The Last Spymaster (51 page)

Jay stared, astounded. He had expected the old bastard to be difficult, impossible. “Come on, Palmer. You’re going with us.” He gestured with his pistol.

“Not even a thank-you. Oh, well. You once told me there were three corruptions, Jay. You’re wrong, though; they’re compensations. As I recall, the first two are ambition and ego. Mine is the third—money. Personally, I found it to be the only salve for disappointment. So that’s your answer—no. You’ll have to have your adventure without me. I never much cared for Martin Ghranditti—or Larry Litchfield, for that matter. I never much cared for anyone, certainly not enough to end up dead from a fool’s bullet or, God forbid, in a cell in Allenwood for the rest of my life. Felt bad for you about that, but that’s the spy game, isn’t it? I meant it when I said I wanted to see you. You do tend to get under a man’s skin.”

Before Jay could respond, Palmer gave a crooked smile, and his jaw clenched.

With a sickening lurch, Jay jumped forward. “Palmer, no!”

Raina and Elaine were instantly at Jay’s sides. They stared at Palmer.

“Too late, son.” Palmer staggered a step and forced himself upright again, struggling to maintain his dignity. He still clutched his cigarette. “I taught you everything. The only reason you got where you did was me. Without me, you’d be nothing. I never got the credit I deserved, but I had to watch the world pin medals on you. It was disgusting.”

“What happened?” Elaine asked.

Raina was breathing shallowly. “He bit into a poison pill of some kind.”

“Cyanide.” Palmer gave a crooked smile. “In my molar. A large dose. I hated retirement. Had it put in a few years ago. Remember, Jay—it was me who taught you to have a backup plan.”

“You’re right, you did teach me a lot.” Jay looked at his weapon and then at Palmer. “But I was the one who always had a
good
backup plan.”

Palmer’s knees buckled. His cigarette fell from his fingers, and he pitched onto his side and gasped. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. Jay stayed with him, trying to understand what he had missed. How he could have so badly misjudged Palmer—and himself. As Palmer seemed to shrink, Jay felt for a pulse.

“He’s dead.” Jay looked up at the two women. He picked up Palmer’s cigarette lighter and stood and wrapped his arms around their shoulders, clinging to them, and let his gaze roam over the gently rolling hills of the graveyard and then around the modest residential area on the other side of the street where signs of children were everywhere—swings, bicycles, baby seats showing in the windows of cars.

Raina touched his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jay. He wasn’t who you thought he was.”

“Me, too,” Elaine said softly. “Very sorry. But he was really such an awful man.”

Jay straightened. “Yes, he was. But now we have to move. We’ll leave
him here. Do you want to go on, Elaine?” He examined her worriedly. “There’s no shame in stopping. You’re not in the best of shape.”

“You can’t leave me behind now.” She lifted her chin.

He nodded and checked his watch. “I understand. We’re going to be badly outnumbered, so we need to figure out a plan and pick up supplies. Follow us in the Jag.”

Baltimore, Maryland

Across the wide Port of Baltimore, the Patapsco River spread like black ink, ripples chromed by moonlight. At a cove, the long wharves of the Cross-Global Sea Center jutted out into the sheen. Tonight only the
Mango Blossom
was anchored, and only Jerry Angelides and his armed men—dressed in Cross-Global’s smart blue guard uniforms—were on duty on the terminal’s one lit dock.

A cigar clamped between his teeth, Ghranditti paced high above, along the
Blossom
’s railing. Trimmed in brilliant blue and gold, her hull was the creamy white of a mango flower, his first Marie’s favorite scent, while inside was stored a fortune in shipping containers, including those destined for the Majlis al-Sha’b. Beside him, more containers extended in a towering steel flotilla from bow to stern. As his gaze swept over his kingdom, he felt a moment of rare pleasure. Someday the world would know about his triumph. It was his legacy, and a legacy endured forever.

He turned on his heel and glanced down at the pier. Laurence Litchfield was striding toward the ship’s gangplank, a woman beside him. Ghranditti slowed to study them. They were an odd pair, Litchfield lean as a wolfhound, the woman short and rounded. As they climbed the ramp, Ghranditti swore loudly. It was Bobbye Johnson.

As a tugboat whistled in the distance, Ghranditti pulled his cigar from his mouth and glared at Litchfield. “Explain!”

“I don’t like this any more than you do.” There was bite to the CIA man’s tone. “Is the ship loaded?” He and Bobbye Johnson stepped aboard.

“Just finished. Pilot and tugs will be here in an hour. You have the DVDs?”

“Of course. But nothing happens until I know you’ll handle our problem.”

“
Our
problem?”

“Her.” Litchfield nodded brusquely at the DCI.

The DCI’s eyes snapped. “Do you really think you’re safe? If the Majlis get their hands on so much state-of-the-art technology, you’ll go down with everyone else. You may be their friends tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be like everyone else—prey.”

Litchfield ignored her. “She needs to vanish when the ship’s out to sea.”

“The cameras caught you kidnapping me, you son of a bitch.” Her chin jutted. “If I disappear, Langley will come after you!”

Litchfield told her calmly, “There was no sign of a kidnapping. You got into the car of your own free will.”

Smoking, Ghranditti considered the situation. The ship’s officers were American, the crew mostly Filipinos. All civilians. None was armed, which was the rule in case pirates attacked; they were more apt to survive if they did not resist. He had kept them on for the voyage because the
Blossom
must appear to be like all others, with nothing unusual to attract authorities in the ports at which she would call.

Still, there was a solution. “Yes, I have someone. He’ll enjoy scrubbing her.”

Sweat beading on his forehead, Jay rowed through the dark night toward the tip of Ghranditti’s dock in an inflatable boat with a glass-reinforced plastic hull. Its diesel engine was high-powered, but now they needed silence—so he rowed. To the left loomed the
Mango Blossom,
a massive piece of machinery more than three football fields long. From the water-line, her gleaming hull and superstructure rose fourteen stories to the bridge and monkey island above.

Raina sat at the small boat’s prow, SIG Sauer ready, her upturned face vigilant. As Jay shipped the oars, letting the craft skim silently ahead, she holstered her pistol and grabbed a rope. When they neared a tree-trunk piling, she threw the rope around, and he caught it. Pulling on the rope, he angled the boat until it slid into the deep shadow of the wharf.

He looked at Raina. Both were dressed completely in black, from special microfiber pants and waterproof jackets to backpacks filled with supplies.
As in the old days, warmth passed between them, then acceptance of their fate. One way or another, they must stop Ghranditti’s cargo.

As their boat rocked and Raina gripped its sides, Jay reached up. Muscles complaining, he grabbed the dock and pulled himself up and over. Drawing his weapon, he lay flat on the planks and studied the men who were patrolling under the radiant illumination of tall pole lamps. Jerry and Rink were in their usual sports jackets, guns concealed, while the other guards were uniformed and carried Uzis.

Jay followed the line of the gangplank. Shocked, he stared as Bobbye Johnson wrenched herself from Laurence Litchfield’s grasp, and they and Martin Ghranditti headed along the deck toward the wheelhouse.

He scrambled back to the edge and looked down into Raina’s questioning face. “Come.” He reached down a hand.

She shook her head, stood, and pushed off the balls of her feet. As she leaped, the boat swayed and thumped the piling. He peered across the dock. When he turned back, she was pulling herself up and over.

Gripping their pistols, they dropped to their bellies to study the situation. On their right stood the terminal building—a three-story warehouse opening onto the pier. A shadowy interior showed through the giant doorway. To their left was the ship, and alongside it were two cargo cranes that looked like colossal four-legged spiders. The cranes were dark, confirming the shipment was loaded. Beyond the pier spread a parking lot, and farther yet a double-wide truck gate with a kiosk in the center.

Whispering, he told her about Ghranditti, Litchfield, and Bobbye Johnson. “If we can free her, she’ll call in her shooters.”

“If she’s still alive.”

It was what he had been thinking, too. The situation seemed to grow only worse.

“No sign of al-Hadi?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

They watched longer. As guards drifted across the dock, converging to talk and smoke, Jay speed-dialed his cell phone: “Elaine, we’re here. Where are you?”

“Arrived a while ago. Sitting in my car now. There are two guys in the
sentry kiosk, both carrying Uzis. I’ve got a clear view of the ship, wharf, and warehouse. The complex is fenced—heavy wire mesh, rolled concertina wire on top. No surprises.”

Raina interrupted by touching his arm and pointing up. “Ghranditti’s back.”

“Hold on, Elaine.”

Smoking a cigar, Ghranditti was marching alone along the deck as if he owned not only it but the world. He was an imposing figure tonight, radiating self-confidence. Stopping at the rail, he rested his forearms on it and leaned over, attentively watching a limousine roll toward the gangplank.

“Bastard,” Jay muttered. Still, the limo offered possibilities. “We may have a better way to do this, Elaine.”

“Jay! You promised not to cut me out!”

“I’m not.” Keeping the cell at his ear so Elaine could hear, he told Raina, “As soon as we have a distraction, we duck into the warehouse and wait for a couple of guards. We overpower them and take their uniforms.” Then to Elaine: “This is a safer opening to accomplish what we want. They’ve got Bobbye. Try to help her.” He ended the connection.

Inside the plush limousine, Marie Ghranditti stared straight ahead, feeling ill.

“It’s okay, Mom.” Aaron patted her hand as if he were the adult and she the child. “Dad told me he’d be waiting for us here. Remember?”

Marie nodded mutely. She had felt sick as soon as the doctor’s needle punctured her skin. She had no idea what the new drug was. She glanced at the nanny, Bebe, young and pretty, who cuddled the sleeping Kristoph on her lap. Little Mariette dozed, her shoulder sunk into Bebe’s side. She wanted to tell Bebe she would take care of her children, but that was not going to happen for a while. Not until she figured out how to get them away from Martin.

Turning her head, Marie saw Jerry through her window. He opened the door and offered his hand. She grasped it and heaved herself out as a bustle of activity erupted. The limo’s trunk swung open. Suitcases
emerged. More suitcases from the front seat. Children awakened and yawned.

From the gangplank, her name floated toward her. “Marie! Darling, you’re
here!
” It was Martin.

She straightened. She must not embarrass Martin. She stretched her dry lips in a smile. Jerry held her arm, supporting her. They made their way around the limo.

Controlling his emotions, Jay watched Marie Ghranditti. He studied her rigid movements, the apparent weakness in her joints. She sagged against the rear fender when Jerry released her to help with the suitcases.

In other respects, the scene was touching. As soon as he reached the bottom of the ship’s ramp, Ghranditti crouched and enveloped the children in his arms, delivering kisses to little cheeks. He took Kristoph’s and Mariette’s hands and drew the children up the gangway. Both feet together, Aaron enthusiastically jumped up the ramp after them. Jerry returned to Marie, and she leaned heavily on his arm as he escorted her next, followed by a chauffeur pushing a dolly loaded with suitcases. Last was a young woman, probably another employee.

“What a happy parade,” Raina whispered angrily.

As the arms dealer’s troops gathered in a loose circle, transfixed by their employer’s beautiful family, Jay gave a sharp nod. “Now.”

Bent low, they sprinted across the swath of open space toward the warehouse. The illumination from the outdoor lights seemed to pulse. As he followed Raina through the door, Jay checked behind.

“Jay.” Raina’s voice was a warning.

He whirled back around. She was motionless, surrounded on three sides by high loads of crates. An S&W pistol leading, Alec stepped briskly out from among them, his broad features cool and shrewd.

“Hello, Glinda.” He seemed to fill the warehouse with his bulky presence. “So we rendezvous again. Fortunately, I remained here to observe Ghranditti’s Pied Piper act. Family occasions hold no charm—”

As if she were elastic, Raina spun on the ball of her right foot and, using her hips for power, shot back her left foot in a
yoko kekomi
thrust kick that landed hard against the big Whippet operative’s solar plexus.

Jay was already around her. As Alec staggered, Jay ripped away the S&W.