Dirty Work

35

Carpenter rushed into the building, went to her temporary office, deposited her coat, and picked up her notes. She made it to the conference room just as Architect took his seat.

His name, as everyone who worked for him knew, was Sir Edward Fieldstone, but when he had chosen a code name, his bent for carpentry and building came to the fore. He had a huge workshop at his country home in Berkshire, and his large estate was dotted with barns, sheds, workmen’s houses, and other structures that he had either built himself or supervised. He had come to the intelligence services by way of the Army and the SAS, and he was known to be partial to officers who had served in that unit, especially in Northern Ireland, where he had commanded it. His reputation from that time was one of being soft-spoken and completely ruthless.

Carpenter sometimes felt at a disadvantage for not having served in the Army. Her credentials in the service were, at the outset, hereditary, since her paternal grandfather and her father had both been intelligence officers—the former, during World War II, when he had been repeatedly parachuted into France to arm and train Resistance fighters, and the latter, who had been a specialist in dealing with Irish terrorists in mainland Britain. Those were considered historic credentials in the service, and Carpenter had worked hard to live up to them.

“Good morning,” Architect said softly, causing an immediate hush to fall on the room. He gazed around the table at the two dozen faces, a third of them women. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said finally.

“The subject—the only subject—of this meeting is one Marie-Thérèse du Bois, known also as La Biche, an aptly assigned sobriquet, if I may say so.” A tiny smile twitched at a corner of his mouth.

“I am sure that you have all read the dossier compiled on this woman, a dossier appalling in its nature and, especially, in its bearing on the members of this service. I need hardly tell you that she must be stopped.”

There was a murmur of assent around the table.

“Carpenter,” he said.

All eyes turned to her, and she felt her ears burning.

“Yes, sir?”

“Give us a little recap of her activities in this city over the past few days.”

Carpenter did not need notes for this. “She has murdered a former officer of this service, a serving officer, an Arab diplomat known to be an intelligence officer, and an innocent female civilian. She has also seriously wounded a serving officer of this firm.”

“And how is Thatcher?” Architect asked.

“He has suffered partial paralysis of both legs as a result of an ice pick wound to his spinal cord, but he is out of danger and is responding to treatment and showing signs of improvement. The prognosis is for a complete or nearly complete recovery.”

“Good, good. Is he being well taken care of?”

“He is, sir.”

“Good. Now, Carpenter, please give me your assessment of the current situation regarding La Biche. I’d especially like to know about her detention and release by the New York City Police Department. How were both these things accomplished?”

“An item appeared in a gossip column in the New York Post regarding the attorney who had arranged for an operative to photograph Lawrence Fortescue, formerly of this firm, during a tryst with a woman, who turned out to be La Biche. It was mentioned in the article that the attorney frequented a restaurant called Elaine’s, on the Upper East Side, and La Biche turned up at the restaurant to inquire about the lawyer, whose name was not mentioned in the article. The restaurant’s eponymous owner telephoned a police officer of her acquaintance to report the incident. He immediately organized an arrest, and La Biche was taken to the Nineteenth Precinct and questioned.”

“That covers her arrest. What about her release?” Architect asked.

“La Biche had dumped two weapons in the ladies’ room of the restaurant, after wiping them clean. Although they were recovered, they yielded no fingerprints and could not be connected to her, since, in theory, anyone could have left them there. One weapon, a pistol, underwent a ballistics test, in the hope of connecting it to the murder of the Arab diplomat. The results were negative.” She took a deep breath. “The police were also hampered by the fact that this service has declined to report her activities to any police force or to Interpol, so there were no outstanding charges under which she could be detained.”

The room went very quiet, since everyone knew that the decision not to alert police had been Architect’s.

“Quite,” he said calmly, betraying no annoyance. “Go on.”

“Finally, she presented a valid passport in her true name with a valid entry stamp, or at least a forgery so good that the police were unable to detect it. She was represented by a New York attorney named Sol Kaminsky, who has, in the past, been known to represent Arab terrorists in court. He was prominent in the unsuccessful defense of the men who placed a bomb in the basement car park of the World Trade Center some years ago.”

“I am acquainted with Mr. Kaminsky’s reputation,” Architect said. “Who made the decision to release La Biche?”

“The deputy district attorney of New York County was personally present during her interrogation, and when no probable cause could be found to hold her, or even to photograph and fingerprint her, he ordered her release.”

Architect nodded. “And how would you assess our current situation, Carpenter?”

“We don’t know where she is or who may be helping her. We have no credible evidence against her, so that even if we were able to apprehend her, we could not bring her to trial—and, if we were somehow able to do so, she would be acquitted, in either a British or American court. I should point out that, due to her very average appearance, which changes constantly, and the absence of a fingerprint record, we would find it very difficult even to identify her. In short, we haven’t laid a glove on her, nor are we likely to do so.”

Architect fixed her with a steely gaze. “In your desire to be realistic, you are being too pessimistic, Carpenter. Do you have a plan for proceeding?”

“We know that she has, in the past, frequented lesbian bars, where she has picked up women, murdered them, and used their residences and identities for short periods. I suggest that, since we have a number of women present, we stake out as many such bars as we can, in the hope of spotting her. Every such officer should be wired and under constant electronic surveillance.”

“You will note that I brought four female officers with me,” Architect said. “Any other recommendations?”

“We should tap the telephones of Mr. Kaminsky’s law offices and his home, and keep him under surveillance. He is the only person we know her to have contacted in New York.”

Architect’s voice became even softer. “Is that all? Surely you have a further recommendation.”

Carpenter met his gaze and held it. When the inquiry into this situation came, as it surely would, she wanted to be on record. “I have no further recommendation, sir.” It is bloody well going to have to come from you, you silky bastard, she thought.

“You disappoint me, Carpenter.”

“I’m very sorry, sir.”

“Quite.” Architect looked around the table. “All right, here is how we will proceed: Mason, you will undertake the staking out and electronic surveillance of the lesbian bars. Incidentally, how will we find them?” He looked around the table for an answer.

Carpenter spoke up. “I would suggest that we begin by walking the streets of Greenwich Village and Soho. Once some such establishments have been located, our people can inquire among the customers present about the location of others.”

“Well,” Architect said, permitting himself another hint of a smile, “I feel some small relief in learning that none of my people has any personal acquaintance with such places. See to it, Mason.”

“Yes, sir,” Mason replied.

“Sparks,” Architect said, singling out another male officer, “I will leave the electronic surveillance of Mr. Kaminsky in your hands. See that our presence does not become known to the local authorities.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “Will we seek FBI approval?”

“Not exactly,” Architect replied, “but I am having dinner this evening with the director of that agency, who is in New York, and I will see that he is appropriately apprised of our activities.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sparks replied.

“Well,” Architect said, closing his briefcase, “I believe we’re finished.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Carpenter said. “Do you have an assignment for me?”

Architect gazed at her. “Well, obviously, since La Biche has seen you up close, we can’t send you around to these bars . . . however much you might wish to go. . . .”

Carpenter’s ears got hot again.

“. . . But I believe you are personally acquainted with this lawyer—Barrington? Is that his name?”

Carpenter looked over at Mason, who had assumed a studious attitude with some papers before him.

“Yes, Barrington. Since La Biche apparently has an interest in him, your assignment, Carpenter, will be to see that the twain do not meet. If she keeps killing civilians . . .” He left that thought unfinished.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And further, Carpenter, you are directed to take whatever measures are necessary to remain alive. You’re no good to me dead.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Mason said.

“Yes, Mason?”

“May we have instructions on what to do about La Biche, once we’ve found her?”

Good for you, Mason, Carpenter thought. Get him on the record.

“You are not—repeat, not—to attempt to detain her,” Architect said. “She is far too dangerous, and I don’t want to lose any more people.” Architect closed his briefcase. “Dispose of her,” he said, “by whatever means are available.”

“Sir,” Mason pressed on, “any such opportunities that arise are likely to be in public places.”

“I am aware of that, Mason,” Architect said. “Try to avoid collateral damage.” He picked up his briefcase and walked out of the room.

As the group filed out, Carpenter fell into step with Mason. “Are you prepared to follow that order?” she asked quietly.

“I am unaccustomed,” Mason said, “to not following his orders.”