“I can understand that,” Thomas replied, “but be assured, you are welcome to stay on here for as long as this takes.”
“Excuse me,” Holly said again, then left. She went into the cottage, got her satphone from the safe and went out back, dialing Lance’s direct number.
“Lance Cabot.”
“It’s Holly; shall we scramble?”
“Yes, please.” There was a click on the line. “How’s this?”
“Fine. There has been a major uproar here.”
“What’s happened?”
“Colonel Croft was shot this morning by a sniper with a silenced weapon; he’s dead.”
There was a stunned silence. “I’m going to have to get back to you,” Lance said, and hung up.
Holly stared at the phone in her hand. “What the hell kind of reaction was that?” she said aloud.
Lance hung up the phone and looked across his desk at Hugh English, who had turned a funny color. “I’m sorry, Hugh, please go on.”
“As I was saying, Lance,” English said with elaborate courtesy, “it appears that you have co-opted an agent of mine, the result of which is that he has been arrested and is probably being tortured by that animal Croft.”
“Hugh, the director has already spoken to you about this.”
“Right, and now I am speaking to you about it.”
“Hugh…”
“What in God’s name was he doing for you that would result in his arrest?”
“Hugh, he was simply retrieving some documents from the St. Marks government computers, something I understand he’s been doing for months. The fact that he was doing it for me had nothing to do with his arrest.”
English suddenly jumped and grabbed the vibrating cell phone on his belt. “Yes?” His face slowly grew more astonished as he listened. “Why?” he demanded. “Are you perfectly serious about this? I’ll get the ambassador on it right away, and I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up. “That was Bill Pepper; Jim Tiptree went to the jail and effected the release of Bill and his wife, but now the police are holding Jim.”
“Why on earth would they do that?” Lance asked.
“Apparently, Jim was sitting on a park bench, talking with Colonel Croft, when his head exploded.”
“Single shot with an explosive-tipped bullet,” Lance mused.
“Yes, but the St. Marks police haven’t figured that out yet, and they’re holding Jim while they mull it over. I have to go back to my office and call the ambassador,” English said, standing. “Lance, did you have anything to do with Croft’s assassination?”
“Nothing whatever, Hugh; I give you my word. I certainly wouldn’t have done such a thing while he was sitting next to your station head, and I don’t have anyone on the island who could do it.”
“I’ll speak to you later,” English said, and it sounded like a promise.
Holly’s satphone rang. “Yes?”
“Scramble.”
Holly did so. “Okay.”
“I’ve just heard about Croft’s death in some detail. Apparently, Jim Tiptree, our station head down there, was sitting next to him when it happened. Of course, you didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Of course not; Teddy Fay did it.”
“What?”