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"I don't know what you mean, Luther."
"He's afraid of a trap. He said he understood your position about talking only to your mother because you'd been lied to in the name of the government. He mentioned his concern with 'personal safety' and 'secure arrangements' before he puts you two together. He's thinking of both of you."
"In other words, I could be a lure. I might not be me at all."
"Very good.. .. Where did you learn that?"
"I've heard Uncle Ev and Mother talk. Although they were both G-Two, they would be assigned to other branches for counterintelligence purposes."
"Sweet Jesus," muttered Considine, his low voice emphatic.
"I said before that your momma must be involved in something heavy, but this is heavier and deeper than anything I've ever thought about. She's dealing undercover with something world-class. Good God, Jamie, do you realize that our intelligence exec has been on the safe-horn with NI in Washington, then was turned over to the DIA, the State Department, and finally to the White House's Thomas Cranston, who is like the President's shadow where national security is concerned? If you recall, he's the guy who guaranteed to get the Big Man himself in touch with you!"
"I don't know the President, I know my mother. No one could imitate her voice to me, or know what she knows."
"That's all this Shields wants from you, what you know that only she could know. Can't you see that? Once he knows you're for real and she confirms it, he can move. I think that's reasonable, just as I think whatever's going on is rumbling the highest levels of the government.
Now, come on, Jamie, give me something."
"All right, let me think." Montrose junior got off the crate and paced the steel floor of the storage room.
"Okay," he continued, "when I was a kid, I mean a real little kid, Mom and Dad got me a small stuffed animal, a lamb, the kind a child can't get hurt with. Even the buttons were kid proof Years later, months after my father was killed, Mother sold our house and we moved-too many memories, stuff like that. While I was helping her clean out the attic she found the little stuffed lamb and said, "Look, here's Malcomb." I didn't remember it, and certainly not the name. Mom told me that she and Dad laughed when I called the thing "Malcomb," which I could barely pronounce. She said I got it from a cartoon character on television. I couldn't remember, but I took her word for it."
"Then that's it?" asked Luther.
"The name of the stuffed animal?"
"It's all I can think of. And I can't think of anybody else who'd know about it."
"Maybe it's enough. By the way, have you studied the Polaroids of the estates?"
"I marked two that could be it. I can't be positive, but I think it's one of those two." The teenager reached awkwardly into his pockets, inhibited by the gauze around his hands, his extended fingers now encased in tape, and handed Considine a dozen-plus photographs.
"I'll look at them after I report upstairs. Incidentally, I'm moving you when I come back."
"Where to?"
"My inside wing man wangled a three-day pass to Paris, where his wife's flying in for the week. She's a fashion editor or something, and his roommate is in sick bay with the measles-can you believe that, the measles? Before you know it, our squadrons will be flown by twelve year-olds."
"I'm fifteen and I've already taken eleven hours of flying lessons.
I'm ready to solo, Luther."
"That gives me great comfort. See you later."
Leslie Montrose was in a glass booth within a large white room filled with electronic equipment that rose to the ceiling. There were green tinted screens everywhere, replete with dials and digital readouts, and work places for ten operatives, men and women, all expert in covert communications. It was MI-6's international message center, transmissions sent and received to and from all over the world. Leslie sat in front of a computerized telephone console, three phones in cradles across the machine, each in a different color-green, red, and yellow. A female voice came over the booth's unseen speaker.
"Madam, will you please pick up the green telephone? Your call is coming through."
"Thank you." Montrose reached for the phone, a horrible wave of anxiety passing through her. She feared the worst as her trembling hand picked up the instrument.
"This is the officer assigned to London-" "It's okay, Leslie," Frank Shields interrupted, "no obscure litany is required." "Frank?
"They say this hardware is as confidential as if we were talking in a broom closet in Alaska."
"I don't know anything about that, but I've been on an emotional roller coaster ever since Geof Waters told me to be here for a call. He didn't even say it was you."
"He doesn't know, and if he's an honorable Etonian, he won't when we're finished, not unless you tell him."
"For God's sake, what is it, Frank?" Montrose suddenly lowered her voice to a whispered monotone.
"Has anything happened to my son?"
"I may have news for you, Leslie, but first I have to ask you a question."
"A question? I don't want a question, I want news of my child!"
"Does the name Malcomb mean anything to you?"
"Malcomb-Malcomb? I don't know anybody named Malcomb!
What kind of stupid question is that?"
"Calm down, Colonel, take it easy. Just think for a minute-" "I don't have to think, goddamn you!" yelled a near-hysterical Montrose.
"What the hell is a Malcomb and what does it have to do with my son? I don't know anyone-I've never known anyone .. ."
Abruptly, Leslie stopped; she gasped, pulling the green telephone away from her ear, and staring blankly through the glass at the white wall beyond, her eyes widening.
"Oh, my God!" she whispered, bringing the phone back.
"That little stuffed sheep, a woolly lamb, a three-year old toy animal! He called it "Malcomb' after the cartoon-" "That's right, Leslie," confirmed Frank Shields, four thousand miles away at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains.
"A young child's stuffed toy, long forgotten by both of you until-" "Until we found it in the attic!" cried Montrose, breaking in.
"I
found it and Jamie couldn't remember, so I told him. It's Jamie! You've heard from my son!"
"Not directly, but he's safe. He escaped, an extraordinary feat for a young man of his age."
/> "Hey, he's an extraordinary kid!" exclaimed the wildly happy mother.
"Maybe not a whiz at biology or Latin, but he's a hell of a wrestler! Did I tell you he's a damn fine wrestler?"
"We know that."
"Oh, Lord, I'm babbling, aren't I?" admitted a tearful Lieutenant Colonel Montrose, U.S. Army.
"I'm sorry, Frank, I'm babbling and crying at the same time."
"You're entitled to, Leslie."
"Where is he? When can I talk to him?"
"At the moment, he's at a naval base in the Middle East-" "The Middle East?"
"I can't risk putting him in touch with you right now. There's no way we could install the proper equipment that would guarantee complete secrecy of communication. I'm sure you can understand that those he escaped from are searching for him everywhere, and they're no less talented than we are at electronic interception."
"I understand, Frank. I'm a computer girl."
"So I've been told by Pryce."
"He's a dear, incidentally. He insisted on coming over here with me, and I know that he and Sir Geoffrey had other plans. Plans that included a relaxing night of poker at Waters's club. Richly deserved, I might add."
"Have you told him who, or what, you really are? A roving G-Two officer and not a bona fide RDF colonel?"
"No, but he probably suspects, since I worked the computers in Belgrave Square. I'm not sure he'd know the difference, or care."
"He might. He doesn't like anything withheld. He's as rough as Beowulf Agate in that department."
"I don't see a problem. You'll get word to Jamie that I know the situation, won't you?"
"Sure. Give me something like the Malcomb so he knows it's from you."
"All right.. .. Tell him I received a personal note from his biology teacher. He'd better start cracking or he could become ineligible for varsity sports."
Leslie walked out of MI-6's international message center into the long, wide corridor, deserted except for two figures. One was an armed guard seated at a table at midpoint, the other was Cameron Pryce, standing at the far end. Her heart pounding as rapidly as she could ever recall, Leslie nodded to the guard and quickened her pace toward Cameron. Her face ecstatic with joy, her bright smile childlike, she rushed the final ten feet into Pryce's arms, holding him fiercely and whispering into his ear.
