawthorne is a traitor to NATO; she makes constant contact with the Soviets.’ It was all like a broken record playing the same phrase over and over again.»
«It was true!»