The Take(19)

“Tea’s fine. I’m already feeling better.” Neill smiled. “You don’t have anything to eat, do you?”

Simon found a box of biscuits from Fortnum’s in the cupboard, arranged them on a plate, and set them down in front of Neill along with a clean mug. He’d been in London too long. Proper manners and all that. To his credit, he made Neill pour his own tea.

“Which brings us to the heist,” Neill continued, putting down the mug and leaning across the table. “We had to move fast and we had to cover our tracks. Sure we have plenty of resourceful men and women on payroll, but the nut of this is that we can’t use them. Our position is that the missing item does not exist. Not only can we not admit that it was stolen from our archives, we can’t be seen to make any effort to retrieve it. I have some contacts with French intelligence. I mentioned I had a hush-hush job I needed done—no unnecessary details—and they steered me to the Corsicans. Since your day they’ve moved north. Paris is their territory as much as Marseille. I met with one of their capos and let him know about the prince’s habit of traveling with ungodly sums of cash. He didn’t need more prodding. All I wanted in exchange were the prince’s private belongings, especially a briefcase he carries all his confidential information in. We know about the case because we had it custom made to his specifications two years ago. Can’t x-ray it. Secret compartments. Some other nifty stuff that makes him feel like James Bond. Anything for an ally. Follow?”

Simon nodded. If anything, he was following too closely and not liking what he was learning.

“Anyhow,” said Neill, “the job went down perfectly. No one got hurt. Our guy got away scot-free. As far as anyone’s concerned, it was all about the money.”

“But?”

Neill smiled bitterly. “But our guy decided to get smart. The plan was for us to meet up last night. Hand over the case. Go our separate ways. Our guy never showed.”

“And so you’re here?”

“With open hands. We need your help.”

Simon dipped his biscuit in his tea. He noted that the spy’s skin had a translucent quality. A slight tic disturbed his right eye. “Quick decision. I mean, to contact me.”

“Like I said, you’d come to our attention before.”

“Apparently.”

“Any questions?”

“Just one. What’s in the case?”

“Something important to the ongoing security of the United States.”

“That’s not going to cut it.”

“Fine,” said Neill. “A letter.”

“We’re making progress. A letter stolen from the CIA’s archives and passed on to a closet enemy of the United States. A letter that’s crucial to the security of our country yet so secret we can’t appear to want it back.”

“That’s right.”

Simon finished his biscuit. “I’m going to need more than that.”

“Best I can do.”

Simon wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin on the table. So much for manners. “Tell me this: Prince Abdul Aziz…what did he plan on doing with this letter?”

“I’ll let you figure that out.”

“Turn it over to the enemy,” said Simon. “The real enemy. That narrows it down to a few thousand choices.”

“None of that matters,” said Neill with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Of course it matters,” retorted Simon. “If this letter is all you say, you’re not the only one who wants it. For starters, I imagine the prince is upset it was stolen. He’ll be looking for it. And so is whomever he planned to give it to. They’ll be looking for it, too. And we haven’t even gotten to the Corsicans. There’s a reason your man missed the meeting. He found the letter. He knows all of you guys want it back. He’s going to wait a few days, let everyone get hot and bothered, then sell it to the highest bidder.”

“I was told you were a quick study.”

“I’d damn sure have something in mind if I were going to screw the United States government.”

Simon slid his chair back from the table and stood. A weight had lifted from his shoulders. He no longer felt so eager to feed his personal demons. He might be “resourceful,” as Neill had put it, but he was not interested in getting involved in a matter of this magnitude. He was no expert on espionage, but even a casual reader of the news knew that things often ended badly for all concerned. Stealing a watch was one thing; stealing national secrets was another.

“Excuse me,” said Neill with concern. “I don’t believe we’ve finished.”

“I’m flattered you think I’m the man for this job. There are plenty of others who left La Brise. You don’t need me.”

“No Americans. Certainly no one we can even begin to trust.”

“I’m sorry.”

Neill stood and followed Simon into the den. “I’m authorized to offer you one hundred thousand dollars. Tax-free in an account of your choosing.”

Simon buttoned his jacket. He frowned, noting that his sleeves were still uncomfortably damp. “Mr. Neill, the Corsicans aren’t just going to give me the letter, provided I can track it down. It’s going to get ugly. It always does with them. Pay what they ask. It’s the easiest way.”