"Thats not an explanation, Lieutenant! Lets have it!"

"I went back to those two pilots-"

"Yes, you certainly did, telling us you hadnt said good-bye, which you most definitely had, and then announcing that you hadnt had a hot shower in days, when you spent forty-five minutes in one five hours ago in San Juan."

"I hope Tye got the message-"

"What message?"

"That things were rotten. Those two pilots arent Van Nostrands regulars," he explained. "The permanent airborne help is on vacation. Remember, they said theyd made a couple of practice runs this morning?"

"So? Its summer. People take vacations in summer!"

"What do we do when we want to keep a segment of an ongoing operation quiet?"

"We replace the personnel in relays, naturally. Usually from other bases. Again, so?"

"No contact, right?"

"Of course."

"Then put this together in your head, Cathy. Those two sky jocks were clearing a civil flight plan to Dougla.s.s International in Charlotte, North Carolina, overseas departures, government escort to meet the plane in a secure area. Theres supposed to be a single male pa.s.senger with diplomatic clearance authorized by the State Department. I tell you, those two pilots have never dealt on this level. Theyre a little nervous, and my guess is its because theyre not too clean."

"What arent you telling me, Jackson?"

"Theyve been told the pa.s.senger is Van Nostrand himself, and theyre scheduled to take off in one hour."

"In an hour?"

"Not much time for a fancy dinner and a d.a.m.ned important meeting, is it? The way I figure, those two jocks are sky vagrants, dishonorables or drug droppers who move from one job to another through the underground network."

"They seemed so nice-"

"Youre a country girl, Cath, Im from NOrleans. We play a sweet trumpet while you get fleeced-not that Ah ever did such a thing-"

"What do we do now?"

"I hate bein an alarmist, but do you still have Tyes weapon?"

"No. He strapped it to his leg."

"Im checking our driver-Christ, hes got two! A big one and a little bitty thing.... Here, you take the big one and stay in the car; Ill put the other in my fancy jacket here. If anyone approaches the car, dont ask questions, just shoot; and if this son of a b.i.t.c.h moves, crack him good in the head."

"Bulls.h.i.t, Lieutenant. Im going with you!"

"I dont think you should, Major."

"I just gave you an order, Poole."

"Theres an article in the Air Force Regulations that clearly states-"

"Forget it! Where you go, I go! What about the driver?"

"Give me a hand." Jackson pulled the chauffeur out of the limousine and started dragging him over the ground under the wide pine tree. "Take off his clothes, his shoes first," he continued as Cathy scurried alongside, yanking the drivers loafers off his feet. "Now the trousers," added Poole, reaching a tall hedgerow, where he stopped. "Ill take off his jacket and shirt ... leave his shorts on, Ill get them last."

A minute later the stark-naked figure of the chauffeur was bound and gagged with strips of fabric torn from his clothing-none wide enough to service his dignity. The lieutenant delivered a final chop to the mans neck; the body shivered spastically, then once again was immobile.

"You didnt kill him, did you?" asked Neilsen, grimacing.

"If I stay here another five seconds, I may just do that. This b.a.s.t.a.r.d was gonna kill us, Cath, and Im going to prove it to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Lets go back to the limo, its got a telephone. Im d.a.m.n sure Im right."

Poole started the engine, activating the cellular phone, then yanked it out of its cradle and dialed information for the number of the Shenandoah Lodge. "This is an urgent call from Patrick Air Force Base," he said in monotonal officialese. "Please connect me with either Major Catherine Neilsen or a Lieutenant A. J. Poole. I repeat, this is an emergency."

"Yes, sir-yes, sir!" the fl.u.s.tered operator replied. "Ill check our room computers immediately." The line went silent; thirty-one seconds later a relieved operator came back on the phone. "Theres no one by either name registered at the Shenandoah, sir."

"You need anything more, Major?" The lieutenant replaced the phone. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was going to kill us before we ever got to that place. Then maybe ten years from now our decomposed bodies are found in one of these Ginia swamps."

"Weve got to get to Hawthorne!"

"Youve got that right," Poole said.

Hawthorne was escorted into the enormous book-lined library of his host, Nils Van Nostrand. He declined a drink offered by the golf-cart driver, who stood in front of an elaborate gla.s.s-paneled bar.

"I drink only white wine, thanks," said Tyrell. "The cheaper the better and in small quant.i.ties."

"Theres some excellent Pouilly-Fume, sir."

"My stomach would revolt. Its used to lesser bouquets."

"As you wish, Commander, but Im afraid I must ask you to remove the weapon attached to your right leg."

"My right what ...?"

"Please, sir," said the golf-cart chauffeur, taking a tiny plug out of his ear. "Youve pa.s.sed by four X-ray machines, from the front entrance through the hallway to this room. It was revealed on each camera. Remove it, please."

"Its just an old habit," said Hawthorne lamely, sitting down in the nearest chair and raising his trouser leg. "Id do the same if I were meeting the Pope." He tore apart the Velcro, releasing the automatic, and kicked it across the floor. "Satisfied?"

"Thank you, sir. Mr. Van Nostrand will be here presently."

"You were the advance security, then?"

"My employer is a cautious man."

"He must have a lot of enemies."

"On the contrary, I couldnt possibly name one. He is, however, extremely wealthy, and as his chief of grounds security, I insist on certain procedures when people he does not know come to visit him. As a former intelligence officer, Im sure you can approve."

"I obviously cant object. What were you, Army G-2?"

"No, Secret Service, a.s.signed to the White House. The President was reluctant to see me go, but he understood the financial responsibilities of a married man with four children to put through college."

"You do your job well."

"I know. Ill be right outside the door when Mr. Van Nostrand arrives."

"Lets get something straight, Mr. Secret Service. I was brought here by your boss, I didnt invite myself."

"What kind of guest is it who straps a Walther P.K. to his leg? If Im not mistaken, its a favorite weapon of dangerous men."

"I told you, habit."

"Not here, Commander." He bent down and picked up the gun.

The door opened and the imposing figure of Nils Van Nostrand came into the room, his expression one of conviviality itself. "Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne," he said, approaching Tyrell and offering his hand as his visitor rose from the chair. "Forgive me for not greeting you when you arrived, but I was on the phone with a man I suggested you reach, the secretary of state.... I believe I recognize your jacket. Safarics, Johannesburg. Top grade."

"Sorry. Tonys Tropic Shop, San Juan Airport."

"d.a.m.n fine imitation. I dabbled for a while in fabrics. Its the pockets that make a bush jacket; all men like lots of pockets. At any rate, I do apologize for not meeting you at the airstrip."

"The time was put to good use," said Hawthorne, studying his host, almost mesmerized by Van Nostrands appearance. A big guy ... with gray hair and very high-cla.s.s... like those advertis.e.m.e.nts for fancy mens clothes. "Youve got terrific security."

"Oh, Brian here?" Van Nostrand laughed softly, gracefully, glancing kindly at his chief of grounds security. "Sometimes my good friend takes his job too seriously. I trust there was no inconvenience."

"None, sir." The man named Brian un.o.btrusively slipped the automatic into his pocket. "I offered the commander a drink, your Pouilly-Fume, but he refused."

"Really? Its an excellent year, but then, perhaps Mr. Hawthorne prefers bourbon, sour mash to be precise."

"Youve done your homework," said Tyrell, "but Im afraid thats history."

"Yes, so Ive been told. Would you please leave us, Brian? Our man in Amsterdam and I have confidential matters to discuss."

"Certainly, sir." The former Secret Service agent crossed to the door and let himself out.

"Now were alone, Commander."

"Were alone, and you made an extraordinary statement concerning my wife and Captain Henry Stevens. I want to know what youve got to back it up."

"Well get to that in time. Please, sit down, well chat for a few minutes."

"I dont care to chat! Why did you say what you did about my wife? You answer that and we may talk about other things, but itll be a d.a.m.n short conference."

"Yes, I was told you couldnt stay for dinner or even accept my hospitality for the night."

"I didnt come for dinner or to be your guest. I came to hear what you have to say about my wifes murder in Amsterdam and one Captain Henry Stevens. He may know something I dont, but you brought in another equation. Explain it!"

"I dont have to. Youre here. And as eager as you are to learn of those circ.u.mstances, Im equally filled with curiosity to know what happened on a certain obscure island in the Caribbean."

Silence. They stood only several feet apart, their eyes intensely on each other. Finally, Hawthorne spoke.

"Youre Neptune, arent you?"

"Indeed, I am, Commander. However, that information will never leave this room."

"Youre sure of that?"

"Definitely. You are about to die, Mr. Hawthorne. Now, Brian!"

18.

The gunfire shattered the silence of the immense compound as Poole and Catherine Neilsen repeatedly, in panic, pulled the triggers of their weapons, causing the library windows to collapse, shards of gla.s.s falling both inside and outside. The young lieutenant crashed through the remnants, rolling on the floor and propelling himself to his feet, his automatic leveled at the fallen bodies.

"You okay?" he shouted at the stunned Hawthorne, who had lurched into a corner behind a chair.

"Where the h.e.l.l did you come from?" asked a breathless Tyrell, unsteadily getting to his knees. "I was finished, gone!"

"I figured something like that-"

"Those excessive good-byes to the pilots?" Hawthorne interrupted, gasping for breath, sweat breaking out on his forehead, "and the hot shower you hadnt had in days?"

"Ill catch you up later, but our drivers in the bushes and isnt goin anywhere. Cathy and I walked around the house, saw you in here, and when that smooth-talkin gorilla ran in with a gun in his hand, we figured we didnt have time to think."

"Thanks for not thinking. He told me I was dead."

"Weve got to get out of here!"

"Will somebody help me through this G.o.dd.a.m.ned window without slicing my flesh apart?" Cathy complained. "Incidentally, there are men racing up the road from the gate."

"Well turn them around," said Hawthorne, joining Poole, lifting the major through the window, then running to the library door and locking it. When the knocking began, Tyrell did his best to imitate Van Nostrands voice, mid-deep, mid-Atlantic. "Everythings fine, Brian was showing me a new automatic-return to your posts."

"Yes, sir," came the single reply. Automatically they reacted to a familiar name uttered by unquestioned authority. The footsteps receded.

"Were clean," said Tyrell.

"And youre out of your mind!" Cathy said in a harsh whisper. "There are two dead bodies here!"

"I didnt say forever, just for now."