The expression of distaste was back on Dr. Smith's face, as if a reek of flatulence had crept into his office. "We're not in the business of doing favors," he said tartly. "That's not what CURE is for."
"Oh, sure, I know that. And you know that. But every good old boy who gets into the White House has a hard time figuring out this is the one and only thing in their lives that can't be treated as a political tool."
Smith looked sharply at Remo. "We're not being used as a political tool, but you've raised a good point."
"Huh?"
"I was called by the President and he suggested CURE look into this," Smith said.
"So it is a favor," Remo said.
"Once we started looking into it, we began seeing the possible true extent of the damage being done in the Caribbean to U.S. interests," Mark Howard explained. "Since we don't know who or what is behind this, we can only make assumptions about their implication in various losses throughout the region going back over the past few years. But the scale is staggering."
"That qualifies it as a threat to U.S. security?" Remo probed. "Convenient justification."
"We don't do justification, Remo," Smith retorted seriously.
"Sure. I believe you."
"We're going to have to make sure the President believes that, too," Smith said to Howard. "But that doesn't mean we're not going to check into it."
"Check into what?" Remo said. "I mean, if you're expecting me to search the whole Caribbean, it just might take a while."
"Richard Armitage and his wife departed from Miami aboard their private yacht, Solon II, on the morning of March seventeenth. They stopped at Nassau and at Caicos on their way to the Dominican Republic, where they apparently hired an extra crewman, an elusive figure named Enrique, at Puerta Plata, on the twentieth. We've no idea why he was needed, how they met him-anything at all, in fact. You may be able to learn more from the woman herself."
"Say again?"
"You have a scheduled interview this afternoon," said Dr. Smith.
"You told me she was incoherent," Remo said.
"It's relative. You may get lucky," Smith replied. "I'm hoping that you can draw her out in ways the authorities could not."
"Uh-huh." Remo was clearly skeptical. "You said they found her west of Fort-de-France. No sign of the yacht or her husband?"
"None so far," Dr. Smith replied. "Of course, if the DEA and Coast Guard suppositions are correct, the Solon II will have a new paint job by now, perhaps new ID numbers. Nothing that an expert couldn't spot, but ample change to get it through a cursory inspection. With any luck, it could make two or three smuggling runs into the Keys before it has to be replaced."
Remo didn't have to ask about Richard Armitage. The Caribbean was wide and deep enough to hide countless bodies, its shark and barracuda hungry enough to make short work of human remains. Pirate victims in the old days had traditionally gone over the side. It would be simple for a modern-day practitioner to emulate their lethal methods.
"Who was Richard Armitage," Remo asked, "besides an influential politician's son?"
"CEO of a smallish but expanding software company in his own right, Harvard educated, with a trust fund and family stock portfolio to see him over the rough spots."
"It's a tough life," Remo said.
"From all appearances, his life is over," Dr. Smith replied.
"Well," said Remo, "what kind of an investigation did you have in mind? Am I supposed to drift around the islands until Long John Silver tries to take me off, or what?"
"Essentially," said Dr. Smith, "you'll be provided with a boat, of course, and cash enough to make your cover stick."
"Which is?"
"You'll be executive material, well-bred and groomed. I hope that won't be too much of a stretch."
"I'll try to manage," Remo said. "There must be more to it than looking rich, though, or the Coast Guard would be losing half the tourists in the islands."
"You'll attempt to duplicate the Armitage itinerary, inasmuch as possible from information we possess. Leave from Miami, make the stops at Nassau and Caicos. See about hiring a crewman or two at Puerta Plata, if the opportunity presents itself."
"Not too obvious," said Remo.
"Let's assume our targets may be something less than brilliant," Dr. Smith replied. "If nothing else, it may be safe to say they stick with a technique that works."
"Except the woman got away," said Remo.
"Yes, which brings me to your next stop." Dr. Smith paused for a moment, his blunt fingertips shuffling invisible papers around the vacant, polished desktop before he spoke again. "They've got her in a private room at Walter Reed."
"Not here?" The surprise in Remo's tone was strictly shammed.
"Unfortunately, no," said Dr. Smith. "It would have made things more convenient, I admit."
"The senator's a Navy man?"
"The next best thing. Remember that appropriations seat."
"I see."
"If you leave now, you should have ample time to catch your flight from White Plains to Bethesda."
"Marvelous."
"I trust you'll show the proper respect at Bethesda," Dr. Smith cautioned, the expression on his lemon face revealing very little trust, in fact.
"I always try to show respect for innocent victims," Remo replied. "On the other hand, if we're discussing those who abuse them for profit, financial or otherwise, well, I'd say all bets were off."
Dr. Smith seemed to take his meaning at once. He said, "Perhaps you should give Senator Armitage the benefit of the doubt."
"I already have," Remo said as he rose from his chair. Mark Howard handed him an itinerary with his flight number, which Remo wadded into his pocket.
"Please hurry," Smith said to Remo. "Miss that flight and you just might miss your opportunity to visit with the patient today."
Remo grinned at Mark Howard, who gave him a dark scowl. "I'll hurry like a bunny."
Chapter 4
Best known as a bedroom community of the nation's capital, Bethesda, Maryland-or, more properly, its Woodmont suburb-is also home to the sprawling U.S. Naval Medical Center and its equally vast alter ego, the National Institutes of Health, situated on the west side of the Rockville Pike. Between them, the two research-and-treatment facilities cover an area of several square miles, teeming with doctors, nurses, technicians, orderlies and patients.