The Scorpio Illusion (50 page)

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” replied Hawthorne, frowning, “but you’ve got a point. If you’re free, why not come back in, say, forty-five minutes, that should do it.” Tyrell reached into his pocket, withdrew a ten-dollar bill, and dropped it through the open front window. “Give it a shot; if I’m not out here, take off.”

“It’s a slow night, I’ll give you some time.”

“Thanks.”

Hawthorne started up the steps, briefly wondering why anybody over fifty would live in a place where one had to be part mountain goat to reach the front door. Then his silent question was answered, for above, on the brick porch, was a large electric escalator chair, and below the right railing a second, wide metal strip that carried the current. Secretary Palisser was no fool where creature comforts were concerned; he was no fool in a lot of ways. Tyrell was not a fan of the Washington establishment, but Bruce Palisser seemed to be a cut above most of the crowd. Hawthorne did not know much about him, but from what he had read in the newspapers and had seen on his televised press conferences, the secretary had a quick mind and a pleasant wit, even a sense of humor. Tyrell held suspect anyone in political power who lacked those qualities. Anywhere. In any country. Yet at the moment he was very wary, suspicious in the extreme, of the secretary of state. Why had he done what he had for Nils Van Nostrand, friend and accommodator of the terrorist Bajaratt?

The shiny brass knocker was more an ornament than a practical instrument, so Hawthorne rang the brightly lighted doorbell. In seconds the heavy door was opened
by a shirt-sleeved Palisser, his familiar features creased but distinguished below a crown of wavy gray hair; his trousers, however, were the antithesis of his sartorial reputation—he wore faded blue denims cut off at the knees.

“You’ve got brass balls, Commander, I’ll say that for you,” the secretary announced. “Come on in, and as we walk into the kitchen, start telling me why you didn’t go to the director of Central Intelligence,
or
the DIA,
or
G-2,
or
your own goddamned superior, Captain Stevens of naval intelligence?”

“He’s not my superior, Mr. Secretary.”

“Oh, yes,” said Palisser, stopping in a foyer and eyeing Tyrell. “He mentioned something about the Brits, MI-6 I believe. So why the hell didn’t you reach them?”

“I don’t trust Tower Street.”

“You don’t
trust
—”

“I also don’t trust N.I., or CIA, or DIA,
or
—hell, you name it, Mr. Secretary, they’re penetrated.”

“My God, you’re serious.”

“I’m not here to make points, Palisser.”

“Palisser
now?… Well, I suppose that’s refreshing. Come along, I’m brewing some coffee.” They walked through a swinging oak door into a large white kitchen with a butcher-block table in the center, an old-fashioned electric percolator at the end, plugged into a side receptacle; it was bubbling away. “Everyone has those plastic things that drip and tell time and how many cups you’ve got and God knows what else, but none of ’em fills the room with the good old aroma of real coffee. How do you like it?”

“Black, sir.”

“First decent thing you’ve said.” The secretary poured; the cups filled, Palisser spoke. “Now, you tell me why you’re here, young man. I’ll accept the penetrations, but you could have gone back to London, to the top as I understand it. You can’t have any problem with that man.”

“I have problems with any communications that can be internally tapped.”

“I see. So what have you got about the Little Girl that you can tell only me—personally?”

“She’s here—”

“I know that, we all know it. The President couldn’t be more secure.”

“But that’s not why I insisted on seeing you—personally.”

“You’re a presumptuous bastard, Commander, annoying too. Tell me.”

“Why did you arrange for Nils Van Nostrand to leave the country in a way that can be described only as highly secretive?”

“You’re out of order, Hawthorne!” The secretary slammed his free hand down on the table. “How dare you interfere with confidential State Department business?”

“Van Nostrand tried to kill me less than seven hours ago. I think that gives me a lot of ‘dare.’ ”

“What are you
saying
?”

“I’ve only just begun. Do you know where Van Nostrand is now?”

Palisser stared at Tyrell, concern turning rapidly into fear, fear close to panic. He sprang to his feet, spilling his coffee, and walked rapidly to a telephone on the wall, a phone with numerous buttons on its panel. He pressed one repeatedly, angrily. “Janet!” he cried. “Did I get any calls tonight?… Why the hell didn’t you tell me? All right, all right, I didn’t look.… He what? Good Christ …!” The secretary slowly hung up the telephone, his frightened eyes locked with Hawthorne’s. “He never got to Charlotte,” he whispered as if asking a question. “I was out … at my club … Pentagon security called—what happened?”

“I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer mine.”

“You have no right!”

“Then I’ll leave.” Tyrell got to his feet.

“Sit down!” Palisser walked back to the table and grabbed his chair, brushing the spilled coffee to the floor with the back of his hand. “Answer me!” he ordered, sitting down.

“Answer
me,
” said Hawthorne, still standing.

“All right—sit down … please.” Tye did so, noting the sudden painful expression on the secretary’s face. “I took advantage of my position for personal reasons that in no way compromised the State Department.”

“You can’t know that, Mr. Secretary.”

“I
do
know it! What
you
don’t know is what that man has been through and what he’s done for this country!”

“If that’s your explanation of why you did what you did, I think you’d better tell me.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“If nothing else, someone who can answer your question.… Wouldn’t you like to know what happened? Why he never got to Charlotte?”

“I damn well better,” said Palisser. “There’s an angry army brigadier in G-2 who’d love to call me an intelligence screwup.… All right, Commander, I’ll give it to you, but unless you can give me overriding security reasons to the contrary, it remains confidential information. I won’t sacrifice a fine man and the woman he loves for unsupported intelligence garbage. Is that clear?”

“Go ahead.”

“Years ago, in Europe, Nils was in a marriage that was falling apart—it doesn’t matter whose fault, it was finished. He met and fell in love with a nationally known political figure’s wife—an abused wife, I might add—and they had a child, a girl who now, twenty-odd years later, is dying.…”

Hawthorne sat back in his chair and listened, his expression neutral until the secretary had finished his tale of love, betrayal, and vengeance. Then he smiled. “My brother, Marc, would probably call it pure nineteenth-century
Russian, as in Tolstoy or Chekov. I call it bullshit. Did you ever check on that European marriage?”

“Good Lord, of course not. Van Nostrand’s one of the most respected—even revered—men I’ve ever known. He’s been an adviser to agencies, departments, and even to presidents!”

“If there was a marriage, it was solely for the books; and if there was ever a child, he had to work like hell for it. Van Nostrand wasn’t the marrying kind. He lied to you, Mr. Secretary, and right now I’m wondering how many others he flimflammed.”

“Explain yourself! You haven’t explained anything!”

“That’ll all come later, but right now you deserve my answer to your question.… Van Nostrand’s dead, Mr. Secretary, shot while ordering my execution.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“You might as well, because it’s true … and Little Girl Blood was across the road in one of his guest cottages.”

“What happened, signora? Why was that man in the parking area killed?” The dock boy paused, his question angry as he briefly took his eyes off the Virginia road and stared at Bajaratt. “Oh, my God, was it
you
?”

“Have you lost your
mind
? I was writing letters while you watched television in the bedroom, the volume so loud I could barely think!… I heard the police say it was a jealous husband; the dead man was having an affair with his wife.”

“You have too many words, too many explanations,
Contessa
Cabrini. Which should I accept?”

“You accept what I tell you or you go back to Portici and be killed on the docks, along with your mother, your brother, and your sisters!
Capisci
?”

Nicolo was silent, his face, unseen in the racing shadows, flushed. “What do we do now?” he asked finally.

“Drive into the woods somewhere, where it’s dark, and we will not be seen. We’ll rest for a few hours, then early in the morning you will pick up the rest of our luggage at the hotel. We will then resume our roles as Dante Paolo and his aunt, the
contessa
.… Look! There’s a field with tall summer grass, like the high grass at the foot of the Pyrenees. Drive into it.”

Nicolo turned the wheel so sharply that Bajaratt was thrown against the door. Frowning, she studied him.

Secretary of State Bruce Palisser leapt to his feet above the butcher-block table, sending his chair crashing to the floor. “Nils
can’t
be dead!”

“Captain Stevens is still in his office over at naval intelligence. Call your night watch and have it connect you; he’ll confirm it.”

“Oh, my God, you wouldn’t make such an outrageous, unbelievable statement … unless you could back it up.”

“It’d be a waste of time, Mr. Secretary, and in my judgment, there’s no time to waste.”

“I—I don’t know what to say.” Like a far older man than he was, Palisser awkwardly leaned over and righted his chair. “It’s all so incredible.”

“That’s why it’s real,” said Hawthorne. “Because
they’re
all so incredible. Here and in London, Paris, and Jerusalem. They’re not going for the big bomb, a nuclear weapon or anything like that; they don’t have to, it’s counterproductive. They’re out to vent their rage with instability, with chaos. And whether we want to accept it or not, they can do it.”

“They can’t,
she
can’t!”

“Time’s on her side, Mr. Secretary. The President can’t live in a deep freeze. Sometime, somewhere, he’ll show up where she can get to him, kill him, and while the waiting begins, London, Paris, and Jerusalem are
building their assaults against the others. They’re not stupid, get that through your head!”

“Nor am I, Commander. What is it? What have you left out?”

“Van Nostrand alone couldn’t have done what he tried to do with you. There had to be others.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said he was leaving the country and wasn’t coming back.”

“That’s true. It’s what he said.”

“And everything had happened so fast, in a matter of a couple of days, you implied.”

“He
implied, and it was damn near hours,
was
hours. He had to get to Europe immediately, before that son-of-a-bitch husband knew he was there. That was the story he gave me! He had to reach his child before she died and take the mother of that child away, to be with the woman he loved at all cost.”

“That’s part of what bothers me,” said Hawthorne. “The cost. Let’s start with that not-so-minor San Simeon of Van Nostrand’s—it’s worth millions.”

“I think he said he sold it—”

“In a couple of days, forget hours?”

“He wasn’t terribly clear, nor did I expect him to be.”

“And the assets he must have had all over the place, more millions, multi-millions. A man like Van Nostrand doesn’t leave all that behind him without making arrangements, and those arrangements take time, a hell of a lot more than a couple of hours.”

“You’re out of your depth, Commander. These are the days of computers and legalized memoranda of intent sent across the world instantly. Lawyers and financial institutions take care of such matters every day, funds cross and recross the oceans in increments of millions every minute.”

“Aren’t they all traceable?”

“The vast majority, yes. Governments are loathe to forgo the taxes due them.”

“But you said Van Nostrand was going to disappear,
had
to disappear. Traceability sort of louses that up for him, doesn’t it?”

“Goddamn it, I imagine it does. So …?”

“So he needed someone to bury whatever transactions could lead to him and his whereabouts.… In my former life, Mr. Secretary, I learned that the smart ones avoided making deals with criminals who could easily expedite their needs, not from any moral postures, simply to avoid future extortion. Instead, they went after the highly respectable, either convincing them or corrupting them to do their bidding.”

“You unmitigated bastard!” Palisser uttered contemptuously as he moved back his chair, his eyes glaring. “Are you for a second suggesting that I was corrupted—”

“Oh, hell, no, you were convinced,” Tyrell interrupted. “You’re not lying, you bought the whole barnyard, manure and all. What I’m saying is that someone else as legitimate as you made it possible for him to disappear,
really
disappear, the paper trail eliminated.”

“Who the devil could do that, would do that?”

“Another Secretary Palisser, perhaps, convinced he was doing the right thing.… By the way, did you issue him a false passport?”

“Good heavens, no! Why would I? He never asked for one.”

“I did—in my former life—dozens of times. False names, false occupations, false backgrounds, false photographs. I needed them because the real me had to disappear.”

“Yes, Captain Stevens said you were an exceptional undercover intelligence officer.”

“It must have turned his stomach to say it, but do you know why I needed all those fake documents?”

“You answered that yourself. Commander Hawthorne had to disappear, another in his place.” Palisser nodded in recognition. “Van Nostrand needed another
passport,” he said. “Because to disappear he had to have one.”

“Two points for the secretary of state.”

“You are an insolent young man.”

“I intend to be. I’m being very well paid and I do the best I can when people pay me well.”