Varak walked back to the console table, disengaged the Record button, rewound the tape and found the words he wanted to hear again.
Then I can assume that no one in Washington intelligence circles knows that Weingrass was involved in Oman?
Absolutely. Forget Masqat, he's a nonperson. He's just not among the living over here.
Dennison didn't even know who he was—
Of course not.
He's being followed, Frank. Out in Colorado, he's under someone's surveillance.
Not ours.
'Not ours…’ Whose?
That question was what alarmed Varak. The only people who knew that there was an Emmanuel Weingrass, who had been told how much that old man meant to Evan Kendrick, were the five members of Inver Brass. Could one of them—?
Milos did not want to think any more. At the moment it was too painful for him.
Adrienne Rashad was snapped awake by the sudden turbulence encountered by the military aircraft. She looked across the aisle in the dimly lit cabin with its less-than-first-class accommodation. The attaché from the embassy in Cairo was obviously upset—afraid, to be precise. Yet the man was experienced enough with such transport to bring along a comforting friend, specifically an outsized leather-bound flask which he literally ripped out of his briefcase and drank from until he was aware that his 'cargo' was looking at him. Sheepishly he held up the flask towards her. She shook her head and spoke over the sound of the jet engines. 'Just potholes,' she said.
'Hey, pals!' cried the voice of the pilot over the intercom. 'Sorry about the potholes but I'm afraid this weather's unavoidable for about another thirty minutes or so. We have to stick to our channel and away from commercial routes. You should have flown the friendly skies, buddies. Hang on!'
The attaché drank once again from the flask, this time longer and more fully than before. Adrienne turned away, the Arab in her telling her not to observe a man's fear, the Western woman in her makeup saying that as an experienced military flier she should allay her companion's fear. The synthesis in her won the argument; she smiled reassuringly at the attaché and returned to her thoughts that had been broken off by sleep.
Why had she been so peremptorily ordered back to Washington? If there were new instructions so delicate that they could not be put on scramblers, why hadn't Mitchell Payton called her with at least a clue? It wasn't like 'Uncle Mitch' to permit any interference with her work unless he told her something about it. Even with the Oman mess last year, and if ever there was a priority situation that was it, Mitch had sent sealed instructions to her by diplomatic courier telling her without explanation to co-operate with the State Department's Consular Operations no matter how offended she might be. She had, and it had offended her, indeed. Now out of the blue she had been ordered back to the States, virtually incommunicado, without a single word from Mitchell Payton.
Congressman Evan Kendrick. For the past eighteen hours his name had rolled across the world like the sound of approaching thunder. One could almost see the frightened faces of those who had been involved with the American, looking up at the sky wondering if they should run for cover, run for their lives under the threat of the impending storm. There would be vendettas against those who had aided the interfering man from the West. She wondered who had leaked the story—no, 'leaked' was too innocuous a word—who had exploded the story! The Cairo papers were filled with it, and a quick check confirmed that throughout the Middle East Evan Kendrick was either a holy saint or a hideous sinner. Canonization or an agonizing death awaited him depending upon the stance of those judging him, even within the same country. Why? Was it Kendrick himself who had done this? Had this vulnerable man, this improbable politician who had risked his life to avenge a terrible crime decided after a year of humility and self-denial to strike out for a political prize? If so, it was not the man she had known so briefly yet so intimately fourteen months ago. With reservations but not regret she remembered. They had made love—improbably, frenetically, perhaps inevitably under the circumstances—but those transient moments of splendid comfort were to be forgotten. If she had been brought back to Washington because of a suddenly ambitious congressman, they had never existed.
The Icarus Agenda
Chapter 24
Kendrick stood by the windows overlooking the wide, circular drive in front of the sterile house. Dennison had called him well over an hour ago with word that the plane from Cairo had landed and the Rashad woman been taken to a waiting government car; she was on her way to Cynwid Hollow under escort. The chief of staff wanted Evan to know that the CIA case officer had strenuously objected when she was not permitted to make a telephone call from Andrews Air Force Base.
'She kicked up a stink and refused to get in the car,' Dennison had complained. 'She said she hadn't heard directly from her superiors and the Air Force could go pound sand. Goddamned bitch! I was on my way to work and they reached me on the limo phone. You know what she said to me? “Who the hell are you?” That's what she said to me! Then to twist the knife, she holds the phone away and asks out loud, “What's a Dennison?”.'
'It's that modest low profile you keep, Herb. Did anybody tell her?'
'The bastards laughed! That's when I told her she was under the President's orders and she either got in that car or she could spend five years in Leavenworth.'
'It's a men's prison.'
'I know that. Heh! She'll be there in an hour or so. Remember, if she's the sieve I get her.'
'Maybe.'
‘I’ll get a presidential order!'
'And I'll read it on the nightly news. With footnotes.'
'Shit!'
Kendrick had started to leave the window for another cup of coffee when a nondescript grey car appeared at the base of the circular drive. It swept around the curve and stopped in front of the stone steps, where an Air Force major swiftly got out of the far backseat. He walked rapidly round and opened the curbside door for his official passenger.
The woman Evan had known as Khalehla emerged into the morning sunlight, squinting at the brightness, disturbed and unsure. She was hatless, her dark hair hanging to her shoulders over a white jacket above green slacks and low-heeled shoes. Under her right arm she clutched a large white handbag. As Kendrick watched her the memory of that late afternoon in Bahrain came back to him. He recalled the shock he had felt when she walked through the door of the bizarre royal bedroom amused that he had raced back for the cover of the bed sheet. And how, despite his panic, bewilderment and pain—or perhaps adding to all three—he had been struck by the cool loveliness of her sharply defined Euro-Arabian face and the glare of intelligence in her eyes.
He had been right; she was a striking woman who carried herself erect, almost defiantly, even now as she walked towards the massive door of the sterile house where inside she would face the unknown. Kendrick observed her dispassionately; there was no rush of remembered warmth in his reaction to her, only cold, intense curiosity. She had lied to him that late afternoon in Bahrain, lied both by what she said and what she did not say. He wondered if she would lie to him again.
The Air Force major opened the door of the enormous living room for Adrienne Rashad. She walked in and stopped, standing motionless, staring at Evan by the window. There was no astonishment in her eyes, just that frigid glare of intellect.
'I'll be going,' said the Air Force officer.
'Thank you, Major.' The door closed and Kendrick stepped forward. 'Hello, Khalehla. It was Khalehla, wasn't it?'
'Whatever you say,' she replied calmly.
'But then it isn't Khalehla, is it? It's Adrienne—Adrienne Rashad.'
'Whatever you say,' she repeated.
'That's a little redundant, isn't it?'
'And all this is very stupid, Congressman. Did you have me flown back here to give you another testimonial? Because if you did, I won't do it.'
'Testimonial? That's the last thing I want.'
'Good, I'm glad for you. I'm sure the representative fr
om Colorado has all the endorsements he needs. So there's no need for someone whose life and the lives of a great many colleagues depend on anonymity to step forward and add to your swelling cheers.'
'That's what you think? I want endorsements, cheers?'
'What am I to think? That you took me away from my work, exposed me to the embassy and the Air Force, probably crippled a cover I've developed over the past several years just because I went to bed with you? It happened once, but I assure you it will never happen again.'
'Hey, wait a minute, bright lady,' protested Evan. 'I wasn't looking for any fast action. For Christ's sake, I didn't know where I was or what had happened, or what would happen next. I was scared stiff, and knew I had things to do that I didn't think I could do.'
'You were also exhausted,' added Adrienne Rashad. 'I was, too. It happens.'
'That's what Swann said—’
'That bastard.'
'No, hold it. Frank Swann's not a bastard—’
'Shall I use another word? Like pimp? An unconscionable pimp.'
'You're wrong. I don't know what your business was with him but he had a job to do.'
'Like sacrificing you?'
'Maybe… I admit the thought's not too attractive but he was pretty well boxed in then.'
'Forget it, Congressman. Why am I here?'
'Because I have to learn something, and you're the only one left who can tell me.'
'What is it?'
'Who broke the story on me? Who violated the agreement I made? I was told that those who knew I went to Oman and they were damn few, a tight little circle they called it—none of them would have any reason to do it and every reason in the world not to. Apart from Swann and his computer chief, whom he swears by, there were only seven people in the entire government who knew. Six have been checked out, all absolutely negative. You're the seventh, the only one left.'
Adrienne Rashad stood motionless, her face passive, her eyes furious. 'You ignorant, arrogant amateur,' she said slowly, her voice acid.
'You can call me any goddamned names you like,' began Evan angrily, 'but I'm going to—’
'May we go for a walk, Congressman?' broke in the woman from Cairo, crossing to a large bay window on the other side of the room that looked over a dock to the rocky shoreline of the Chesapeake.
'What?'
'The air in here is as oppressive as the company. I'd like to take a walk, please.' Rashad raised her hand and pointed outside; she then nodded her head twice as if reinforcing a command.
'All right,' mumbled Kendrick, bewildered. 'There's a side entrance back there.'
'I see it,' said Adrienne-Khalehla, moving towards the door at the rear of the room. They walked outside on to a flagstone patio that joined a manicured lawn and a path leading down to the dock. If there had been boats lashed to the pilings or secured to the empty moorings bouncing on the water beyond, they had been removed for the autumn winds. 'Keep up your harangue, Congressman,' continued the undercover case officer for the CIA. 'You shouldn't be deprived of that.'
'Just hold it, Miss Rashad or whatever the hell your name is!' Evan stopped on the white concrete path halfway to the shoreline. 'If you think what I'm talking about amounts to a “harangue”, you're sadly mistaken—'
'For God's sake, keep walking! You'll get all the conversation you want, more than you want, you damn fool.' The bay shore to the right of the dock was a mixture of dark sand ands tones so common to the Chesapeake; to the left was the boathouse, also common. What was not common, however, except to the larger estates, was a profusion of tall trees some fifty yards both north and south of the dock and the boat-house. They provided a measure of privacy, more in appearance than in reality, but the sight of them had appealed to the field agent from Cairo. She headed to the right, over the sand and the stones close to the gently lapping waves. They passed the border of trees and kept going until they reached a large rock that rose out of the ground by the water's edge. Above, the immense house could not be seen. 'This'll do,' said Adrienne Rashad.
'Do?' exclaimed Kendrick. 'What was that little exercise all afeowf? And while we're at it let's get a couple of things straight. I appreciate the fact that you probably saved my life—probably, not by any manner of means provable—but I don't take orders from you, and in my considered opinion I'm not a damn fool, and regardless of my amateur status you're answering to me, I'm not answering to you! Check and double check, lady?'
'Are you finished?'
'I haven't even begun.'
'Then before you do, let me address the specifics you've just raised. That little exercise was to get us out of there. I presume you know it's a safe house.'
'Certainly.'
'And that anything you say in every room, including the toilet and the shower, is recorded.'
'Well, I knew the telephone was—’
'Thank you, Mr. Amateur.'
'I don't have a damn thing to hide—'
'Keep your voice down. Talk into the water as I am.'
'What? Why?'
'Electronic voice surveillance. The trees will distort sound because there's no direct visual beam—’
'What?'
'Lasers have improved the technology—’
'What?'
'Shut up! Whisper.'
'I repeat, I haven't got a damn thing to hide. Maybe you do, but I don't!'
'Really?' asked Rashad, leaning against the huge rock and talking down into the small, slowly encroaching waves. 'You want to involve Ahmat?'
'I've mentioned him. To the President. He should know how much help that kid was—'
'Oh, Ahmat will appreciate that. And his personal doctor? And his two cousins who helped you and protected you? And El-Baz, and the pilot who flew you to Bahrain?… They could all be killed.'
'Apart from Ahmat, I never mentioned anyone specifically—'
'Names are irrelevant. Functions aren't.'
'For Christ's sake, it was the President of the United States!'
'And contrary to rumours, he does communicate beyond a microphone?'
'Of course.'
'Do you know who he talks to? Do you know them personally? Do you know how reliable they are in terms of maximum security; does he? Do you know the men who are on the listening devices up in that house?'
'Of course not.'
'What about me? I'm a field officer with an acceptable cover in Cairo. Would you have talked about me?'
'I did, but only to Swann.'
'I'm not referring to what you did with someone in authority who knew everything because he was the control, I'm talking about up there. If you started questioning me up in that house, mightn't you have brought up any or all the people I've just mentioned? And to break the bank, Mr. Amateur, isn't it conceivable that you might have mentioned the Mossad?'
Evan closed his eyes. 'I might have,' he said softly, nodding. 'If we'd got into an argument.'
'An argument was unavoidable, which is why I got us out and came down here.'
'Everyone up there is on our side!' protested Kendrick. I'm sure they are,' agreed Adrienne, 'but we don't know the strengths or the weaknesses of people we've never met and can't see, do we?'
'You're paranoid.'
'It goes with the territory, Congressman. Furthermore, you are a damn fool, as I think I've amply demonstrated by your lack of knowledge about safe houses. I'll skip the question as to who gives orders to whom because it's irrelevant, and go back to your first point. In all likelihood I did not save your life in Bahrain, but instead, because of that bastard Swann, put you in an untenable position we and certain pilots call the point of no return. You were not expected to survive, Mr. Kendrick, and I did object to that.'
'Why?'
'Because I cared.'
'Because u>e—'
'That, too, is irrelevant. You were a decent man trying to do a decent thing for which you weren't equipped. As it turned out, there were others who helped you far more than I ever could. I sat in Jimmy Grayson's office
and we were both relieved when we got word you were airborne out of Bahrain.'
'Gray son? He was one of the seven who knew I was there.'
'Not until the last hours, he didn't,' said Rashad. 'Even I wouldn't tell him. It had to come from Washington.'
'In White House language, he was put on the spit yesterday morning.'
'For what?'
'To see if he was the one who leaked my name.'
'Jimmy? That's even more stupid than thinking it was me. Grayson wants a directorship so badly he can taste it. Also, he doesn't care to have his throat slit and his body mutilated any more than I do.'
'You say those words very easily. They come quickly to you, maybe too quickly.'
'About Jimmy?'
'No. About yourself.'
'I see.' The woman who had called herself Khalehla moved away from the rock. 'You think I've rehearsed all this—with myself, of course, because I damn well couldn't reach anyone else. And, of course, I'm half Arab—'
'You walked into the room up there as if you expected to see me. I wasn't any surprise to you.'
'I did, and you weren't.'
'Why and why not? On both counts?'
'Process of elimination, I suppose—and an arrangement, a man I know who protects me from real surprises. For the last day and a half, you've been hot news throughout the Mediterranean, Congressman, and a lot of people are shaking, including myself. Not only for myself but for many others I used and misused to keep you in sight. Someone like me builds a network based on trust, and right now that trust, my most vital commodity, has been called into question. So you see, Mr. Kendrick, you've wasted not only my time and my concentration but a great deal of the taxpayers' money to bring me back here for a question any experienced intelligence officer could answer.'
'You could have sold me, sold my name for a price.'
'For what? My life? For the lives of those I used to track you, men who are important to me and the work I do—work I think has real value which I tried to explain to you in Bahrain? You really believe that?'
The Icarus Agenda Page 42
