Sandstorm (22 page)

A slight buzz was permeating throughout the building. For a place that took pride in keeping secrets, the comings and goings of high-ranking visitors to Langley rarely went unnoticed. Earlier, while peering out his upper-floor window, Champion had noticed the two black sedans rolling down the driveway. They screamed “Washington bureaucrat,” but to his knowledge, there were no official meetings on the docket today. Not that certain people on the Hill ever felt compelled to follow protocol anyway with their “We appropriate the checks that keep your butts afloat” attitude. One such politician had been in the building now for thirty-five minutes, meeting with the director of central intelligence. Champion hoped it was something his superior would handle, but then the call he dreaded appeared on his private line. The director wanted Champion to join him and Senator Bryce Lipton. That had been five minutes ago, and as he made his way to the DCI’s office, a line from a sitcom ricocheted through his mind: “Lucy, you have some ’splaining to do.”

How could Lipton know? Had Alex or Nora screwed up? Had they been apprehended? As he entered the director’s office, Champion figured he was about to find out if the firing squad had ammunition.

Advancing in age, Adam Doyle was surprisingly spry. He was up and rounding his desk to greet Champion before the door closed behind him. Despite being twenty-two years younger, Champion doubted he could best Doyle in a marathon race. The man was downright religious when it came to running and staying fit. If memory served him correctly, Doyle routinely got in six miles a day before work. For a brief instant, Champion cast a glance toward Lipton, who remained seated, his posture locked down, facing forward. With a hand resting on Champion’s back, Doyle guided Champion to a chair next to Lipton. Only then did the senator rise from his seat.

“You two have met, haven’t you?”

They sized each other up. “Yes, briefly our paths have crossed,” the senator said, his tone suggesting their prior interactions weren’t anything special.

“Senator, good to see you again.” The handshake was firm but didn’t last long. “A couple of State dinners, I believe, maybe a function at the White House.” Lipton nodded in agreement as he sat back down, tugging at a crease in his pants.

“Hell, everybody at least knows somebody who knows somebody in this town,” Doyle said, returning to sit behind his manicured desk. Doyle spoke before the senator seized the opportunity. This was not going to be a place where Lipton could huff and puff.

“George, as you know, the senator has a personal interest in the agency, since his son is one of ours.”

Champion acknowledged the fact with a nod. Doyle continued, sensing the senator’s need to move things along, which was just fine with him as well.

“Is Davis Lipton working on anything vital at the moment?”

Champion could feel the elder Lipton’s eyes on him like lasers. He knew he had to sell it, so he took a second to gather his thoughts. “Nothing of consequence has crossed my radar screen.” Champion cleared his throat. Why not make this interesting? “And … it was my understanding”—he shot Lipton a cautionary glance—“from the AG’s office that he wasn’t to be assigned to any heavy lifting until the Erica Janway legal matter was concluded. Am I missing something here?”

The senator’s face was emotionless, but Lipton couldn’t help himself. “Not wanting to seem unsympathetic, but isn’t the Janway issue a nonissue now?”

“Senator, her death is very much under investigation, so I’m afraid not,” Doyle pointed out. “And besides, there were a number of depositions taken, and her legal team is very thorough. Her husband is steadfast on seeing this through.” Like Champion, Doyle had known and respected Janway. “I’m sure you can appreciate that the AG wants to make sure we’re on solid ground.” The no-nonsense response was effective in establishing the boundaries. The CIA had taken its fair share of criticism over the past several years, but there were limits on how far an outsider could push.

Champion alternated his attention between the two men. “I’m still not sure what we’re discussing here.”

“Well, let me tell you,” the senator said, seizing an opening. “I haven’t heard from my son in a couple of days. He hasn’t answered his cell or responded to e-mail.”

“I take it that’s unusual? You two converse that often?” Champion queried.

The muscles in Lipton’s face twitched for a second. “Not really. It’s just that a relative is ill and he asked to be kept informed in case a trip home was warranted.”

“My apologies, Senator, but it’s really impossible for me to know the status of all our field agents unless they’re part of a large-scale undertaking, which, as I mentioned before, your son isn’t.” Champion addressed Doyle for reassurance. “I’ll follow up with his station chief. Any chance he’s just taken a few days off? A romantic getaway, perhaps?” Champion decided to measure the senator’s ability to handle himself under fire. “Where was he when you two last touched base?”

Lipton took longer than he should have to answer, coming up with, “I believe it was Zurich.”

“And you say that was a couple of days ago?”

“Yes.”

A nightclub in Brussels for a meeting with a black market dealer is quite a distance from Zurich,
Champion wanted to blurt out, but this wasn’t the place or time for a showdown. Not yet.

“I’d hate to worry his mother,” Lipton said, a sly smile forming. “None of us would get any sleep then.” The Washington heavyweight then pushed off his chair and offered his hand. “Gentlemen, I’ve taken up enough of your time this morning, and I really have to get back to those whining children on the Hill.”

Doyle answered for Champion as he led the senator to the door. “Senator, we’ll certainly make some calls and get back to you. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

Walking toward the elevator, Senator Lipton wondered if he had just been handled. He could hardly press the point, but his son should have been in contact by now. Tobias Baum had been paid, so everything was relatively on schedule. The merchandise waiting to be inspected and shipped was the only holdup. His Israeli connection certainly wouldn’t be pleased at even the hint of a problem after so much meticulous planning. Lipton was most worried, though, about the man financing the major portion of the endeavor. Roger Daniels had never been too keen on Lipton’s son being part of the operation in the first place. Would he dare harm his son? There were degrees of power, and although that bastard had a ton of influence and money to burn, there were certain lines you didn’t cross. If need be, Lipton could arrange for Rogers to never be heard from again. A black ops unit from the Department of Defense could take care of that, no questions asked.

As soon as Champion was sure Lipton had vacated the director’s inner sanctum, he let it be known he wasn’t done talking. Champion and Doyle had tremendous respect for one another, and after years of service, Doyle was set to step down shortly. He had gone out of his way to make the case to both political parties that without question his successor should be Champion. The two knew and trusted each other very well at this point.

“Adam, I have to get you up to speed on a pressing matter.”

“I got the feeling you had something on your mind.”

“You better sit down. I may not be your first choice to succeed you after this.”

CHAPTER
40

Sara examined the landscape before her, and she saw several items scattered about that caused her concern. She prayed the man from the church hadn’t come by bike. She wouldn’t be able to keep up on foot if he had, and using a car to maintain surveillance on a bike would be a dead giveaway.

Establishing a rapid pace on the other side of the street, she eclipsed him without much interest. She was able to reach the car as he continued to walk past a smattering of locked bikes. She had the car headed back toward the cathedral, her cell phone already in use. Nora and Duncan should have taken care of the sentry by now, and Sara had a feeling she might need them. Out of the side mirror she was relieved to see that the man was fumbling for keys in his pocket as he stood next to the driver’s side of a compact car. Nora answered her phone as she and Duncan came into view, making their way down from the top of the incline. Sara told them to pick up the pace as she readied the car by turning it around in the direction the man was now traveling. His compact was diminishing by the second.

Nora and Duncan weren’t fully inside when Sara hit the gas pedal. Duncan grabbed hold of the car door handle as his back slammed against the seat. He shot Sara a less-than-pleased look as she worked the pedals. She offered no apology. They stayed a safe distance behind, allowing the target to maintain at least a block lead. Having six eyes on his car made the tail a lot easier. Checking constantly, they were convinced he had no protective escort. The traffic thickened as they entered Tbilisi proper. Several blocks later, motoring along the main drag of tree-lined Rustaveli Avenue, they suddenly were gaining ground on him. Duncan looked at the fast-approaching structures on either side of the street. From here he could see Freedom Square ahead, its multidirectional options a potential challenge. He then saw the car’s turn signal engage.

“I think we got something here,” Duncan said as the lead vehicle slowed in order to turn into a parking garage.

“I’m getting out,” Nora said quickly, and Sara barely had stopped before Duncan leaned forward to let her out of the backseat. The uniformed doorman observed the strange scene but nonetheless tipped his hat to welcome Nora as she entered through the double doors of the Marriott Hotel. Sara made a beeline for the parking garage, trying to keep up. She let her hair down as she did so, taking no chances that the man, should he get a glimpse, be able to recognize her as the woman who was jogging near the cathedral. His car wasn’t immediately visible when they pulled into the garage. Seeing no empty spots, she continued on to the next level. It was then she saw the car up ahead, just before it turned onto the next level. As they rounded that same corner, the compact turned into a vacant space. Duncan didn’t bother telling Sara, but she got the message once his door flew open. She tapped the brakes, and he exited in a flash. Sara continued on, looking for the next available parking space. Duncan located the nearest exit, and by the time he heard the man’s car door shut, he was already ahead of him, pushing open the door of a vestibule that housed a bank of elevators and a stairwell. Taking a calculated risk, Duncan punched the down button just as the man came through the door. The man noticed the stairwell, but seeing the elevator button was pushed, he elected to wait. Duncan turned to acknowledge him and produced a courtesy smile before returning his focus to the elevators.

Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. Duncan allowed the man to enter first, letting him punch the button for the lobby. Duncan got out his cell phone and sent a short message to Nora, telling her they were heading her way and to be in position. He had no way of knowing for sure, but Duncan assumed the man would be going to his room once he reached the lobby, since there was no way to do so from the parking structure.

Looking like she belonged, Nora had already done a quick assessment of the Marriott’s lobby. She kept moving, utilizing her peripheral vision. The elevators to the guest rooms were fronted by high decorative pillars, and there were two restaurants on the level. Judging from the noise, one was probably more of a bar than a sit-down restaurant. There was one thing she couldn’t account for, so she did the only logical thing when one needed information in a hurry: ask someone who would know. She sauntered over to the front desk and explained she was expecting a friend who was going to park in the garage and, not having a car herself, wondered if there was access to the hotel from there. The female clerk was most helpful and pointed to where the bank of elevators let out from the parking structure. Just as the clerk was asking if there was anything else, Nora’s cell phone chimed with a text message

“Excuse me, this is probably her.” Nora backed away and read the message from Duncan. She took a moment to text him back and then calculated her next step. Beating the man to the guest elevators presented a problem because most likely, he’d allow her to enter first. At that point, she would either have to punch a floor button or wait for him to ask “Which floor?” She settled for a riskier option that would require precise timing.

She hung back upon first noticing Duncan’s imposing figure exiting the parking garage elevator. His size blocked her view of the target that followed a few steps behind him. Nora slowly moved toward the guest elevators, and when Duncan peeled away toward the lobby area, there was the man from the cathedral. He increased his step to get an elevator that was there, waiting. Once inside, he quickly pushed his floor button. Nora hoped she had timed correctly the rate of closure for the elevators. She accelerated her pace as the door began inching to a close. Six inches of opening was all that remained when she stuck a hand in the elevator door, forcing it to reopen.

“Whew, that was close,” she exclaimed, appearing a bit out of breath. The man was slightly startled at first, but upon inspecting Nora, he relaxed his posture. He was still standing close to the buttons.

“If I may, what floor?”

“Fourth…” Nora began, before realizing the number was already punched. “Looks like we’re on the same floor. Thank you.” Her accent revealed a Russian influence.

When the doors opened again, the man waited for her to depart first. Either he had manners or was being cautious. Getting her bearings straight, Nora turned left, and she could feel him do so as well.
Any minute,
she said to herself, her purse already slightly open in anticipation. Hopefully, his room wouldn’t be at the end of the hall. She was relieved when her phone rang. As per her text instruction, it was Duncan calling exactly a minute and a half after she entered the elevator.

She answered and made sure her side of the conversation was heard. She slowed down, stepping aside to give the man room to pass. She protested into her cell that she really didn’t feel like joining the person on the other end for a drink in the hotel bar. She instead wanted to freshen up before dinner, but she finally relented and agreed to come back down. She did so, though, only after taking note of which room the man entered.