The Lance (The PROJECT: Book Two) (19 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

They moved the bodies into the garage. Harker called Rice. They sat around the table in the ruins of the kitchen.

"I've got to set your nose," said Ronnie. "This is going to hurt, Director."

"Go for it."

He placed both hands on the side of her nose and moved the cartilage back into place with a quick movement. She gasped. Tears came to her eyes. Ronnie taped it in place.

Nick called Lamont and filled him in. Stephanie made coffee and threw brandy in it. The team sat for a few minutes with the cups, thinking their own thoughts. Harker broke the silence.

"I didn't think Dysart could find us. I was wrong. Whoever's behind this just upped the ante. The question is why? Why would Dysart himself come after us like that?"

"We know too much," Nick said. "They can't know what it is that we know, but it doesn't seem to matter. We know why they tried to stop us in Jerusalem. They wanted to blow up the Mosque and kill Rice."

"And keep us from finding out what Arslanian knew. About Himmler's plan." Harker took a deep breath through her mouth. "That must be why they're still after us. There must be more to it than the bombing."

Nick sipped the brandy and coffee. "Himmler's plan was to try and take over the US. There are plenty of would-be Nazis around. It's hard to believe they could be powerful enough to pull it off."

"They have first rate intelligence. How did they know we were in Argentina? Maybe Dysart figured it out, but I don't see how." Ronnie yawned and stretched.

Harker looked at her watch. "Let's get some sleep. I can't think straight anymore. Set the alarms, but I don't think we're going to get any more visitors tonight."

They went to their rooms.

The adrenaline had worn off and Nick
was bone tired. Selena came out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Things were good between them again. She looked at him, shuddered.

"Jesus, Nick."

He put his arm around her. "Yeah."

"I don't know if I can keep doing this. The team, I mean. I thought I knew what I was getting into. When we were tied up in the cellar, I thought they were going to kill us."

"They were. But they didn't. That's what counts."

"But what about next time?"

"You can't think about that. If you start thinking like that you'll lose your confidence."

She looked into his eyes.

"We're so different, you and I," she said.

"How so?"

"You always seem so, I don't know…detached. It's like you turn on a switch and after that everything is action until the shooting stops. You don't seem to worry about it. It's instinct with you. With me, I have to think about it. Don't you think about it, at all?"

"Not much when things are happening. After, I do. It's probably because of my training. To know what I'm supposed to do."

"I think it's more than that. I do things I'm trained to do that people think is crazy, like jump out of airplanes for the fun of it. But I've thought about it first. It's a choice, something I've reasoned out."

She looked down at her hands. "Today wasn't something I chose to do. Nick, I was scared. Reason has nothing to do with people like Dysart." 

"People like Dysart give reason a bad name." Nick paused. "I don't think we're so different. In the end, you did what had to be done, scared or not."

"You don't understand what I'm saying. It seems natural for you. It's not, for me."

Nick could feel a headache starting. Selena had just called him a natural born killer. It wasn't what he wanted to hear.

CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO

The President sent a clean up team. They said nothing and asked no questions. They took the bodies away. Pretty soon the media would announce that the Director of the NSA had suffered a heart attack or a fatal car accident. The need for secrecy and stability meant what really happened would never be made public.

Rice appointed an obscure General to fill in at the agency until things could be sorted out. With the safe house compromised and Dysart dead, there seemed no point in keeping away from Project headquarters. The team moved back into town.

They met in Harker's office.
The Director had two black eyes and a broad white bandage across her nose. About all you could say for it was that it complimented her black and white outfit. Nick waited for her to start and thought about what Selena had said the night before. It bothered him.

He'd never known a woman like her. To say they were different was a hell of an understatement. That was all right. It was the thought that killing was natural for him and not for her that got under his skin.

Out came Harker's pen. She began tapping. "There are new developments, bad ones. First let's talk about Dysart. He's gone, but there are others. They've made a determined effort to take us out of the picture. I'm wondering if we need to keep out of sight?"

"You think they'll keep trying?" Nick asked.

"They might not. I've been subpoenaed to appear before the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee, to answer questions about 'questionable and unauthorized covert operations in Argentina'. It can't be a coincidence."

"That's Senator Greenwood. How did he find out about Argentina? What's he up to?" Carter scratched his ear.

"There's a lot of media mileage in an investigation. Greenwood has a shot at the Presidency and an investigation could embarrass the President. That might be reason enough but I think there's more to it. I think Greenwood wants to stop what we're doing."

"Like Dysart," said Ronnie.

"Steph and I had an idea that whoever was behind this might be looking to profit from war in the Middle East. We've done some checking. Senator Greenwood made large trades in the last six months, moving funds into domestic gas and oil and military contractors. If there's a war he'll make a killing.

"If Greenwood is one of the conspirators, this could be a change of tactics on their part. Knock us out with legal moves and expose the Project. He could discredit us and Rice at the same time."

Nick said, "Greenwood is one of the powerhouses in the Senate. How high does this go, anyway?"

"
It goes damned high, almost to the top. That's the other development, bigger than Dysart. We've gained access to all of Dysart's files. You aren't going to like what we found. Steph, would you run it down, please."

Stephanie cleared her throat. "Dysart's encrypted emails show communication with several key correspondents. There are repeated references to 'Parsifal'. We know that's Himmler's plan to subvert our government. It took a while, but I was able to back trace most of the recipients. It's a scary list. By definition, all these men are traitors."

Lamont said, "Who's on the list, Steph?"

"You can start with the Vice-President."

"Earlston? You're saying the VP is part of a Nazi conspiracy?"

She nodded. "That's what it looks like. Justice Smothers is another."

Selena looked shocked. "Smothers? The Supreme Court?"

"Yes. Also Admiral Lang and Senator Blackfriar."

Ronnie sat up straight. "Lang runs Naval Intelligence."

"Blackfriar makes or breaks the money for defense appropriations," Nick said.

Harker said, "We still don't know who told Dysart what to do. But these others—I think we've stepped right into a snake pit. Without proof, no one will believe these men are anything but dedicated public servants. There are other emails that appear to be in the nature of Dysart's job, but some of those people might be involved also. Acting DCI Wendell Lodge is one of them."

"CIA. Shit." Ronnie shook his head.

"What do you think they're trying to do?" Lamont said.

"I think they want to destroy Israel and get control of the oil fields." Harker tapped her pen. "The bombing of the mosque sets up war. The Middle East will explode and we'll be sucked right into it. If Rice were out of the picture, Earlston would take over. They could pretty much do what they please."

Harker set the pen down. "If there's a war, people like Admiral Lang could create chaos. It would get covered up in the general madness of the fighting. There's a pattern of co-opting our intelligence resources. NSA, Naval Intelligence and perhaps CIA. And now I'm called to appear before Greenwood's committee."

"They're playing hardball. Two can play that game."

"What do you mean, Nick?"

"Why don't we pay a visit to Greenwood's office? Maybe there's something that ties him to the conspiracy."

"You want to raid the office of the Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee?"

"Why not?"

"If you're caught, it will make Watergate look like a little white lie. It will blow us out of the water."

"If Greenwood succeeds in busting you it will blow us out of the water. Rice as well. We can't stop them by ourselves. Even if we get proof, it's going to take some fancy footwork by the President to break open this rat's nest. These people are powerful."

"I'm open to ideas."

"I don't think his office is a good bet," said Lamont. "Besides, he has two official offices. We'd have to hit both of them. If you were part of a conspiracy, would you keep incriminating stuff lying around where some intern might discover it?"

"You have a point." Harker picked up her pen.

Ronnie shifted in the chair. "If I wanted to keep something private, I'd keep it at home. Less chance of someone stumbling over something. Why don't we creep his house? He can't be there all the time."

"Daylight penetration while he's at work?" Nick said.

"Maybe the old exterminator trick, or gas and electric. Telephone repair. We go in the open and the neighbors see what they want to see. We could bug his home while we're at it."

"If he's got anything to hide, he probably sweeps the place."

"Yeah, but until he finds one we might get lucky. Hell, they bugged us, didn't they? Turn about is fair play, right?"

"If he's involved."

"Any bets he's clean? I'll give you ten to one he's dirty as Dysart."

Nick tugged on his ear. "Can we get plans for his place?"

"Plans are public record." Stephanie went over to the computer console. A few keystrokes and the plans for Greenwood's home appeared on screen. Records showed he had completed a major expansion and renovation of his basement, five years before.

Greenwood lived on ten acres of privacy in an upscale suburban development in Montgomery County, just over the District line in Maryland. The house was five thousand square feet of pseudo English Manor, complete with tall windows and Mansard roof.

Stephanie clicked again and a live satellite view of the area appeared. She zoomed in on Greenwood's address. Behind the house was a large, formal garden. A gardener trimmed a row of hedges as they watched. A high fence and mature landscaping concealed the house from neighbors.

"Who goes in?" Nick asked.

"I think Selena and Lamont." Harker paused. "We'll use the telephone repair ploy. Ronnie, you put together what they need—a van, uniforms, you know the drill."

"Is this legal?" Selena asked. "We can go in and bug a US Senator because we think he's involved in something?"

"We have to know if Greenwood is part of this. No, it's not legal. But we don't always play by the rules. Look what's at stake."

She took out a tissue and coughed into it. "All right. We'll see if Greenwood is involved. In the meantime, we still need to think about our own security. Any ideas? Nick?"

"I don't think we can keep out of sight. The safe house is blown. If we couldn't stay hidden there, how can we expect to pull another vanishing act and have it come off? If we duck and cover, we take ourselves right out of the game. I don't want to do that."

Selena said, "Nick's right. Time's running out. A war's going to start any moment."

"That's what I think." Ronnie brushed a fleck of something away from his shirt, where palm trees waved on a red and yellow background in the ocean breeze. Lamont and Stephanie nodded agreement.

Harker said, "We'll proceed as usual, then, with extra caution."

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Nick opened his door. Selena had dressed in heels and a sleek designer creation of blue silk cut low over her breasts. The fabric rippled when she moved. A chain and earrings of Black Hills gold picked up the highlights in her hair. A soft black jacket completed her outfit. Her smile was enough to make Nick forget all about Nazis and plots.

They were going out for dinner, the date she'd talked about when he was in Jerusalem. The first date he'd had since Megan died. He'd dressed in his best suit, a gray weave over a light blue shirt and dark blue tie. The look was only slightly marred by the bulge of the .45 under his jacket.

"You look wonderful," Selena said. "I thought we'd go over to DuPont Circle. I know a place with a good wine list and great little things to eat."

"Sounds good. You look terrific. Really terrific." Nick took her arm. They rode the elevator down to the first floor of his building. They nodded at the security guard and walked out into the chill of an October evening on the East Coast. The street was deserted, unusual for this time of night.

They strolled toward the corner to look for a taxi. The evening bore a hint of coming winter in the air. A garbage truck rumbled by and stopped up the block ahead of them. Two men in overalls and baseball caps climbed from the cab. They began emptying cans lined in the alley.

Nick and Selena came abreast of the truck. One of the garbage men pivoted and drove the metal lid from a can into Nick and knocked him to the pavement. The second grabbed Selena. Nick felt a hard boot in his ribs and rolled to get away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Selena struggling.

A second kick came at his head. He caught the foot and twisted in and down with all his strength. The man screamed and fell to the sidewalk. He reached inside his overalls and pulled out a dark, blue automatic. Nick fired, the roar of the .45 harsh in the night air. The phony trash man sprawled on the sidewalk.

Selena grasped her attacker and hurled him into the side of the garbage truck. He bounced against the metal and pulled out a pistol. Before he could fire, she leapt into the air and planted a flying kick in the center of his chest. He slid down the side of the truck and collapsed, his head slumped over his chest. Blood poured from his nose and mouth. He coughed twice and died.

It had taken no more than half a minute.

"Are you all right?" Nick got to his feet.

"Yes." She looked down at her dress.

The sleek blue was ripped down the front, exposing her breast. She pulled the jacket tight around her and cast an eye over him.

"You look pretty good, yourself."

His suit was trashed, the soft, gray weave torn and dirty. Nick went over to the man slumped next to the truck, felt for a pulse.

"He's dead."

"He should be. I've practiced that strike for years. It's supposed to kill. I never thought I'd have to use it for real."

"He had a gun."

"I know," she said, "but it doesn't help."

Sirens sounded down the block.