Mounting Fears

48

TODD BACON STOOD AT THE WINDOW OF THE OFFICE HE SHARED WITH THREE OTHER young CIA officers, sipping coffee and looking idly into the busy street below. He was, as usual, the first one in, so he had time to drink his coffee and take a look at the International Herald Tribune.

As Todd watched, he saw Owen Masters get out of a taxi on the opposite side of the street and start across. Owen limped a little and seemed older than his years, Todd thought. Would he end up like the older man? Station chief in some backwater, serving out his time? The traffic light changed, and Owen started across the street.

Todd was about to turn away when he saw something moving fast between the cars stopped for the light. He watched, thinking the motorcycle was going to plow into the crossing pedestrians, then it suddenly stopped in the middle of the crosswalk. Owen stopped, turned, and looked back. Then the man on the motorcycle held out his arm, and there was a wisp of smoke. Owen went down, and the motorcycle moved on.

Todd was horrified, but he had the presence of mind to watch the motorcycle, and he recognized the suit and the longish gray hair protruding from a baseball cap. It was the man from the night before.

He looked back at Owen. A police officer was bending over him, then putting fingers to his throat and shaking his head, while another officer waved the crowd away. Todd set down his coffee cup, went to his desk, and retrieved a typed list of telephone numbers. He found the number he wanted next to the words "Pizza delivery," and he dialed it, while trying to control his breathing.

LANCE CABOT WAS GOING OVER some equipment orders with Holly Barker when his phone rang and his direct field line started flashing. "Hold on," he said to Holly and picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"Sir, it's… I'm sorry, scramble."

Lance pushed a button. "Scrambled."

"Sir, it's Todd Bacon, assistant station chief in Panama City."

"What is it?"

"I'm in my office. I saw Owen Masters get out of a cab and start across the street. A man on a motorcycle shot him in the head, then made his escape. Owen is dead."

Lance thought he was going to throw up. "Is Owen's office secure?" he was finally able to ask.

"Yes, sir. He never arrived for work to open it."

"Hold on." Lance turned to his computer and pulled up a secure file. "Write this down: The combination to the lock on Owen's door is 66759, the combination to his safe is 797461. Did you get that?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're acting station chief until somebody can relieve you. Do not, repeat, not call the police. They will contact the ambassador's office and be given Owen's cover story. You are not to speak to them unless they seek you out, which is unlikely. If they do, stick to the cover story, understand?"

"I understand, sir, but there's something you ought to know."

"What's that?"

"I know the man who shot Owen."

"What?"

"Owen gave me an assignment to find him, and I found him last night, but I didn't recognize him, since he was disguised."

"What is the man's name?"

"Owen didn't tell me, he just showed me a photograph and gave me a lecture about how dangerous the man was. I saw him in a hotel bar last night and overheard his conversation with the bartender. He was with a younger woman he introduced as his wife. He said they were from New York and were taking a private tour of the canal tomorrow-today, rather-and I bought it. Do you know who this man is, sir?"

Lance ignored the question. "Did Owen assign anyone else to this operation?"

"No, sir, just me."

"You are not to tell any of your Agency colleagues or anyone else at the embassy or the Agency of your conversation with Owen or your assignment, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir, if you say so."

"How long ago did this happen?"

"About one minute before I called you. I want to track down this man and kill him."

"You are not to do that, Todd. The man is already on the way out of the country, and looking for him would be a waste of time. He'll be somewhere in South America by lunchtime."

"But I know what he looks like."

"You know what his disguise looks like, and he has already changed that."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Hang up, go to the ambassador 's office, and tell him personally what you saw happen. Tell him your instructions are to stick to Owen's cover story. Tell him that this incident will be dealt with from Langley and to direct police inquiries to me through the State Department switchboard. Have you got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I want you to go back to work, doing what you would ordinarily be doing. When you get into Owen's office, I want you to search his desk and file cabinets for any reference to the assignment he gave you. If you find anything referring to it, I want you to scan it and e-mail it to me, then shred any documents and, particularly, the photograph of the man. We already have that."

"Who is he, sir?"

"Whoever he says he is," Lance said, then hung up.

Holly looked at Lance expectantly but didn't ask any questions.

"Teddy Fay has killed Owen Masters in Panama City," Lance said.

"Oh, shit," Holly said.

"Yes, exactly," Lance replied. "Who do we have of station head rank, currently unassigned?"

"You want to promote somebody, or do you want another Owen Masters?"

Lance thought about that for a moment. "Another Owen Masters," he said.

"There's Terence Cotten. We pulled him out of Madrid a month ago, and he's sitting downstairs in a transient office, working his way through a book of New York Times crosswords, waiting for his pension."

"Perfect. Get him up here in half an hour. Right now, I have to go and see the director."

"Are you going to tell her Teddy's back?"

"Teddy who?" Lance asked, getting into his jacket.