Against All Enemies (39 page)

“This ain’t no Watergate,” Marcy warned. “Meredith plays for keeps.”

“He can’t be that dangerous,” the lawyer said.

“I was in L.A., remember? I saw the First Brigade in action.”

The editor sensed, rather than knew, that he was sitting on the story of a lifetime. It was decision time. He made it. “Okay, Marcy, run with it. But I want you working this from every angle, checking out every lead. If there’s a rock, turn it over and see what crawls out.”

Marcy felt her mouth go dry. She knew what he was demanding. But there was only one answer allowed. “I got it.”

7:52
A.M.
, Wednesday, July 28,
The Farm, Western Virginia

Durant reread the profile on Kamigami the second time. “But she never met the man,” he said.

“Dr. Kurtz is one of the best profilers around,” Rios I explained. “She was trained at Quantico and worked for The FBI fourteen years before coming to us.”

“But she specialized in the criminal mind.”

Rios paused and considered his next words. “What she I does is based on common sense and knowledge of human nature. Kamigami is rigid and goal driven. Once he commits to something, he will do it. Even at the risk of his own life.”

Durant flipped through the report. “So, if the CIA does not tell him we’re coming, what will he do?”

“The good doctor claims that lacking information, he I will follow his original instructions. If he suspects a rescue is underway, he will go to the hostages and activate his homing beacon.”

I “I hate basing a decision on a shrink’s recommendation.”

“Dr. Kurtz did predict that Agnes would talk to you when she was not responding to the whiz kids.” Rios paused for effect “And she did say Agnes would not budge; Not an inch.”

“Okay, so she’s got credibility. So what else do we know?”

Rios unfolded a large scale map. “The execution is scheduled for this Friday at high noon at Wadi Rahad, about two hundred miles southwest of Khartoum. It’s a shrine of some sort called the Rock of Vengeance. The army of a heretic was defeated there in 1836. He was executed on the rock monolith. Supposedly, whenever it rains, the sand in the wadi turns red to remind people what happens to heretics. Now people come here to pray for vengeance when they’ve been wronged. No one is really sure how that started. It’s definitely more animistic than Islamic.”

Rios spread out a series of satellite photographs that showed a walled, fortresslike compound on the banks of a large wadi, a dry streambed. The high walls encompassed a large bare area. At the very center was a rock monolith surrounded by a low wall perhaps four feet high. The outer walls were pierced by a single large gate on the south side. A well-worn path led straight to a break in the low wall that surrounded the rock monolith. The monolith, the break in the low wall, and the gate were aligned to point to the dry streambed, which was red in color. Outside, a railroad track and highway from Khartoum ended at the wadi, and a concrete airstrip had been built a half mile northwest of the compound. Other than a few shacks, there was nothing else.

“The source of this information?” Durant demanded.

“It was on CNN this morning.”

“Great. Absolutely great. We have to decide whether to launch the rescue mission based on the profile of a shrink and a TV news report. What kind of intelligence is that?”

“Without Agnes, the best we got. Boss, can Kamigami do it?”

“Do what?”

“Hold until we get there.”

Durant closed his eyes. He felt tired, very tired. But he couldn’t postpone the decision much longer. “That’s the bet. Call the helicopter. We’re going to the White House.”

2:04
P.M.
, Wednesday, July 28,
The American Embassy, Switzerland

“You,” the economic attaché said, “are indeed charmed individuals. Heydrich Mueller proved to be less obstinate than I expected.” He handed Mather a thin folder. “In fact, you can say he has been downright cooperative.”

Mather opened it and Toni leaned over his shoulder, far too close for Sutherland’s comfort. “The account was created over a year ago,” Toni said.

“And only two deposits have been made since men,” Mather added, “both by electronic transfer. One from a bank in Canada,” he checked the details, “apparently from Sandi Jefferson’s business account, and the other from a bank in the Cayman Islands.”

The way they scanned the report, heads together, in perfect tune as professional investigators worried Sutherland. Mather handed him the report. At first, Sutherland saw nothing unusual. Then he caught it. “Clever. Very clever.” Toni and Mather looked at him. “Remember all the money Sandi was using to pay off her credit cards and we couldn’t figure out where it was coming from?” He tapped the paper. “It was all hers. She had hidden it in a Canadian bank to avoid taxes.”

“What about the money from the Caymans?” Toni asked. “Whose account was that?”

The attaché glanced at the report. “As I suspected, only an account number. That’s all you’ll get. No one has ever cracked a Cayman bank.”

The train ride back to Thun gave them time to talk and plan their next moves. The Swiss had cooperated but they were still at a dead end. “Talk about a wild goose chase,” Mather said.

“Well,” Toni said, “we know more than we did before.”

Mather shook his head. “Except where the money came from. I doubt if we’ll ever fill in the gap between the Cayman and Swiss banks. The international banking system wins again. What a waste of time.”

“Well,” Toni said, “I’ve never been to Europe before.”

“I’d love to show you more,” Mather said, smiling at her.

“We’re here to work,” Sutherland grumbled. He changed the subject. “There must be some way to use this information.”

“How?” Mather asked. “It just confirms Jefferson received money from an unknown source in the Cayman Islands.”

Sutherland mulled it over. Mather was right. It was a piece of information in a rapidly dying investigation. The vital pieces had died with Jefferson, and what they had learned would lie in some sealed government file that would never see the light of day.
But I’m not working for the government
, he thought. The train pulled into the station and Mather was the first off, leading the way back to the hotel. Toni walked beside Sutherland. She slipped her arm through his, European style.

“I’ve enjoyed it here,” she said. “I hate to go back.”

In front of them, Mather suddenly spun around and rushed back. “There,” he said in a low voice, pointing across the street. “Driving the gray Mercedes.” They both looked in the direction he was pointing. Sitting behind the wheel, moving away from them in the slow traffic, was Jim Bob.

Sutherland said the obvious. “Follow him.” They ran down the street, barely able to keep the car in sight. Finally, Sutherland hailed a taxi and they piled in, now able to follow the car. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered. The enermity of the odds against such a chance sighting appalled him. “Talk about coincidence.” Seven blocks later, the Mercedes stopped in front of an arcade of exclusive boutiques.

“Very expensive shops,” the driver said. Mather paid off the driver while Sutherland and Toni bailed out.

They moved slowly toward the Mercedes. “I’ve got the license number,” Toni said. She repeated the number, never taking her eyes off the car. It was locked in Sutherland’s memory. Two expensively dressed women walking arm in arm stepped out of the arcade followed by two clerks loaded with boxes and clothing bags. Toni stifled a gasp and pulled Sutherland into a doorway. “That’s Sandi Jefferson. I hardly recognized her, she’s dyed her hair. The other woman—she’s the one I saw her with that time at Nordstrom’s in Kansas City.”

Sutherland chanced a look. It was his ex-wife, Beth Page.

“Incredible,” Sutherland said, his mind still reeling from the chance encounter. They were sitting at an outdoor caffé overlooking Lake Thun. A fragile silence ruled while the waiter served coffee and moved away. “I’ll never knock coincidence again.”

“Coincidence happens,” Mather muttered. “Did they see you?”

“I don’t think so,” Sutherland replied. “Toni pulled me to cover.”

“Time to get organized,” Toni said.

“You check in with the team in me States,” Mather said, “while I call the embassy. They might be able to get a lead on the license plate.” They hurried away, leaving Sutherland alone.

Within minutes, Toni was back. “They want us to come home. As far as they’re concerned, your ex and Sandi are of no importance and it was pure coincidence.”

“How much coincidence do you believe in?” Sutherland asked.

“Not that much,” Toni replied. “They’re here for a reason.”

Mather joined them forty minutes later. “The embassy forwarded the report from Credit Geneve and wants us out of their hair. I had to strongarm the first secretary to get them to run the license plate. They should have something by tomorrow.”

Sutherland was impressed. He knew from hard experience how legations worked, and Mather had to have connections to reach the first secretary, much less make him so responsive. “How did you manage that?” he asked.

“My father was an ambassador,” Mather replied. “The Netherlands—when I was at Groton.”

“Oh.” This from Toni. Now she was impressed. “The team wants us to drop it and come home,” she rapidly added, covering her confusion.

Mather gave her a blank look. “Too bad we’re having trouble booking a flight.”

“It will take a day or two to make connections,’ Toni allowed.

“Cute,” Sutherland muttered, “very cute.”

11:45
A.M.
, Wednesday, July 28,
The White House, Washington, D.C.

The President leaned back in his chair and surveyed the people surrounding him. Like nearly everything he did, he wanted a consensus before proceeding. But in this case, his advisers were evenly split, Broderick, Serick, and the DCI against launching the rescue mission while the military, the Vice President, and, strangely enough, the State Department, for going ahead.

The chairman of the joint chiefs of staff did all but thump the table. “Mr. President, it’s a good plan. The helicopters are in position and ready to launch. Delta Force is ready but they have to deploy now. This plan will work because the diversionary attack will create the chaos we need to ingress. We have surprise, we have isolation, and we have simplicity and are now dealing with a soft target.” He snorted. “Delta’s daily training exercises are more demanding than what they’ll be going against at Wadi Rahad. Unfortunately, we have a very narrow window of opportunity, but it is there.”

The President drummed his fingers on the table. “We’re dealing with too many unknowns. How do we even know where the pilots are with any certainty?”

“We don’t,” Durant answered. “But we have an agent in place who has a homing beacon Delta Force can guide on.”

The President shook his head. “We’re dealing with too many unknowns,” he repeated. “I could be sending our men into a trap.”

“Possible but not probable,” Durant replied. “Remember, they are rushing this and haven’t had time to solidify their security or their defenses. The diversionary attack should get them looking one way, and we’ll be in and out before they look in the other.”

Serick lived up to his reputation as the administration’s leading cynic. “Rubbish. This is a fiasco in the making.”

“Perhaps,” the DCI said, switching sides, “a failed rescue attempt is better than no attempt at all. Even postulating a worst-case scenario, our losses should be minimal. But more importantly, we destroy Assam’s weapons of mass destruction.”

Serick gave the DCI a hard look of disapproval.

“Mr. President,” Durant said, “we’re out of time. We need a decision now.”

The Vice President uttered the words that decided the issue. “Meredith’s claims that we are afraid to act are flushing our ratings in the polls down the toilet.”

The President looked around the room and stood up. “It’s a go,” he said. “The national military command center has command authority to execute the mission. I want hourly updates.” He marched out of the room.

The DCI turned to Durant. “We’ll get the word to Kamigami. It should reach him in twenty-four hours.”

“Excellent,” Durant said. “I appreciate the quick response.”

“I’d never do it this way,” the DCI said. “But we’re all in this together.” They shook hands and Durant followed the President.

Serick and Broderick collared the DCI and pulled him aside. “I would have appreciated a heads-up that you were going to back Durant,” Broderick said through gritted teeth.

“Do you know what happens to our credibility?” Serick muttered, “if Durant pulls this off? Given his track record, he can do it.”

“Who said I was going to send the message?” the DCI replied.

12:40
P.M.
, Wednesday, July 28,
National Military Command Center, The Pentagon

The four-star general in command of the rescue mission escorted Durant and Rios into the Pentagon’s war room. He was a young-looking man, extremely organized, and anxious to demonstrate how the system worked—especially to two civilians there at the express direction of the President. “We launch the mission from here,” he explained. “But operational control will be from an airborne command post orbiting over the Mediterranean.” He sat them down in front of a monitor and typed a command into the computer. The timing for the entire mission scrolled onto the screen, with the objectives for each participating unit detailed by time and place.

It was the first time Durant had seen the complete plan and was surprised by the complexity of the mission. “I had no idea it was so complicated.”

“We could never have done it without Agnes,” the general said. “After Colonel Gillespie deployed, she took over. Talk about one sharp lady! When we started planning the diversionary, she gave us a list of targets. To show you how good she is, we’re using her priorities. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Durant asked.

The general thought for a moment. “Saturday morning, why?”

Durant and Rios exchanged glances. “She’s very ill,” Durant replied, his voice sad. “I hope she recovers.”

“Me too,” the general said. “That woman is a national treasure.” He pointed to the master clocks on the front wall. “H-hour,” he said. The numbers of the mission clock started to turn. The mission was underway.