“Yes, Harold is sailing his boat up to Ft. Lauderdale, to sell it. I think he got tired of the cruising life.”

“Is he coming back?”

“I don’t think so; we haven’t been getting along very well the past few days; I think he’ll look for greener pastures, and frankly, that’s all right with me. I got tired of seeing him in his recliner, gazing at the TV.”

“Would you like to join us?” Holly asked.

“Thank you, Holly, but I’m just waiting for dessert, then I’ll go home. When are you leaving, Stone?”

“At noon tomorrow,” Stone said. “I want to thank you for your kindness to us while we were here.” He gave her his card. “If you should find yourself in New York, call me and let me take you to dinner.”

“Thank you, Stone, I’ll do that, though I don’t contemplate that sort of travel anytime soon.”

“Good-bye, then.” Holly gave her a kiss on the cheek, and they joined Dino and Genevieve at their table.

Teddy sat at his workbench, cleaning and oiling the sniper rifle. He completely dismantled it and cleaned each part carefully, then reassembled the weapon and dry-fired it a couple of times. He removed the stock and the silencer and put it back into its case.

Finally, he checked the equipment he had so carefully assembled, tightening bolts and wiping any dust away, then he opened the outer doors to his workshop, carried the three pieces outside and bolted them together at the top of the long concrete drain channel that emptied into the little gorge. He did some programming to an electronic device, half the size of a toaster, then fastened it in place and tested it. All was in working order.

He went to the garage, started his vehicle and drove down the mountain, heading over the hills into Markstown. He drove through the hilly streets, his headlights off, past the apartment building where Marcel duBois lived, and up a small hill to a little park that overlooked the residence. He pushed through some bushes to a five-foot wall made of coral, checked his sight lines and walked himself mentally through the shot. All was ready, though he reckoned he would have no more than five seconds from the time duBois left his building until he entered his car.

He would be ready. He glanced at his watch. If he got to bed early, he’d get a good seven hours of sleep before the alarm went off. He got back into the vehicle and headed back to Black Mountain.

Stone and his party lingered over coffee, enjoying the pleasant night air. Thomas came and joined them, bringing a bottle of brandy and some glasses.

“Thomas,” Stone said, “is life going to be easier, with Colonel Croft out of your hair?”

“It’s going to be cheaper for a while, until his replacement, duBois, finds his feet, but soon enough, he’ll be around with his hand out, and I’ll have to pay.”

“That’s a permanent condition, then?”

“The cost of doing business. You know, our native folks would be embarrassed to ask a bribe from someone; that’s why I think Sir Winston hired the two Haitians. Their experience at extracting blood from stones runs long and deep.”

“The St. Marksian reluctance to bribe doesn’t seem to extend to Sir Winston.”

“No, once political power is achieved, embarrassment vanishes. Sir Winston just looks at the money as his due.” Thomas smiled. “But taxes are low, and so is labor, so it all evens out. I’ll get by.”

They all raised their glasses and drank their cognac.

54

Lance sat in the study of his new house, surrounded by boxes of unpacked books, and read one. He needed to clear his head of work, he knew, so he’d be fresh tomorrow, when he started reading operations files again. Still, Holly’s non-communication nagged at him. He dialed her satphone number again and waited: no answer. Then, just on the off-chance, he called his office number and entered the codes for his voicemail.

Holly’s voice came through clearly; she had done everything he’d instructed her to and had come up with nothing. Pemberton and Weatherby were dry holes. She finished with a plea for the jet to pick them up. That didn’t concern Lance, since Carolyn would have already notified her. Having e-mailed her Mona Barry’s photographs, he had done all he could do, too. He hung up, took a deep breath and gave himself over gratefully to Winston Churchill’s account of World War II tank operations in North Africa.

Teddy woke five minutes before the alarm would have gone off. He dressed, brushed his teeth, went to his workshop, grabbed the sniper’s rifle and went outside to his vehicle. Twenty minutes later, he was climbing the hill that overlooked duBois’s apartment building. He parked among some other vehicles, walked into the park and looked carefully around. The sun was not up yet, and the place was deserted. He made his way through the bushes to the coral wall and opened the rifle case.

He fastened the stock to the gun and screwed in the silencer and, first making sure that no one could see him, laid the weapon on top of the wall while he set up a small tripod. Then he hoisted himself up and sat on the wall, waiting for sun.

The sunlight illuminated the top of the building first, then began working its way down as the orb rose. Teddy saw some movement inside the penthouse. He didn’t know in which apartment duBois lived, but he hopped down from the wall and sighted through the powerful scope. He saw movement again, a figure crossing a room behind some sheer curtains.

Then, in an amazing stroke of luck for Teddy, a sliding glass door opened, and duBois, wearing pajamas, stepped into the sunshine striking his deck. Teddy perfected his aim and waited for the man to stop moving.

DuBois took a few steps, then stopped and spread his arms in a great stretch, yawning. Teddy squeezed off the round and saw the red plume from the chest as the tip of the.223 bullet exploded. DuBois staggered backward and fell into the plate glass door behind him, smashing it.

Teddy did not tarry. He disassembled the rifle, packed it into its case, viewed the park from the bushes to be sure he was still alone and walked unhurriedly toward his vehicle, pulling his baseball cap low over his face and donning sunglasses.

He reached the vehicle, and as his hand touched the door handle, a woman stepped out of her house a few feet away, bent, and picked up a newspaper, then glanced up at him as he started the engine. She smiled and gave him a little wave, and he waved back. She didn’t know him, but he had been seen.

He drove back to Black Mountain, never going faster than thirty miles an hour. Then, as he approached the turnoff to the road up the mountain, the black Mercedes that carried Sir Winston Sutherland to his office each day turned onto the main road and passed Teddy, going in the opposite direction. Before Teddy had even had time to think, he had made a U-turn and was following the Mercedes at a distance of a quarter of a mile.

Teddy’s mind began to work at top speed, calculating time and distance and plotting an escape route over a road through the hills. All this just in case the opportunity arose. He had thought about doing this many times but he had devoted his energies to eliminating Croft and duBois; Sir Winston would be more complicated, he knew, and he had not done the planning, and he was cautiously excited.

He watched as the Mercedes entered the outskirts of Markstown and came to a screeching halt. Children dressed in their Sunday finest were pouring out of a church and crossing the road toward three school buses, apparently for an outing of some sort. A nun stood in the road holding a stop sign.

Teddy stopped some distance back and watched; then Sir Winston made his decision for him. He got out of his car and waded into the group, kissing them and touching their hands. The nun remained at her station, stopping traffic, as did another nun on the other side of the children.