A Raging Storm (5 page)

“No, but he’d finance protest rallies, bribe officials, plant news stories, and make Barkovsky’s life and presidency a living hell.”

“Is getting rid of Barkovsky worth going to bed with Petrov?” Storm asked. “Why not just have him killed if you want to get rid of him?”

“We don’t really do that anymore.”

“Sure you don’t,” Storm said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Does that mean you turned down Petrov?”

“Absolutely, we turned him down,” Jones replied. “We can’t kill foreign leaders anymore and we can’t topple foreign governments either. Congress has passed laws that specifically forbid us from doing that sort of thing. This isn’t the 1950s and 1960s when you could put poison in one of Fidel Castro’s cigars.”

“Yeah, but if I recall, that cigar stunt didn’t work.”

“It could have,” Jones said. “Creative thinking on our part. That’s something I’ve always admired. But back to the gold. There are other reasons why we can’t get involved in searching for the gold. One reason is that it still belongs to the Communist Party of the Russian Federation. Even though the Soviet Union no longer exists, the Communist Party in Russia still does. It’s the second largest political party in that nation. All those little Commie bastards didn’t just disappear overnight. By international law, that money still belongs to them.

“Here’s another reason,” Jones said. “President Barkovsky has made it clear to the White House that any cooperation our government extends to Petrov will be seen as a hostile act against him and his nation. The guy might be nuts, but he still has his finger on a huge arsenal of nuclear weapons and most of them are pointed at us. We don’t want to encourage his paranoid hatred of the U.S.”

“And finally,” Jones continued, “we’ve got an internal problem. The day after that photograph of the kilobar was taken inside my office, the Russian ambassador paid an unannounced visit on the secretary of state and specifically stated that any attempt by the U.S. to recover the missing gold would be considered an act of international piracy.”

“You got a leak. Someone tipped off the Russians.”

“Exactly,” Jones said. “Barkovsky knew about our private meeting in my office—this office—within twenty-four hours.”

“A mole?”

“Yes, but I don’t think the mole is on our side. I think it’s in Petrov’s camp. Only I can’t be sure.”

Despite Jones’s litany of reasons, Storm could read between the lines. Clearly, Jones wanted to help Petrov, because Barkovsky was a dangerous loony tune. What better way to get rid of him than to have one of his former friends bring him down?
Et tu,
Brutus? Using the Communist Party’s own wealth to destroy a pro-Communist president only made the entire scheme sweeter
.

“If you aren’t going to help Petrov,” Storm said, “then why tell me about the gold?”

“Because you’re dead, remember? No one can be held responsible for the actions of a dead man, can they?”

“But I’m only one man.”

Jones gave him a sly look and asked, “Are you sure? Do you really believe you’re the only man who has gone off the grid? Do you think you’re the only man who has disappeared?”

“Project
Midas
,” Storm said, putting two and two together. “That thick file locked in your safe—it has the names of other ‘dead’ operatives just like me, doesn’t it? You want me and the other ‘dead’ operatives to help Petrov because our country can’t afford to leave any fingerprints behind.”

“No fingerprints, no footprints,” Jones said. “No prints at all.”

Jones pulled a large envelope from a desk drawer and said, “I need you to go to London and talk to Petrov. First, try to find out who killed Windslow and why. Second, tell him that I’ve assembled a team to help him. All we need to learn is where the gold is hidden.”

He emptied the envelope’s contents onto his desktop. “Here’s a passport, cash, credit cards, a cell phone, and airline tickets. Agent Showers is booked on a six o’clock flight to London. She’s being sent to question Petrov. She’ll be your ticket in to meet him. You’ll tag along. I’ve already arranged it.”

Storm’s mind was swirling. “What about the mole?”

“If the mole is in Petrov’s camp, there’s nothing we can do. Just be careful.”

“And what if it is on our side—someone inside this agency?”

“I know who you are, but you always worked in the field. No one else here in headquarters knows you or that you’re still alive. I’ve also compartmentalized Project
Midas
.”

“Meaning?” Storm asked.

“Meaning that only you and I know that you are involved in it. That’s it. To everyone else, Derrick Storm is still a ghost.”

The last time that Jones had been so confident about a covert operation, he’d sent Storm to Tangiers. Look how that had turned out
.

Jones continued, “Be careful when you meet Petrov. Just because he showed me the gold doesn’t mean we can trust him. I want you to find out what you can about the gold, but I also need for you to help Agent Showers solve the kidnapping and murders. Maybe Agent Showers is correct and Petrov killed Dull and Windslow because the senator had gotten cold feet about Project
Midas
. Maybe Barkovsky is behind the killings because he wanted to stop Windslow from pushing Project
Midas
. Or maybe Windslow was trying to extort a bigger share of that sixty-billion pie than what Petrov wanted to give him. Trust no one.”

“Just like old times,” Storm said.

“I’m still running covert operations,” Jones said, “because I trust only a handful of people.”

“Does Agent Showers know about the gold?” Storm asked.

“No. Only one handful of people know about it, and she isn’t one of those fingers.”

“She won’t like having me tag along with her to London.”

“She doesn’t get a vote. Everything has been arranged—although your role will be strictly advisory.”

Storm imagined Showers’s reaction. This was not a minor case. A U.S. senator and his stepson had been killed. She wouldn’t want him interfering. She was shrewd enough to know that Storm would be Jedidiah Jones’s eyes and ears. She’d be suspicious of him
.

“Weapons?” Storm asked.

“None for you. You’ll be traveling on a diplomatic passport as Steve Mason. You’ll be posing as a liaison officer from the State Department.”

“Some paper pusher in the State Department told you that I couldn’t be armed?”

“It wasn’t a paper pusher. It came directly from the secretary of state. Tangiers. Remember? Ever since that fiasco, other agencies have been reluctant to let any of our people pose as one of their own, especially if they are armed.”

Tangiers. Even in death, it continued to haunt him
.

“How about Agent Showers?”

“No one objected to her having a sidearm,” he said. “I’m also going to give you a personal letter to take to Petrov. He’ll know it’s from me.”

Jones gave Storm a piercing look. “You were the last piece that I needed for Project
Midas
.”

“Why me?”

“I just told you that I trust very few people. You happen to be one of them. I am trusting you to find sixty billion in gold and not let it corrupt you.”

“That’s a lot of gold,” Storm said.

“Yes it is, and if I am wrong in trusting you, then I will see to it that you really do end up dead.”

Another layer had been peeled. Jones was sending him down a dangerous path. And yet Storm still wasn’t sure that Jones had told him everything. Knowing Jones, he doubted that he had. There were going to be more layers, more surprises, more twists, more turns, and with sixty billion dollars at stake, there were going to be more murders
.

Of that, he was certain
.

Storm took a seat in a sports bar directly across from Gate 21 at Dulles International Airport so that his back was against a wall and he could see all possible entrances and exits. He was supposed to meet Agent Showers there at 5
P.M.
He’d arrived at 4:30
P.M.
In his line of work, you never wanted to walk into an area cold, even if you were simply catching a flight to London with an FBI agent.

He’d just sat down when Agent Showers entered the bar. She’d come early, too. He liked that. As he watched her scan the lounge, he was reminded of how attractive she was. Showers was wearing a dark gray pants suit with a short jacket that covered an off-white silk blouse layered over a black camisole. She was a knockout.

Showers carefully weaved through the jumble of chairs and tables occupied by travelers who were taking advantage of a two-drinks-for-one happy hour.

“Hello, Ms. Showers,” Storm said, rising politely from his seat.

She was only carrying a backpack.

“Where’s your luggage?” he asked her. “I’ve never known a woman who traveled light.”

“Where’s yours?” she replied. He glanced at a backpack next to him.

Both of them had checked their luggage for a reason besides convenience. They would not have been able to react quickly during an emergency if they were lugging suitcases with them.

“Whaddaya want to drink, doll?” a busty cocktail waitress, wearing too much makeup and fishnet hose, asked them.

“A diet cola, either brand,” Showers said.

“I’ll take a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”

“Great choice, handsome,” she said, winking at him.

As she walked away, Showers said, “You just ordered a draft of whatever they have on tap and she complimented your choice. You must love it when women flirt with you.”

“But you don’t,” he said. It sounded like a question.

“I don’t what? Like it when someone flirts with you? Or are you saying I don’t flirt with you?”

“Both.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said. “That waitress is just working you for a tip.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that you’re paying the tab.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, serving Storm first. “Here you are, cutie,” she said.

She plopped Showers’s cola on a napkin in front of her without comment.

“Thank you,” Storm said, beaming. “By the way, my friend here is going to be paying our tab.”

“A girlfriend who buys you drinks,” the waitress said. “Be careful, she might be trying to get lucky.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Showers said indignantly.

“Too bad for you,” the waitress replied.

When she was out of earshot, Showers said, “I’m tipping her zero.”

Storm looked smug. He liked Agent Showers.

She got down to business. “I’ve contacted Scotland Yard, and they’re sending a liaison to meet us at Heathrow and take us to the Yard for a briefing about Ivan Petrov.”

“Thanks, but I’ll skip the introductions at the airport and just meet you later at our hotel. You can brief me.”

“I can brief you?” she replied, bristling. “Hey, you’re tagging along with me, remember. It’s not my job to brief you.”

“You’re right,” Storm said, throwing her a bone. “But I think it’s better if I stay in the shadows.”

She thought about it for a second and said, “You’re probably right. I didn’t have a choice about notifying Scotland Yard. It’s agency procedure when a law enforcement group visits a foreign government to interrogate someone. I just hope the Brits have enough common sense to keep their mouths shut about us coming.”

“I doubt it,” Storm said.

“Why? Because they’re cops?”

“Of course not. I just love cops, especially women in uniform with nightsticks,” he said, grinning. She scowled.

He said, “I’m suspicious because this is a high-profile case and Ivan Petrov is internationally known. Your arrival in England to question Petrov will be big news if word leaks out.”

“I raised that issue with my bosses,” she said. “But they assured me that the Bureau and Scotland Yard have a close professional relationship. Actually, they accused me of thinking like someone who worked for Jedidiah Jones rather than like a cop. Cloak-and-dagger versus real police work.”

“Real police work,” he repeated. “I like how that rolled off your lips.”

“I’m not a private detective,” she said, “nor am I one of Jones’s contract ‘fixers.’ I’m still not certain who you really are or what you are doing for Jones, and I doubt if you are going to tell me, are you?”

“A deduction made by real police work,” he replied, lifting his beer in a mock salute.

She said, “Look, there’s something I need to tell you. I told my superiors that it was a mistake sending you along.”

“I would have been surprised if you hadn’t.”

“It’s nothing personal. You’re kind of likable.”

“Kind of likable, not adorable?”

“The reason why I said I didn’t want you tagging along is because you’re a cowboy. You don’t follow the rules and that means I can’t depend on you. When we first met—when Senator Windslow first demanded that you be brought into the kidnapping investigation—I put all of my cards on the table. I was completely honest with you and treated you like a professional. But you didn’t put your cards on the table. You didn’t treat me like a professional. You hid information from me.”