‘So where does this Whitbred guy fit into the picture?’ Pete asked, looking at the printout Jason had handed each of them.
‘When I was in DC with Senator Wainwright he mentioned him,’ Margo explained. ‘He said Mr Whitbred had recruited both Jack and Marcus out of college. Apparently he was involved in the secret unit they were part of, well, more than involved. He ran it.’
‘There’s not much here on him,’ Courtney said.
‘Spies are funny like that,’ Jason said. ‘They like to stay under the radar.’
‘Is this number a home or work phone?’ Pete asked.
‘One way to find out,’ Jason said, dialling. He listened a moment and disconnected. ‘Work phone. The office is closed for the holiday.’
‘I hope someone’s minding the store at the CIA,’ Courtney said.
‘Keep looking, Jay. I need to talk to him.’ Margo walked over to the large TV screen that was filled with the image of Jack’s friend Marcus.
‘Jason, are you absolutely sure that the proof of life newspaper is for real?’
‘Like I told you before, one hundred per cent,’ Jason said. ‘Checked and double-checked it with the actual paper from that day online.’
‘I know you checked it, Jay. It’s just so hard to believe. I mean, Jack was in mourning for his friend. At least he seemed to be. It’s hard to keep track of what’s real any more.’
‘I don’t know how Jack felt about it,’ Jason said. ‘But Marcus was alive and, most likely, somewhere near Cuba the day Jack didn’t get on the plane.’
‘So what are you going to do, Margo, now you know why Jack didn’t get on the plane?’ It was Pete, in his usual unsubtle way, who voiced the question all of them were silently asking themselves. ‘Courtney, why are you kicking me?’
Courtney just rolled her eyes.
‘It’s okay,’ Margo said. ‘I don’t really know exactly what I’ll do, Pete.’ She studied the photograph of the man she had never met. ‘So many questions. What does that photograph of Marcus mean? Who sent it? Is Jack going to try to rescue him or to finish him off? I guess the real question is Jack? Who is he? Who is the man I married?’ Margo was having a hard time keeping it together.
‘That’s why you kicked me, huh,’ Pete said contritely to Courtney. ‘I get it. Sorry, Margo.’
Margo stood up. ‘No worries, Pete.’ She walked over to the monitor and studied the photograph. ‘That’s why I want to find this guy Whitbred. I have all the questions. Maybe he has the answers.’
Something in the photograph caught her attention. ‘Come here, Pete.’
Pete quickly complied.
‘Look at his hand! His left hand.’
Marcus was holding the plea for help with his right hand. But his left hand rested on the table, but not in a natural way. The fingers seemed somehow contorted.
‘Maybe his hand got hurt,’ Jason said, joining them. ‘He looks pretty beat up.’
‘No. No, that’s not it,’ Margo said. ‘I think I’ve seen that before.’
Margo grabbed her phone and hit speed dial.
Billy was singing at the top of his lungs along with the Three Tenors, his cooking music of choice. He was in his kitchen and in his element, preparing Christmas Eve dinner for himself and Margo.
This task seemed to require the use of every pot, every sauté pan, every ramekin, every utensil, every electronic device, and every potholder in his copious stock.
Renato, the housekeeper who had been with Billy for as long as anyone could remember, watched the proceedings from a stool in the corner with a baleful eye. He knew he would be the one to pick up the pieces when Billy ran out of gas.
Billy nearly missed hearing his phone ringing over a particularly emotional Pavarotti aria.
‘Pronto,’ he sang into the phone. ‘What? Can’t hear you!’
‘Billy!’ Margo was shouting to be heard. ‘Turn down the music!’
Billy signalled to Renato, who gratefully turned off the sound. ‘What is it, Margo? I’m at a particularly crucial point in the sauce Béarnaise.’
‘I need you to do something for me. It’s urgent. It may tell us where Jack is.’
‘Name it,’ Billy said, all business now. ‘I want nothing more than to come face to face with that creep!’