‘Then how can you be so sure the CIA was involved?’
‘I saw the rifle that I’m confident was used to kill Guzman. I even got hold of the spent cartridge of the bullet that hit him. What’s more, I’m fairly sure I know the man who made the gun. He’s the best in the business, and he’s contracted to work for a small number of NOCs.’
‘NOCs?’
‘Non-official cover officers, unattached to any government agency. That way the CIA can deny all knowledge of their activities if anything goes wrong.’
‘So the assassin is a serving officer of the CIA,’ said Lloyd.
‘It looks that way. Unless it turns out to be the one Dexter pensioned off a few days ago.’
‘Well there’s one person we ought to have on our payroll.’
There was a long silence before Jackson finally said, ‘That may be the way you do things at the White House, Mr Lloyd, but this man wouldn’t betray a former employer, however large a bribe you offered him. Threatening him won’t work either: he wouldn’t give you the time of day if you put a gun to his head.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘He served under me in ‘Nam, and even the Vietcong couldn’t get anything out of him. If you really want to know, he’s about the only reason I’m still alive. In any case, Dexter will already have convinced him that her orders came direct from the White House.’
‘We could tell him she was lying,’ said Lloyd.
‘That would only put his own life in danger. No, I have to be able to prove Dexter’s involvement without him finding out what we’re up to. And that won’t be easy.’
‘So how do you intend to do it?’
‘By going to his retirement party.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes, because there’ll be one person there who loves him even more than she loves her country. And she might just be willing to talk. I’ll be in touch.’
The phone went dead.
When Nick Gutenburg, the Deputy Director of the CIA, entered the drawing room of the Fitzgeralds’ home, the first person he saw was his predecessor Chris Jackson, deep in conversation with Joan Bennett. Was he telling her who he’d been working for in Bogota? Gutenburg would have liked to overhear what they were talking about, but first he had to say hello to his host and hostess.
‘I’ll do another nine months with the company,’ Joan was saying. ‘By then I’ll be eligible for my full pension. After that, I’m hoping to join Connor in his new job.’
‘I’ve only just heard about that,’ said Jackson. ‘It sounds ideal. From what Maggie was telling me, he won’t have to spend quite so much time travelling.’
‘That’s right, but his appointment isn’t official yet,’ said Joan. And you know how Connor feels about things being cut and dried. But as the Chairman of Washington Provident has invited him and Maggie to dinner tomorrow night, I think we can assume he’s landed the job. Unless, of course, Mr Thompson simply wants to make up a bridge four.’
‘Good of you to come, Nick,’ said Connor warmly, passing the Deputy Director a glass of Perrier. He didn’t need to be reminded that Gutenburg never allowed alcohol to pass his lips.
Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Connor,’ replied Gutenburg.
Turning to his wife, Connor said, ‘Maggie, this is Nick Gutenburg, a colleague of mine. He works in...’
‘Loss adjustment,’ Gutenburg interjected quickly. ‘We’re all going to miss your husband at Maryland Life, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ he said.
Well, I’m sure your paths will cross again,’ said Maggie, ‘now that Connor’s taking up another job in the same line of business.’
‘It hasn’t been confirmed yet,’ said Connor. ‘But as soon as it is, Nick, you’ll be the first to hear about it.’
Gutenburg’s eyes returned to Jackson, and when he moved away from Joan Bennett, Gutenburg slipped across the room to join her.
‘I was delighted to hear that you’ll be staying with the company, Joan,’ were his opening words. ‘I thought you might be leaving us to join Connor in his new job.’
‘No, I’ll be remaining with the firm,’ said Joan, uncertain how much the Deputy Director knew.
‘I just thought that as Connor’s continuing in the same line of business...’
You’re on a fishing trip, thought Joan. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said firmly.
‘Who’s Chris Jackson talking to?’ Gutenburg asked.
Joan looked across the room. She would like to have been able to say she had no idea, but she knew she wouldn’t get away with it. ‘That’s Father Graham, the Fitzgeralds’ local parish priest from Chicago, and Tara, Connor’s daughter.’
‘And what does she do?’ asked Gutenburg.
‘She’s completing a PhD at Stanford.’
Gutenburg realised that he was wasting his time trying to get any real information out of Connor’s secretary. After all, she had worked for Fitzgerald for nearly twenty years, so there wasn’t much doubt where her loyalties lay — though there was nothing in her file to suggest that their relationship was anything but professional. And, looking at Miss Bennett, he suspected she might be the last forty-five-year-old virgin left in Washington. When Connor’s daughter went over to the drinks table to refill her glass, Gutenburg left Joan without another word.
‘My name’s Nick Gutenburg,’ he told her, thrusting out his hand. ‘I’m a colleague of your father’s.’
‘I’m Tara,’ she said. ‘Do you work at the downtown office?’
‘No, I’m based in the suburbs,’ said Gutenburg. ‘Are you still on the West Coast doing graduate work?’
‘That’s right,’ Tara replied, looking a little surprised. ‘And what about you? Which branch of the company do you work for?’
‘Loss adjustment. It’s rather boring compared with what your father does, but someone has to stay at home and do the paperwork,’ he said, letting out a little laugh. ‘By the way, I was delighted to hear about your dad’s new appointment.’
‘Yes, Mom was pleased that such a prestigious firm snapped him up so quickly. Although it’s still not official.’
‘Will he be working out of Washington?’ Gutenburg asked, sipping his Perrier.
‘Yes, the company’s based just a couple of blocks from his old office...’ Tara stopped talking when she heard a sharp noise. She turned to see Chris Jackson banging the table to bring the guests to order.
‘Excuse me,’ she whispered. ‘That’s my cue to resume my official duties for the evening.’ She walked quickly away, and Gutenburg turned to listen to his predecessor at Langley.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Chris began. He waited until everyone was silent before he continued. ‘It’s my privilege to propose a toast to two of my oldest friends, Connor and Maggie. Over the years, Connor has consistently proved to be the one man most likely to get me into a scrape.’
The guests laughed. One called out, ‘Only too true,’ and another added, ‘I know the problem.’
‘But once you’re in a scrape, I don’t know anyone better to get you out of it.’ This was greeted by warm applause. ‘We first met...’
Gutenburg felt his pager buzz, and quickly pulled it off his belt. ‘troy asap’, it read. He flicked it off, and slipped out of the room into the hall. He picked up the nearest phone as if he was in his own home and dialled a number that wasn’t in any directory. It hadn’t even rung before a voice said, ‘The Director.’
‘I got your message, but I’m on a non-secure line.’ He didn’t need to announce who he was.
‘What I have to tell you, everyone in the world will know about in a few hours.’
Gutenburg didn’t speak. It wasted time.
‘Yeltsin died of a heart attack seventeen minutes ago,’ said Helen Dexter. ‘Report to my office immediately, and cancel everything you’re doing for the next forty-eight hours.’ The line went dead. No call from a non-secure line to Dexter’s office ever lasted more than forty-five seconds. She kept a stop-watch on her desk.