Stuart Woods - Mounting Fears

Todd was horrified, but he had the presence of mind to watch the motorcycle, and he recognized the suit and the longish gray hair protruding from a baseball cap. It was the man from the night before.

He looked back at Owen. A police officer was bending over him, then putting fingers to his throat and shaking his head, while another officer waved the crowd away. Todd set down his coffee cup, went to his desk, and retrieved a typed list of telephone numbers. He found the number he wanted next to the words “Pizza delivery,” and he dialed it, while trying to control his breathing.

Lance Cabot was going over some equipment orders with Holly Barker when his phone rang and his direct field line started flashing. “Hold on,” he said to Holly and picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Sir, it’s… I’m sorry, scramble.”

Lance pushed a button. “Scrambled.”

“Sir, it’s Todd Bacon, assistant station chief in Panama City.”

“What is it?”

“I’m in my office. I saw Owen Masters get out of a cab and start across the street. A man on a motorcycle shot him in the head, then made his escape. Owen is dead.”

Lance thought he was going to throw up. “Is Owen’s office secure?” he was finally able to ask.

“Yes, sir. He never arrived for work to open it.”

“Hold on.” Lance turned to his computer and pulled up a secure file. “Write this down: The combination to the lock on Owen’s door is 66759, the combination to his safe is 797461. Did you get that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re acting station chief until somebody can relieve you. Do not, repeat, not call the police. They will contact the ambassador’s office and be given Owen’s cover story. You are not to speak to them unless they seek you out, which is unlikely. If they do, stick to the cover story, understand?”

“I understand, sir, but there’s something you ought to know.”

“What’s that?”

“I know the man who shot Owen.”

“What?”

“Owen gave me an assignment to find him, and I found him last night, but I didn’t recognize him, since he was disguised.”

“What is the man’s name?”

“Owen didn’t tell me, he just showed me a photograph and gave me a lecture about how dangerous the man was. I saw him in a hotel bar last night and overheard his conversation with the bartender. He was with a younger woman he introduced as his wife. He said they were from New York and were taking a private tour of the canal tomorrow-today, rather-and I bought it. Do you know who this man is, sir?”

Lance ignored the question. “Did Owen assign anyone else to this operation?”

“No, sir, just me.”

“You are not to tell any of your Agency colleagues or anyone else at the embassy or the Agency of your conversation with Owen or your assignment, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, if you say so.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“About one minute before I called you. I want to track down this man and kill him.”

“You are not to do that, Todd. The man is already on the way out of the country, and looking for him would be a waste of time. He’ll be somewhere in South America by lunchtime.”

“But I know what he looks like.”

“You know what his disguise looks like, and he has already changed that.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Hang up, go to the ambassador ’s office, and tell him personally what you saw happen. Tell him your instructions are to stick to Owen’s cover story. Tell him that this incident will be dealt with from Langley and to direct police inquiries to me through the State Department switchboard. Have you got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I want you to go back to work, doing what you would ordinarily be doing. When you get into Owen’s office, I want you to search his desk and file cabinets for any reference to the assignment he gave you. If you find anything referring to it, I want you to scan it and e-mail it to me, then shred any documents and, particularly, the photograph of the man. We already have that.”

“Who is he, sir?”

“Whoever he says he is,” Lance said, then hung up.

Holly looked at Lance expectantly but didn’t ask any questions.

“Teddy Fay has killed Owen Masters in Panama City,” Lance said.

“Oh, shit,” Holly said.

“Yes, exactly,” Lance replied. “Who do we have of station head rank, currently unassigned?”

“You want to promote somebody, or do you want another Owen Masters?”

Lance thought about that for a moment. “Another Owen Masters,” he said.

“There’s Terence Cotten. We pulled him out of Madrid a month ago, and he’s sitting downstairs in a transient office, working his way through a book of New York Times crosswords, waiting for his pension.”

“Perfect. Get him up here in half an hour. Right now, I have to go and see the director.”

“Are you going to tell her Teddy’s back?”

“Teddy who?” Lance asked, getting into his jacket.

Lance had to wait for ten minutes while Katharine Rule Lee finished A meeting, which gave him more time to think. Finally, he was told to go in.

“Sit down, Lance. What is it?” the director asked.

“Director, I’ve just had a call from the assistant station chief in Panama City. Owen Masters has been shot in the street by an assassin. He’s dead.”

“Good God!” the director replied. “I knew Owen when he was a top agent.”

“He was, for quite a long time.”

“How long before retirement?”

“Four months, give or take.”

“What’s your theory of this, Lance?”

“I haven’t spoken to the police yet, but I don’t think this is Agency related. Owen wasn’t working on anything that would have gotten him killed.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I am, unless he was working something on his own, and frankly, I think Owen was too tired to go chasing hares. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless he went off the ranch-trying to make some extra retirement money.”

“Drugs?”

“Possibly. From what I’ve been told, the killing sounded professional. He must have pissed off somebody.”

“Have you talked to his widow?”

“Not yet. I want to let embassy and State Department protocol run its course first. I should be able to speak to her before the day is out.”

“What insurance will Owen have?”

“He’ll have the standard Agency policy, based on his pay grade.”

“What about line-of-duty fatality?”

“If he was really off the ranch, he wouldn’t qualify for that.”

“I’d like Mrs. Masters to have that, if we can manage it.”

“Then I’ll manage it,” Lance said. That was a fairly direct order to cover up any off-ranch activity, he thought.

“Keep me posted,” the director said, then turned to answer her buzzing phone.

Lance went back to his office, where Holly was still waiting. She handed him a phone slip. “You had a call from the Panamanian police on your State Department line,” she said.

Lance picked up the phone, then paused and put it down again. He had an idea.

“Okay.”

Lance phoned Capitбn Lуpez.

“Seсor Cabot,” Lуpez said, “I believe you may have already been notified of the death of your diplomat, Seсor Owen Masters.”

“Yes,” Lance replied. “We’re all deeply shocked. What can you tell me of his death?”

“Seсor Cabot, do you have any reason to suspect that Seсor Masters might be involved in any… financial activity not related to his work at the embassy?”

“No, do you?”

“The nature of his death suggests other connections.”