“There’s something else,” Holly said.
“What?”
“Stone wants to know about a man in the St. Marks Home Office named Colonel Croft.”
“Ask Bill Pepper about him. Good-bye.”
Holly joined the others on the beach and reported on her conversation with Lance.
“I don’t get it,” Stone said. “If Lance already has a man in St. Marks, why did he send us down here?”
“How the hell should I know?” Holly said irritably.
“Take it easy; I’m curious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m curious. I’m sorry if I was short, but Lance was very irritating. He’s usually very smooth and courteous.”
“Maybe something else is eating him.”
“I had the impression that he was introducing me to this Bill Pepper very reluctantly.”
“Well, if the guy is working undercover in one of the Internet casinos, maybe he’s concerned about blowing him.”
“Yeah, okay; maybe he was just in a bad mood,” Holly said.
At precisely twelve-fifteen, Holly dialed the number she had been given.
“Yes?”
“It’s Holly Barker.”
“My wife and I will be at the inn for dinner at eight this evening; I’ll be wearing a bright green linen jacket. At nine-fifteen, before the dessert course, I’ll go to the men’s room. You wait until I’m gone, then walk past the ladies’ room and out into the parking lot. I’ll be sitting in a white Toyota Avalon; join me. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He hung up.
23
Holly made sure her group was already seated for dinner when Bill Pepper and his wife arrived. They were placed three or four tables away, but the bright green linen jacket marked him well. He was in his late thirties, blondish hair, the very picture of the young American businessman.
Holly and the others talked through dinner about everything but why they were there-Robertson and the colonel. Holly was worried that even the tables might be bugged.
At nine-fifteen, Pepper rose from his chair and, ignoring them, walked out of the dining room toward the men’s room. Holly waited the prescribed minute, then headed for the ladies’. At the end of the hallway, past the restrooms, she opened a door with a big red “EXIT” sign over it and stepped into the parking lot. It took a moment for her eyes to become used to the darkness, then, a few yards away, the overhead light went on in a car, then went off again. She made her way to the white Avalon and got in. “I’m Holly Barker,” she said, offering her hand.
“Bill Pepper,” he said, shaking it.
“Is that a trade name?”
“Probably. What do you want to know?”
“Have you found out anything more about this Robertson? Or about Pemberton or Weatherby?”
“I think-and this isn’t official opinion yet, since not enough people at Langley agree-that Robertson, as he calls himself, is an Englishman named Barney Cox, who Scotland Yard believes is one of four men who robbed a shipment of money at Heathrow Airport about nine months ago. They got away with something over a hundred million pounds sterling.”
“I read about that in the papers; I didn’t know the police there had identified them.”
“‘Identified’ is too strong a word. All they know for sure is that Cox disappeared simultaneously with the robbery, and they only know that because his wife made a missing persons report a day later.”