“And where is this pouch now?”

“In the safe in the radio room.”

“Michaut, take the lieutenant, get the pouch and both of you come straight back here.”

Ten minutes later, Woolsey placed the heavy canvas bag on the captain’s desk. The pouch was of the sort often used for top secret documents. The canvas was rubber-coated on the outside to make it waterproof, and lead lined to assure that the fabric could not be cut. Also, if the ship were to sink, the pouch would not float to the surface later. The top of the pouch was folded over several times and was secured with a steel bar and a combination lock.

The captain sat down and rubbed his own day’s growth of stubble as he stared at the pouch. “You do not know what this contains?”

“No, sir. But I do know that it was sent by a Special Envoy to the American President. They only told me the code words for these documents. They called it Operation Magic. I know that neither one of us would be permitted to read it. But if you are headed to Martinique to surrender this boat to the Vichy government there, you will be passing top secret classified material into German hands. The Yanks know this, and you can be certain they have every ship and plane they can afford out looking for us.” Woolsey knew that only a few select Americans knew about the pouch, but they wielded enough power to make this threat very real.

“I have been worried about being spotted, so I have taken an unconventional route. At present, we are passing between the islands of Guadeloupe and La Désirade.  It is one of the last places they would look for a submarine.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“So, you are certain you do not know the combination to this pouch?”

Woolsey looked at the tumblers on the combination lock and he wondered. The Special Envoy did have a sense of humor. Woolsey asked himself if he really wanted to know what was inside. And did he want the Frenchman to know? Lamoreaux was the enemy now, but he could also torture Woolsey. He knew himself well enough to know that he would not hold out for long. He was no hero. And Woolsey suspected they would never make it to Martinique.

“I suggest you try the numbers three-two-two.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Foggy Bottom

March 28, 2008

11:40 a.m.

Riley was still trying to comprehend what her father had just said. She felt as though she were being carried along by the swift-moving current as she had in that river on Dominca, with the scenery flashing past her before she could even take it all in. What had her father just said?

Diggory stepped through the doorway and Mrs. Wright followed behind him, a smug smile on her face.

“Dig?” Riley said. “What are you talking about? Who’s Yorick?” There were so many other questions she wanted to ask him, like why he had lied to her about her father’s stroke, why he wanted her there in DC. But she couldn’t stop thinking about her father’s words. I would have stopped it if I could — he had to die. Was he talking about Michael? No, it couldn’t be true. It was the illness talking, making him say crazy things.

Looking at Dig, she pointed at her father. “Did you hear what he just said?”

Dig crossed the room and stood behind her father’s wheelchair. He pulled the chair back from the window a little, then walked around in front so her father could see him. “I believe he mentioned something about approving the murder of his own son.”

“That’s crazy. No way that’s true.”

“I’m afraid it is, my dear. There is a lot you don’t know about this man.”

Her father had loosened a piece of yarn from his sweater and he pulled at it, refusing to look at Diggory.

“Dad?”

He would not look up at either of them.

“Isn’t that right, Yorick?”

“Diggory, leave him alone. And stop calling him that.”

“But that’s his name — his Bones name.”

The current was pulling her under again. She could not breathe. “What?” No. She would have known if her father had been in Skull and Bones. He would have told her.

“I’ve known your father much longer than I’ve known you, Riley. He was a sort of mentor to me in Skull and Bones, you know. Helped get me on at the Agency.”

Dig appeared to be addressing her, yet his eyes were on her father as though he really intended the words for him. Riley tried to process what he was saying.

“Yes, Yorick used to be a very powerful man, before he became this pathetic, simpering, mindless shell sitting here in his own urine. And to think, he’s a Patriarch.”

“A what? What are you talking about? Dig, I don’t know what you’re playing at with this stroke story and luring me up here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Riley. You’re only a pawn in this game. This is between me and Yorick.”

 “Then why did you go to such lengths to get me here?” Riley placed her hands on her hips, trying to appear more in control than she felt. “It’s time for answers and no cock and bull story about Skull and Bones or my brother.”

His eyes remained on her father. “You’ve been asking me for the truth, darling, so here it is. Fourteen years ago, when I was getting started with the Agency, I got a call from one of the Patriarchs. They had a little problem. The son of one of their own was some sort of math genius.”

She stumbled back a step as though his words had delivered a physical blow. “Stop that. You’re lying,” she said. She wanted to cover his mouth, but she could not move any closer to him.

“The young man had found some documents while skulking about in his father’s study. Not only did he manage to decode them, but he was also able to extrapolate what they meant in the bigger picture.”

She thrashed her head from side to side saying, “No, no, no.”

Dig continued speaking to her, but staring at her father. “The son told his father that he intended to go public with it. Something had to be done, and the men your father associates with never get their own hands dirty.  They always call in someone else to clean up their messes. Someone like me.”

“No. You’re a goddamn liar,” she said, but she was thinking I slept with him – I slept with my brother’s murderer.  And she felt the acid rising in her throat.

He turned away from the old man and smiled at her. “It has to be unanimous, you know. Doesn’t it, Yorick? When the Patriarchs vote to have someone killed, I mean. What’s one life when there are dollars to be made, empires to build? It’s always about the money, the power. And in your father’s case, they rewarded him for his vote.” Dig turned back to her father and moved his face inches from the old man’s nose. “You earned first chair with that vote, didn’t you, Yorick?”

“Dig, shut up and get out of here.” Her voice came out in a whisper.

 “Couldn’t do the dirty work yourself, though, could you, Yorick? You always had me to call on. Well, all that’s finished now. I’m not your janitor anymore. Today, I’m taking your chair.”

Riley turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Wright, call the police. Tell them we have an intruder.”

Dig straightened up. “Silly girl,” he said.

The woman glanced at Dig and a look passed between them. Mrs. Wright came up behind her and clamped a large hand around Riley’s arm.

He laughed. “She works for us. Always has, you know. Someone had to keep an eye on this demented old fool — make sure he wasn’t babbling about former projects or trying to confess his part in his son’s murder.”

Dig clutch ed a handful of her father’s white hair and jerked his head back. “That was a stupid move, Yorick.”

Riley lunged forward, but the housekeeper grabbed her other arm and held her.

Diggory leaned in close and spoke in a hushed tone. “Death bed confessions won’t do your soul any good, old man. If there is a hell, your reservation is confirmed. And you know what? You’re about to find out —”