Time to Kill (19 page)

At the meeting the designer, a gesticulating man named Chernot, who talked as much with his hands as he did in a thick French accent, said, ‘It is magnificent! Far better than I've known in some major galleries, not just here but in Europe, as well.'

‘I agree, as far as America is concerned,' said the assessor.

Both left personal cards and promised to talk to Slater in the future about other exhibitions. The assessor only imposed a three percent increase on Ann's temporary additional cover.

When the meeting ended Ann said, ‘You made an impression! They're going to use you for other things.'

‘Maybe,' said Slater, modestly, thinking the same thing.

Ann got acceptances from
The New York Times
and the
Washington Post,
as well as from virtually every arts publication to which she'd sent invitations, in addition to two television stations with nationwide syndication links to cultural arts programmes. Slater remained in Frederick finalizing the employment of security guards while Ann flew up to New York for her first face-to-face meeting with Andre Worlack. She refused to stay overnight but returned on a late shuttle more excited – but more importantly carefree – than Slater could remember for a long time.

She said, ‘They actually talked of this exhibition establishing me as one of the most important provincial galleries!'

The following day they finally met the University of Maryland sports coach. They hadn't been able to make Jeb Stout's first suggested date because of the commitments to the exhibition and their proposed alternative hadn't worked for him. Ann and Slater had then both become aware of David withdrawing within himself in the belief that they weren't going to meet with the scout, despite Slater explaining the problems. The obvious benefit from the delay was that it gave Slater and Ann time to decide upon every reassurance they'd need before accepting the scholarship offer.

Stout was already in the school principal's office when they arrived. Slater had expected the black former basketball player to be big but not to be as tall as he was and hoped David didn't grow to rival him in height. Slater guessed the man to be at least 6′ 8″, maybe even taller.

‘Vic's told me of your reservations,' greeted the man at once. ‘I hope I can reassure you.'

‘We hope so too,' said Ann.

‘David's got a talent,' declared Stout. ‘Two, in fact. He's outstanding at his chosen sport and from what Vic Spalding's told me and the grade assessments I've seen, David is a bright student, too. And you've got my specific assurance that the first isn't going in any way to damage or affect the second. Not a single item on his curriculum here or in high school, or when he gets to university, is going to be neglected or sacrificed. If there is going to be a sacrifice, it's the spare time – evenings and weekends – when he'll have to practice and train and I doubt he'll consider that a sacrifice at all —'

‘What about the homework and additional study in the evenings and weekends?' interrupted Ann.

‘Again, not neglected or sacrificed,' assured Stout. ‘No training on school-work nights, everything coordinated at weekends.'

‘I get the impression of a pretty tight schedule,' said Slater. ‘What time's he got to be a kid and do kids' things?

‘All the time he needs,' said Stout. ‘At the age he is now it's virtually nursery training: you'll hardly notice any change to what he already does. The only difference is that we'll train him and not you, as you additionally do at present. We want to develop his talent, not burn it out. And health is something I need to tell you about. David will get regular health checks and medical examinations, to ensure he's not strained or overstretched.'

‘How good – really – is David?' asked Slater.

‘You give him the additional training at the moment. What do you think?'

‘I've never thought him good enough to be a professional.'

‘He's not, not yet. How could he be? But he's got the potential.'

‘What about if we moved?' demanded Ann, suddenly. ‘Move somewhere else in the country. You're talking of spending a lot of time and effort and I guess money. Does this offer come with any conditions on your part?'

Slater, as well as Stout and the school principal, looked at the woman. The sports scout said, ‘Are you thinking of moving, Mrs Slater?'

‘I'm just trying to cover everything,' said Ann, colouring slightly.

‘David won't come to us under contract,' Stout replied, smiling. ‘If something comes up and you have to move away, it'll be our loss. At university he'd be able to live on campus, wherever you lived.'

‘Moving's not high on our priority list,' said Slater.

‘I said I was just covering everything,' repeated Ann.

‘We'd obviously like you to come to the university. Look over the campus and see our facilities,' invited Stout. ‘With David as well, of course, if you consider taking up the offer. And if there aren't any more questions.'

Slater looked enquiringly at Ann, who shook her head. He said, ‘I think you've answered everything we wanted to know. We've naturally discussed it a lot between ourselves. And I think we're going to take up your offer.'

‘Excellent!' said Stout.

‘You've made the right decision,' said Spalding. ‘Shouldn't we let David know now?'

When they did the boy burst into embarrassed tears, laughing at the same time, and kept saying that he was sorry. They arranged the campus visit after the exhibition and they celebrated at the same Wendy's as before.

In bed that night Slater said, ‘It's a hell of an opportunity for him, isn't it?'

‘I hope so.'

‘You surprised me with that remark about moving.'

‘I told you why.'

‘Everything's perfect for us here; even more so now.'

‘You never know when things might change.'

They never would for Ann, Slater thought, sadly.

Mason turned it into a game, at times even a childish one, just as going through the charade of job interviews was nothing more than an amusement. He had Beverley come with him to open a San Francisco PO box – phoning the number and address to Patrick Bell – and to extend his time with her he spread the Silicon Valley appointments over two days – always in the afternoons so that they finished too late for her to go back to the office – and fixed the interview for the third there, late again. He played at the job encounters, too, knowing he easily qualified for every one, sure he was better than every supposed expert who tested and questioned him; every mistake or implied limitation was intentional, all the vagueness calculated to disqualify himself. At each he volunteered his imprisonment, although not for spying for Russia, insisting it was unjust and that the computer fraud for which he had been convicted was committed by another unknown technician who had framed him. After each session Mason told Beverley he knew he'd done well and was confident of getting an offer.

He was careful but deliberate with the moves he made upon the woman, their initial physical contacts fleetingly brief and easily misconstrued or explained away as politeness, helping her in and out of the car or into buildings or seats, the brushing of his hand against hers or guiding her bare arm; nothing more than gestures of attentiveness. The sexual
double entendres
were just as carefully introduced, stopped well short of offence, never amounting to risqué banter. Mason worked the hardest at making her laugh with anecdotes of intelligence operation screw ups, the basis of most of them genuine or at least half true, always balanced with even more extravagant improvization of potentially dangerous, even life-threatening, episodes he'd experienced or knew about in Moscow and Vienna and Poland, before his reassignment to Washington DC on the CIA's Russian desk. He was positive by the second day that he had her hooked.

That was the day, drinking coffee in a diner between job interviews, when she said, ‘It really does sound like James Bond!' to his immediate: ‘I never once got seduced by a beautiful provocateur,' to her smiled, eye-holding reply: ‘For the first time I don't believe you!' Which was prescient because that was how he'd been willingly recruited by the KGB. That was also the day he was aware of her hand brushing his, her arm ready, expectantly, to be held and when, after the second intentionally flunked interview she proposed that they look at Carmel. She accepted immediately his complementary suggestion of an early dinner and said that as far as she was aware nothing in his parole conditions precluded alcohol and that she preferred French to Californian wine. There was nothing accidental in their physical contact or touching in the restaurant booth overlooking the ocean and when they got into her car Mason asked if there was anything in his parole restrictions precluding his kissing her and she said most definitely not.

Her apartment, coincidentally just three blocks from the Oakland computer refurbishing outlet in which his interview was fixed the following day, was haphazard and they added to the clutter undressing each other on their way to the bedroom for what Mason judged the best and most successfully repeated series of fucks he'd ever managed. During one brief interval Beverley said, ‘I'm sure as hell getting the benefit of fifteen years of abstinence, aren't I?'

Mason said, ‘I never thought rehabilitation would be as good as this,' and for the first time since their meeting truly meant something he'd told her.

Beverley said, ‘I don't care that I could lose my job over this.'

I know you could, thought Mason. It was something to keep in mind.

Mason was confident his ghost servers would block any email exchange between the two parole officers but made twice-daily checks. Beverley made her approach to Washington while he was knowingly destroying any chance of employment at the Oakland plant, after the night of frantic, uninhibited lovemaking. He let through unaltered Beverley's email stating that she was sure he'd succeed in getting one if not more offers from his series of interviews, just as she was sure he was going to make an excellent parolee who would cause her no difficulties whatsoever and that she was looking forward to working extremely closely with him. There was no reason, either, to interfere with Glynis Needham's return message that she was glad to hear things were going so well. That was the day Mason received the first of his four anticipated rejections.

He and Beverley spent the weekend in a rented chalet overlooking the ocean just outside Santa Barbara, grocery and wine shopping on their way down from San Francisco on the Friday, so there was no need to emerge that night or on the Saturday. They scarcely left their bed that day, lying naked and uncovered as they drank their wine and Beverley said, ‘I really don't know what this is all about but I don't want it to stop, ever. End, ever.'

Mason said, ‘If I get a job, it won't have to.' Very briefly he thought of dragging the nonsense out, because the sex was so good, and he was enjoying moving people around like someone directing a play, but reluctantly he decided he had to move on.

He collected his final rejection from his PO box on the Tuesday. He set out each letter in Beverley's Oakland apartment that night. She cried and said it didn't matter, that there would be other openings and she'd call in all the favours she was owed and she had a lot outstanding. But Mason soothed and quietened her, reminded her that he'd only been allowed to leave DC temporarily and that he had strictly to adhere to his parole restrictions by returning to the East Coast. He'd keep in constant touch with her from there – although at that precise moment he didn't have a definite location – and come back out as soon as he could. She was to advise Glynis Needham of the setback, which was all it was, as nothing was going to permanently separate them, and look out for more vacancies and wait.

‘I don't think I can wait, not for very long,' she said.

Mason's ghost servers worked perfectly and precisely as he'd intended. That which he had installed on Glynis Needham's system blocked Beverley's information of his return to her supervision and needed no rewriting, just deletions, to make it read that he'd been successful in filling a vacancy and would continue under Beverley's control. Glynis Needham emailed back that she was very pleased with Mason's relocation, that she'd officially record the transfer and that she hoped she and Beverley might work together again as successfully in the future; she might even come out west again for another vacation. It was more difficult to edit but Mason succeeded in changing it to read that she was awaiting his call upon his Washington return and was trying to get him back into the same accommodation as before.

Mason booked his return flight east in the name of Adam Peterson, to establish the disappearance of Jack Mason on the West Coast when the inevitable search was initiated. He reckoned with his intercepting ghost servers and the bullshit he could dump on Beverley he could delay for months any positive alert of his disappearance from the parole system.

By which time Ann, Slater and their gangling son would be dead. As would Peter Chambers. And Jack Mason, although only officially. Adam Peterson, on the other hand, would be living very happily on a close to $4,000,000 fortune somewhere warm in Europe.

Fifteen

A
t what he guessed to be halfway across the American continent, probably over Des Moines, at 35,000 feet Jack Mason suddenly decided that this was to be the day and New York to be the place for his final, untraceable disappearance and rebirth as Adam Peterson. This then marked the irrevocable beginning of the long-planned retribution. He came to this sudden decision in the sleeping aircraft after a mental argument with himself prompted by the recurring self-accusation that his trip to California had been a further postponement – a chickening-out excuse – of his dedicated commitment. Which it wasn't. California had been absolutely necessary; quite apart from him achieving his full and essential sexual recovery, he had also removed himself as far as arguably possible from where he might have been recorded on the gallery's CCTV. Mason's concern had subsided, now no more than a nagging uncertainty he accepted wouldn't ever be resolved. One of the tenets of his intelligence indoctrination was that there were never answers to everything, which the Frederick blunder proved. It having occurred, Mason was determined it wouldn't be repeated, although by contrast in California he'd made no attempt to hide his presence, positioning himself in full view of each and every security lens, anxious to establish his whereabouts there.