Стюарт Вудс - Choppy Water

“I know the feeling,” Tom replied, shaking the offered hand.

Lance waved him to a seat at the table, where a cold soup had already been served. “Tom, I don’t mind telling you that I am deeply concerned that your people have unearthed our man in Virginia.”

“Relax, Lance,” Tom said. “He isn’t exactly blown, so you needn’t be worried.”

“Just what, exactly, does ‘isn’t exactly blown’ mean?”

“Well, and what a coincidence, we have an operative inside, as well.”

“How did Collins reveal himself to this gentleman?”

“He didn’t. And I may as well tell you, the gentleman is a lady. She’s been with the Bureau for twelve years, and her cover is that she’s secretary to a deputy attorney general.”

“Well, we seem to have our Colonel Sykes boxed, don’t we?” Lance said with obvious pleasure.

“I’m not sure about that,” Tom said.

“Why not? How many more people do we need on this?”

“Because we can’t prove he’s done what he’s done. At least not yet.”

“Well, we know he did the Maine murders.”

“Knowing is not the same as proving. At the Bureau, we have to do both.”

“How about this business at the White House earlier this week?”

“There are other problems there as well,” Tom said.

“I was afraid there might be,” Lance said. He picked up his soup by the two handles on the bowl and drank it down. “Go on, enlighten me further.”

“Not surprisingly, Sykes doesn’t trust your man because he’s black.”

“Is your agent white?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Not really.”

“Now what?”

“She’s told Sykes that she’s a lesbian — to keep his hands off her. And for Sykes, that’s at about the same level as being black.”

“Oh, dear. He’s not trusting either of them, then?”

“Correct.”

“What has your agent accomplished so far?”

“Well, she managed to get word to us that the White House event was upcoming, but communications from that compound are problematical, and her message was garbled. We managed to head them off, though. We set up a dummy in a window, and they took that out.”

“Oh, good.”

“But we still can’t prove anything. We don’t even have enough for a search warrant, and now they know that Holly is still alive.”

“Has your girl made contact with Collins?”

“Yes, but they don’t know each other’s identities.”

“Well, as long as we both have people there we ought to arrange for them to work together, ought we not?”

“We ought.”

“How should we accomplish that?”

“Let’s each send a message to our respective operative, tell him or her who the other is, and ask them to have a heart-to-heart talk,” Tom said.

“What name is your operative using?” Lance asked, pen poised over his notebook.

“Bess Potts.”

“And her actual name?”

“Elizabeth Potter.”

“Consider it done,” Lance said.

“I’ll inform Elizabeth at the first opportunity.”

“All right, then.”

Lance’s secretary came into the room. “Director, I’m afraid...”

“Say no more,” Lance said, rising. “Tom, I’m needed. Finish your lunch at your leisure.”

“Thank you, Lance,” Tom said, rising and shaking his hand.

Lance fled.

Tom stopped at a fast-food restaurant on the way back to his office and had a burger.

Tom was still on the road back to D.C. when his phone rang.

“A.D. Blake?”

“Yes.”

“The director for you.”

“All right.”

There was a click. “Tom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are you?”

“On the way in from Langley. I had lunch with Lance Cabot, sort of.”

“The Secret Service detail for our boss-to-be has requested a meeting in New York. There’s a chopper waiting for you on the pad. It may be overnight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll let Bill Wright know. You’re meeting at a house in Turtle Bay.” He gave the address. “It belongs to Stone Barrington, whom I think you’ve met.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A car will meet you at the East Side Heliport.”

“Thank you, sir.”

But the director had already hung up.

Tom called home and Amanda answered. “Hey, there.”

“Hi, what’s up?”

“I have to go to New York for a couple of days.”

“Why?”

“I can’t say on the phone. Will you pack me a bag, and I’ll tell you when I get there.”

“Sure. How much stuff?”

“A suit and a blazer and three of everything else. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up.

Amanda was standing in the driveway, next to a suitcase, when he pulled up. She tossed it into the rear seat, then got in up front. “Okay, why?”

“The Secret Service has requested a meeting on the subject of Holly Barker.”

“What else?”

“That’s all I know.”

“Well, shoot! I wanted more than that.”

“Think of it this way: you won’t have to keep any secrets.”

“I like knowing secrets.”

“I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

“Oh, all right.”

He kissed her and reversed out of the driveway. A half hour later he was on a helicopter to New York.

When he landed, to Tom’s astonishment, Bill Wright was standing on the helipad, leaning on a Bentley. A minute later they were underway.

“Clearly, Bill,” Tom said, “I’m working for the wrong federal agency.”

“The car belongs to Stone Barrington, and this is his driver, Fred.”

“Hello, Fred.”

“Sir, welcome aboard,” Fred replied. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Stone and I thought it would be preferable to conduct our business at his house, rather than flock to the Carlyle, where Ms. Barker is residing.”

“Oh? From what I saw at the White House, I thought they were occupying the same bed.”

“Well, yes, when she can get away. That will all have to change after she’s inaugurated, of course. But until then, I have to employ persuasion to keep her alive.”

“I should think that’s how you’ll have to do it when she’s living in the White House, too,” Tom said.

“Perhaps I can train her a little.”

“Good luck with that.”

They drove into a garage and got out of the car. “Fred will put your bag in your room,” Bill said. “We’re meeting in Stone’s office. This way.”

Stone looked up to see the two federal agents walk into his office. He offered them seats and coffee.

“Your meeting, Bill,” he said, when they were situated.

“Sykes is on the move,” Bill said, “and we don’t know where.”

Tom set his briefcase on the coffee table and pulled out his laptop. “Give me a moment, and I’ll tell you where they are,” he said.

“You’ve got a tracer on them?”

“One on Sykes’s Ford Explorer, another on their van.” He kept typing. “Ah, here we are,” he said. “Both vehicles are driving north on the interstate.”

“Sounds like they’re heading for New York,” Bill said.

“Well, we got here first.”

“Suppose they are headed here?” Stone said. “What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one,” Tom said. “An hour ago, I didn’t know I was headed here. Bill, what’s your plan?”

“My plan is to move Peregrine back to this house.”

“Peregrine?”

“That’s our service’s temporary code name. Perhaps when she’s in office we’ll come up with something more elegant.”

“I like your plan,” Stone said. “We can put up you and Claire, too.”

“We accept with thanks,” Bill said. “Excuse me a moment.” He got out his phone and pressed a button. “Ma’am, what time will you be finished at the transition office? Very good. I’m afraid we’re going to have to move you to the Barrington house for the night — maybe more than one. Claire can pick up whatever you need from the Carlyle. I’ll explain later. Yes, ma’am.” He hung up. “She was surprisingly willing to make the move.”