The Secret Chord: The Virtuosic Spy - Book 2 (36 page)

"We've been thinking of him as Frank's 'wizard', this great mastermind, but that's giving him too much credit," Conor reasoned. "The eejit's been canting the ball out of play from the beginning. He was sloppy enough with his New York business to get tagged by the FBI before Tony showed up to save him. He destroyed his relationship with Kotwal by botching the meeting with Walker in Geneva, and he took it out on Frank's brother Desmond. Murdered one of the few associates he had who might have helped him right now."

Full of nervous energy, and seemingly anxious to be implementing the plan rather than describing it to her, Conor was pacing in front of the living room window. Following this matter-of-fact reference to her husband's depravity, he abruptly stopped and swung around to her, looking apprehensive.

By now he'd given her the missing pieces from the previous evening's story. Kate understood her husband had murdered at least three other people in addition to Frank's brother, and if Tony Costino had not come along her most recent birthday might well have been her last. The revelations terrified her—for the danger she'd been in, of course, but also for the fact that she could attach herself to a man so evil and suspect nothing. If her life hadn't been saved by an accident of fate she might have known the truth only at the last minute. Or, maybe not even then. She sensed a reckoning was on the way. A time when she'd need to give room to a growing deluge of self-doubt about her own instincts, and whether she could ever trust them again, but this was not that time.

"It's all right," she said, attempting a smile to reassure him. "Go on."

Conor gazed at her—eyes bright with something she couldn't help but believe in—and finally turned away to resume pacing. "His kidnapping plan was a disaster. The only partner he had left is in jail, spilling details about that as well as the grant fraud business. Frank had all his bank accounts frozen. Even if he's got the price of a ticket, he can't get out of Ireland under his current alias, and the only criminals in the country sophisticated enough to help him are plugged right in to the republican network. Somebody might recognize him for a traitor the minute he showed his face. He's stuck on an island with enemies closing in, and only one person in the world can help him."

Kate had been—very carefully—changing the dressing on Sedgwick's shoulder. At this second dramatic pause she dropped her hands, exasperated.

"You're going to make me ask? Who, for heaven's sake? Who is the only person in the world that can help him?"

"His CIA case officer," Sedgwick said, through gritted teeth. "His case officer can show up with a plane ticket, a passport and a fresh identity, and get him set up in a brand new life."

"And why shouldn't he expect that?" Conor added, retreating from the window to the couch. "It's what happened the last time. Costino swooped in, saved him from the feds and sent him off to India. Makes things a lot simpler for us. Before we understood Tony's history with Durgan, the plan included all this desperate shite about getting him to force Durgan to lure me somewhere on some pretense I couldn't refuse—"

"That wasn't desperate shite," Sedgwick objected. "It was a decent strategy."

"Well, anyway, we don't need your plan." Conor indicated the laptop sitting on the coffee table. "Tony's been communicating with Durgan through the chat function of an online service. The site is ehm—"

"Wait a second." Fresh bandage secured, Sedgwick slithered from Kate's grasp and bounced from his chair, landing next to Conor on the couch.

"It's a porn site," Conor resumed, cautiously. "The messages are coded into the photographs."

"Naturally." Kate dropped into the empty chair. Men were nothing if not predictable. She pitched the roll of tape at them, which Conor successfully dodged while continuing the narrative.

"Durgan is waiting for a response to the offer he made a week ago: information about me in exchange for a passport and a lot of cash and a plane ticket to his destination of choice. He'll be getting an answer tonight, but not the one he expected. We're flipping this relationship back to the beginning, when Costino had the upper hand. Sedgwick speaks CIA, so he'll get onto the site using Tony's user name and password—"

"Jennifer24/7," Sedgwick chimed in.

"—And send the message."

"And what will you be telling him, Jennifer?" Kate asked.

"That he's finished. Over. Robert Durgan is toast. His name, picture and arrest warrant are all logged with Interpol for conspiracy to kidnap an heiress and possible terrorist connections, and he's in every immigration and enforcement database in the world. My supervisors want to throw him under the bus, but I've convinced them he might still be useful. They've agreed to an extraction, with zero negotiation. If he wants a fresh start, he should be at the bar in Kerry Airport a week from tomorrow. An agent carrying a copy of
A Brief History of Time
will be there to bring him in. If he's not there, game over."

Kate nodded, fascinated by the cinematic quality of the scene he described. "Why that book, in particular?"

"Skinny, easy to recognize, and guaranteed to be the only one in the room because nobody ever fucking reads it. I'll be the agent waiting for him in the bar. We'll have tickets for Dulles, connecting through London, but when we get off the plane at Gatwick, Frank Murdoch will be at the gate with MI6, 5 and whoever else, greeting him with a set of handcuffs. Durgan might be extradited back to the States, but it seems fair to give the Brits first crack since the CIA owns the blame for this whole cock-up. So . . .” The agent trailed off and gave Conor an inquisitive glance, as if inviting him to jump in, but Conor stared down at his folded hands, thumbs tapping together. "So, yeah." Sedgwick suppressed a smile and turned back to Kate. "That's the plan. What do you think?"

"I'm certainly no judge, but it seems solid to me. Will he show up?"

"He's got no choice, and he'll have plenty of time to travel from wherever he's been hiding. Probably Dublin. Easier to stay invisible in a bigger city."

The thumb tapping picked up speed. He was clearly anticipating Kate's next question, and she felt a little sorry for Conor, because she was already several steps ahead of him. "Are you going to do this alone?" she asked Sedgwick.

"Um, well . . ."

"No." Conor pulled his hands apart and sat forward, taking the plunge in a rush. "He can't. He needs backup. I'll be perfectly safe though, Kate. Durgan will never even see me. I'll be way off stage, practically in the bushes, monitoring everything on the radio."

"In case something goes wrong," Kate said, stating the obvious.

"But nothing will go wrong. It'll be fine."

"Because it's all gone so well up to this point?"

"Well, no."

She let him grope for a more credible argument for a few seconds before smiling. "Relax. I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course. I never imagined you wouldn't go with him."

"Oh. Good. Brilliant." Conor released his breath and exchanged a glance of surprised relief with Sedgwick. "We were afraid you might not agree."

"I can see that, but after everything that's happened, after all you've been through, how could I not let you have this closure? How could I try to make you stay home?"

Kate beamed bright, sympathetic understanding at both of them. Had they caught on, yet? No. No, they hadn't, and that was probably just as well. It was getting late, and she didn't want to start an argument right before bedtime.

33

"I
T
'
S
NOT
EXACTLY
A
FOOLPROOF
DISGUISE
. W
HAT
IF
SOMEBODY
recognizes you and comes knocking? What will you tell them?"

"I'm just back to meet with the estate agent. Sorting the boundaries—that's a safe one. People are always giving out over boundaries around here."

"But I thought you sold everything before you left."

"The sale wasn't posted." Conor rubbed at his forehead and pulled the bill of his cap a little lower. "I signed a load of papers and sent them back to Frank. I don't know whose name is on the bloody deed, but the farm belongs to MI6. He said they've kept the house habitable."

"I can't wait." Kate wriggled in her seat and Conor shot a sour glance at her over his sunglasses. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"You look like Jigger, bouncing around over there. We've flown half the night and we're nearly three hours in the car, now. Aren't you tired?"

"I think I'm overtired. Makes me spastic. Anyway, lighten up." Kate gave his knee a slap, and let her hand remain on his thigh. "You've had enough time to be tense and surly about this. You're past the expiration date."

Eyes still on the road, Conor smiled a little. "These are not the circumstances under which I thought I'd be introducing you to my birthplace."

"Believe me, I do sympathize."

Sure she does.
Conor brought her hand to his lips.
But not enough to stay home.

He should have seen it coming, and he'd berated himself for yet again underestimating her, thereby making the success of her campaign a foregone conclusion. At first, he'd been patient, solicitous even, indulging every argument until she'd talked herself hoarse, and then refuting all of them with solid logic. He fought gently and—he thought—shrewdly, but as the battle continued and he realized he was losing, his panic ignited a pompous rage which he used as his last remaining weapon. He unleashed it on her two days before departure while they emptied the trash, the fumes from that evening's seafood entree hanging in the air.

"Your arguments are all ridiculous, Kate. You wouldn't be making me or anyone else safer. Exactly the opposite, in fact. You've no experience and you're not trained for it. You're an unacceptable risk and you'd be a liability to the entire operation."

"I don't care." She remained maddeningly calm, refusing to face him as she tossed the final bag into the dumpster. "You've had liabilities before; you'll deal with this one."

"We shouldn't have to fucking deal with it." He brought the lid down with a crash and slammed his fist on top for good measure. "You're being completely unreasonable and selfish."

"Selfish?" Kate's quiet, controlled emotion extinguished his anger in the space of a heartbeat. Conor had already surrendered before she said another word. "He took everything from me—family possessions, my art, trust in my own judgment. My courage. Don't I deserve to at least get a look at him, even if only from the bushes? Is that selfish?"

"Of course not. No." He slipped an arm around her shoulders, conceding defeat. "A load of rubbish, you know." He kissed her forehead. "That bit about courage. You've more than anyone I've ever met. That's what scares me so much."

He dithered over how to break the news to his partner, and delayed for as long as he could. Sedgwick was already in London, immersed in meetings with Frank and his colleagues, and would arrive at Kerry Airport the day before the meeting with Durgan. Frank had suggested using the farmhouse in Ventry as their safe house, and as the venue for an early morning briefing with the special Garda units called in to assist. The former McBride farm was within an hour's drive of the small, regional airport, and isolated enough to ensure privacy. Conor would fly to Ireland earlier to open up the house before picking up Sedgwick. Only when he and Kate were sitting at the JFK departure gate did he finally call to present the operational wrinkle. Sedgwick picked up on the second ring.

"How are things going?" Conor asked.

"Fine. The food's as bad as I remember, except for the curry."

"Did Frank book you at the Lanesborough?"

"The Lanesborough? Hell, no. He's got me in a dive over the Bayswater tube station. How about you? Everything on schedule?"

"Yeah, sure. Right on time." Conor decided he should come to the point. "I need to warn you of a small complication I've failed to avert. There will be two of us picking you up at the airport tomorrow night. Kate's with me." He waited for the agent to explode, but after a long pause Sedgwick startled him by laughing instead.

"I suppose we're just lucky she plays for our side."

The agent's composure had done nothing to relieve his own concerns, but despite his sullen mood Conor took reluctant pleasure in Kate's introduction to Ireland. Her enthusiasm for the experience was apparent as soon as they'd stepped out of Shannon Airport into a cool morning of misting rain. While he loaded their bags into the rental car she stood with her nose turned up, water collecting on her face, mist clinging to her dark green sweater in twinkling droplets.

"I'm getting the smell of it," she explained. "Every place has its own fragrance. New York has vented subway air and pretzels. Right now, home smells like snow, even though there isn't any yet. Here, I'm getting something like a campfire after you've thrown water on it. Also, a little like wool."

"That would be your sweater, don't you think?" Conor brushed some of the moisture from her shoulders. "Did you not bring a rain jacket? You're taking optimism to the limit. We'll stop in Tralee for breakfast and buy one for you." He bobbed his head at the car. "Right, so. In you get. Nope. This side."

The rain had stopped as they left Tralee after a late breakfast, and now the skies cleared as they started for the farmhouse, which lay several miles past the town of Dingle. A pang of nostalgia hit Conor as they crossed the bridge over the River Lee, and he saw the rolling, emerald outline of the Slieve Mish mountains running up the spine of the peninsula. He decided he should obey Kate's command to lighten up. The emotional sledgehammer she faced—with a courage she wouldn't allow herself to acknowledge—was heavier than anything he had in front of him. He'd shared a deep bond of friendship and more than a few pints with the man he'd known as Phillip Ryan, but they hadn't joined their lives together. If she could sit beside him, cheerful, wide-awake and absorbed by every sight and "fragrance" around her, who the hell was he to be sulking? When he came to a fork in the road, he abandoned the N86 route and stayed to the right, following the narrow R560 toward the Conor Pass.