Tom Savage - Mrs. John Doe

He moved swiftly to the picture window, reaching for the cord and pulling the drapes shut. Then he switched off the standing lamp beside the window and came back across the room. He frowned at the garish armchair before sitting in it, pulling a phone from a jacket pocket and glancing at the screen, apparently checking a text or readout. Then he sat back in the chair, phone in hand, looking from one woman to the other.

“I’m not sure if I can stay for dinner,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach Craig Elder, but he’s not answering his mobile at the moment. Nora, there’s no word on that matter we were discussing the other day, but I may have some news for you soon. We’ll have to let Viv in on our little secret too.”

“Secret?” Vivian said. “What secret? Bill, what are you talking about?”

Nora, who understood him immediately, was more confused than her friend. She’d been bracing herself to accuse this man of being Mr. X, the mastermind behind Jeff’s disappearance, of selling out his country-of selling out the entire Western world, no less-but now, looking at him, she wasn’t at all certain of it. Bill Howard had lost his usual composure; he was clearly agitated.

“I can’t stay long,” he said. “I have to get back to my office. I came here in an unmarked car, but I’m pretty sure I was followed. I think I shook them off near Hyde Park, and I parked two streets away from here and came through the back garden-poor Claudia had a turn when I tapped on the kitchen door-but you can never be too careful.”

Nora stared at him, wondering if he was making all this up on the spot, but Vivian was clearly puzzled.

“Why would someone be following you?” she asked her husband. “What is it, Bill? What’s happened?”

He glanced over at her before leaning toward Nora. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I think we may have found our arms dealer.”

It took a moment for Bill Howard’s words to register in Nora’s mind. When they did, she was more confused than ever. This wasn’t the scene she’d expected, dreaded, braced herself to play. Before she could form any sensible reply, he turned his attention to his wife.

“Viv, could you please switch on the telly? The news channel.”

She obeyed him at once, snatching up the remote from the end table beside her and aiming it at the wall-mounted screen across the room, by the archway to the foyer. The first image they saw was a man and woman dancing an elaborate tango. Viv pressed buttons, and there was a young woman seated at an anchor desk.

“-for the stock prices to stabilize. The minister said this could be a matter of months, but-”

Vivian muted the sound and turned to her husband. “What’s going on, Bill? What’s all this about an arms dealer?”

He glanced briefly over at Nora, motioning with his hand before returning his gaze to the television screen. Nora took her cue and leaned forward.

“Viv, I’m afraid this is going to be a shock to you, but-Well, Jeff didn’t die in a car accident. He’s alive.”

For the first time, Nora witnessed the way in which the wife of a high-level national security officer receives such news. Vivian’s eyes widened in surprise, but only for a moment. Then her expression became perfectly calm. “If he’s alive, where is he?”

Bill answered that one. “We don’t know, Viv. He’s been taken. We’re looking for him.”

“I see,” she said. “Okay, I think you’d better tell me the rest.”

Nora was forming words, deciding just where to begin, when Bill interrupted by pointing at the television. On the screen was a photo of a jowly, unassuming-looking, middle-aged man with a walrus mustache and thick, horn-rimmed glasses. Nora recognized him immediately. Viv aimed the remote, and the newscaster’s voice could be heard once more.

“-the disappearance of Maurice Dolin, a director of France’s National Police department. Dolin left his home in Paris yesterday morning and took the Eurostar to St. Pancras International Station. He told his wife that he was planning to remain overnight in London, where he would be meeting with British officials, and return to France this morning. When he failed to arrive home, Madame Dolin called his office, and a search was begun. An eyewitness outside St. Pancras Station saw a man answering Dolin’s description enter a gray sports car waiting at the curb and drive away. The search has now been extended to cover all of southern England, as it isn’t clear where-”

“That will do, Viv,” Bill said, and she clicked off the set. “There’s something fishy about his sudden arrival in England. I was one of the ‘officials’ he mentioned to his wife; there definitely wasn’t any meeting. And he wasn’t taken from his home-he came here freely, of his own accord. He was alone in the train, and then he walked out of the station, got into a car, and vanished. That doesn’t sound like kidnapping.”

As Claudia arrived in the dining room behind Nora and began setting the table for dinner, Bill brought his wife up to date. He told her about the rumor of an illegal arms deal and about Jeff’s plan. The car “accident,” the arrival of the “grieving widow,” Jeff’s retreat to Bill’s house in Sedgeford, and his apparent abduction from the train platform. Bill explained about the small team from three countries and that the missing Frenchman, Maurice Dolin, was the French third of the operation, working with Bill and Jeff. Now, he said, it seemed that Monsieur Dolin was involved in the illegal deal, that he was most likely the man behind it.

“We have reason to believe that the deal will take place sometime in the next few days,” Bill said, “and it will probably be here, in England. Three days ago, two people arrived at Heathrow from Libya, a man and a woman, and we know they’re connected to one of the nastier militant groups out there. By the time we were informed of their arrival, they’d vanished. Our people and the French have been searching all trains, boats, and planes for them ever since. Also, one of our contacts in Tripoli has reported the disappearance of the group’s leader.” He picked up his cellphone, punched some buttons, and held it out for Nora to see. “This is the fellow.”

Nora looked at the photo on his screen. A dark-haired, thin-faced, bearded man with huge dark eyes stared malevolently out at her. Beneath the picture was the caption: NASSIM GAMAL. She remembered the surprise inspection on the Eurostar at Calais the day before yesterday. Now she knew: They’d been looking for the man and woman from Libya.

Bill put down the phone and continued. “We think this man Gamal may be in England too. It now appears that they’re all here to convene with Maurice.” He frowned. “Maurice Dolin! It’s hard to take in-I’ve known him for twenty years, and I never would have suspected him of something like this.”

“How much money is involved?” Vivian asked him.

He shrugged. “A great deal, I should imagine. These extremists have some very rich friends, oil people and what have you. For what they’re probably getting, I don’t think a hundred million pounds would be out of the question. I guess Maurice couldn’t resist it.”

“Poor Thérèse,” Viv said. Nora assumed that Thérèse was Mme. Dolin, the anxious wife who’d reported him missing, a woman with no idea that her husband was about to disappear from the face of the earth with a huge fortune. Poor Thérèse indeed. She wondered, suddenly, if Bill had told Viv about Solange…

“I’m afraid there’s something a bit more pressing than Thérèse to worry about at the moment,” Bill said. “Right now we have to figure out where Maurice is and exactly what he’s doing. We’re not sure what he’s selling these people, but Jeff’s informant thought it involved nuclear capability. I just wish we had some idea where they’re going to meet.”