Masquerade by Gayle Lynds Page A

You know that, Lucas.”
    â€œTrue. Well, this has been like old times. The good old times. Not that many of us remember them anymore.”
    â€œYes. Most unfortunate.”
    Bremner lingered in the doorway as his longtime ally walked away toward the elevators, his shoulders square. Dignified. For the first time in many years, Hughes Bremner was nervous.

Chapter 11
    Hughes Bremner waited thirty minutes, plenty of time for Maynard to reach his office, check in, and leave for his meeting.
    If he had one. If he hadn’t invented it at the last moment to save his lying ass, because he’d sensed a trap.
    Bremner dialed Maynard’s line. The secretary answered. He asked to speak to Maynard.
    â€œI’m sorry, sir. He’s gone for the day.”
    â€œAh, yes. What was it? I’ve forgotten—”
    â€œA meeting with his German informer, sir.”
    So Maynard had been telling the truth after all. Bremner was in no better position than before. Disgust welled up in his throat, sour as bile. He was about to make a polite, empty comment and hang up, when a final question occurred to him.
    â€œHe told you about the meeting before he came up to see me?” Bremner asked. “Or after?”
    â€œOh, before, sir. He asked me to call him if it looked like your meeting was going on too long for him to see the German.”
    Damn. Bremner had been sure the whole story was cooked up to give Maynard a legitimate reason to leave. He tried one last question: “When did the German arrange the meeting?”
    â€œI believe Mr. Maynard did. It must have been sudden.”
    â€œSudden?”
    â€œUh-huh. After he left I realized he was going to miss adoctor’s appointment. He never misses them. His diabetes, you know. So I suppose he must have talked to the German only a few minutes before his meeting with you, or—”
    Bremner smiled. Maynard was still good, but this time not quite good enough. Maynard had arranged the appointment himself, suspecting he might need an excuse to exit Bremner’s office.
    The woman’s voice faltered. “Sir . . . is anything wrong? I mean, all these questions about Mr. Maynard’s schedule?”
    Bremner knew enough. It all added up: Maynard’s breakfast with the undersecretary, the demand for immunity, and the manilla envelope that had excited the undersecretary so much. There was only one logical conclusion: Lucas Maynard had kept records.
    â€œActually there
is
something wrong, Mildred,” Bremner said, his voice sincere, concerned. “I’ve been worried about Lucas’s diabetes. Do you think he’s working too hard?”
    â€œOh, Mr. Bremner, you’re so right—”
    He listened absently as she recited a litany of concerns about Maynard’s health. His mind was busy making plans.
    There was nothing worse than a traitor, and Lucas Maynard was a traitor. At another time, Bremner might have had the luxury of continuing to watch Maynard, of trying to find the reason for his betrayal. There was always a reason, and it could be used to turn the enemy. But not now. Now there could be no unnecessary risks, no mistakes, no chances taken with M ASQUERADE or his private French operation, G RANDEUR .
    As soon as he got rid of Maynard’s secretary, Hughes Bremner called Sid Williams on his secure line.
    â€œMaynard has stolen critical top-secret government documents,” Bremner told his subordinate. “It’s a grave breach of national security and M ASQUERADE . We’ve got to have the documents, and he’s got to be silenced. Do whatever you have to do. And that includes taking care of the undersecretary. Immediately.”

    At four o’clock the usual limo picked up Undersecretary Clare Edward at State for the drive to his classic Georgetown home. He carried Lucas Maynard’s manilla envelope safely locked in his briefcase. He’d debated whether to leave it in his safe at State,