“Oh, all right,” Cassie said, standing to hug Dugan. “I’m so glad you’re here, Uncle Thomas.”
“Me too, Cassie,” Dugan said. “We’ll talk tomorrow after school. Daniel will be driving you home before you know it.”
“Not Daniel, Farley,” Cassie said.
“We’ve a new driver,” explained Mrs. Farnsworth, her distaste obvious.
“And he’s really creepy, Uncle Thomas,” Cassie said. “But Papa says he’ll go away.”
Dugan looked at Alex, confused.
“I’ll explain later, Thomas,” Alex said. “Now Cassie, where’s my kiss?”
Cassie hugged Alex and pecked his cheek as Mrs. Farnsworth stood.
“Will that be all, sir?” the housekeeper asked.
Alex smiled and nodded, hoping to hide the sudden tension, but the look on Dugan’s face signaled he’d been unsuccessful.
“So, what’s up?” Dugan asked, after Cassie and Mrs. Farnsworth left.
Alex hesitated, then lowered his voice. “There have been kidnapping threats against prominent families.”
“You’ve been threatened?”
“Not directly,” Alex lied, “but I was concerned. I engaged Farley as a bodyguard. Turns out he’s not the most personable chap.”
“But why’s Mrs. Farnsworth upset?”
Alex sighed. “I didn’t consult her. You know how proprietary she is regarding Cassie. Farley being a lout made things worse.”
“I see,” Dugan said, but the look on his face said he didn’t see at all. Tactfully, he changed the subject.
“Fill me in on the work situation,” Dugan said. “What about this other guy? How do you envision the work split?”
“His name is Braun, Captain Karl Braun,” Alex said. “He’s director of operations — scheduling, crewing, fuel purchases, payroll, that sort of thing. You’ll be technical director — maintenance, yard repairs, and so on. We’ll play it by ear on overlaps.”
“Sounds fine,” Dugan said. “I’m eager to start.”
Alex hesitated. “There’s really no rush, Thomas. Why don’t you work half days a few weeks to settle in, hunt for a flat, and get your feet on the ground?”
“I want to earn my keep.”
“Of course, of course,” Alex said, “but it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
“OK … I guess,” Dugan said. “Easy does it” was not Alex Kairouz’s style at all.
“It’s settled then,” Alex said, rising. “Join me for a nightcap?”
Dugan yawned. “No thanks. I’m jet-lagged as hell. See you in the morning.”
Two hours later, Dugan lay awake in the dark, mulling Alex’s strange behavior. From what he knew, Alex failing to involve Mrs. Farnsworth in any matter related to Cassie was unthinkable. However, even if he had, Dugan didn’t think Mrs. Farnsworth would nurse a grudge when Cassie’s safety was concerned. Something was definitely not right.
“How is it you’re livin’ like a fuckin’ Saudi prince, and I’m in a bloody closet over a garage?” Ian Farley asked, glaring from the sofa. At six foot and two hundred pounds, he looked like a muscle-bound skinhead, full of quiet menace. If he would only stay quiet.
Braun took a sip of brandy, then held the snifter to his nose, savoring the aroma as the liquid slid down his throat. He looked from the dancing fire to the glass wall of the huge living room with its view of Parliament across the Thames. Rain on the glass refracted the lights to dazzling effect. Cuban weather was better, but he couldn’t enjoy the finer things in the worker’s paradise, and Braun was making the most of London. At Kairouz’s expense, of course. He looked at Farley and sighed. No more than his due, given the fools he had to endure.
“Because, Farley, your cover is a servant. You live in servant quarters.”
Farley started to speak, but Braun’s look chilled him.
“And don’t leave the girl’s proximity again, unless she’s at school or elsewhere your presence would be suspicious. Understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
Braun sipped again and studied Farley over the rim of his glass. For all his faults, Farley had the necessary skills — and he was expendable. The rest of the operation was equally lean, his only other operative a techno-geek eager to keep past work for foreign governments secret. Blackmail wasn’t Joel Sutton’s only incentive. Braun had dismissed the IT staff and contracted Sutton at a huge fee, again with Kairouz’s money.
Sutton had bugged Kairouz’s office and phones — office, home, and mobile — and now controlled the company computers. Braun monitored the work phones in real time and other phones via recording. He’d avoided bugging Kairouz’s home; the daily chatter would be tedious to sort through and reveal little. Dugan’s presence might change that.
“With Dugan around, spend time in the house,” Braun said. “Keep your ears open.”
“For what?” Farley asked.
“Signs Dugan is suspicious, of course.” Idiot.
“Not so easy, guv. That bloody Irish bitch hates me. She’d poison me tea given the chance, and that snooty cunt Farnsworth stares holes in me. I ain’t exactly Mr. Invisible.”
Braun sighed. “All right. Do the best you can.”
“OK.” Farley rose to go. “When do I get a go at the retard? Remember our deal.”
“Keep it in your pants, Farley. I’ll tell you when. And you can’t damage the goods. She’ll bring a fortune in the Middle East. The wogs love blonds.”
Farley leered. “I’ll be a regular bleedin’ Sir Galahad. She’ll be cryin’ when she has to leave me, she will.”
Chapter Seven
“How many more?” Dugan asked into the intercom.
“Just one, sir,” Mrs. Coutts said. “A Ms. Anna Walsh in ten minutes.”
“Send her straight in, please,” Dugan said.
He was worried. Had he missed a signal? Ward had told him he’d recognize the agent when she appeared and just to “follow her lead,” whatever that meant. If the last applicant wasn’t the agent, Dugan had screwed the pooch big time.
He looked out the big windows at the Thames just across Albert Embankment and wondered again at Alex’s insistence he use his office. Strange, given Alex’s resistance to hiring a new secretary and his irritation when Dugan pressed the point.
Braun sat in his office across the hall multitasking, checking schedules and listening with one ear. The interviews were in Kairouz’s office at his insistence. He wanted a feel for the American, and it was far easier to move Dugan than to bug his temporary office in the conference room. He was pleased Dugan demanded a secretary. The more he fixated on such details, the less time to meddle. And perhaps he’d hire something one might actually want to get a leg over. Braun had shelved his own plan for a playmate with regret. Someone close by was a liability unless they were in on the operation, and he didn’t want to expand the team. He smiled. Maybe Dugan would help him out.
“Come in, Ms. Walsh,” Dugan said, leading the final job seeker to the sofa.
She was five four with shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes, a freckled nose, and looked much younger than the thirty-eight years on her resume. A well-tailored wool skirt stopped above the knee, accentuating legs encased in dark silk. The neckline of her designer blouse was revealing, and she exuded sexuality.
She smiled. “My updated CV,” she said, handing Dugan several pages.
He settled in his chair as he read the note attached.
We may be under audio or video surveillance. Follow my lead. Must convey impression I am a tart you are hiring for looks. Conclude by hiring me on the spot.