“I think this is just Lance’s idea of a little joke.”
“I’ve never known Lance to joke about something like this. I think he expects these tools to be used.”
“Then Lance will have to get his ass up to the Vineyard and use them himself.”
“Done,” a voice said, lifting Stone off his chair. He looked up to find Lance standing at the top of the boarding ladder. “Permission to come aboard?” He gave them a stiff, British salute.
“If you must,” Stone replied. “Can I get you a drink?”
Lance disported himself on the sofa. “A little early for me. Perhaps after our little swim tonight.”
“If you’re taking a swim tonight,” Stone said, “I’ll be happy to stand on the fantail and wave you off.”
“Only joking about the swim,” Lance replied. “Anyway, I’m leery of swimming in water that isn’t chlorinated, and I’m told that this is a particularly good year for great white sharks in Vineyard waters.”
“I saw something on the news about that,” Stone said, “and I am not encouraged.”
Perce spoke up. “Did I mention that I’m too old for swimming?”
“No need, Perce,” Lance said.
“Oh, good. I was about to submit my retirement papers.”
“Don’t worry, Perce,” Lance said. “You’ll continue to get your paychecks from us, and you’re still on Christina’s active list.”
“You make me sound like a gigolo, Lance,” Perce replied tartly. “Though it is flattering to think that a beautiful woman might pay for my services.”
“Christina says that your presence keeps the flies away from the honey.”
A shout came up from the dock. “Ahoy, Breeze,” a male voice called out.
Lance got up and walked over to the rail. “This one’s for me,” he said, beckoning to somebody below.
Two young men, dressed in tight shorts and T-shirts that showed off their muscles, came up the steps and shook Lance’s hand.
“Stone, meet Ben and Jerry,” Lance said.
“Are they delivering ice cream?” Stone asked.
“No, they’ve come to collect their tools,” Lance said.
Stone returned the tools to the toolbox and pushed it toward them. “All yours, fellas.”
“You’re not going to offer us a drink?” Ben asked.
“Not at this hour,” Lance said. “And I believe you’re late for your briefing.”
Jerry picked up the toolbox by its handle, disdaining the luggage cart, and the two marched down the ladder and up the dock.
“You see,” Lance said, “I did not expect derring-do from either of you.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re not great white bait,” Stone said.
Lance returned to his spot on the sofa. “Perhaps I’ll have just a taste of that pitcher of Bloody Awfuls on the bar,” he said.
Perce poured one for him and handed him the icy glass and a napkin. “There you go,” he said.
“Lance,” Stone said, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“There’s a meeting being held aboard Tsarina this evening, and thanks to Dino’s holiday snaps, I know who’s attending. Now I want to know what is said.”
“How do you expect to learn that?” Stone asked.
“That will be the fruit of Ben and Jerry’s work last night,” Lance replied, “and I hope I may impinge on your hospitality until tomorrow morning, because this yacht is moored in the spot where the best possible reception can be obtained without attracting attention.”
“Well,” Stone said, “since swimming with sharks is not required of your host, we are happy to receive you.”
Lance sipped his drink. “I suppose you want to know more, Stone.”
“You are very perceptive, Lance. You could begin by telling me who the attendees of tonight’s meeting are.”
“All right,” Lance said. “I don’t see any harm in that.”
“May I listen, too?” Perce asked.
“Of course, Perce,” Lance said. “After all, if not for you, we would not be here.”
“Come on, Lance,” Stone said. “Cough it up.”
“Certainly,” Lance replied. “The attendees are all nine of the GRU’s agents implanted on our country’s Eastern Seaboard, three of them native-born Americans.”
59
Stone was stunned. This had snuck up on him. He had been expecting something less. “Are you going to arrest them?” he asked Lance.
“That decision will be made at a level above my pay grade,” Lance replied.
“Lance,” Stone responded, “you are the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. There is no one above your pay grade.”
“My betters reside in the halls of government—committee chairmen and the like.”
Stone knew that “the like” included President Katharine Lee, and probably would have included Holly Barker, if she were still employed by the government, instead of campaigning in Iowa.
“Do the people aboard that yacht have any idea that you know what you know about them?” Stone asked.
“I hope to learn that tonight, after they’ve had a few drinks. If they do know, they’ll be scooped up before dawn. If not, we may release them into the wild and allow them to go on doing their work, albeit through filters placed by us in their stream of knowledge.”
Stone was surprised. “You mean you’d leave Mac McIntosh at State?”
“Mac and Laura McIntosh came to see me the other day,” Lance said. “If the decision is made to replace Mac at State, then a candidate—already agreed upon by Kate and Holly, if she’s elected—will fill the job and remain in it after the inauguration. Mac and Laura, on the other hand, will be provided with a cushy, sealed-off corner of the Agency where they can ply their trade with carefully sanitized intelligence that they can pass on to their superiors.”
“And if Holly loses?”
“By that time the McIntoshes will already be working for us, thanks to your little improvisation over lunch with them at the Grill.”
“What about Betty?” Stone asked.
“Betty will be allowed to go on doing what she has been doing, but under constant surveillance. Recruiting is one of her tasks. She recruited Peter Grant and the McIntoshes. We’ll see that she has opportunities to choose among a group of carefully vetted people, who will pass information to her that she will, of course, pass on to the GRU.”