“He certainly was not killed in that incident,” Stone said, “and he may still be alive.”
“And you think he’s alive
“Possibly. Do you know a woman, an American, named Irene Foster? Fiftyish, attractive?”
“Of course,” Thomas said. “Irene bought an old house up on Black Mountain and renovated it. She lived in the inn for a couple of months in the off-season, while the work was being done. Do you think she might have something to do with Fay?”
“They knew each other when they both worked for the Central Intelligence Agency, and Ms. Foster retired about the time Teddy disappeared for the second time. It’s thought she might have been helping him, though there’s no hard proof of that.”
“So Irene was CIA? And she told me she was a retired college professor,” Thomas said.
“Has she been spending a lot of time with any particular man?” Stone asked.
“Just the opposite,” Thomas replied. “Irene has a propensity for picking up single men, tourists, of a certain age, and doing what comes naturally. I’ve never seen her with the same man for more than two or three evenings.”
Stone produced the drawing of Teddy Fay. “Seen anyone who looks like this?”
Thomas looked at the picture. “Larry David? I always TiVo his show.”
“We’re hearing that a lot, but this is as close as we’ve been able to come to what he looks like. He destroyed every photograph of him ever taken.”
“No, no one like that. Who are you working for on this little search? The FBI?”
“We’d better not go into that,” Holly said.
“If you want my help, I want to know it all,” Thomas replied.
“All right, I work for the CIA now, and Stone and Dino are helping out. Genevieve is just along for the ride.”
“How long are you planning to be here?” Thomas asked.
“A week or so,” Holly replied. “Longer, if necessary.”
“Well, stick around here and you’ll see Irene in a day or two; she comes in a lot. You’ll probably get to see her in action.”
“Thomas,” Stone said, “we heard gunfire near the cottage earlier this evening. What was that about?”
“A man came ashore in a rubber dinghy from a larger boat offshore. The police shot him no more than a hundred yards farther down the beach from your cottage.”
“Drugs?”
“Probably. Certainly, they thought so; I don’t know what they found in the dinghy.”
“I get the impression that the police here might shoot first and ask questions later.”
“That is not a false impression,” Thomas said. He nodded toward Sir Winston, who was leaving the restaurant. “That’s the way he likes it.”
8
Stone woke up with his head in “Ginny’s” lap, and he took a moment to investigate how thorough the Agency’s makeover of Holly had been. He was impressed to find that she was a redhead all over. Lance was not taking any chances.
“What are you doing down there?” she asked.
“Easy, Ginny; just checking out your disguise.”
She laughed. “Check it out all you like,” she said, pushing his head down.
They had breakfast on the cottage’s patio, overlooking the beach. Stone and Dino were particularly interested to see that there was, apparently, no prohibition of nudity on the strands of St. Marks.
“Try looking at your eggs,” Genevieve said to Dino.
“As an investigator, I’m expected to be aware of my surroundings at all times,” Dino replied.
“Me too,” Stone added.
“Now you understand why Lance insisted that my disguise be complete,” Ginny said.
“I won’t ask,” Dino said.
“You won’t need to,” Ginny replied. She stood up, dropped her robe and ran for the water.
Stone swallowed the last of his coffee and followed her, just as naked. He caught up with her a few yards off the beach, and she splashed water in his face. “I didn’t think you’d do it,” he said.
“Well, Ginny is just full of surprises, isn’t she?”
Stone heard splashing and saw Dino and Genevieve running into the water. “You know, for as long as I’ve known Dino, I’ve never seen him naked?”
“I’m a little disturbed that you’re looking at him instead of Genevieve,” Holly said, ducking him.
Stone sneezed salt water and headed back for the beach. He walked back to the cottage, passing a naked couple along the way, and stood under the outdoor shower, washing off the salt. Holly joined him after a moment, and they soaped each other.
“So,” she said, “how do you like being a spy so far?”
“I’m not the spy, you are. I’m here under my own name, remember.”
“So you are.” She grabbed a towel and began drying herself, while Stone dried her back.
“What do you want to do today?”
“I want to have a look at Black Mountain,” she said, “from the top.”
They borrowed Thomas’s station wagon and drove out of the resort and along the beach. When they came to a fork in the road, with a sign pointing to Black Mountain, Holly said, “Stick to the beach; let’s not be too obvious. You have to be sneaky when you’re a spy.”
“Whatever you say.” Stone drove along the beach road, and they entered and left a small village.
After half an hour of sightseeing Holly said, “Okay, now let’s head for Black Mountain.” She looked up at the mountaintop. “The old man seems to be shedding his gray hair.”
Stone made his way back to the fork and took the other route. The road rose quickly as they made their way, and soon it was more humid, and the vegetation changed. “St. Marks seems to have a rain forest,” Stone said. “I never knew that.”
They passed a construction crew working on the road. “Looks like they started at the top and worked their way down,” Holly said as the road wound back and forth toward the peak over new tarmac.
They passed a few houses, most of them set close to the road, but as they climbed, the houses got larger and were set farther back. Near the top of the mountain they came to a roundabout with a parking area. Stone pulled over, and they got out of the car and looked at the view. They could see all the way back to English Harbour and could have counted the yachts in the marina if they had wished.
Holly put a hand on Stone’s shoulder. “Don’t turn around, but there’s a gate on the other side of the roundabout, and a driveway going up a little higher. When we walk back to the car, follow the road with your eye, and you’ll see a bit of rooftop in the trees. I’ll bet that’s Irene Foster’s place.”
“Does Irene have money?” Stone asked. “Because this has got to be prime real estate up here, and Thomas said she renovated the place. I wouldn’t think she could do that on a government pension.”
“I’ll ask Lance when I talk to him later today,” she replied. “Why, do you think she’s getting money from Teddy?”
“I don’t know, what do you think?”
“Teddy has never been strapped for funds. He’s an inventor, has a bunch of patents on various things, including some of that stuff you see sold on the television shopping channels, choppers and slicers. Word is that over the years, he’s gotten nice royalty checks every year, and after his so-called death, they were paid to an offshore bank.”
“You said Teddy has a history of always having an escape route?”
“That’s right. When they found him at the cottage in Maine, he got out through a tunnel and made his way to
