The Matarese Countdown by Robert Ludlum Page A

several table lamps. White walls, white furniture, white archways that led to other rooms, all to repel the heat of the sun. And standing next to a white wicker armchair was Scofield’s wife. As reported by the Tortolan in the Road Town post office, she was tall, full of figure but not obese, and with that mixture of gray and dark hair that bespoke her advancing years. Her face was delicate yet strong; a mind was at work inside that handsome head.
    “Congratulations, Mr. Pryce,” she said in slightly accented English. “We’ve been on the alert for you, although I didn’t think you could possibly find us. I owe you one dollar, Bray.”
    “I’ll bet another that I never see it.”
    “Finding you wasn’t that difficult, Mrs. Scofield.”
    “The mailbox, of course,” the once and former whiz of deep-cover intelligence broke in. “It’s a hell of a flaw but a necessary one. We still sail, we still like the charter business, and it’s a way to make a few dollars and socialize a bit.… We’re not antisocial, you know. We enjoy most people, actually.”
    “This house, the isolation, wouldn’t seem to support that, sir.”
    “On the surface, I suppose not, but the obvious can be misleading, can’t it, young man? We’re not hermits, we’re here for a very practical reason. You’re an example.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Have you any idea, Mr. Pryce,” interrupted Antonia Scofield, “how many people have tried to pull my husband back into his former profession? Beyond Washington, there’s the British MI-Five and MI-Six, the French Deuxième, the Italian Servizio Segreto, and just about everybody in NATO’s intelligence community. He keeps refusing and refusing, but they never ‘let up,’ as you Americans say.”
    “He’s considered a brilliant man—”
    “Was,
was … maybe!
” exclaimed Scofield. “But I haven’t anything to offer any longer. Good
Christ
, it was damn near twenty-five years ago! The whole world’s changed and I haven’t the slightest interest in it. Sure, you could find me; if our roles were reversed, it’d take me no more time than it took you to find
me
. But you’d be astonished what a little deterrence, like a mostly uncharted island and a stupidly named mailbox, can do to stop the curious. You want to know why?”
    “Yes, I would.”
    “Because they’ve got a hundred other problems and they don’t want the hassle, it’s as simple as that. It’s so much easier to say to a superior that I’m seemingly impossible to locate. Think about the funds needed for airline tickets along with experienced personnel; the whole ball of wax becomes so tangled they give up. It’s just easier.”
    “Yet you just said you were told I was coming down looking for you. You could have put up barriers, not used the mailbox. You didn’t. You didn’t protect yourself.”
    “You’re very perceptive, young man.”
    “It’s almost comical that you use that phrase. That’s what I called the lieutenant in St. Thomas.”
    “He was probably half your age, as you are of mine. So what?”
    “Nothing really, but why didn’t you? Protect your isolation?”
    “It was a joint decision,” answered Scofield, looking over at his wife. “More hers than mine, to tell you the truth. We wanted to see if you had the patience, that godforsaken quiescence before you made your move. An hour becomes a day, a day a month; we’ve all been there. You passed with all the colors; you actually
slept
on the beach. Damn good training!”
    “You haven’t answered my question, sir.”
    “No, I haven’t, because I knew why you had come. Only one reason, and you said the name. The Matarese.”
    “Tell him, Bray, tell him everything you know,” said Antonia Scofield. “You owe Taleniekov that, we both owe Vasili that.”
    “I know, my dear, but may we first have a drink? I’ll settle for wine, but I’d rather have brandy.”
    “You may have both, if you like, my darling.”
    “You see why I keep