Michael McGarrity - Nothing But Trouble

A senior editor of a fashion magazine in Toronto, Paquette had been Spalding’s lover for a time before marrying the scion of a Canadian brewery. When the marriage failed, an ironclad prenuptial agreement kept Paquette from tapping into her ex-husband’s wealth. Although her income as a fashion editor put her in a high tax bracket, she had nowhere near the resources to pay for an expensive Irish property.

Before traveling to Ireland, Paquette had spent three days in France. Asked to backtrack on Paquette, Interpol reported that she’d received one telephone call at her Paris hotel from a number listed under the name of a Georges Bruneau. A records search revealed Bruneau to be a French citizen with a birth date exactly one year, one month, and one day different from that of George Spalding. Further investigation showed Bruneau’s identity papers to be forged.

Spalding had made the classic blunder of adopting an alias but keeping his given name and using a slightly different, but easily remembered, birth date. He had lived safely for years in Canada under his true given name and his wife’s surname, but that was only because no one had been looking for him.

A quick visit by Interpol agents to Bruneau’s residence, a furnished apartment in a working-class Paris neighborhood, showed that he’d moved out the day after Paquette left for Dublin.

A check of train and airline reservations confirmed Bruneau had traveled from Paris to London by rail and then flown from Gatwick Airport to Dublin, arriving the day before Josephine Paquette had closed on the seaside house. Acting on an Interpol priority fugitive alert for Spalding, the Irish national police service, Garda Siochana-the guardians of the peace-started looking for Bruneau, and at the request of Canadian officials, they placed Paquette under surveillance.

Sara had been brought up to speed by a telephone call from Hugh Fitzmaurice, the Garda detective supervising the case. From Fitzmaurice she learned Paquette was in Dublin on a working holiday and writing a cover story for her magazine about Canadians living in Ireland. Spalding had not yet surfaced, nor had he made any attempt to contact Paquette.

Sara shut down the computer and stared out the window. Until last week she’d kept her speculations about Carrier to herself. But with Spalding now within range she’d bypassed her boss, who was known to be Carrier’s friend, and taken the information directly to the vice chief of staff, General Henry Powhatan Clarke, a man she trusted and admired.

Clarke had raised an eyebrow when Sara brought up the possible involvement of Colonel Thomas Loring Carrier, USA, Retired, in Spalding’s gemstone-smuggling ring.

“You do know that Tom Carrier is highly regarded by many ranking officers and senior administration officials, don’t you?” Clarke asked.

“Yes, sir,” Sara answered. She knew Clarke to be a tough, no-nonsense officer who didn’t appreciate subordinates who wasted his time, tried to curry favor, or went outside the chain of command as she was now doing. Clarke glared at her for a long moment.

“Sir?” Sara asked, trying to evoke a response.

“All you have here is speculation about Carrier,” Clarke said, tapping the report Sara had presented to him. On his uniform jacket he wore a Good Conduct Ribbon, awarded only to enlisted personnel. He’d earned it, along with a number of medals for valor, as an infantry sergeant in Vietnam before winning an appointment to West Point.

“Except for the forged signatures, that’s true, sir,” Sara said, “which is why I thought it best to ask for your guidance and direction in the matter.”

“Who else knows about this allegation?” Clarke asked.

“No one, sir. But if the Irish authorities find, detain, and interrogate Specialist Spalding, that could quickly change, unless we have someone there to manage it properly.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting we try to find Specialist Spalding and muzzle him about Carrier before the Irish pick him up?”

“No, sir. I’m not. If Carrier is guilty, he should be held accountable, one way or another.”

“In spite of the consequences that could befall you if you’re correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you’re wrong about the colonel?”

“Then we’ll still have brought to justice a wartime deserter and thief who smuggled black-market gems in the body bags of soldiers who died in service to their country.”

Clarke turned in his chair and stared out the window. “Do you have a plan?”

“I propose that you place me on special duty and send me to Ireland to aid in the capture of Specialist Spalding.”

Clarke turned in his chair quickly to face her. “Once you have him in custody, what will you do then?”

“Gather the pertinent facts, inform you, and await your orders, sir.”

“What if I ordered you right now to cease all inquires into Carrier?”

Sara stared into the black hole she’d dug for herself and decided to speak frankly. “I would respectfully disagree with your decision, sir, and do as you request.”

Clarke shook his head. “You’re one gutsy officer, Colonel, I’ll give you that. I have half a mind to send you packing with orders never to come to me again outside the chain of command.”

Sara snapped to attention. “Sir.”

“However, in this case, I believe you’ve exercised good judgment. You’ll receive orders in the morning attaching you to my office for a top-secret courier assignment. You will go to Ireland, find Specialist Spalding, and take him into custody. I’ll have my aide deliver the necessary diplomatic credentials, special orders, and travel authorization to you at your quarters.”

“Thank you, sir. How much time do I have?”

“One week. If this plan of yours goes sour, Colonel, be prepared to wear those silver oak leaves on your collar until the day you retire.”

“I understand, General.”

“Report only to me.”

“Yes, sir. Will you give General Thatcher a pretext for my absence?”

“He’ll be told only that you’ve been placed on detached duty to my office. That should suffice.”

The memory of her meeting with General Clarke faded from Sara’s thoughts as she looked out the window at the star-filled night sky. Would finding Spalding and nailing Carrier amount to anything more than an exercise in futility? General Clarke had given her no guarantee that he would take any action against Carrier if she came through with the evidence. If he told her to hush it up for the good of the service, would her conscience allow her to do so?

She bit her lip and toyed with her West Point class ring, a nervous habit she’d yet to break completely. For the first time in history a woman graduate of the U.S. Military Academy had recently been promoted to the rank of brigadier general. Sara had long hoped to reach that rank herself, perhaps go even further. Now she wondered if she’d put herself on a path that would bury her in a career-ending, paper-pushing job with no chance for advancement.

She shut down the laptop and stared into the night. There was still no sign of Kerney. She wanted him to come home so she could tell him everything, knowing she could tell him nothing. Frustrated, she left the study, grabbed her travel case from the living room couch, and carried it to the bedroom, trying hard to clear her head.

In the walk-in closet she picked out a few of her more classy-looking skirts, slacks, and dresses to pack for her trip. If she was going to blend in with the crowd Paquette was writing about, she needed to look the part of a well-heeled American on holiday.

She folded and packed the clothes, her mind racing with visions of Kerney stranded on some lonely back road or, worse yet, mangled in some horrible traffic accident. She huffed with anger at the thought of him with another woman. It seemed no matter what passed through her mind tonight, it all felt gloomy or disastrous.