The Hidden Target (48 page)

“No, I don’t think,” Gilman said. “You’re an incorrigible romantic, my love.”

“After all,” Gemma said as she gathered plates and teacups, “Juliet was only fourteen. Would you bring those glasses, darling?”

***

They were about to leave. Renwick made a last quick check of the guest room. “All clear, I think.” He looked at Nina, radiant and ready for travel. She was wearing the coat he had bought for her in Bombay, and that pleased him. “One moment, Nina.” He caught her hands. “I’ve been thinking about this—a matter of security. We can’t talk about it in the taxi or on the plane. But listen, darling, will you? I’ll leave you at your father’s house, see you safely inside. But don’t mention—not for a few days— anything about our marriage. Don’t mention we are in love. Please, Nina. Just keep those pretty lips closed.” He kissed them lightly. “Also, honey, don’t talk about Bombay—about Erik or Marco. Never mention these names in your house: Kiley and Shawfield will be enough. For a few days, anyway. I’ll explain everything, then.”

She was startled, puzzled, too, but she nodded.

“And don’t tell anyone that we met in Istanbul. Or that you ever saw Pierre. Or how we met in Bombay.”

“Nothing about you at all? Not even that we met in Amsterdam?”

“Nothing. Not yet. I’ll telephone you night and morning; and then, in a few days, I’ll call at your house—a friendly visit. That’s all. And after that...” He didn’t finish.

“It will be difficult to hide what I feel,” she said unhappily. “Bob—must it be this way?”

“It has to be this way. But it won’t last long.” I hope to God it won’t.

“Am I endangering you? Is that why—”

“No, darling. You’ve got it the wrong way around. I could endanger you.”

“But how?”

He hesitated. One last warning was needed. “Keep Thérèse Colbert at a distance. Be careful. Very careful. Remember the interior decorator in Brussels? I told you about her and—”

“The black widow spider? Yes, I remember.” Then she caught her breath. “Thérèse Colbert?”

“Yes. She’s an enemy agent.”

She stared at him. “In Father’s house?”

“In your father’s house. He knows nothing. Nor does Beryl. Just you—and I. Will you keep that secret, honey? Be on guard?” He caught her in his arms, held her close. “I’ve told you more than I should have. But I couldn’t leave you in that house without—”

“I’ll take care,” she said. Her hand touched his cheek. She had never seen him so serious, not even in Istanbul when he had listened to her with eyes grave and worried. “Darling, I’ll take every care.” She kissed him. “I needed to know. It will keep me safe.” And you, too, she thought. I could stamp on that black widow, stamp her to death.

He picked up the suitcases, and they entered the corridor. “One thing I know, Bob Renwick,” Nina said. “Life isn’t going to be dull with you.”

Nor with you, he thought, nor with you.

A cool afternoon made pleasant walking around the sweep of Potomac waters called the Tidal Basin. Unpoetic name, thought Renwick, for a romantic spot. The encircling cherry trees, even when touched by early November, had delicacy and grace. Yellowed leaves loosened their hold on black branches, drifted gently to the grass below. Soon, bare slender arms would stretch to a winter sky, wait patiently for spring to come and cover them in sleeves of white-petalled silk. Lincoln had his Reflecting Pool, Washington his Mall, why not give Jefferson a lake? Tidal Basin... Was that the best we could do for a man who named his home Monticello?

Renwick glanced at his watch: three forty-five. Tim MacEwan should be coming into sight any moment now. Midway between Lincoln and Jefferson, Renwick had suggested yesterday evening when they had arranged today’s encounter. He wondered now if Mac had had time enough to find the answers to all the questions. “I’ll keep out of the picture, let you meet with your federal friends,” Renwick had said. “But these questions are vital, Mac.”

Mac had nodded his agreement, and in his own Scots way qualified his chances of success. “Not much time to find the right answers.” Renwick had reminded him grimly, “Not much time for anything, Mac.”

There he was now, reviewing the cherry trees at a brisk march, high colour in his cheeks, red hair mostly covered by his tweed hat. “Hello, how are you?” Mac said, stopping to shake hands with a friend met by chance. A few sentences, and Renwick seemed persuaded to change his direction to walk alongside. There were several couples as well as singles taking an afternoon stroll. Renwick and MacEwan looked completely in place as they walked and talked. Nothing—apparently— serious; just a pleasant chat.

“Did you get the answers?” Renwick asked.

“Yes. First, that type of stain on leather is not easily or quickly removed. Wood can be scraped and refinished, but leather is a problem—usually permanently blemished.”

“Okay.”

“Next: there was no complaint made by Madame Colbert to the firm that employs the painter.”

A show of temper, of real anger over a careless job, and no follow-up? “I see,” said Renwick.

“He came to work for the firm last week. He left of his own accord yesterday. No explanation. My friends at the Bureau are having him traced, if possible.”

“Good.”

“Colbert was followed to the shop of that ‘little man’ who does special leather repairs for her. But when we went in to see him this morning with a suitcase that needed attention, we were told he did no work on damaged leather, just stitching or reinforcing corners.”

“So he is now being watched, too.”

“Yes. My friends—Joe and Bill—” Mac smiled. “Simpler to keep it Joe, Bill, and Mac. Anyway, their interest is now aroused. At first, they were just politely helpful—they owed me that from the case we had in Canada last winter: two Berlin activists using Toronto to slip over the border into the States.”

“How far does their interest reach?”

“Far enough to have a couple of workmen in O’Connell’s house adjusting the burglar-alarm system, checking all the wiring. One window’s circuit was somehow broken yesterday—” Mac smiled again—“so the whole system went out. Work is going on there today—and tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Renwick reminded him.

“They’ll work time and a half. O’Connell agreed. Burglar alarms have got to be in order.”

So there would be two FBI agents in the house through Saturday. “Who is covering Sunday?”

“Joe and Bill are planning that now. Might even tip off the two Secret Service agents to loiter around. By the way, Bill has a question for you. That briefcase was bought here in Washington, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. At Burke and Evans. Just before Christmas, 1977.”

“Burke and Evans carry the same basic line, don’t they? There are some suit and attaché cases that are always in stock.”

“Yes. Nina is probably shopping there right now—she wants to give her father a birthday present of an attaché case.”

“Similar to the damaged one?”

“As close as possible. He liked it a lot.”

“Then Bill’s question makes sense: if a duplicate could be bought at Burke and Evans, wouldn’t it be used for the substitution?”

“That worried me, too. But it could mean too difficult a job to line a case with some explosive device and have it absolutely, perfect with no sign of any tampering. And—” Renwick paused for emphasis—“with no alteration of the inside space for O’Connell’s papers. So my guess is that the substituted case will be custom-made.”

“You mean,” Mac said thoughtfully, “the outside dimensions might have to be increased a little to hold the explosives? So that the inside measurements would stay the same?”

Renwick nodded. “Who notices if his attaché case is a bit longer and deeper? But he damn well notices if he finds his papers curled up at the edges instead of lying smoothly in place. Does that answer Bill’s question?”

“I guess it does. Theo really thought of every detail, didn’t he?”

“Right to the end.”

“Well, that’s about all. Have you met Colbert yet?”

“I decided to keep our little confrontation for the right moment. I’m depending on Bill and Joe for that.”

“Oh, they’ll know when Colbert carries a case back into the O’Connell house. She is being tailed.”

“And they’ll send me the message? No delay.”

“You’ll receive it on that communicator Bill supplied.” It was a small beeper, the type that gave the warning to call headquarters at once. In Renwick’s case, he wouldn’t need to telephone. One small signal, and he’d know what that meant and he’d be on his way. Since his arrival with Nina yesterday afternoon, he had never travelled far from the area. This meeting place today was within direct reach, and his hotel on Wisconsin was only a few blocks from O’Connell’s house on Dumbarton Road. “I think it’s pretty well arranged,” Mac went on. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”

“I don’t know. But I think that accident to O’Connell’s case could have been the beginning of the action.”

“There could be a delay in returning it—with the excuse it needed a lot of repairing.”

“Yes. But too much delay and O’Connell will get impatient. He will buy himself a new one. Wouldn’t you?”

And Mac, who was neither extravagant nor impatient, agreed completely. “How’s Miss O’Connell holding up?”

Renwick smiled. “Pretty good, I think.” He had called her this morning—as old friend Jack. Tonight he’d ’phone again, as Tommy. Tomorrow it would be Ed and Steve. Nina and he had agreed on this idea on the flight across the Atlantic. And if she managed to find the right attaché case, she’d just say, “Sorry I couldn’t meet you for lunch. I had a birthday present to buy.” Any mention of the present, and Renwick would know it was now wrapped up as a gift and waiting in her closet.

“She doesn’t know we expect an attaché case to be substituted?” Mac asked.

“No. Nor what it could contain. Nor how it might be used. I just told her to be careful answering questions about her trip; and extra careful with Thérèse Colbert.”

“I suppose you had to warn her about all that,” Mac said.

“You’re damn right.”

“A tricky situation. What if she panics, thinks she is in some danger?”

Renwick’s face tightened. “I gave her a number to telephone.” And I’ll be at Dumbarton Road within six minutes.

“Not
your
number?” Mac was horrified.

Renwick didn’t answer that. “By the way, who has Colbert been calling? Any particular friends?”

My God, thought Mac, still staring at Renwick. Renwick was taking too many chances, and all for Nina’s sake. Gallantry and security didn’t mix, that was for damned sure. “She has two. One is State Department. The other is a French journalist.”

“Any contact with the Soviet Embassy?”

“Apparently not.”

“Doesn’t the journalist have meetings with any press attaché there?”

“He is covering the White House at present, concentrates on that. Joe says he is young and pleasant and well liked. He is constantly around—attends briefing sessions. He’s accepted.”

“Qualifications?”

“The best. He is deputising for
Le Temps’s
correspondent, who is back in Paris for a couple of weeks.”

“Bill and Joe—”

“Are checking him out,” Mac answered Renwick’s question before it was asked. “Also Colbert’s friend at State. He has been introducing her around. That’s how she met Beryl O’Connell— at one of his parties.”

“I don’t like that particularly.”

“Too many moles everywhere,” Mac agreed. “But you know what’s worrying Bill, Joe, and me? You, Bob. Colbert hasn’t seen you yet, but she probably heard you brought Nina home. Who was there when you both arrived?”

“Beryl O’Connell.”

“See what I mean?” Taking chances again. Like staying at a hotel instead of a safe address, just to be close to O’Connell’s place.

“I didn’t even enter the house. She didn’t remember who I was.” An old friend of Father’s, Nina had explained briefly. “All very casual.”

“Even so,” Mac began doubtfully. “The fact that you’re here in Washington could send Colbert running to the ’phone.”

“In that case, the Bill-Joe team certainly overheard that message.”

“Not if she telephoned from a drugstore.”

“Well, whom did she meet after that call?”

He’s got a point there, thought Mac: a possible lead to her control, who might in turn lead to the resident agent who is in over-all command? But I’m still worried about Bob. “You are the one guy who can name her for what she is,” Mac insisted.

“She may think I’m just an easy mark.” She must have been testing that out in New York last August when she arrived with her State Department friend at Frank Cooper’s cocktail party and hoped to find me there. “Or,” Renwick went on calmly, “she may think she can have me blackmailed and made impotent.” Then he laughed. “I don’t turn impotent so easily.”

No, he wouldn’t, thought Mac. He said, “I’ll be moving into your hotel tonight.”

“Oh, who set you up as my baby-sitter? Billy-Joe?”

Mac extended his hand, said, “Goodbye, old scout. Be seeing you in the distance. I’m your back-up, goddamn it.”

“Goodbye. Nice meeting you.” And Renwick meant that. They separated with a casual wave, MacEwan to pay a short but elusive visit to the Smithsonian, Renwick making for a taxi and—eventually—Wisconsin Avenue.

There was no signal from the alarm in his pocket.

***

Before six-thirty, when Beryl O’Connell might be in her predinner bathtub and safely out of the way, Renwick called Nina. No, she couldn’t really make any appointment for tomorrow, and she was sorry she hadn’t been able to lunch with him today: she had been shopping for a birthday present and hadn’t found what she wanted until two o’clock. Next week, she would have much more free time—the first days home were really hectic. “Next week,” he said, “we’ll take in a movie and have late supper. I’ll call you on Monday. Okay, Nina?”

He would have something to eat himself. Then he’d read. Then a long lonely night. But at least she sounded fine—a laugh in her voice that reassured him. So far, she was safe.

He decided on one of the nearby restaurants—there was a string of them along this busy part of Wisconsin—and chose one where he could have a rare steak and a real Idaho potato. That was one thing about European cooking, even in the best of places: no idea of how a baked potato should look or taste. With a tankard of nicely chilled beer, he had a pleasant meal. Quick service, too. He had little time to read the newspaper he had brought with him as insurance against a long wait. But the front page had two items of interest.