“How did you find out they existed? Did Steady try to sell them to you? It sounds so very like him.”
“His live-in companion called just after he died. She said that unless he was buried at Arlington with standard military honors, the memoirs would be sent to some New York literary agent. It was blackmail, of course, but the price was cheap, so I paid.”
“She was French, I believe. Isabelle Gelinet.”
Keyes nodded.
“She came to see me a few years ago when she was doing a story for Agence France-Presse. Something silly about the wives of spies. My answers nearly bored her to tears.
“And the story never ran.”
“Are her death and Undean’s connected?”
“If I were to guess, I’d say probably.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How many friends would you say Steady had?” he asked.
“I’d say dozens. Perhaps even hundreds.”
“There were only four at the Arlington services. Four, including Undean, who’d known him only in Laos.”
“You didn’t go?”
“I sent Undean.”
“You should’ve gone, Ham.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well I didn’t. Of the four who were at Arlington, two have been killed. Murdered.”
She shivered slightly. “Leaving only the son and who else?”
“Tinker Burns. An ex-mercenary turned small-time arms dealer. He’s an old friend of Steady’s. Perhaps his oldest.”
Muriel Keyes put her drink down and stared at her husband. “Tell me about your resignation and the offer to make you ambassador.”
“That royal summons I received yesterday morning?”
She nodded.
“It was from a White House hatchet man. A new boy. They need a few slots to pay off some political debts—to the far right, I’d guess, but I could very well be wrong. Anyway, it seems, my job will do nicely. So I resigned before the chop landed, but then, at the last moment, maybe on impulse—”
“You never did anything in your life on impulse.”
Keyes smiled. “At the last moment, I told the White House hatchet wallah all about the memoirs of Steadfast Haynes. He turned quite green. That done, he ordered me to buy the memoirs and hang the cost.”
“He would seem to be a real player.”
“He wants to be, but lacks finesse. He even offered me ten percent of the memoirs’ price.”
Muriel Keyes giggled again.
“Somehow sensing his faux pas, he then offered me my old job back. I made him a counterproposal.”
“Ambassador,” she said.
Keyes nodded, smiling and looking quite pleased.
“How much does young Haynes want for Steady’s memoirs?” she said.
“Seven hundred and fifty thousand.”
“Then it’s really quite simple, isn’t it? You buy the memoirs. Young Haynes gets three quarters of a million. The White House sleeps nights. And you become ambassador.”
“It would be that simple,” Keyes said, “were it not for the mystery man.”
She giggled for the third time. “A mystery man. Dear God.”
“He’s the one responsible for the bidding escalation.”
“When do you make your new offer to—Granville, isn’t it?”
“Tonight. Whenever he gets back to his hotel room.”
“What if the mystery man tops your bid?” she asked. “Will the White House raise back?”
“I doubt it. They’d probably fall back on damage control instead. And I can forget about being ambassador.”
“Was a particular posting mentioned?”
“The Caribbean.”
“Better than Chad.”
“Much.”
