Bodyguard of Lies Page 9

  Racine was having a hard time taking it all in. He was still trying to accept that Gant was dead. After all these years, to have it end like this. He had never imagined such a thing. He decided to cut to the chase and work through it all when he was alone.

  "What about this thing Gant had?"

  "We must assume that Gant gave it to someone or if it is hidden, as is most likely, gave someone the means to find it." Nero coughed. “After all, someone had to bury him. And sterilize his place.”

  “Who? His brother, Jack?”

  “Not his brother. It has been many, many years since the two have spoken. Let’s call this person Gant’s ghost for the moment.” Nero slid a picture across the desktop. "There was someone else who held part of the balance. Another old player who retired lone ago. Gant's piece works in concert with his piece. That is John Masterson.”

  Racine stiffened and didn’t look at the picture right away. “Who is he?”

  Nero was perfectly still, head cocked as if staring at Racine. Finally he spoke. “Mister Masterson only ran one mission for us years ago. A mission with Gant. He’s been a civilian for over a decade with a new life.”

  “There’s no such thing as a new life,” Racine said.

  “There is if the old one wasn’t real,” Nero said, almost to himself rather than Racine.

  Racine frowned. “So what does Gant have? Or had?”

  “Mister Gant’s piece of the puzzle is a videotape.”

  “What is the tape of?”

  “Of a meeting we would prefer not become public.”

  “I’ll get it,” Racine promised.

  “Don’t forget Masterson and his piece,” Nero said. He slid a picture across the desk. “This is Masterson’s wife.”

  Racine took the picture. He looked at it and was careful to control his reaction to the woman. Very nice. "I'll take care of the Masterson's. What does John Masterson have?" he asked. "Do I need to get that too?"

  "No. His piece of the puzzle is relatively unimportant without the other two parts.”

  “Other two parts?” Racine’s tongue snaked over his lip nervously.

  “Focus on your job,” Nero ordered. “We must assume Gant passed on his piece of the secret to whoever buried him; after all, even our redoubtable Mister Gant couldn't hop in a grave and cover himself up after he is dead, no? So, whoever has Gant's piece will most likely also go to John Masterson to try to reconstruct their balance and therefore you can do the proverbial killing of two birds with one stone by going to St. Louis where the Masterson’s reside."

  “And the third piece?”

  Nero shook his head. “Not your concern at the moment.”

  “It would help if I knew—“

  Nero’s voice was sharp and brooked no argument. “No, it would not.”

  Racine stood. "I'll take care of it."

  Mr. Nero allowed himself a smile. "Gant's ghost is not to die before that tape is on this desk. And Mrs. Masterson. I would like to talk to her to see what her husband told her.”

  Racine blinked. “But—“

  “Allow an old man his curiosity,” Nero said, cutting Racine off.

  Racine frowned. "But I thought--"

  "Ah, thinking," Nero interrupted once more. "That's my job, Mister Racine, and I've already thought about this situation. No need for you to waste what little talent you have in that area on this. I have to assume Mister Gant would have played his cards close to his vest but he certainly wouldn't have wanted those cards to be buried with him. After all there is Jessie and his son, Bobbie, to consider."

  Racine bit the inside of his lip, waiting on Nero's words.

  "From a hair sample we found at Gant's cabin we think his ghost is a woman."

  Racine assimilated that startling piece of information. “The woman from Berlin?”

  “Her name is Neeley,” Nero said.

  “She’s been with Gant all these years?” The concept was quite strange to Racine.

  “I believe she has,” Nero said. “Now you understand why I chose you for this.”

  Racine bridled at the reference. It was well known in the Cellar that Racine had no problem taking contracts on women. Not all of the specialists in the Cellar shared Racine's attitude. Racine said, to those who cared to listen, that if women wanted equality, he was happy to oblige.

  Nero slid a piece of paper across the desk. “That’s an Agency number in Operations. Someone with quite a bit of pull has gotten support from our friends in Langley. If you need help, you may call upon them.”

  Racine took the paper, knowing this was strange. Implicit in Nero’s comment was that he couldn’t call the Cellar for back-up. That wasn’t totally bad, considering the Agency had a lot of resources, but the quality of those resources was a different story. Racine had to assume this was his punishment for Baltimore.

  “You are dismissed.

  Racine left. As soon as the door closed behind him, a panel on the wall behind Nero opened and Bailey walked in, jaws working as he chewed his ever-present gum.

  "Baltimore?" Bailey asked, taking the seat Racine had occupied.

  "Racine did a free-lance job. Made a bloody mess of it. Killed a couple of non-players. A woman and her husband."

  “For who?” Bailey asked.

  “For Senator Collins.”

  Bailey frowned.

  Nero nodded as if he saw the frown. “Yes. Raises all sorts of questions, doesn’t it?”

  “Wheels turning within wheels,” Bailey said.

  Nero grunted. “Aren’t there always?”

  “Why the kill?”

  “The good Senator was having an affair with the woman. Her husband had learned of it and was threatening divorce. It would have gotten ugly. The good Senator is in a precarious position as he tries to move upward in the world.”

  “The woman-- Neeley. What do you think she will do?”

  “Most likely go to Masterson,” Nero said. “That’s what Gant would have told her to do.”

  “You mentioned a third piece?” Bailey asked. “A third person?”

  Nero nodded. “I’m not sure everything was as we thought it was so long ago. I was fishing with Racine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been rearranging the facts. They’re vague and distant sometimes, but they are there. Sudan. Mogadishu. The Embassy bombings. 9-11. Afghanistan. Action—reaction. Short-sightedness. Even before then. We never quite tied up the loose ends on Pan Am 107.”

  Bailey’s eyebrows lifted at Nero’s tone. He’d never heard the old man so angry.

  Nero could tell from the heavy silence that Bailey didn’t quite believe he was telling him everything, but implicit in their relationship from the beginning had been that Nero was the one who controlled all the pieces, and knowledge of both the players and the moves were only given when needed.

  "Why did you put Racine on this?" Bailey finally asked.

  "Because Senator Collins wants the issue resolved but I have yet to decide exactly how that resolution will develop and I want to keep my options open. Since Senator Collins was involved on the front end and appears to be involved in something presently with Racine, we might as well involve Racine in this. I think I need to take a harder look at Mister Racine and the past. You never know what might come out of the forest if a fire burns through it."

  CHAPTER 9

  Neeley made her way through the darkened woods, another night creature foraging in the dark. It had been a frustrating day. John Masterson had vanished and left no trail that she could find.

  Her investigation had yielded no connection yet between John and Gant. John Masterson had been here in St. Louis for almost ten years working for the same oil technology company. He worked on some classified projects connected with the Pentagon but Neeley didn’t think that had anything to do with the current situation. Before coming to St. Louis his past was hidden and Neeley had to assume it was behind that distant curtain she couldn’t penetrate that Gant and John had known each oth
er.

  It took Neeley a few minutes to find the right tree behind Hannah's house. She climbed and opened the box by feel. She pulled out the four micro cassettes on the revolving cartridge and replaced them with blank ones. She slipped the tapes into her coat pocket

  Neeley wanted to get back to the hotel and listen to the tapes, but first she took the time to move to the tree line and pull out the field glasses, searching the windows for Hannah. She was seated in the den, wearing a robe and drinking. Reading.

  Neeley still didn't know how she would get to John but she hoped the tapes would give her the hook. She had a feeling she wouldn't have much more time. The Cellar would move as soon as they knew Gant was dead, of that Gant had been certain.

  It was a long shot, but who knew? Maybe John had been foolish enough to call his wife and the tapes had caught it.

  As Neeley watched Hannah guzzle down her drink and pour herself another, she felt an odd sense of urgency press on her. Her normally cool mission mode gave way to a feeling of utter loneliness. Gant was gone. Hannah was just sitting and staring, lost in her aloneness and vulnerability. Neeley saw herself. This whole thing was bringing back specters she didn't want to deal with. Neeley tried to shake the feeling off and stood. She turned and headed back.

  The gloomy forest pressed in on Neeley's already dark mood as she negotiated her way. Neeley's walk through the woods shifted into a jog and then into an all out run.

  Branches slapped at her face, but she didn't even feel them. At one point, Neeley tripped over a fallen tree and landed face first. She was on her feet in a flash and continued. Neeley kept it up until she reached the back of the stores where her truck was parked. She broke out of the woods and finally halted, breathing hard, her clothes covered with dirt and leaves.

  With tremendous effort, Neeley reined in the panicky feeling that had overwhelmed her. She was momentarily confused. What the hell had happened? She wasn't sure if it was simply reacting to stress of the last several months watching Gant die, or if it was Hannah and the current situation.

  That last idea gave Neeley pause. Why was she so concerned about a woman stupid enough to tie herself to a man like John Masterson who would keep her in the dark and leave her hanging? A man who would do such a thing-- Neeley shook her head. She couldn't judge Hannah. Not given her own history.

  Neeley forced herself to walk calmly to the truck. She started it and drove back to her hotel. She negotiated the roads with her characteristic safety, but her mind was swirling with thoughts that she had kept at bay for years.

  Finally, she pulled into the underground garage. She locked the truck and went to her room, throwing the backpack onto the bed. Before she took out the recorder and reviewed the tapes, Neeley knew she needed to regain positive control. Sitting in the lotus position on the floor, she slowed her breathing down and focused her eyes straight out at a spot she picked on the wall. After fifteen minutes, Neeley's pulse settled down and she felt confident she could recommence the mission in a competent manner.

  Neeley stood up and took the four tapes and machine with her to the balcony. She opened the sliding doors and sat on the uncomfortable metal chair at the small table. The chill night air pricked at her skin as she slid the first tape in. She wasn't even sure if there would be anything on this first tape, never mind the other three.

  She hoped that Hannah had not had the TV or stereo on the whole time. That would have activated the nearest bug and kept the tapes running. Then even if Hannah had talked on the phone, the two bugs activated would have overlapped their respective sounds. Neeley didn't feel like trying to sort through that kind of mess. Each micro-cassette was good for two hours on slow speed.

  She slipped the first tape in and pressed the earphone into her left ear. She put a notepad on her knees and clicked out the lead point on a mechanical pencil so she was ready to make notes. Neeley pushed the on button and waited. The slight hiss of the tape running was broken as a phone rang. Neeley heard Hannah's voice close up for the first time:

  "Hello?"

  "Hannah? This is Howard Brumley. How are you holding up?"

  Neeley scratched the name onto the pad.

  "I'm fine Howard, thank you for calling. What do you need?"

  “Did you see Jenkins?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause, and then Brumley spoke again. "We need to set up some time for a talk. I know you weren't ready to deal with the other day, but we do need to discuss the MDA?"

  "MDA?"

  "Marital dissolution agreement."

  Lawyer, Neeley thought. But who was Jenkins?

  "I'm sorry, Howard. I didn't know there was more to talk about. I don't see why I should give John what he wants. Why the hell does he want a divorce any way, if he's in the South Seas?"

  "I don't know why he wants it," Howard said, "but it's in your best interests to finish it quickly."

  Neeley frowned. That was odd. Why was John trying to put such distance between himself and Hannah and why was the lawyer so interested in it? The only evidence that John was in the South Seas was John’s card to Hannah and her lawyer. That made Neeley doubt very much that was where the man was. Misdirection was one the most basics tenets of covert operations.

  "Doesn't John have to sign papers too?" Hannah asked.

  "I told you the other day that John sent them to me already filled out," Howard replied.

  "Who did them for him?" Hannah asked. "You're his lawyer too."

  "Not anymore," Howard quickly said.

  "So who filled out his papers?" Hannah asked again.

  "He did them himself, the way they look," Howard replied. "It's all boilerplate anyway. John just had to fill in the blanks."

  "Do you have a way to get in contact with him, to send him the paperwork back?" Hannah asked.

  "No," Howard said. "We can file it here in town without him. Listen, how about we discuss it over lunch?" the lawyer asked. "Say tomorrow at one?"

  A pause. "That will be fine, Howard. Where do you want to meet?"

  "How about Al Baker's?"

  "Fine. See you tomorrow. Goodbye."

  Neeley made a new heading on the right side of the pad, labeling it with the next day's date. She penciled in the appointment, restaurant and the lawyer's name on her pad.

  Neeley shut the tape down for a second. She thought about the conversation and felt a pinprick of excitement. Perhaps she'd just been given a clue.

  Neeley turned the machine back on. There were about ten minutes of assorted tape time consisting of the voice activated device being triggered by the noises of Hannah moving around the house; making drinks for herself, moving a bar stool, running the water. Neeley patiently waited these out. Then the phone rang again.

  "Hello."

  "Hannah?"

  "Yes. This is Hannah Masterson."

  "This is Sam. Sam Evans."

  Another name was added to Neeley's list.

  "Oh." Pause. "Oh, hello Sam. I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice. I guess I'm sort of out of it."

  "I'm returning your call. Don't tell me you and John are thinking of relocating already?"

  "I need to put the house on the market."

  There was a pause. "Has John been transferred?"

  "You could say that," Hannah replied.

  Sam sounded confused. "Won't the company be buying your house? That's the way it usually works."

  Hannah's voice was tight. "It's my house, Sam. I want to sell it. All right?"

  The voice was syrupy at the thought of the commission. "Certainly, Hannah. I just thought you ought to know that the market isn't very good right now, but I think I can drum something up for you. I have quite a few buyers who are interested in your area and I think your house would go very quickly."

  Neeley labeled Sam on the paper: real estate agent.

  "Great. Let me know what you come up with."

  The oily voice was persistent. "That's fine, Hannah. But listen. Would it cause you any problems if I brought so
me people by in the next day or so. Just so I can get a feel for the market and also so I can give you an accurate idea of what you can get?"

  Hannah's voice was weary. "Fine. Whatever."

  "Good. That's good."

  "Thank you for your time, Sam." The phone went dead.

  The first tape played out with normal house noises. Neeley grimaced five minutes into the second one. Hannah had turned on the TV. Neeley fast forwarded, stopping every twenty counts on the machine to check. The rest of the second tape was filled with the noise of the TV with no apparent interruptions.

  Neeley popped the third tape in. More of the same. Neeley fast forwarded and zoomed through the rest of the tape. Normal house noises. She loaded the last one. Ten minutes in, another phone call.

  "Hello?"

  "Hannah, is that you?"

  "Yes, Amelia, it's me. What do you need?"

  "I just realized that I forget to tell you what I came by this morning to talk to you about."

  "What's that?"

  "You probably don't remember, but tomorrow is the hospital auxiliary board meeting.

  "You're right, I didn't remember."

  "I just want you know that I would be happy to take over your duties as president tomorrow until you're able to resume them."

  "I have a great idea, Amelia. Why don't you just keep those duties and any others that might interest you forever?"

  "Well, I was just trying to help. I know no one would expect you to be there, but it is the monthly meeting."

  Hannah's reply was clipped. "Is that all?"

  "Well, there is the question of the Museum Guild and . . ."

  "Amelia I want you to listen very carefully. Don't bother me with this shit. Do you understand what I'm saying? I can't deal with this now. Just do it."

  "All right, Hannah, please don't get upset with me. I'm just trying to help"