The Navigator

was OUT OF AREA. Austin remembered Buck’s words when Austin had confronted him at TopkapiPalace.

My employer has other plans for her.

Carina had never made it to Penn Station. Austin pursed his lips. He mentally retraced Carina’s steps that day, hoping that he’d recall a clue to her disappearance. Carina had told no one else of her plans to go to the Met. He remembered overhearing her making last-minute plans with the museum people that morning on his phone.

Austin picked up the phone to call Zavala, but his hand froze in midair. He put the phone down as if it had turned into a rattlesnake and went out onto the deck.

The air carried a rank but not unpleasant smell of mud and rotting vegetation. Lovelorn frogs croaked soft love songs against the insect chorus. The river was a pale ghost in the light of a half-moon. He remembered the prowler who’d watched the house the night of his first dinner with Carina. The tall oak tree where he had found the footprint was silhouetted against the dull sheen of the river.

The prowler had done more than prowl.

Austin went back through the house and out to the car. He drove to the end of the long driveway, turned onto the road, and drove five miles before stopping. He removed the cell phone from its dashboard holder and punched in a number from memory.

A deep voice answered: “Flagg here.”

“I could use your help,” Austin said. “Can you come by my house? Bring a fumigator.”

“Twenty minutes,” Flagg said and hung up.

Flagg was probably at Langley. Austin didn’t know where his old colleague lived. Maybe he didn’t have a home other than the CIA headquarters, where he spent most of his time between troubleshooting assignments that took him around the world.

Austin drove back to the boathouse. He was angry at himself for not insisting that Carina stay out of view, although it probably wouldn’t have done any good. Carina was fearless when it came to her own safety.

Two vehicles pulled into the drive exactly twenty-five minutes after Austin called. Flagg got out of a Yukon. A slim young man wearing coveralls emerged from a panel truck that had the name of a pest control company painted on the doors.

The fumigator introduced himself as the Bug Man. He set an aluminum case on the study floor and snapped the lid open. He removed a gadget that looked like a Buck Rogers ray gun and pointed its flared barrel at the walls as he swiveled on his heel.

Working quickly, the Bug Man surveyed each room on the ground level and then climbed up the spiral staircase to the turret bedroom. He came down a few minutes later and went to repack his electronic gear.

“No infestation here,” he said. “The whole house is clean.”

“What about outside the house?” Austin said. He jerked his thumb toward the deck.

The Bug Man tapped his right temple with a forefinger. “Duh. Of course.”

He went out on the deck and returned seconds later.

“I’m getting something from the direction of the river,” he said.

“I think I know where,” Austin said. He got a flashlight and led Flagg and the Bug Man down the deck stairs to the base of the tall oak tree. “There was a prowler out here a few nights ago,” he said. “I found a footprint under this tree.”

The Bug Man pointed his ray gun up toward the network of branches. Numbers appeared on the small LED display screen, and the gun let off a series of electronic pings.

He borrowed the flashlight and asked Flagg and Austin to give him a hand. They hoisted him up to the lowest branch, and he climbed halfway up the tree. He dug into a thick limb with a pocketknife, then climbed back down to earth, and he held his hand out in the beam of the flashlight. A black plastic box the size of a deck of cards rested in his palm.

“State-of-the-art. Maybe even beyond that. Voice-activated. Solar-powered. This little gadget picked up every phone call you made, whether on the regular line or cell phone, and transmitted the conversations to a listening post. Your phone conversations could have been relayed anywhere in the world. What do you want me to do with this thing?”

Flagg had watched the debugging process without talking, but now he offered a suggestion. “I’d put it back. It might come in handy if you want to spread some disinformation around.”

“I was thinking of using it to send a few choice words to the listening post,” Austin said, but he knew Flagg’s suggestion was a good one.

The Bug Man climbed back into the tree. Flagg glanced up into the branches and said, “Somebody went through a lot of trouble to butt into your business. I thought that all you had to worry about since going over to NUMA was counting fish.”

“You wouldn’t believe the size of some of the fish in the ocean,” Austin said. “When your friend is through, I’ll crack open a couple of beers and tell you all about it.”

The fumigator dropped out of the tree after reinstalling the electronic bug. He gathered up his tools and took off in his truck. Austin got two bottles of Sam Adams from the refrigerator, and he and Flagg settled into leather chairs in the study. For the next hour, Austin filled Flagg in on the events that had transpired since the hijacking of the containership.

Flagg allowed his wide mouth a slight smile in his otherwise impassive face. “King Solomon’s mines! Compared to you, Austin, my job is about as exciting as sorting mail.” He grew serious again. “You’re up against some real heavyweights. You think this Baltazar character has your lady friend?”

“Baltazar’s signature as been all over this thing since the very start.”

“What can I do?”

“Try to find out where Baltazar spends his time.”

“I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”

“Stand by.” Austin picked up the phone, put it on speaker, and punched in the number left by his anonymous caller.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said the weird voice.

“I was out of town. What’s this Italian property you told me about?”

“You know her as Carina Mechadi. She’s in good shape. For now. I can’t vouch for her future health.”

“What’s your asking price?”

“Not what. Who. We would exchange her for you.”

“Guaranteed?”

“In a perfect world. Yours is very imperfect right now.”

“What are the terms?”

“Be out in front of the Lincoln Memorial in exactly ninety minutes. Have no one with you. Don’t try to bring any positioning devices. You will be scanned.”

Austin glanced at Flagg. “I’ll be there.”

The line went dead.

“She must be quite a woman,” Flagg said. He rose from his chair. “You’d better get moving. I’ll try to run Baltazar to ground.”

Austin told Flagg to use Zavala as his contact. After his friend had left, Austin picked up the phone and called Joe, holding back the temptation to hurl some choice epithets at the unknown listener.

“Hi, Joe. Kurt. I won’t be able to meet with you tomorrow. Pitt called and wants me to meet him tonight.”

“Must be pretty important.”

“It is. I’ll give you a call later.”

Austin made the second call to Zavala fifteen minutes later during the drive along the Beltway toward Washington.

“I was waiting for your call. Didn’t see how you’d meet with Pitt tonight. Last I heard, he was on the Sea of Japan.”

“Sorry for the runaround. Someone was listening to every word.”