The Icarus Agenda

by Ludlum, Robert

  'You're very good, Scum-rotten, I'll give you that.'

  'We are not enemies, Miss Rashad.'

  'Somehow I find that hard to believe.' The elevator telephone rang from the box below the panel, its bell echoing off the four walls of the small enclosure. 'You're not getting out of here,' added Khalehla.

  'Wait,' said the blond man as the ringing persisted. 'You saw Mrs. Vanvlanderen.'

  'She told you that. So what?'

  'She couldn't have,' broke in the European. 'I've never met her but I have taped her. She had visitors later. They talked about you—she and two other men, one named Grinell.'

  'I never heard of him.'

  'They're both traitors, enemies of your government, of your country, to be precise, as your country was conceived.' The telephone kept up its insistent ringing.

  'Fast words, Mr. No Name.'

  'No more words!' cried the blond man, reaching under his jacket and withdrawing a thin large black automatic. He flipped both weapons around, gripping the barrels, the handles extended towards Khalehla. 'Here. Take them. Give me a chance, Miss Rashad!'

  Astonished, Khalehla held the guns and looked into the eyes of the European. She had seen that plea in too many eyes before. It was not the look of a man afraid to die for a cause, but furious about the prospect of not living to pursue it. 'All right,' she said slowly. 'I may or I may not. Turn around, your arms against the wall! Farther back, your weight on your hands!' The telephone was now a steady, deafening ring as the field officer from Cairo expertly ran her fingers over the body of the blond man, concentrating on the armpits, the indented shell of his waist and his ankles. There were no weapons on him. 'Stay there,' she ordered as she reached down and pulled out the telephone from the box. 'We couldn't open the panel for the phone!' she exclaimed.

  'Our engineer is on his way, madam. He was on his dinner break but we've just located him. We apologize profusely. However, our indicators show no fire or—’

  'I think we're the ones to apologize,' interrupted Khalehla. 'It was all a mistake—my mistake. I pushed the wrong button. If you'll just tell me how to make it work again, we'll be fine.'

  'Oh? Yes, yes, of course,' said the male voice, suppressing his irritation. 'In the telephone box there's a switch…'

  The lobby doors opened and the European immediately spoke to the formally dressed manager who was waiting for them. 'There is a business associate I was to meet here quite some time ago. I'm afraid I overslept—a long, trying flight from Paris. His name is Grinell, have you seen him?'

  'Mr. Grinell and the distraught Mrs. Vanvlanderen left a few minutes ago with their guests, sir. I assume it was a memorial service for her husband, a fine, fine gentleman.'

  'Yes, he, too, was an associate. We were to be at the service but we never got the address. Do you know it?'

  'Oh, no, sir.'

  'Would anybody? Would the doorman have heard any instructions to a taxi?'

  'Mr. Grinell has his own limousine—limousines, actually.'

  'Let's go,' said Khalehla quietly, taking the blond man's arm. 'You're becoming a little obvious,' she continued as they walked towards the front entrance.

  'I may have failed, which is far more important.'

  'What's your name?'

  'Milos. Just call me Milos.'

  'I want more than that. I've got the fire, remember?'

  'If we can reach an acceptable accommodation, I'll tell you more.'

  'You're going to tell me one hell of a lot more, Mr. Milos, and there won't be any more of those fast manoeuvres of yours. Your gun is in my bag, and mine is under my coat aimed at your chest.'

  'What do we do now, Miss Supposedly Retired Central Intelligence Officer from Egypt?'

  'We eat, you nosy bastard. I'm starved, but I'll pick up every morsel of food with my left hand. If you make a wrong move across the table, you'll never be able to have children, and not just because you're dead. Am I clear?'

  'You must be very good.'

  'Good enough, Mr. Milos, good enough. I'm half Arab and don't you forget it.'

  They sat opposite each other in a large circular booth selected by Khalehla in an Italian restaurant two blocks north of the hotel. Varak had detailed everything he had heard over the earphones from the Vanvlanderen suite. 'I was shocked. I never thought for an instant that Andrew Vanvlanderen would act unilaterally.'

  'You mean without his wife putting “a bullet in his head” and calling one of the others to “deep six” him in Mexico?'

  'Exactly. She would have done it, you know. He was stupid.'

  'I disagree, he was very bright, considering his purpose. Everything that was done to and for Evan Kendrick led to a logical jaremat thaár, Arabic for a vengeance kill. You provided that, Mr. Milos, starting with the first moment you met Frank Swann at the State Department.'

  'Never with that intention, I assure you. I never thought it was remotely possible.'

  'You were wrong.'

  'I was wrong.'

  'Let's go back to that first moment—in fact, let's go back over the whole damn thing!'

  'There's nothing to go back over. I've said nothing of substance.'

  'But we know far more than you think. We just had to unravel the string, as my superior put it… A reluctant freshman congressman is manipulated on to important congressional committees, positions that others would sell their daughters for. Then because of mysteriously absentee chairmen, he's on national television, which leads to more exposure, topped by the explosive, worldwide story about his covert actions in Oman, and ending up with the President awarding him the highest medal a civilian can get. The agenda is pretty clear, isn't it?'

  'It was organized quite well, in my opinion.'

  'And now there's about to be launched a national campaign to place him on the party ticket, in effect making him the next Vice President of the United States.'

  'You know about that?'

  'Yes, and it's hardly a spontaneous act on the part of the body politic.'

  'I trust it will appear so.'

  'Where are you coming from?' asked Khalehla, leaning over, picking at her veal dish with the left hand, her right out of sight under the table.

  'I must tell you, Miss Rashad, that it pains me to watch you eating so awkwardly. I'm not a threat to you and I won't run.'

  'How can I be sure of either? That you're not a threat and that you won't run?'

  'Because in certain areas our interests are the same, and I am willing to work with you on a limited basis.'

  'My God, what arrogance! Would Your Eminence be so kind as to describe these areas and the limits of your generous assistance?'

  'Certainly. To begin with, the safety of the Secretary of State and exposing those who would have him killed as well as discovering why, although I think we can assume the reason. Then the capture of the terrorists who attacked Congressman Kendrick's houses with considerable loss of life, and confirming the Vanvlanderen connection—’

  'You know about Fairfax and Mesa Verde?' Varak nodded. 'The blackout's total.'

  'Which brings us to the limits of my participation. I must remain far in the background and will not discuss my activities except in the most general terms. I will, however, if it's necessary, refer you by code name to certain individuals in the government who will attest to my dependability in security matters here and abroad.'

  'You don't think much of yourself, do you?'

  Milos smiled cautiously. 'I really don't have an opinion. However, I come from a country whose government was stolen from the people, and made up my mind years ago what I would do with my life. I have confidence in the methods I've developed. If that's arrogance, so be it, and I apologize, but I don't think of it that way.'

  Khalehla slowly pulled her right hand out from under the table and with her left picked up the bag at her side. She shoved her automatic into it and leaned back, shaking her hand to restore circulation. 'I think we can dispense with the hardware, and you're right, it's terribly awkward
trying to cut meat with a left-handed fork while your other wrist is paralysed.'

  'I was going to suggest that you order something simpler, perhaps an antipasto, or a dish you might eat with your fingers, but I didn't feel it was my place.'

  'Do I detect a sense of humour behind that severe expression?'

  'An attempt, perhaps, but I don't feel very humorous at the moment. I won't until I know the Secretary of State has arrived safely in Cyprus.'

  'You alerted the proper people; there's nothing more you can do. They'll take care of him.'

  'I'm counting on it.'

  'Then to business, Mr. Milos,' said Khalehla, returning to her meal, again slowly, her eyes on Varak. 'Why Kendrick? Why did you do it? Above all, how did you do it? You tapped into sources that were supposedly untappable! You went in where no one should be able to go and ripped out secrets, stole a theft proof file. Whoever gave you those should be taken out and put in the field so he'd know what it's like to have no protection, to be naked without weapons in the dark streets of a hostile city.'

  'Whatever assistance was given to me was rendered by a source who trusted me, who knew where I was coming from, as you phrased it.'

  'But why?

  ‘I’ll give you a limited response, Miss Rashad, and speak only in general terms.'

  'Hoorah for you. So give.'

  'This country imperatively needs changes in an administration that will undoubtedly be re-elected.'

  'Who says so other than the voters?'

  'Off limits, except again, in general terms… although I shouldn't have to use even them. You've seen for yourself.'

  Khalehla put down her fork and looked at the European. 'San Diego? Vanvlanderen? Grinell?'

  'San Diego, Vanvlanderen and Grinell,' repeated the Czech quietly. 'To clarify further: Moneys obviously sent through Zurich and Beirut to the Baaka Valley for the purpose of eliminating a political contender, namely, Congressman Kendrick. And now an apparent attempt to stop a brilliant Secretary of State from attending a disarmament conference whose purpose is to reduce the proliferation—the production of space and nuclear weapons.'

  'San Diego,' said Khalehla, leaving her food on the plate. 'Orson Bollinger?'

  'An enigma,' replied Varak. 'What does he know? What doesn't he know? No matter, he's the rallying point, the funnel into an unbeatable administration. He has to be replaced, thus eliminating the people around him who order him to march to their drums.'

  'But why Evan Kendrick?'

  'Because he is now an unbeatable contender.'

  'He'll never accept it; he'll tell you to go to hell. You don't know him, I do.'

  'A man doesn't necessarily want to do what he must do, Miss Rashad. But he will do it if the reasons are made clear to him why he should.'

  'You think that's enough?'

  'I don't know Mr. Kendrick personally, of course, but I don't think there's another human being I've studied so closely. He's a remarkable man, yet so realistically modest about his achievements. He made a great deal of money out of an exploding Middle East economy then walked away from millions more because he was morally offended and emotionally distraught. He then entered the political arena for no other reason than to replace a—what did you call me?— scum-rotten, who was lining his pockets in Colorado. Finally, he went to Oman knowing he might not come back for he believed he could help in a crisis. That's not a man you take lightly. He may but you don't.'

  'Oh, good Lord,' said Khalehla. 'I'm hearing a variation of my own words.'

  'In support of his political advancement?'

  'No, to explain why he wasn't a liar. But I should tell you there's another reason why he went back to Oman. It falls under the not too benevolent heading of a kill. He was convinced he knew who was behind the terrorists in Masqat: the same monster who'd been responsible for killing all seventy-eight people who made up the Kendrick Group, including wives and children. He was right; the man was executed according to Arabic law.'

  'That's hardly a negative, Miss Rashad.'

  'No, it isn't, but it somewhat alters the circumstances.'

  'I'd prefer to think it adds a dimension of properly-sought justice, which further confirms our choice of him.'

  'Our?'

  'Off limits.'

  'I repeat, he'll turn it down.'

  'He will if he learns how he was manipulated. He may not if he's convinced he is needed.'

  Khalehla again leaned back in the booth, studying the Czech. 'If I'm hearing correctly, you're suggesting something that's deeply offensive to me.'

  'It shouldn't be.' Varak sat forward. 'No one can force a man to accept elective office, Miss Rashad, he has to seek it. Conversely, no one can force a political party's leading senators and congressmen to accept a new candidate, they must want him. It's true that circumstances were created to bring out the man, but we could not create the man; he was there to begin with.'

  'You're asking me not to tell him about this conversation, not to tell him about you… Have you any idea how many weeks we've been looking for you?'

  'Have you any idea how many months we looked for Evan Kendrick?'

  'I don't give a damn! He was manipulated and he knows it. You can't hide, I won't let you. You've put him through too much. Dear friends killed, now possibly an old man who's been a father to him for fifteen years. All his plans shot to hell—too much!'

  'I can't change what's happened, I can only grieve for my errors of judgment and no one will grieve more, but I ask you to think of your country, my country now. If we've helped to produce a political force, it was only because the force existed in his own right, with his own instincts. Without him, any number of perfectly decent men will be acceptable to the party leadership because they're familiar and comfortable, but they will not be a force… Do I make myself clear?'

  'According to history, a Vice President once said that the office wasn't worth a “bucket of warm spit”.'

  'Not these days, and certainly not in the hands of Evan Kendrick. You were obviously in Cairo when he appeared on television here—'

  'I was in Cairo,' interrupted Khalehla, 'but we have an American channel—tapes, of course. I saw him and I've seen him here subsequently and repeatedly, thanks no doubt to your… agenda. He was very good, very intelligent and appealing.'

  'Miss Rashad, he's unique. He's unbuyable and he speaks his mind and the country is taken with him.'

  'Because of you.'

  'No, because of him. He's done the things he's done, they weren't invented; he's said the things he's said, the words weren't provided. What can I tell you? I analysed over four hundred possibilities, using the most advanced computers, and one man stood out. Evan Kendrick.'

  'You want nothing from him?'

  'You say you know him. If we did, what do you think he'd do?'

  'Turn you over to some anti-corruption committee and make damn sure you spent time in prison.'

  'Exactly.'

  Khalehla shook her head, her eyes closed. 'I'd like a glass of wine, Mr. Milos. I've got a few things to think about.'

  Varak signalled a waiter and ordered two glasses of chilled Chablis, leaving the choice to the waiter's discretion. 'Among my many deficiencies,' said the Czech, 'is a lack of knowledge of wines beyond those of my country.'

  'I don't believe that for an instant. You're probably a certified sommelier.'

  'Hardly. I hear friends order specific vineyards and vintages and I marvel at them.'

  'Do you really have friends? I think of you as rather an eminence grise.'

  'Je comprends, but you're wrong. I live quite a normal life. My friends think I'm a translator, freelance, naturally, at home.'

  'Bien,' said the agent from Cairo. 'That's how I began.'

  'There's no office to contact, only an answering machine, which I can reach from wherever I am.'

  'Me, too.'

  The wine arrived and, after sipping, Khalehla spoke. 'He can't go back,' she said, as if speaking to herself, then partially inclu
ding Varak. 'At least not for a few years, if then. Once the blackout's lifted there'll be a lot of hot blood running in the Baaka Valley.'

  'I assume you're talking about the congressman?'

  'Yes. The terrorists were caught, in a manner of speaking… There was a third and final attack several hours ago. It took place in Mesa Verde and was every bit as devastating as Fairfax.'

  'Several hours …? Was Kendrick there?'

  'Yes.'

  'And?'

  'He's alive, I'm told by seconds. But like Virginia, many of our personnel were killed.'

  'I'm sorry… Weingrass was severely hurt, I gather. That's whom you were referring to when you mentioned an old man, wasn't it?'

  'Yes. They're flying him to a hospital in Denver. Evan's with him.'

  'The terrorists, please,' said Varak, his eyes boring into hers.

  'All together there were nine of them. Eight are dead; one survived, the youngest.'

  'And when the blackout's lifted, as you say, there will be hot blood in the Baaka. It's why Kendrick can't go back to that part of the world.'

  'He wouldn't live forty-eight hours. There's no way to protect him from the crazies.'

  'There is here and none better than the government's Secret Service. In these matters nothing is perfect, there is only the best.'

  'I know.' Khalehla drank from her glass of wine.

  'You understand what I'm saying, don't you, Miss Rashad?'

  'I think so.'

  'Let events run their natural course. There's a legitimate political action committee dedicated to supporting Congressman Kendrick for higher office. Let them work unencumbered and let the country respond—one way or the other. And if we're both right about the Vanvlanderens and the Grinells and the people they represent, let Evan Kendrick make up his own mind. Because even if we expose them and stop them, there are hundreds more who will take their places… A force is needed, a voice is needed.'