Distant Thunder

12

After breakfast and the bathroom, Vanessa’s thoughts lightly turned to more sex. Stone did what he could.

“Tell me,” he said as they lay on their backs, taking deep breaths. “Did John Collins ever speak of Russians, with regard to his work at the UN?”

“Sort of, but mostly he seemed not to want to talk about anything to do with Russians. He had an aversion to them.”

“Did he say why?”

“He once said that if the Russians knew he was CIA, they might want to harm him.”

“Did he say why they would want to do that?”

“He said they hated everything to do with the CIA, especially the people who worked for them.”

“But they didn’t know he was CIA?”

“No, or they would have harmed him.”

Stone thought that if he had enough sex with Vanessa, he might be able to figure out what John Collins was doing in Maine, and why he was killed.

“Did John ever say anything about Maine?”

“He said he had rented a little house there one summer before we met, and that we might like to go back sometime.”

“And did you?”

“No, he never mentioned it again, and I forgot about it.”

“Did he say where the house was?”

“In Lincolnville,” she said.

“That’s where the ferry to Islesboro runs from.”

“I know. He said he liked to ride the ferry to Islesboro and drive around. It was very beautiful, but he couldn’t afford a house there.” She looked at her watch. “I have to go to work.” She kissed him and left.

When Stone had showered, shaved, and dressed, he went down to his office and found Lance waiting for him, drinking coffee and eating a croissant.

“Good morning,” Lance said. “You didn’t tell me Helene made such wonderful croissants.”

“I thought you had probably worked your way through the menu here,” Stone said. “Are you just getting to croissants?”

“I need a full report on your activities of last evening,” Lance said.

“Why do I think your request applies only to sex?”

“Well, it’s very clear that that pump has to be primed before it produces anything, and you’ve just spent the night pumping.”

“Did you ever send John Collins to Maine?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because Vanessa says that he once rented a house for a summer in Lincolnville. I can’t think of any reason why he should summer in Maine unless you dispatched him there.”

“Interesting word, ‘dispatched.’ I mean, he was ‘dispatched’ there, wasn’t he.”

“Lance, you clearly know everything there is to know about John Collins, so why do you keep asking me to find out more about him?”

“Just filling in the gaps, old sport,” Lance said.

“Why are there gaps in your knowledge of Collins?”

“Well, let’s just say that, during his summer there, he was not reporting as regularly as I would have liked.”

“I think we’ve pretty much scraped the bottom of that barrel, haven’t we?”

“Have we? I’d like to know.”

“Lance, why was Collins in Maine?”

Lance finished his coffee and set down the cup. “Because he wanted to kill somebody.”

“Anybody in particular?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Let me hazard a guess: a Russian?”

Lance thought about that for a moment. “Possibly.”

“Why?”

“Retribution, I should imagine.”

“Retribution for what?”

“For harming someone he was... fond of.”

“A female person?”

“Yes.”

“Was she CIA?”

“No, she worked at the UN for another country’s service.”

Before Stone could press him further, Lance was on his feet. “Must run,” he said. “Can’t waste that dose of caffeine.” And he was gone.