Clancy broke off so we could order. Bel took his advice when her turn came, and we ordered another round of drinks to go with the meal. Some tortilla chips and dips had been placed on the table, so we munched as we spoke.
‘The men who killed my father,’ said Bel, ‘if they were the same men who stopped us on the road out of Oban, then they were Americans.’
‘They didn’t look like cult members though,’ I told Clancy. ‘They seemed more like government types.’
‘Which brings me to my research,’ Clancy said, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘You know that the Disciples suddenly took off late in 1985? I mean, they started buying land and real estate. Which means Provost had money to spend. Where did it come from? Nobody knows. Did a bunch of rich relatives suddenly and conveniently die? No. Did he win some state lottery? No. A lucky week at Vegas? Uh-uh. It’s been driving people nuts, wondering where that money suddenly came from.’
‘You’ve found out?’ Bel asked.
‘Not exactly, not yet. But I think I was getting close.’ So maybe Eleanor Ricks had been getting close too. ‘I do know this.’ Clancy made a melodramatic point, glancing around the restaurant then leaning forward across the table. I wondered if he could always differentiate between gossip and fact. ‘Provost went to Washington DC. Please, don’t ask how I know this. I have sources to protect and my... uh, techniques weren’t always strictly legit. He was in DC for a meeting with some lawyers and other fat cats. But while he was there he had a couple of visitors, two men called Elyot and Kline. They visited him on more than one occasion. This was in January 1986, a few months after Provost started spending.
‘Now, I think I’ve tracked down who Elyot and Kline were and are. There’s an agent called Richard Elyot works for the CIA. And at the NSC there used to be a cat called Kline.’
‘Used to be?’
‘He resigned officially in 1986. Since then he’s been on the fringes, only his name’s not on the books any longer. Nobody knows why he resigned, whether he was forced out or what. I’m going to describe Kline to you.’
He did. I nodded halfway through and continued nodding. ‘Sounds familiar,’ I conceded.
‘The guy in the rear car, right?’ Clancy surmised.
‘Right,’ I confirmed. ‘What about Elyot?’
‘Elyot’s posted in some overseas embassy just now, not a very prestigious one. He’s been getting shitty assignments for about the past five years. I even hear that he was in the US consulate in Scotland for a couple of months.’
‘Interesting.’
‘It’s all interesting,’ said Bel, finishing her second margarita. ‘But where does it get us?’
‘The Disciples,’ Clancy said, ‘are somehow connected to the CIA and the NSC. How come? What could they possibly have in common?’
‘And whatever it is,’ I added, ‘does it add up to Provost being in their pay?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Clancy, sitting back.
‘I wouldn’t mind a word with Jeremiah Provost.’
Clancy laughed. ‘Get in line, fella.’
‘Michael has ways,’ Bel said quietly, staring at me.
‘Oh, yeah?’ Clancy was interested.
‘But his techniques,’ she went on, ‘aren’t ever strictly legit.’
Clancy looked more interested. ‘Bel,’ I said, ‘it’s been a long day.’
‘A long day’s journey,’ she agreed.
‘Maybe we should get the bill?’
She didn’t say no. I asked Clancy how he wanted to play it. He shrugged, so I made a couple of suggestions. We agreed he’d meet us at our hotel in the morning. I settled the bill with cash. On the back of the check there was a little form asking for comments. We’d seen them before in diners. Bel had filled one of them in. She’d put, Service overfriendly, food big but tasteless, have a nice day. This time she got a pen from Clancy and wrote: I love tequila.
At the bottom she drew a little heart, broken into halves.
22
We met Clancy next morning in the hotel lobby. His first words were, ‘I made a few calls to England. Nobody I spoke to has heard of you.’
‘Michael does magazine work,’ Bel said. ‘Let’s go get some coffee.’ We ordered three caffè lattes at a nearby coffee shop and sat at a table inside, even though the proprietor assured us we’d be better off sitting at one of the sidewalk tables. We had a view across the street to the Seattle Art Museum. Clancy just called it SAM.
‘There’s a porno theatre one block down,’ he said. ‘It used to advertise SAM exhibitions on its awning. Only in Seattle, friends.’
He told us that Seattle’s main industries were Boeing, fish processing and Microsoft, and that things at Boeing were extremely shaky just now. ‘We used to be world leaders in grunge music. You know what that is? Torn jeans, drug habits and sneers.’
‘Didn’t Keith Richards patent that?’
Clancy laughed and looked at his watch. I knew he didn’t altogether trust us yet, and I didn’t like it that he’d been asking about us in London. Word there could get to anyone. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘time to rock ‛n’ roll.’
We took the Trans-Am to a mechanic Clancy knew near the U-Dub. ‘He’s a Christian mechanic,’ Clancy said. ‘Every job he does comes with a blessing and a guarantee from above.’
The man was young, stocky and bearded. He reminded me of the Amish. He said the car would take a day or so, and meantime we could have a VW Rabbit. It was a small brown car, perfect for the trip we were about to make. There was a plastic litterbag hanging from the dashboard. It had Uncle Sam’s hat on one side, and the Pledge of Allegiance on the other. I took my bag from the Trans-Am and locked it in the boot of the Rabbit. Nobody asked what was in it, and I wouldn’t have answered if they had.
Bel sat in the back of the car, and I let Clancy drive. We drove south on Aurora into Queen Anne Hill. This was a prime residential area, mostly bungalow-style housing. A precious few lots sat on the very edge of the hill, looking down on to the city. This was where Jeremiah Provost had his house.
It was big, even by the standards of the area, and it was on an incline so steep it made you giddy.
‘I wouldn’t fancy walking back from the shops,’ Bel said.
Clancy looked at her. ‘Walk? Nobody walks, Bel. Nobody ever walks.’
We parked across the road from Provost’s house. Even with the handbrake on and the car left in gear, I wasn’t sure I trusted the Rabbit not to start careering downhill. We all wore sunglasses, and as further disguise Clancy was wearing a red baseball cap. There was a sheen of nervous sweat on his face. We knew we were taking a big risk coming here. But the time had come to take risks. We were parked outside a house with its own turret. We couldn’t see much of Provost’s house though. Steps led up through a bristling garden to a white concrete wall, showing no windows or doors.
‘There’s only one entrance,’ said Clancy, ‘round the side of the house. There are French windows leading on to the pool and patio, so I suppose that makes it two entrances really.’
‘And two exits,’ I added. ‘Where are the security cameras?’
He looked at me, perhaps wondering how I knew. ‘Just as you round the corner.’
‘Is there an infra-red trip?’
‘I don’t know, could be.’
‘It’s just that on the surface, there looks like there’s no security at all. So I take it what security there is is high-tech.’
‘Sure, plus the muscle-man on the door.’
‘Just the one?’
‘Hey, Provost’s a religious nut, not a Middle East guerrilla.’
‘What about at night? He’s got approach lights?’