Off the Chart

Lawton settled in between Jimmy Webster and Thorn. Leaning forward, giving Webster a good going-over.

‘You’re that navy guy,’ Lawton said. ‘From TV. You sunk that ship.’

Webster smiled at Thorn. See, somebody recognized him.

‘That particular fling you’re referring to,’ Thorn said, ‘was over a long time ago.’

‘That’s not how I heard it. I heard there was still considerable heat there. Some sparks.’

Thorn took a calming breath, glanced out at the water, then turned his eyes back to Webster.

‘Look, Mr Secretary—’

‘Not anymore,’ Webster said. ‘I’m out of the cabinet these days. Still got one foot in government, but I’m in other areas. A bit more low-profile.’

‘Clandestine,’ Lawton said. ‘Covert operations.’

Jimmy Lee looked at Lawton.

‘This your father?’ Webster said.

‘Practically.’

‘You came to the right place, Webster,’ Lawton said, ‘because it just so happens I did a bit of undercover work myself at one time. Miami PD. Several high-profile sting operations. Stolen merchandise, cocaine. So I know how it’s done. We took down some pretty rotten apples.’

Jimmy Lee nodded uncertainly at the old man.

‘Forget about Thorn,’ Lawton said. ‘He’s the shy, retiring type. The guy you want to talk to is standing right here.’

Thorn rested a hand on Webster’s shoulder and eased him firmly toward his car.

‘I just want to pick your brain about Anne Joy.’

‘You already picked it clean, partner. Time you hit the highway.’

‘You didn’t even ask him what he wanted?’ Alex said. Lawton was stretched out in his cot, the full moon had risen above the trees, and Blackwater Sound was frosted with gold.

‘I ushered him to his car and sent him on his way.’

‘Jeez, Thorn. Jimmy Lee Webster.’

‘Big shot, huh?’

‘Was for a while.’

‘He claimed he was controversial.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Alex said. ‘He’s the guy who gave the go-ahead for a navy destroyer to fire on some commercial ship in Malaysia, somewhere over there.’

‘Why?’

‘Something about pirates. Problem was, he got the wrong boat. Bad intelligence. I forget the details. Bunch of civilians got killed, ship sank. That’s how I remember it. Major international incident. A lot of saber rattling afterward. There was a Senate hearing on TV for a week or two. Haven’t heard much about him lately.’

‘Pirates?’

‘I think what it was, navy intelligence thought an American oil tanker had been taken over by thugs and they were sailing off somewhere after murdering the crew. They had that part right. There was an oil tanker that got pirated; our folks just got the wrong ship. A US destroyer tried to get this other tanker to stop; when they didn’t respond, our guys opened fire. A dozen men killed, that’s what I recall. Maybe more. Big oil spill.’

‘Well, he’s doing something else now. CIA maybe. Who knows?’

Alex leaned against his shoulder. They were standing at the rail looking out at the darkness.

‘Your name came up?’

‘That’s what he said.’

Thorn considered for a half-second telling her about the Anne Joy connection but decided to pass. No need to stir that up again.

‘It might’ve been interesting just to hear his pitch.’

‘No way. I’m on vacation.’

‘Oh, yeah? For how long?’

‘Rest of my natural life.’

‘Well, that’s fine. But me, I’d want to know what the deal was.’

‘Whatever it was, I’ve got my hands full already,’ Thorn said, nudging her hip with his. ‘My cup is overflowing.’

‘Hey, I know what it was,’ Alexandra said. ‘Your name came up in an investigation of international Lotharios.’

‘Funny,’ he said. ‘Hilarious.’

He poked his elbow lightly in her ribs.

‘They wanted to know what makes you so irresistible to women. Start distilling it. Put it in bottles, lob it at the enemy. A weapon of mass seduction.’

Thorn laughed. He lifted his glass and clinked it to hers and had another sip of wine. She gave his cheek a peck, then drew away and looked back at the dark view.

‘Irresistible?’ he said. ‘How irresistible?’

‘Mesmerizing.’ Alexandra finished the last swallow of her cabernet and set the glass on the table behind them. ‘An overpowering magnetism.’

In the thick mangroves that bordered his land, a bird keened. A warning screech or maybe a late-night mating call. He wasn’t sure what kind of bird it was. Didn’t sound like an osprey or the red-shouldered hawk, not the screech owl, either. Sugarman or Janey would know.

‘Well, it’s nice to know,’ Thorn said, ‘I’m such hot shit.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You are. You most certainly are.’