The Hidden Target (47 page)

Renwick thought quickly over the report they had received on O’Connell’s duties beyond his daily office routine. Special advisory sessions at the White House—but others were present, too. Breakfast last week at the White House—but with others there, too. A National Security meeting last month—full attendance. “He never sees the President alone.”

“Then,” Gilman said, “Theo may have planned something bigger than we thought. What was he aiming for—the National Security Council?” It was intended as a joke.

“A full house,” Renwick said slowly.

“Look—we might just be allowing ourselves to get carried away.” That was always the danger with thinking out loud. But he still brooded over Renwick’s wild and outrageous idea. “They couldn’t possibly turn poor old O’Connell into some bomb. Wire him for an explosion?” He began to laugh, choked off his amusement. “Would it really be possible to have some explosive device on O’Connell without him knowing it? In his watch—in the heels of his shoes?”

“Nothing that would be powerful enough except to blow him to pieces. If he carried some reference book to back up any statement he wanted to make—”

“It would be examined by security, before he ever reached the council table.”

“Yes. Any briefcase, too. He does carry a briefcase, doesn’t he? Now that could pack a real blast.”

“As you said, it would be opened and examined, wouldn’t it?”

“I hope to God it would be.” Dead end, thought Renwick. He stopped pacing around, dropped back into his chair. “Theo’s target,” he said softly. “Hidden. With extreme care and cunning.”

“And how the devil do you hit a hidden target?”

“You can damn well think your way towards it. And then be ready—for one small glimpse. Just one quick sight, that’s all we’ll need.”

“Perhaps a little pressure on Madame Colbert?” Gilman suggested.

“Yes. I think that’s what we’ll try. Shock tactics. They worked on Theo. Damn it all, Ron, we keep talking of that man as if he were still alive. Who’s in charge of Colbert now, I wonder? It could be Boris or Kolman or—what the hell. Let’s call them the opposition.”

“What kind of shock tactics on dear Thérèse?”

“Sudden confrontation. Inform her that I know she’s one of their agents. That might shake her. But then, the opposition might try shaking me.”

“How?”

“Blackmail. They must have taken photographs in her Brussels apartment. How else did Maartens’ killer recognise me so quickly when he came at me with that damned walking stick?”

“Blackmail.” Yes, that was always a possibility, thought Gilman. “What would be your reaction?”

“Publish and be damned.”

“But now there’s Nina.”

Renwick said nothing.

“Would she stand by you?”

Still Renwick was silent.

Gilman studied his friend. “I’m sure she will, Bob.” Then he rose quickly. “I think I’ll get in touch with my friend A.K. Roy. We had a long chat yesterday. But there’s something I’d like to ask him. Shan’t be long.”

“It’s probably early in the morning Bombay time,” Renwick reminded him.

“Then I’ll be certain of reaching him at his home,” Gilman said briskly and left Renwick to his thoughts.

They weren’t pleasant.

But I’ll be damned if I’m taking myself off this case now. I’ve been with it since Vienna—uncovered that terrorist bank account—found it in Geneva, one and a half million dollars already paid out. And I traced them, even if they had been carefully laundered, to Düsseldorf and Herr Otto Remp. Then there was Essen, and Erik and Marco bowing in. And Otto Remp, once Herman Kroll—nicely dead in some helicopter accident, now Theo again. We got him; we got Erik and Marco. I’ll be damned if I take myself off this case.

And Nina? I’ve told her about Brussels, thank God for that... At least, the shock won’t be so vicious if she finds photographs with an anonymous letter in the mail some morning. That’s how Theo would have worked it: no press release, just a quiet threat using Nina.

Who is succeeding him? More important, who is in Washington directing Colbert? She has a control, possibly a resident well disguised in their embassy: the harmless chauffeur, the quiet press attaché. Well, if we move quickly enough, I’ll nail Colbert and get her out of the picture. Who takes over for her, then? That could delay Theo’s plan, set it back some weeks, some months before a new operative could insinuate himself into O’Connell’s household.

And whatever that plan is—Renwick began from the beginning again. Kiley, Nina, O’Connell. And from there? Renwick ended with the same deductions: O’Connell’s importance was only as an intermediary, leading to—leading to what? “Just can’t get my mind to take any other direction,” he told Gilman when he returned. “About O’Connell,” he added. Not about Nina. That was a torment that no thought could resolve. He loved her, would always love her. Nina? He could only hope and trust. “Did you have to haul friend Roy out of bed?”

“He didn’t object. He’s on top of the world. That was a big haul he pulled in—at Theo’s suite. Theo was travelling light, remember? He, himself, was carrying only a new passport, an automatic, and a wad of money. All his baggage was to be taken out by his two men and that joker wearing Theo’s white wig and moustache. Yes, quite a haul for Roy, a lot of valuable stuff there.” Gilman paused, then added in his most offhand manner. “I’ll leave for Bombay tomorrow morning.”

Renwick said, “That’s a quick decision, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to see what Theo left behind—before it all gets listed and dispersed.”

“Roy has no objections?”

“None whatsoever.” In fact, the visit to Bombay had been Roy’s suggestion. “Shan’t stay around too long. Quick in, quick out. I’ll be back here in three days—let’s say by Sunday, November the fourth. Claudel will take any messages you send from Washington.”

“I’d have liked to have had him with me.”

“Better keep separate. You were in Bombay together.”

“Who’ll be my back-up then?”

“Why not Tim MacEwan?”

“Mac?”

“He’s in Ottawa at the moment. But he does know his way around Washington.”

“He’s good. But does he have any helpful contacts in Washington?”

“He has been working with the FBI. Gave them as much as possible on the layout of Rancho San Carlos, the weapons, the drill, the faces and builds of the men. Neat sketches. He has a sharp eye for that kind of detail.”

“That he has.” Renwick grinned. “You should have seen him crawling on his belly, his face covered with anti-sun lotion, having his first close-up view of terrorists in training. Later that night...” Renwick’s smile faded as he remembered Sal. “Well, we’ll keep Dobermans out of Mac’s way in Washington. Now what about getting back to your flat? I’ll take a bus and walk the rest.”

“It would be safe enough to give you a lift if you’ll join me on the side street.”

“No thanks, Ron. I’d like to walk.” He left first.

Gilman waited to make arrangements for his three-day absence. He, too, was thinking about Nina.

***

It was almost nine when Gilman reached home. “Bob is taking a walk,” he told Nina, and kissed his wife. “Anything to eat, Gemma?”

“You haven’t had dinner?”

“Not so far. A busy day. By the way, I’ll have to leave tomorrow morning. I’ll be home by Sunday.”

“Did Bob have dinner?”

“No. Better make a double helping of sandwiches.”

Nothing can be wrong, Nina thought: Ron isn’t worried; his voice and smile are easy, natural. “I’ll help,” she offered.

“No need,” Gemma told her. “Ronnie and I have a system. And no more than two people can crowd into our kitchen anyway. Open the door for Bob when he rings, won’t you?”

The ring came soon: Renwick entered to be met with Nina’s arms around him and a happy laugh. The best welcome a man could get, he thought as he tightened his grip around her waist and kissed her upturned face. They stood there in the small dark hall holding each other.

At last Gemma’s voice from the sitting-room called them back to reality. “The sandwiches are getting cold, Bob.” She shook her head at her husband, who’d have left them alone for another ten minutes. “They can’t stand there forever,” she murmured.

“Didn’t we?” he asked.

Gemma smiled. Two thin shirts and a lightweight suit, he had told her in the kitchen. For some place hot and humid, she guessed. She’d hear about it when Ronnie got back. Perhaps. Certainly this trip must be important, highly important. He was giving up
Così fan tutte
tomorrow night, and he had been looking forward to it for weeks. “When do you leave?”

“Just after breakfast.” He rose to his feet as Nina and Renwick came to join the picnic at the coffee table. He glanced at Renwick. All’s well, he thought with relief: whatever he decided on that walk, all is well. Then they sat down and relaxed. It was a very merry party.

Gemma was talking about her morning with Nina—a visit to Harrods nearby for some last-minute shopping. “And when we got back, Nina called home.”

“Collect,” Nina said.

“Now I understand why. How long did that call last? Must have been ten, fifteen minutes.” Gemma poured more beer for the men, another cup of tea for Nina and herself. “Beryl must be so accustomed to money that she never asks the cost of anything.”

“Beryl,” said Nina, “is filthy rich. But that isn’t the reason father married her. It isn’t, Bob!”

“Okay, okay, honey. I didn’t say a thing.”

Gilman looked over at his wife. “Now wouldn’t it be nice if you were filthy rich, darling?”

“Indeed it would be. I could have breakfast in bed—like Beryl. Was that why she talked endlessly? All cosily wrapped in a satin quilt?”

“Was your father there?” Renwick asked Nina.

“For two minutes. He was dashing out—a breakfast meeting. Yes, one of those. He was a little on edge, in fact definitely cross, until he realised it was me on the ’phone. Then he became normal, started arranging my arrival. But I told him not to worry: I was taking the same flight as a friend, so I would have company all the way.”

Renwick looked at her, a smile spreading over his face.
Taking the same flight as a friend,
Gilman noted. “Not bad, not bad at all,” he said, exchanging a glance with Renwick.

“Then Beryl came on from the ’phone in their room.” Nina was amused. “She seems to listen in, doesn’t she?” It had happened in Bombay, too.

“What did she have to say?” Renwick asked. “Is your new bedroom ready? I hope it isn’t.”

“I’m afraid it is.” And we’ll be separated, Nina thought. “But Beryl hardly mentioned it. She was too busy persuading me that Father’s bad temper had nothing to do with her.”

“Probably couldn’t find a cuff-link, or his shoelace had snapped and there wasn’t a spare one around. Nice picture: economics expert entering the White House tied together with string.”

“Oh, Bob!” She laughed and shook her head. “It was his attaché case that spoiled his morning. It’s his favourite, uses it all the time. I gave it to him for Christmas two years— Something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Gilman said quickly. “Unless he had important papers in it. When was it stolen?”

“It wasn’t. And his papers weren’t in it—they were in his safe. It just got ruined.”

“Ruined?” Renwick asked, avoiding Gilman’s eyes.

“Well, not ruined exactly. That was Beryl’s word. It was badly stained—acid got spilled on it—some kind of paint remover that was being used in Father’s study. You see, the painter almost dropped the can and some of the remover splashed on one side of the desk and on the attaché case. The whole house was thrown into an uproar. Madame Colbert was furious—Beryl said it really was appalling how she screamed at the poor painter. But in a way, it was her fault for hurrying everyone with their jobs. Father wasn’t there at the time. Didn’t know his attaché case was missing until this morning.”

“Missing?” Gilman asked.

“Oh, he will get it back in a day or two. Madame Colbert took it to one of her ‘little men’ to have the stains removed and the leather restored. There’s a furniture polisher working on the desk now. And Father went off to breakfast with an old leather envelope holding his papers. Much ado about nothing.”

“Much ado, certainly.” Gilman took off his glasses, polished them, looked at Renwick, who was equally thoughtful.

Renwick said, “Stains removed in a day or two? From leather? Not likely. Nina, I’m afraid your father is going to have a well-marked attaché case to carry around. Hasn’t he others?”

“Bulky briefcases, which he hates.”

“Spoils the silhouette,” Renwick agreed. O’Connell was a careful dresser, neat and dapper. “He will just have to buy a new attaché case; that’s simple enough.”

“Beryl wanted to do that, but Madame Colbert wouldn’t hear of it. Said it was quite an unnecessary expense.”

“I like that,” Renwick said, suddenly smiling, “considering the thousands of dollars she’s charging for colour schemes and wallpapers.” Yes, he thought, I like that last touch: unnecessary expense—any quick excuse to keep Beryl from buying a new attaché case; a different-looking case. Why was dear Thérèse so intent on keeping the old one in use?

“Why don’t I buy Father an attaché case?” Nina asked. “His birthday is next month. Bob—wouldn’t that be a good idea? Sort of a peace offering for all the postcards he didn’t receive?”

Renwick’s smile broadened. “A peace offering for bringing me into the family?”

“Bob! He likes you—he told me in Geneva you were the brightest young man he knew.”

“Except?” he teased.

“Except that you were a soldier,” Nina admitted. “But you aren’t a soldier now, are you?”

“Would it matter?”

She shook her head. “I thought you looked
wonderful,
but wonderful, in uniform.”

“And when was all this?” Gemma asked. She had never seen Renwick in anything but civilian clothes.

“In Geneva. Six years ago,” Nina said.

Gemma looked slightly bewildered. “When you were fifteen?”

“Yes,” Nina said.

“Oh,” said Gemma.

Renwick rose, catching Nina’s hand. “We’d better finish packing.” He pulled Nina to her feet. “An early start tomorrow.”

“Not so early,” Gemma suggested. She was enjoying herself. “Tomorrow, if you leave here by half-past nine, you’ll be in plenty of time—” Ronnie, she suddenly noticed, was giving her that fixed look, one of his specialities. “I’ve really got to do some packing myself. Ronnie, will two shirts be enough?” She let herself glance after Renwick and Nina as they entered the corridor to the guest room. “Fifteen,” she asked in a hushed voice. “Do you think he—”