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He's obviously a candidate for the Old Bailey and I'd be delighted to call Scotland Yard right now." The MI-5 chief started toward a phone.
"No, Geof!" objected Cameron, raising his voice.
"That's the last thing we do-or with luck, the next-to-last."
"Now, just wait, chap. The only person who could have planted those intercepts is Coleman, and I remind you, it's a crime."
"Then we put him under surveillance, the tightest possible, but we don't lock him up."
"I'm not sure I follow you-" "It's what I was saying before," interrupted Pryce.
"We're being distracted by everything that's happening and not concentrating on the fundamental question, the reason Leslie and I flew over here. Why was Angela's mother killed? What's the connection to the Matarese?"
"The who?"
"I'll explain later, dear," said Montrose.
"I strongly disagree," Waters broke in.
"By pursuing everything that's happened, hopefully we'll find that connection. Have a little patience, old man. What else have we got to go on?"
"We're missing something," continued Cameron, slowly shaking his head.
"I don't know what it is but we're missing something.. ..
Maybe we should go back to what Scofield said on Brass Twentysix-" "On what, chap?"
"Oh, sorry. Where I first met Beowulf Agate."
"What a charming ellipsis," said Leslie.
"What did Scofield say?"
"Basically, that we needed an in-depth profile of Lady Alicia. Talk to lawyers, bankers, doctors, neighbors; build a psychological dossier;
above all, follow any money trails."
"My dear fellow!" exclaimed the MI-5 man.
"Do you think we've been sitting around sucking our damn thumbs? We've put together a rather generous file on Lady Alicia, covering most of those items you just mentioned."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"We had other priorities, if you recall. Priorities we honestly believed would lead to shortcuts on the way to that connection you speak of."
"Shortcuts? You've been talking with Scofield."
"Not in years, but we all look for shortcuts, don't we?"
"And psychological profiles are long shots," said Leslie.
"They take a great deal of time, which I'm not sure my son can afford. That may be selfish .. . but I can't help it."
"No one could blame you for that!" said Angela Brewster.
"No one is," said Waters.
"You're right, Cameron, we put the bastard Coleman under complete surveillance, personal and electronic.
Considering the dynamics of recent events, he could well lead us to others."
"And if he suddenly moves around a lot and your personnel runs thin, then we call in Scotland Yard."
There were four rapid beeps from the area beyond the archway. It was the front door.
"That would be Rog and Coley," Angela said.
"They both have remotes that shut off the alarm.... I don't know what to say, how to behave. What should I do?"
"Just act natural," replied Leslie Montrose.
"Don't feel you have to say anything other than perfectly normal greetings. I suspect they'll be doing most of the talking-they'll have to."
Roger Brewster came through the arch carrying two large cardboard cartons, apparently not very heavy.
"Hello, everybody," he said, carefully lowering the cartons to the floor.
"How did it go, Rog?" asked Angela haltingly.
"Where's Coley?"
"Question two, he's driving the Bentley down into the garage.. ..
Question one, just fine. Old Coley's a devious son of a bitch, let me tell you!"
The others in the room exchanged glances.
"How so, young fellow?"
said Waters.
"Well, he walked into the security company like a lamb, getting our alarm records and plans, asking the questions we wanted answered, and making sure the technology was available to transmit the system to his flat in Lowndes Street. It was, of course."
"So where's the deviousness?" asked Pryce.
"He suddenly turned and became a bloody tiger, a regular Jekyll and Hyde! He'd hinted at some irregularities in the system when we were in the car driving over, but he didn't elaborate so I figured he was just bitching-these systems all have glitches."
"But he wasn't just bitching?"
"Hell no, sir. He held up the computerised-record printout and proceeded to give the firm's owner what-for while referring to his notebook."
"What was he complaining about?" said the MI-5 chief, his outward calm disguising his anxiety.
"He claimed there were errors, quite a few of them, in the entries.
You see, our system electronically computes the dates and times when the alarm is turned on, as well as any violations while it's activated."
"And, Bro?"
"Coley said that there were occasions when he left the house, noting the times when he turned on the alarm, and they weren't listed on the printouts. And if they weren't listed, how could he believe there weren't any violations."
"What did the owner say?"
"Not an awful lot, Mrs. Montrose, Coley didn't give him a chance.
When the owner said that Coley probably didn't insert the correct codes, old Coleman simply told him that wasn't possible."
"One of your classic sergeant majors, Geof," said Pryce softly.
"Indubitably, chap," agreed Waters.
"What's in the boxes, Roger?"
"There are two more in the foyer, I'll bring them in."
"What are they?"
"I'll let Coley tell you. I'm not sure I understand." Roger dashed into the archway, instantly colliding with an emerging figure carrying two cartons. Oliver Coleman, ex-sergeant major in the Royal Fusiliers, was a medium-sized plug of a man whose broad chest, thick neck, large shoulders, and erect posture gave away his military background, despite his business suit. His lined face was topped by brush-cut white hair with tinges of its former red, his features set, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, instead noncommittal. The larger Roger Brewster had literally bounced off him.
"Sorry, lad," he said, glancing at the off-balance young man.
"Good afternoon, Sir Geoffrey," he continued in his pronounced Yorkshire accent, "I see there's a gray van outside, I figure it's one of yours."
"You're not supposed to. It's unmarked."
"Then I'd suggest you paint a sign on the sides, like Fishmonger or Greengrocers. Those gray vehicles stand out. You might as well be announcing yourselves."
"I'll bear it in mind.. .. May I introduce you to our new associates, Sergeant Major. Lieutenant Colonel Montrose, United States Army, and Special Agent Pryce, CIA."
"Yes, the children told me about the two of you," said Coleman, first approaching Leslie.
