Iron Orchid Page 6

  “What’s your name?”

  “Harry One.”

  He looked her up and down. “Yeah, ”Harry‘ is the perfect name for you.“

  “Was that a reference to my sexual orientation, Whitey?” Holly asked. She tried not to sound annoyed, though she was annoyed. She had put up with that sort of thing in the Army for years.

  “Take it that way, if you like.”

  “I don’t like.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to demand an apology,” Holly said. “Right now.”

  “Apology for what?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve read the manual we were given, Whitey, but I have. There is a clear prohibition in the manual against personal slurs, particularly of a sexual nature, and there is a prescribed procedure for dealing with them. Now, you can apologize, or I’ll subject you to that procedure.”

  He was back in her face again. “You’d better be careful how you speak to your superiors in this place,” he said.

  “I hold a field-grade commission in the reserves of a branch of the United States military,” Holly said. “What’s your rank, Whitey?”

  “I’ll show you what my rank is,” Whitey said. He turned, walked two paces away, then faced her, his hands at his sides. “Come over here and hit me in the face,” he said.

  Holly walked over and stood loosely and unthreateningly before him. “How hard, Whitey?”

  “Just as hard as you can, Harry One.”

  She knew he expected her to back down. Holly didn’t hesitate; she shot a straight left at the middle of his face and felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage. Whitey sat down hard on the mat, blood gushing from his nose, then he was on his feet and coming at her when somebody stepped between them.

  “Hold it, Whitey!” the man said. He was in his late fifties, slim and dressed in khaki trousers and a polo shirt. He turned to Holly. “Why did you do that?”

  “My instructor instructed me to hit him as hard as I could,” she replied. “I’m afraid I partly disobeyed.” She looked at Whitey, who was holding a bloody towel to his face. “I hit him, but not as hard as I could.”

  Whitey started to move toward her, but the man put a hand on his chest and shoved him backward. “Go to the infirmary and get that fixed,” he said.

  Whitey glared at Holly again, then turned on his heel and marched out of the gym.

  The man turned back to Holly. “What’s your name?”

  “Harry One,” she replied.

  The man looked at the group. “This class is dismissed until same time tomorrow.”

  The group left, but the man crooked a finger at Holly. “You stay.”

  When everyone had left the gym, and he had watched them do so, he turned back to Holly. “What did he say to provoke you?”

  “He insinuated that I was a lesbian.”

  “Nobody here cares if you’re a lesbian,” the man said.

  “Whitey does,” she replied. “He doesn’t like lesbians.”

  “No, I guess he doesn’t. Why did that make you so angry?”

  “I did twenty years in the Army, and I heard that sort of thing a little too often.”

  The man nodded. “I apologize, on behalf of the staff here.”

  “Thank you,” Holly said. “And, just for the record, I’m not a lesbian.”

  “I never thought you were. Your group will have a new instructor tomorrow, and you won’t see Whitey here again.”

  “I didn’t want to get the man fired.”

  “Call it the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  Holly nodded.

  “A word of advice: if you should ever encounter Whitey again outside this establishment, be very careful. He’s good at what he does, and he likes doing it a little too much.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Holly replied.

  “Go get some lunch,” the man said, and he turned and walked away from her and out a door.

  Holly went to get some lunch.

  TWELVE

  LANCE CABOT WAS HAVING LUNCH in the Farm’s dining room, in the main house, when a woman approached and handed him an envelope. “Thank you,” he said to her retreating back. He put down his fork and opened the envelope. Inside was a summons to a meeting of the executive committee at two p.m. He glanced at his watch; he still had twenty minutes, so he ordered dessert and coffee.

  THE EXECUTIVE COMMITEE met in the paneled conference room two floors under the main house. Lance arrived at five minutes before the appointed hour and found no one in the room. He took a seat, rested his head against the back of the high-backed chair and closed his eyes. At one minute before two, half a dozen people filed into the room, among them the director of training, who was the on-site executive officer in charge of the Farm; the director of curriculum, who planned the courses and chose the instructors; and, to his surprise, the deputy director of Central Intelligence for Operations, Hugh English, who was either the number two or the number three man at the Agency, depending on whom you asked.

  English nodded at Lance, and Lance nodded back. He and English had never been particularly fond of each other.

  “Good afternoon,” said the director of training, Tom Harding, who was tall, slim and in his late fifties. “We had an incident this morning, and Jim Willis has called into question whether one of our trainees should remain at the Farm.” Willis was the director of curriculum, a short, thick man with a bald head and a perpetual scowl.

  Since Lance had no overall duties at the Farm, he realized that Harding must be talking about one of his trainees. He sat up and became alert.

  “Jim,” Harding said, “why don’t you tell us about it?”

  “It’s the trainee Harry One,” Willis said. “I believe her to be unsuited to be in this program.”

  Lance leaned forward. “Willis, I would be very interested to know specifically why you consider her unsuitable.”

  Willis shrugged. “Background, experience, temperament.” He paused for effect. “And she attacked one of my instructors this morning.”

  That caused a stir in the room, though no one said anything.

  “I won’t put up with that from any trainee,” Willis said.

  “Circumstances?” Lance asked.

  “The circumstances don’t matter,” Willis said. “It’s a rule, and a hard and fast one.”

  “All right, then, Jim,” Lance said, “You mentioned her background, experience, and temperament. Tell us what you find deficient in those areas.”

  “She was an army MP, for Christ’s sake,” Willis said, his voice full of scorn. “The lowest kind of cop, in my opinion.”

  “She commanded a company of MPs and finished as a deputy regimental commander,” Lance said. “She excelled at everything she did in the army, and she went through two very tough FBI courses at Quantico. Excelled in those, too.”

  “Then she was a small-town cop,” Willis said, as if Lance had not spoken. “Traffic stops, that sort of thing.”

  “She was chief of a force of three dozen officers and, on two occasions, broke cases the FBI said were of national importance.”

  “That’s open to question,” Willis said.

  “And temperament?” Lance asked. “What flaws have you detected in her temperament?”

  “She doesn’t know how to follow orders,” Willis said. “Then there’s that fucking dog; she won’t go anywhere without it. It’s disruptive.”

  Lance sat back. “She got through twenty years as a regular army officer with outstanding fitness reports and with no apparent problem following orders. And I wasn’t aware the dog was fucking anybody,” he drawled.

  Laughs were stifled around the table.

  “Then there was the incident of this morning.”

  “Tell us about that, Jim,” Lance said.

  Harding spoke up. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

  “Why not?” Willis demanded.

  “Because I was there,” Harding said. “And because we
have the incident on videotape.”

  “We do?” Willis asked, nonplussed.

  “We do.” Harding picked up a remote control. “I’ve had some adjustments made in the lighting, and the audio has been enhanced.” He started the tape.

  Lance watched the incident, which ran little more than a minute. Every word was crisply reproduced. When Holly made contact with her instructor’s nose, there was a collective groan of sympathy around the table.

  Harding looked at Lance. “She’s yours, Lance; defend her.”

  “Happy to,” Lance replied, resting his elbows on the table.

  “She’s an army brat; her father has a distinguished record of service in war and peace; she enlisted on graduation from high school and got her degree while in the service. She was promoted quickly, for a woman in the army, holding increasingly responsible posts.”

  “She accused her superior of attempted rape,” Willis said. “It’s all in the record.”

  “Not quite all of it,” Lance said. “The record doesn’t mention that the charges were true. I investigated them thoroughly, and it’s a disgrace that the man’s buddies acquitted him in the court-martial. He resigned from the service less than six months later.”

  “She ruined a good man’s career,” Willis said.

  “He was a lousy man, and she did her country a service by exposing a long pattern of behavior unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman.”

  “That tape is an example of her insubordination,” Willis said.

  “On the contrary,” Lance said. “The tape shows that she acted correctly in every respect and kept her temper. Well, perhaps pulling rank on Whitey wasn’t a good idea, but we all heard him invite her to hit him. No, order her to hit him.”

  Hugh English spoke up for the first time. “She broke Whitey Thompson’s nose; that can’t be a bad thing.”

  Everybody laughed but Willis.

  “How do you expect him to continue instructing trainees?” Willis asked. “Word of the incident has already spread throughout the Farm. Whitey is now a laughingstock.”

  “I don’t expect Whitey to continue,” Harding said. “I fired him twenty minutes ago.”

  “Without consulting me?” Willis asked.

  “Indeed, yes,” Harding said. “I was a witness to the incident, as we now all are. I don’t believe you would have had anything to add.”

  “You fired one of my people without consulting me,” Willis said. “I should resign.”

  Harding said nothing, just looked at the man. The room had grown very quiet. “Well, Jim?” Harding said at last.

  “It’ll be on your desk in half an hour,” Willis said. He stood up and stalked out of the room.

  Nobody said anything for a long moment, then Hugh English spoke up. “I thought that went rather well,” he said. He turned to Lance. “As far as I can see, you’re lucky to have the woman.”

  “Thank you, Hugh,” Lance replied.

  “See that you hang on to her,” English said.

  “I’ll do that,” Lance replied.

  THIRTEEN

  TEDDY LEFT NW YORK CITY in a rented car after midnight and drove south. At six a.m. he arrived at a diner not far from McLean, Virginia, where he waited for half an hour in the parking lot until she drove in and parked her SUV near the front door. He gave her a minute to be seated before following her in.

  Irene Forster was sitting alone in the same two-seater booth she had occupied for breakfast for at least fifteen years, perhaps longer, certainly during all the time she and Teddy had been sleeping together, sometimes in the motel next door. Teddy slid into the booth opposite her. She looked up at him, preparing to tell him to get lost. “Good morning, Irene,” he said.

  She stared at the man in the tweed cap with the gray hair and beard, and slowly comprehension came into her face. “Teddy?” she said under her breath.

  “Ah, you didn’t think you were rid of me, did you?”

  “My God,” she said, “I thought the planet was rid of you.”

  “Not quite yet. You’re looking very beautiful.” He wasn’t just flattering her. In her late forties, she had ripened perfectly. Her ex-husband was a fool.

  “Why aren’t you dead?”

  “I thought I’d avoid that as long as possible.”

  “But the announcement from the president and the FBI…”

  “Somewhat exaggerated. I’m sure they know by now that I’m alive, but they’re keeping that quiet.” He looked appreciatively at her breasts under the sweater. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

  She managed a nervous smile. “Good Lord, I’m wet,” she said. “I didn’t think that could still happen.”

  “I’m flattered. And I’m hard.” He extended his leg until their ankles touched.

  “This is very dangerous for you,” she said.

  “Not unless you’re dangerous to me.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not in the least I cheered everything you did.”

  The waitress appeared at their table with a coffee pot and filled both their cups. “What’ll it be, Irene?”

  “The usual,” she said.

  “The same for me,” Teddy said.

  The waitress went away.

  “I’m relieved to hear you say that,” Teddy said. “I must say, I thought you might approve.”

  “You always knew me better than anybody else.”

  “And you, me.”

  She smiled. “Nobody knows you, Teddy, not down deep.”

  “Well, I must say, I like being an enigma. By the way, please call me Mike.”

  “Mike, it is. What on earth are you doing here? Other Agency people come here, you know. What do you want?”

  “Immediately, a good breakfast and to make love to you in the motel next door.”

  “Done,” she said. “And then?”

  “We can talk about that afterwards.”

  “Did you know I was promoted?”

  “That must be very recent, or I would have known it.”

  “Last month. I’m special assistant to the deputy director for Operations.”

  “How is old Hugh?” he asked. “Hasn’t Kate Lee found a way to get rid of him, yet?”

  “Not yet. I think she’s just going to wait him out until retirement. She seems to have found a way to work with him, which I never thought would happen.”

  Their breakfast arrived, and they dug into it.

  “Did you go through the usual vetting for the promotion?” he asked.

  “Oh, sure.”

  “Polygraph and all?”

  “The works.”

  “That’s good; they won’t test you again for at least a year.”

  “Probably not, unless I give them cause.”

  “Don’t worry; I’ll disappear after this morning, though we can still get together, if you want to.”

  “You know I’ll want to. Finish your breakfast; I’m randy.”

  THEY LAY BESIDE EACH OTHER, sweating into the motel sheets.

  “God, I’d forgotten what it was like,” she said.

  “I hadn’t,” Teddy replied.

  She turned toward him and rested a cool hand on his belly. “Okay, now that we’ve fucked each other’s brains out, what do you want?”

  “Information.”

  “You’re not done, yet?”

  “Oh, I’m done with assassinating right-wing politicians,” he said. “Now I’m looking for bigger, even more dangerous game.”

  “What sort of game?”

  “My country’s enemies,” he said.

  “I’D BETTER GO FIRST,” Teddy said, after they were both dressed.

  “How will you contact me?”

  He reached into a pocket and took out a cell phone, wiped it with his handkerchief and laid it on the bed. ”It’s a throwaway, untraceable.“

  She nodded and put the phone into her purse. “Don’t call me at work,” she said.

  “Of course not. Always after hours.”

  “Now that I know what y
ou’re looking for, how do I call you?”

  “You don’t. That would be dangerous for both of us. Don’t make any calls on that phone at all. If anyone should ever ask, you found it, tossed it in a drawer. It won’t make a record of incoming calls, it’s a bare-bones device. I’ll be in touch in a day or two. In the meantime, start making mental notes, now that you know the sort of thing I’m looking for.”

  She nodded. “When can we see each other again?”

  “Soon, but not here. Do you ever have occasion to travel on business?”

  “I’m going to New York with Hugh in a couple of days. There’s some sort of meeting.”

  “Take the cell phone with you,” Teddy said. They kissed once more, and he was gone. He could trust her, he thought. He hoped so.

  FOURTEEN

  HOLLY WAS TOSSING A STICK for Daisy on the lawn in the late afternoon when she looked up and saw Lance coming. She had not seen him for a while.

  “Good afternoon,” Lance said, strolling up to her and scratching Daisy behind the ears.

  “Good afternoon.”

  “How’s your training going?”

  “I’m sure you know better than I,” she replied.

  “Well, yes, I suppose I do. Let me say that I’m very pleased. Your performance on the firing range stunned the training staff; they’re unaccustomed to trainees who are dead shots.”

  “Sarge has been very nice; I’ve been instructing some of the beginners.”

  “And to good results, I hear.”

  She thought she’d broach the subject before he did. “Are they going to throw me out for hitting Whitey?”

  “Certainly not,” Lance replied. “I watched a videotape of the incident earlier today, and a lot of other people have seen it since and have been greatly entertained. Whitey Thompson was a pain in the ass, and nobody liked him.”

  “Then my first judgment of him was accurate.”

  “Whitey has left us, but he lives in the neighborhood, and I would not like you to encounter him out in the world.”

  “I didn’t know I was allowed out in the world.”

  “This weekend,” Lance said. “There’s a roadhouse about five miles west of here on the main road called Buster’s; some of the trainees sometimes drink there. I want you to avoid it, because Whitey drinks there every night.”