Stone thought Lance looked as though he needed a drink.
“Can I get you a drink, Lance?”
“Thank you, no. We’ve got a flap on – two agents missing in Afghanistan
– and I have a meeting with the director in two hours.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“I have to make a recommendation,” Lance said. “We think we know where they are: Do we send in more people to get them and risk the lives of a hundred men, or do we call in an air strike and kill everybody.”
“Including the two agents?”
“That’s the decision. There’s a chopper waiting for me at the West Side helipad. That’s why I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Deal with what?”
“My brother, Barton.”
“Start at the beginning, Lance.”
“My brother is four years older than I. Barton has been a star all his life: In school, in sports, wherever he went, he was always the star. Our mother died in childbirth with me. When I was twelve, our father died, and Barton became a surrogate father. He joined the Marines during the war in Vietnam, right out of Harvard; got a commission, led a platoon. I was at Harvard then. By the time it was over he was a colonel, commanding a regiment. Nobody in the Marines had advanced so quickly since World War Two. He was sent to the War College and told he would be a general before long, perhaps a future chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”
“Sounds like a spectacular career.”
“It was, until he abruptly resigned his commission and disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Nobody could find him. I tried and failed. When I was giving my commencement speech at my graduation I looked down and saw him in the audience, but when the thing was over, he had disappeared again. I didn’t see him again until tonight.”
“So he abandoned you when you were in college?”
“Not entirely. My fees were paid, and a generous check arrived every month from a trust he had set up to receive my inheritance, since I was not yet of age. I wrote to him in care of the bank, but my letter was returned.”
“But you heard from him tonight?”
“Not exactly. I had a call earlier this evening from a hospital in New York, saying that the police had found him, three days ago, unconscious, on the street. He had been beaten and, apparently, robbed, since he had no money or identification. His wristwatch had been taken, too. He was unconscious for around thirty hours, and when he woke, he didn’t know who he was. The police tried to identify him, and today they finally got a match on his fingerprints and got hold of his service record, where I was listed as his next of kin. Somebody at the Pentagon recognized my name and called me.”
“Has Barton recovered his memory?”
“Somewhat. He knows his name, he remembers me, but not much else. No one has been able to find an address for him, since his wallet was stolen. That’s why I need your help.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“His doctor told me that this sort of amnesia is usually temporary; the memory comes back in bits and pieces. It’s a good sign that he has begun to remember. The hospital had to discharge him, since he has recovered from the beating and he has a next of kin. They released him to me tonight. But I can’t take him back to Langley with me, not in the middle of this crisis.”
“Do you want me to find him a hotel?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet; he needs to regain his memory before he can be left alone.”
“I suppose I could put him up at my house for a couple of days,” Stone said.
“Thank you, Stone. I don’t think he’ll be any trouble; he’s quite docile. I’d also like you, perhaps with Dino’s help, to find out where he lives and, when he recovers himself, take him to his home.”
“But you don’t have any idea at all where he lives?”
Lance shook his head. “None.” He looked at his watch. “There’s a car waiting to take me to the helipad. Come and meet Barton.” He got up and led Stone into the main dining room.