"If he's pulling some self-sacrificing crap, I'll break his face!"
"What are you guys doing out here?" shouted Beowulf Agate, rounding the west wing of the estate, running as fast as he could.
"You're too damned close, you idiots!"
"What are you doing?" asked Pryce as the three walked rapidly away from the burning building.
"What have you done?"
"What I should have done nearly thirty years ago in Boston.
Reduced the Matarese's seat of power to ashes."
"What difference does it make? This isn't Boston, it's Porto Vecchio, Corsica!"
"I'm not sure. A symbol maybe, a memory, a relic of destruction, total destruction. Hell, I don't know! I just had to do it-for Taleniekov, perhaps. Anyway, I talked to the girls, the maids, first. I put them on notice."
"About what, the fire?"
"Let's say they'll spread the word. First come, first served at the gardener's stall. Some of that stuff will keep a number of families high on the hog for years at today's market prices. Why should it be impounded as evidence? It'd be stolen anyway." Scofield's Comsat phone buzzed inside his jacket pocket. He removed it and spoke.
"Sir Hog's Butt, I presume."
"I can't even get angry at your provocative insolence, Brandon.
Well done, my old friend, a splendid show."
"Spare me your British kudos, just send money."
"Actually, I expect you to submit certain expenses, but please, don't be too creative."
"I may want to buy a new island, or maybe a small country."
"Antonia wants to know when you're returning to London," said Waters, overlooking Scofield's reply.
"Within an hour or so. I want to sleep for a week."
"We'll check Heathrow, an auxiliary runway, and meet the plane. I'll call Leslie as well. Incidentally, Frank Shields phoned. You're to report to Washington as soon as possible."
"I'm 'to report'?" shouted Beowulf Agate.
"He doesn't give me orders!"
"Come, old chap, we're going to require a debriefing as well. Official records, y'know."
"That's for employees, I'm a consultant! Let Pryce do it."
"Do what?" interrupted Cameron.
"A debriefing, you jerk."
"It's standard, Bray. No big deal."
"Then you and our lieutenant do it."
"Your 'lieutenant' is now a commander, Brandon," broke in Sir Geoffrey from London.
"The papers from the Department of the Navy came through. And if Frank Shields and I had extolled his abilities much further, they'd probably have made him a rear admiral."
"You're a commander, Luther," said Scofield, turning to the pilot.
"Or maybe a rear admiral."
"Pensacola, here I come!"
"One last thing, old friend," added Sir Geoffrey.
"Frank said the President asked for a personal meeting with you. He's not only fascinated, but you'll be highly decorated."
"Why? I haven't voted in years. Besides, young Cameron had as much to do with this enchilada as I did. Let the President talk to him."
"That can't be done, Brandon. Officer Pryce remains in deep cover.
He can't be part of any mop-ups."
"Goddamn it, I want to go home. Our island's probably grown over with every weed known to the Caribbean."
"As I understand it, your Army Corps of Engineers has that problem under control."
"I should be there to supervise!"
"Send Officer Pryce. He and Colonel Montrose certainly have some leave coming."
"I'm being sandbagged!"
Sundown, Outer Brass 26, twenty-four nautical miles south of Tortola in the Caribbean Sea. Cameron and Leslie were in lounge chairs by the lagoon, Leslie on the portable satellite phone.
"All right, dear, as long as you've thoroughly thought it out," she was saying. "I wouldn't want you to lose your place in Connecticut."
"Not a problem, Mom," came the young man's voice from London.
"The headmaster knows Roger's school and spoke to the admissions proctor. I can enter as an exchange student at midterm, that's next month. I'll get full credit and the people I've spoken to both here and in Connecticut think it'll be a great experience for me."
"It will if you apply yourself, Jamie. The Brit schools can be tougher than ours."
"Roger's told me
all about it. But I'll be going into the grade he already finished, so he can help me through the rough spots."
"That's not exactly the solution I was hoping for. By the way, how are Roger and Angela?"
"Terrific! We really get along, even though Coleman moved into the house with us. He can be pretty strict."
"That's the most comforting thing you've said."
"Gotta go, Mom. Coley's taking us on another excursion. He says if I'm going to go to an English school, and since I don't really speak the language, I should learn as much as I can about the U.K. Say hello to Cam for me. I really like him."
"It's my turn to say "Cam?" Do you mean Mr. Pryce?"
"Oh, get off it, beautiful lady, I'm not that young."
"You're a twit, as the British say."
"Would you believe I have hormones?"
"Jamie!"
"Bye, Mom. Love you." The line from London went dead.
"The little, big bastard," mumbled Leslie, pressing the button that cut off the phone.
"He said to say hello to you and that he really likes you."
"I like him, too. Why did you yell at him?"
"He had the temerity to tell me that he had hormones."
"He's what? Fifteen? I can assure you, it's true, and they're racing around like crazy."
"I'm his mother!"
"Does that disqualify you from knowing the truth?"
"No, but certain realities are best treated with taste."
"I gather he's staying in London, going to school in England."
"Yes, but while they're in Belgravia, Coleman's moved into the house."
"Not a bad idea."
"A glorious one."
"Now what about us?" asked Pryce, sitting up and reaching for his drink on the Lucite table next to his chair.
"We haven't really faced that, have we?"
"Does anything have to change? I'm comfortable, you're comfortable."
"I want more, if I can have it, Leslie. I've always known there was a void in my life. I identified it and could live with it, but I don't think I can any longer. I don't want to live alone anymore, I want to live with the woman I love very much."