“Not that it matters, Tom,” Lou said. “If Kairouz is under duress, he’ll assume he’s being monitored and say nothing. And if he’s a player, which seems likely, he’ll lie. The best you can hope for this evening is a return to a closer relationship that we can use to watch him for slipups. You may not like that, but it’s a fact.”
Dugan said nothing, frustrated he’d convinced no one of Alex’s innocence. His only partial convert was Anna, and her support was tepid at best.
“Tom. We best go if we’re to reach Alex’s by half seven,” Anna said.
Dugan and Anna arrived shortly after Mrs. Farnsworth and Cassie had reached home from choir practice. Cassie was still in her school uniform. She hugged Dugan and smiled at Anna.
“You’re beautiful,” Cassie said, her sincerity evident.
Anna was in a dark skirt and white silk blouse with lace at neck and wrists, simple but stunning. She blushed. “Why thank you, Cassie, you’re quite lovely yourself.”
“I look like my mom. She died, but I have pictures. Want to see them? They’re in my room.” Cassie took Anna’s hand.
“Dinner’s almost ready, Cassie,” Mrs. Farnsworth said.
Cassie sighed. “Oh OK,” she said, releasing Anna’s hand. “After dinner, OK?”
Anna smiled. “I shall look forward to it, Cassie.”
Cassie insisted on sitting between Anna and Dugan, and dinner conversation was unforced, as Cassie chattered and Anna listened with unfeigned interest. Mrs. Farnsworth said little, but watched with grudging approval. By meal’s end, even Mrs. Hogan was smiling, serving coffee and nodding. During dessert, Anna gave Cassie’s hand an affectionate squeeze, but as she withdrew her own hand, the lace at her cuff tangled in Cassie’s charm bracelet and separated with an audible rip.
“Oh dear,” Anna said, inspecting the dangling lace with an embarrassed laugh.
“I’m really sorry,” Cassie said, “it was an accident.”
“My fault entirely,” Anna said. “No harm done. I’ll get it mended.”
“I can do it,” Cassie said, folding up the edge of her jumper to reveal a needle wrapped with thread stuck into the underside of the hem.
“A proper young lady,” she intoned in an unintended but accurate mimic of Mrs. Farnsworth, “prepares for any eventuality.”
Anna looked confused.
“At one time,” Mrs. Farnsworth explained, “young ladies always kept needles and thread near at hand. It seemed practical.”
“Yes,” Cassie said, “and that’s not all—”
“Cassie,” Mrs. Farnsworth said, “Ms. Walsh may wish to have it mended elsewhere.”
“Oh no,” Anna said. “I accept with thanks, Cassie. Then perhaps I can see the photos.”
“OK,” Cassie said. “We can go up now, and you can take your blouse off while I mend it. I don’t want to stick you. That hurts.”
“Excellent idea,” Mrs. Farnsworth said, rising. “I’ll get Ms. Walsh a robe.”
Alex smiled. “Seems we’re to be left on our own, Thomas. Join me in the study?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Minutes later, they sat in the study, brandy in hand. Dugan watched Alex over the rim of his glass. Alex looked older, much older. The gray at his temples spread through his black mane now, and dark-circled eyes topped pale, hollow cheeks. Dugan was reminded of those “before and after” pictures of past US presidents.
“I haven’t enjoyed a meal or the company as much in some time,” Alex said. “Thank you for joining us. And Thomas, I’m sorry for my earlier behavior. Anna is wonderful.” He smiled. “Cassie obviously likes her, and she has her mother’s sense of people. So if Anna passed muster with Cassie, defrosted Mrs. Coutts, and in one evening charmed both Mrs. Hogan and Mrs. Farnsworth, she is exemplary indeed. I toast your good fortune.” He raised his glass.
Dugan smiled and raised his own glass.
“Thomas, I’ve been thinking. We have a number of dry-dockings scheduled next year. We could save a great deal of money if we confined them to a single yard and negotiated a volume discount. I think it would be a good idea if you spent a week or two touring the Far East yards and discussing it with them.” Alex smiled over his brandy glass. “Anna wouldn’t have much to do while you were away. You could take her along. Make it a bit of a holiday.”
Son of a bitch, thought Dugan. He’s trying to get rid of me.
“Good idea,” Dugan said, trying to sound casual, “we’ll probably have most of our ships in the Far East trade if the China Star deal is any indication of market trends.”
Alex stiffened. “Whatever do you mean, Thomas?”
“Ibrahim mentioned the China Star deal to me. He seemed concerned, actually.”
“China Star is just some deal of Braun’s. I don’t really know the details.”
“The Alex Kairouz I know could recite every word of every charter agreement from memory,” Dugan said. “C’mon, Alex. What’s goin’ on?”
“Just drop it, Thomas. Please.” Alex’s eyes darted about the room.
Lou was right, Dugan thought, Alex thinks we’re bugged. A catch-22. He needed Alex to confide in him, but the man would never do so if he thought he was monitored. Dugan considered his half-formed plan and decided to take a risk.
“You can speak freely, Alex,” he said. “We’re not being bugged.”
“What? What do you mean?” Alex asked.
“I know something’s wrong, so I hired an investigator,” Dugan lied. “He came in at night and swept the office. I know Braun is bugging our offices and phones. He swept your house today. Phones are bugged but not the house. Talk to me, Alex.”
Alex buried his face in his hands. Dugan waited for Alex to unburden himself or, if he was wrong, explode into angry denial. Either way, Dugan’s lie cast him as a concerned friend, not a covert agent. But when Alex looked up, his face held neither relief nor anger but terror.
“Thomas. What have you done?” Tears ran down ashen, stubbled cheeks.
“What do you mean, Alex? What’s wrong?”
“Cassie,” Alex said, “he’ll… wait, I’ll show you.”
He stood and locked the study door before moving a laptop from his desk to the low table beside Dugan. The computer booted as Alex opened his case and thrust a CD at Dugan.
“Look at it,” Alex ordered, and Dugan slid the disk into the computer.
The clip began with a narrator, a woman speaking French as she walked the streets of a Third World village to a rude hut. Inside, a young girl was held spread-eagle by a group of women. One produced a knife and began to cut at the girl’s genitals, in full view of the camera and explaining as she performed the butchery. Even with the volume turned down, the girl’s screams carried through the narration. The screen morphed to a new scene: large, dirty men sodomizing a blond girl of no more than six. Dugan slapped the computer closed and swallowed hard to keep Mrs. Hogan’s meal from ending up in the wastebasket.
“Good God, Alex, where did you get that filth?”
“Braun,” Alex said. “He says it will all happen to Cassie if I disobey. You watched seconds, but it’s over an hour and gets worse, much worse. I’m forced to watch it regularly.”
“But surely you contacted the police?”
Alex nodded. “I pretended to go along with Braun, then phoned Scotland Yard. I was on hold when a live video of Cassie walking up the school steps filled my computer screen, filmed through a sniper scope with crosshairs on her head. The message was clear. I hung up. Braun called at once, warning me not to try it again.”