"No comment, which is naturally comment enough, since close friendships are never commented upon in this city unless there are reasons to do so. So far, the price in terms of influence is not high enough, but it will get there. Not that it matters, frankly."

"Then its time we move on to Washington-without publicity."

"As you wish."

"You can accommodate us?"

"What do you mean? I can send a plane for you, of course."

"I mean at your grand estate, the estate you own because of Havana."

"Its out of the question," said Van Nostrand curtly.

"Why is that?"

"I have my own agenda. I expect to have former Commander Tyrell Hawthorne as my guest within forty-eight hours. Twelve hours later, you and the boy can have the run of the whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned place, for Ill be gone."

14.

Tyrell Hawthorne, dressed in a lightweight, many-pocketed safari jacket and khakis he had purchased at the airport, looked at his bandaged hand in the moonlight. It had been wrapped by Major Catherine Neilsen the day before on the island of Virgin Gorda. They were now in the open candlelit courtyard of the San Juan Hotel in Isla Verde, Puerto Rico, both waiting for Lieutenant A. J. Poole to return from a conference with U.S. Naval Intelligence, a conference Tyrell had refused to attend. "If Im not there, Im not committed to their stupidities" was the way he had phrased it. "Let Jackson be the conduit. I can always shoot him and say I never heard a word." A third gla.s.s of Chablis arrived at the table. The air force major was still nursing her large iced tea.

"Why do I think youre used to harder stuff?" said Cathy, nodding at the wine.

"Because I was until I found out it wasnt to my benefit. Is that sufficient?"

"I wasnt trying to pry-"

"Where the h.e.l.l is he? That G.o.dd.a.m.ned meeting couldnt have lasted more than ten minutes if he told them what I wanted him to!"

"You need them, Tye. You cant act alone, you know that."

"I got the name of Cooke and Ardisonnes pilot from a general aviation mechanic, and for the moment thats all I need. Alfred Simon, sc.u.m-plus!"

"Come on, you yourself said he was a hired hand-an X-outside you called him, although I havent the vaguest idea what it means."

"Its simple. Someone whos hired to do a job but hes outside the circle-he doesnt actually know who hired him."

"Then what good is the name?"

"Because if what minor skills I once had havent completely deserted me, theres a chance I can penetrate that circle."

"By yourself?"

"Im not an idiot, Cathy, and the category of dead heroes has never appealed to me. Thats when I call in all the firepower I can muster. Until then I can move faster alone, in or out of sanction."

"What does that mean?"

"No one to tell me that I should or shouldnt do this or that because it will have an effect on something else they cant tell me about."

"You sound like youre excluding me and Jackson."

"Oh, no, Major, youre in till things get hairy, and your bayou genius is in for the duration, unless he quits on me. I need a base camp manned by people I can trust."

"Thank you for that, and while Im at it, thanks for the clothes. They have nice shops here."

"Thats one thing our Henry Stevens is good for. He wires money as if he has the codes to the Fort Knox vaults, which he probably has."

"I kept all the receipts-"

"Burn em, theyre traceable paper and undesirable in the extreme. Dont you know anything, Major Neilsen? Youd make a lousy field officer. You must never leave an excess of contingency funds, it just isnt ethical."

"Ill try to remember that, Commander."

"As Poole would say, you do look gorgeous."

"Why, thank you, sir. Jackson chose this outfit."

"You know that kid could become obsessive instant hate. We should put him in a cell with my younger brother; those two Mensa brats would refry each others brains with their intense intellectuality."

"Speaking of which, a very intense Lieutenant Poole has just arrived. Hes scanning the tables for us."

Andrew Jackson Poole V pulled back a chair and sat down, his spine rigid. "The next time you got a conference with those muleshoes, you go yourself, big guy!" he whispered harshly. "Those a.s.sholes cant speak a simple declarative sentence."

"Its called obfuscation, Lieutenant," said Hawthorne, smiling. "As in they didnt really say what you heard, but you drew your own conclusions which they can reject at a later date. Therefore, whatever goes wrong is your fault, not theirs.... Did you give them my message?"

"Oh, theyve got no problem with that. You can go after your X-rated pilot, or whatever he is, but theres a new wrinkle that could make him obsolete."

"What is it?"

"Some big-shot dude who must be pretty high in Washington has information for you, and as sure as gators eat meat, its got something to do with the current situation."

"Lets have it."

"This wrinkle has a wrinkle on it, Tye. He pa.s.sed over your old buddy Stevens and came directly down here by way of the secretary of defense, who had you traced. Stevens is out in the cold on this."

"What?"

"h.e.l.l talk only to you."

"Why? Who is he?"

Poole reached into his recently purchased, very expensive navy blue blazer and took out an official-looking envelope with thick red security tape bonded to the center of the paper. "You tell us, if youve a mind to," said the lieutenant. "This is for you, and I gotta explain that the head intelligence honcho at the base-some wide-eyed cat who took me into his office and told me he was ordered to keep his mouth shut-was scared s.h.i.tless. He said he expected only you, and when I said you werent available, he said he wouldnt give it to me, so I said, 'Thats fine, h.e.l.l never get it, so he said hed send me back to wherever we were under escort, and that escort would observe me delivering the envelope to you personally, probably with a high-speed camera."

"G.o.dd.a.m.ned kindergarten games," said Hawthorne.

"Hes the ensign looking over the flower box on our left," said Cathy. Tye and Jackson turned around; the head behind a row of orchids ducked, the epauleted white shirt dashing to the right toward the entrance. "The b.a.l.l.s in your court, Commander."

"Lets see if it is," said Tyrell, ripping the tape and opening the envelope. He extracted the one-page note and, reading it, closed his eyes. "Whats left?" he said, his voice barely audible. He dropped the paper on the table, his eyes staring into nothing across the room.

"May I?" asked Catherine, slowly picking up the note, but not turning it over to read until she understood there would be no objection from Hawthorne.

A terrible thing was done and it should be rectified. I refer to Amsterdam, of course. What you do not know is that there was a connection between your wife and the Baaka Valley. She was sacrificed for an aborted strategy that may well be in operation currently. What I have to tell you is solely between the two of us, for you may know more than you think, and despite the potential crisis, only you can decide whether to act on that information. You are ent.i.tled to the decision.

As scheduled, you will receive this while I am away, but I shall return tomorrow afternoon by three oclock. Please reach me at the telephone number below and arrangements will be made for your transportation to my house in the country.

Very truly yours,

NVN.

A telephone number was in the lower left corner; other than that there was no identification whatsoever on the handwritten note. However, there was a postscript below the initials.

I loathe being melodramatic, but please destroy this communication after extracting the number of my private phone.

"What does he know?" said Hawthorne, finding a faint, frightened voice, asking the question of himself as much as of his two companions. "Who is he?"

"If the base honcho knows, hes not saying, which means he doesnt because he would have said it."

"How can you be sure of that?" asked Cathy.

"I told him my leader wasnt in the market for unsolicited communiques that werent cleared by the navy spooks in D.C. Thats when he dumped on me about the secretary of defense and all the secrecy that went with the trace."

"You do have b.a.l.l.s, Jackson," said Tyrell sincerely.

"Im also just army enough to get a mite jumpy when strict chains of command are skirted by civilian hush-hush bulls.h.i.t. Thats when I smell rodents goin around secure channels to nail another military. I can give you chapter and verse going back to Pearl Harbor."

"In this case, there could be a very good reason, Lieutenant. My wife was murdered in Amsterdam."

"I know that, but why has this dude kept his mouth shut for five years if hes got something to tell you? Why now?"

"He made that clear, and you said it yourself. He believes theres a connection to the present situation; he spelled it out. My wife was sacrificed."

"And Im truly sorry about that, but weve seen what these sc.u.mbuckets can do, what theyve done, and the contacts theyve got in D.C. and Paris and London ... and you tell Cath and me that its all just a little tip of the iceberg, right?"

"Yes, thats right."

"So this world we know could be in a real G.o.dd.a.m.ned international mess, wouldnt you say?"

"I think I tried to make that clear."

"Then who are you to stand between whoever this big shot is and his goin directly to the President of the United States and all the national security agencies that mans got wired into his console?"

"I dont know."

"So think about it! He even gives you an option whether or not to act on the information he thinks you know. Considerin everything involved, what kind of reasonin is that? One ex-lieutenant commander in the navy whos not exactly held in high esteem against the life of the most powerful leader in the world? Think, Tye!"

"I cant," mumbled Hawthorne, a tremble developing in his hands, his eyes wavering. "I just cant.... She was my wife."

"Cut it out, Commander, no tears from you."

"Stop it, Jackson!"

"The h.e.l.l I will, Cath. This whole thing smells!"

"I have to know-" Tyrells voice broke off, then, as suddenly as his painful introspection had arrived, it vanished, replaced by a blinking, very controlled Hawthorne. "Well find out tomorrow, wont we?" he said, sitting up as straight as Lieutenant Poole. "Until then, Im going after that pilot. Hes in Old San Juan."

"This has to be very difficult for you." Neilsen covered Tyrells extended left hand with her own. "Youre a strong guy."

"Youve got it wrong," said Hawthorne, his tired eyes locked with Catherines. "Until I talk with the man who wrote this 'communication, Im the biggest coward you ever met."

"So lets go after the X-rated pilot," Poole broke in, his voice steady.

"Jackson, please-"

"I know what Im doing, Cath. Its no good stewin while you wait for the moonshine to drip. Cmon, Commander, lets roll into San Juan."

"No, you stay here with Cathy, Ill go alone."

"Negative, sir." Poole rose from his chair, standing at attention above Hawthorne.

"What did you say?" Tyrell blinked his eyes and looked up at the young air force officer, his expression strained, angry. "I said Im going-alone, didnt you hear me?"

"Affirmative, sir," replied Poole in a military monotone. "However, Im exercisin a junior officers prerogative when, in his best judgment, his superior is in need of a.s.sistance, and that a.s.sistance in no way compromises his current duties. Its clearly spelled out in the Air Force Manual of Regulations in Article Seven, Section-"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Dont argue with him," said Catherine softly, squeezing Hawthornes hand as she removed hers. "h.e.l.l quote every regulation to counter you from page one on if you do. Hes done it with me more times than I can count."

"Okay, you win, Lieutenant." Tyrell rose from his chair. "Lets roll. Into Old San Juan."

"May I suggest, sir, that we stop in the mens room first?"

"Im fine. Ill wait outside."