“And what of the Colombians?”
“They are simply pawns in our global game of chess. Essential, but a pawn just the same. Believe me, Comrade General, when the time comes, I will deal with them just as I have dealt with the rest of our enemies.”
“And if Escandoza suspects betrayal?”
“There is a saying: To defeat your enemy, bring him gifts through his front door so he will not hear death slipping in the back.”
After the General Secretary and General Cho left the dining room, the servant finished cleaning the table. He brought in a new arrangement of flowers and set the table for breakfast the following day.
His work shift had ended so he gathered his belongings and made his way through the quiet hallways lined with the General Secretary's favorite paintings and silk screens. He emerged into a courtyard on the south side of Communist Party Headquarters, nodded to the guard at the security gate, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. A few blocks away, he stood under a lamp and watched the city lights reflect off the Taedong River. He paid no attention to the clatter of traffic and the bells of passing bicycles. Soon he noticed a woman and a young girl approaching — the girl sang softly to a small doll she held.
When they were close, he turned and smiled at the little girl, and bowed to the mother. The servant asked to see the doll and the girl handed it to him. He commented on how beautiful it was as he bent to give the girl a kiss on the cheek. Handing the doll back to the child, he again bowed to the mother, wished them a good evening, and watched them walk away.
Then he took one last look down at the dark, slow moving river before heading to his apartment a few blocks away.
THE INN
Skyler mulled over the events of the past week in Mexico and off the coast of Cuba as he headed west on Saunders Settlement Road toward Niagara Falls. He wondered if he was getting closer to finding any answers at all.
Near the entrance to the Tuscarora Indian Reservation, he saw the sign — Colonial Inn, A Bed and Breakfast. Driving up the gravel entrance road lined with sycamores, Skyler parked his rental beside two other cars. Firs and willows surrounded the old mansion, and a wide landscaped lawn gently sloped down to a lake with a dock and boathouse.
He grabbed his bag from the back seat and walked up the steps and across the front porch. Freshly painted rocking chairs and porch swings waited for guests to sit and enjoy the warm, sunny afternoons.
The lobby had polished wooden floors and paneling — the room brimmed with an impressive collection of Victorian antiques. A number of pictures of the Inn hung on the wall. There was no one behind the front desk so Skyler took a moment to admire the photos. Then he heard someone approaching.
“She was built in 1838.”
He turned to see a tall woman in a bright summer dress and sandals walk across the lobby. She had long, curly white hair and hazel eyes that smiled. Her slender face was slightly tanned with a hint of freckles, and she moved with the grace of someone who might have been trained as a dancer. He guessed her age to be late fifties.
“The Inn has quite a history,” he said.
“Yes, it does. It once served as an army headquarters. And Theodore Roosevelt was sworn in as the twenty-sixth President right over there in the library.” She extended her hand. “I'm Lilly Penn, and you must be Matt Skyler.”
“Hello, Lilly.” They shook hands.
“How long will you be staying with us?”
“Just for tonight. I'm flying to London tomorrow.”
“Well, we're happy to have you.” She went behind the front desk. “Things are a little slow right now so it's nice to see a new face.” She opened the registration book and handed him a pen. “Your room will be number ten, just up the stairs to the right.”
“Thanks. I understand you and your husband run the place. I was wondering if he was around? I'd like to have a word with him.”
“Of course. Did you see the boathouse when you drove up?”
“Yes.”
“That's where you'll usually find Harry. He has a little shop down there, makes fishing flies. It's his hobby. He sells them in town at the bait and tackle shops.”
“I've been known to do some fishing. Maybe I'll buy a few flies from him while I'm here.”
“He'd be proud, I'm sure. Make yourself at home and go down to the boathouse whenever you feel like it.”
“Thanks again, Lilly.”
Skyler went up the stairs, found his room, and dropped his bag off. He then headed out the back of the Inn toward the dock. The gravel path wound through flowerbeds filled with daffodils, zinnias and tulips. Evergreens and a well-trimmed hedge outlined the flower gardens. A gentle breeze from the lake swayed the tulips.
He walked down along the dock and opened the door to the boathouse. Inside was a room filled with fishing gear — the walls were covered with rods, reels, nets, and dozens of pictures of proud fishermen holding up their catches. Beyond a screen door, Skyler could see an old Boston Whaler tied up. An elderly man sat in the back of the shop bent over a workbench. He had a full head of silver gray hair and wore a checkered shirt, brown pants and Timberline boots.
Without turning around, he said, “Come in, Mr. Skyler.”
“Thanks, but how did you know my name?”
“Intercom.” He tapped a plastic speaker box beside him. “My wife let me know you might be paying a visit.” He laid his tools down and turned around. “Welcome to the Colonial Inn, I'm Harry Penn.” They shook hands. “Understand you're a fishing enthusiast.”
“Saltwater mostly. I'm from Key West. I own a company called OceanQuest. We specialize in military salvage and deep water research.”
“Did some deep-sea fishing myself while I was down in the Tampa area. Caught a lot of snapper about twenty miles offshore — one of those charter drift boats.”
“I assume you like freshwater?”
“That's right. Granted, the fish are smaller but they've got a fighting spirit you just don't find in ocean fish. Unless you go hunting for one of those big bill fish.”
Skyler picked up a fly. “A bucktail. Beautiful workmanship. Real deer hair?”
“Absolutely.”
“You must sell these as fast as you make them.”
“I have a pretty loyal clientele.” With a sweep of his hand he motioned to the pictures covering the wall. Then he pulled a red bandanna out of his hip pocket and blew his nose. “Damn allergies. So what did you want to talk about, Mr. Skyler? Directions to the best fishing holes in the area, maybe?”
“Actually, I was interested in a company you once worked for — Niagara Technologies. I understand you were the general manager. I'm trying to get some information on a mineral called korium and my research tells me Niagara Technologies was a principle user the early sixties.”
“You're correct. Unfortunately there just wasn't that much of it to be had. Eventually we lost our government contracts because of its scarcity, and a lot of bad luck.”
“You mean the cargo plane crash?”
“Yes. Everything was fine until that shipment of korium went down somewhere in the North Atlantic. Then things fell apart after that.”
“You must have done some interesting work at Niagara.”
“Oh, nothing all that exciting. Mostly electroplating.”
“So when Niagara folded, you retired?”
“I wanted to, but Uncle Sam insisted on keeping me around. Moved out to Texas in the mid-seventies to do some research for the government.”
“More electroplating?”
“Alternative energy experiments.”
“I take it you weren’t successful?”
“I'm afraid that's something I can't discuss.”
“Are you saying it's still classified even after all these years?”