British in your own name. Being born in Belfast, you’re entitled to those. C.A.A. commercial pilot’s license with a seaplane rating.”
“They think of everything,” Dillon said.
“You’ll also find your tickets and traveler’s checks in there. You’ll be staying at Caneel Bay, one of the finest resorts in the world. Stayed there once myself some years ago. Paradise, Dillon, you’re a lucky chap, paradise on a private peninsula not too far from Cruz Bay.”
Dillon opened the file and leafed through some of the brochures. “Situated on its own private peninsula, seven beaches, three restaurants,” he read aloud. “It sounds my kind of place.”
“It’s anyone’s kind of place,” Ferguson said. “The two best cottages are 7E and 7D. Ambassadors stay there, Dillon, film stars. I believe Kissinger was in 7E once. Also Harry Truman.”
“I’m overwhelmed,” Dillon said.
“It will all help with your image.”
“One thing,” Lane said. “It’s an old tradition there that there are no telephones in the cottages. There are public telephones dotted around, but we’ve arranged for you to have a cellular portable phone. They’ll give it to you when you check in.”
Dillon nodded. “So I get there. Then what do I do?”
“That’s really up to you,” Ferguson said. “We hoped the girl would be there to assist, but thanks to your misplaced gallantry that isn’t on for the moment. However, I would suggest you contact this diver she mentioned, this Bob Carney. He runs a firm called Paradise Watersports, based at Caneel Bay. There’s a brochure there.”
“Teaches tourists to dive,” Lane said.
Dillon found the brochure and glanced through it. It was attractively set out with excellent underwater photos, but the most interesting one was of Captain Bob Carney himself seated at the wheel of a boat, good-looking, tanned and very fit.
“Jesus,” Dillon said. “If you wanted an actor to play that fella you’d have trouble finding someone suitable at Central Casting.”
Ferguson said, “An interesting man, this Carney chap. Tell him, Jack.”
Lane opened another file.
“Born in Mississippi in nineteen forty-eight, but he spent most of his youth in Atlanta. Wife, Karye, a boy of eight, Walker, girl aged five named Wallis. He did a year at the University of Mississippi, then joined the Marines and went to Vietnam. Did two tours, in sixty-eight and sixty-nine.”
“I always heard that was a bad time,” Dillon said.
“Toward the end of his service he was with the 2nd Combined Action Group. He was wounded, received two Purple Hearts, the Vietnamese Cross of Valour and was recommended for a Bronze Star. That one got lost in channels.”
“And afterwards he took to diving?”
“Not at first. He went to Georgia State University, courtesy of the Marine Corps, and did a bachelor’s degree in Philosophy. Did a year in a graduate school in Oceanography.”
“Is there anything else?”
Lane consulted the file. “He has a captain’s ticket up to sixteen hundred tons, ran supply boats in the Mexican Gulf to the oil rigs, was a welder and diver in the oilfields. Went to St. John in seventy-nine.” Lane closed the file.
“So there’s your man,” Ferguson said. “You’ve got to get him on our side, Dillon. Offer him anything, money no object, within reason, that is.”
Dillon smiled. “I’m surprised at you, Brigadier. Money is never number one on the list to men like Carney.”
“That’s as may be.” Ferguson got up. “That’s it then, I’ll see you again before you leave in the morning. What time is his plane, Jack?”
“Nine o’clock, sir, gets into Antigua just after two in the afternoon their time.”
“Then I certainly won’t see you.” Ferguson sighed. “I suppose I must see you off in the right style. Bring him to the Garrick for dinner at seven-thirty, Garth, but now you must excuse me.”
“He’s all heart, isn’t he?” Dillon said to the Admiral as they emerged onto the pavement.
“Never would have thought of describing him in quite that way,” Travers said and raised his umbrella at a passing cab.
It was perhaps an hour later that Ferguson met Simon Carter in the snug of a public house called the St. George not too far from the Ministry of Defence.
He ordered a gin and tonic. “Thought I’d better bring you up to date,” he said. “There’s a lot happened.”
“Tell me,” Carter said.
So Ferguson did, the attack on Jenny by Smith and Johnson, Santiago, Jenny’s flight, everything. When he finished, Carter sat there thinking about it.
“The Santiago thing – that’s very interesting. Your chap Lane may have a point, the Fascist angle, General Franco and all that.”
“It would certainly fit, but Dillon’s right. None of it explains how Santiago seems to be so well informed.”
“So what do you intend to do about him?”
“Nothing I
“And there is the fact that we don’t want to involve the Americans in this in any way,” Carter pointed out.
“Heaven forbid, the last thing we want.”
“So we’re in Dillon’s hands,” the Deputy Director said.
“I know and I don’t like it one little bit.” Ferguson stood up. “You’ll let Pamer know where we’re at.”
“Of course,” Carter told him. “Perhaps this Carney chap, the diver you mentioned, can give Dillon a lead.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Ferguson said and went out.
In Paris, Santiago, who was going to a black-tie dinner at the American Embassy, was adjusting his tie in the mirror when the phone rang. It was Pamer, and Santiago listened while he brought him up to date.
“So they know your name, Max.” Pamer was very agitated. “And all thanks to those damned men who were working for you.”
“Forget them,” Santiago said. “They’re yesterday’s news.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t be stupid, Francis, you’re a big boy now. Try to act like one.”
Pamer was horrified. “All right, Max, but what are we going to do?”
“They can’t lay a finger on me, Francis, I’m an American citizen, and they won’t want to include the American Government in this thing. In fact, Ferguson is acting quite illegally in sending Dillon to operate in another country’s sovereign territory. The U-boat is in American waters, remember?”
“So what will you do?”
“I’ll fly to Puerto Rico in the morning, then sail down to Samson Cay and operate from there. Dillon must stay at either the Hyatt or at Caneel Bay if he uses a hotel, and a simple phone call will confirm that. I suspect Caneel Bay if he wishes to cultivate the diver, this Carney.”
“I suppose so.”
“A pity about the girl. She’ll turn up eventually though, and I still feel she could be the key to this thing. She could know more than she realizes.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“For your sake particularly, I hope so too, Francis.”
Dillon, suitably attired in his blazer and a Guards tie, followed Travers up the imposing stairway at the Garrick Club. “Jesus, they’ve got more portraits here than the National Gallery,” he said and followed Travers through to the bar where Ferguson waited.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’m one ahead of you. Thought we’d have a spot of champagne, Dillon, just to wish you bon voyage. You prefer Krug as I recall.”
