He took the jetvator down to the thirtieth floor, walked down two flights and moved to the other side of the tower, taking another jetvator to the fifth floor. From there he took escalators to the second, then a jetvator to the parking level. He headed back up to ground level via two staircases at the back of the place and walked directly to the car-rental agency. Using the automatic kiosk under an alias he had never used before, he rented the smallest, most inconspicuous car he could find. Top speed was only a hundred and twenty miles an hour. Anyone who knew him would not be able to imagine him in an economy car.
From the kiosk came a computerized voice. “Danke, Herr Koen. Guten Tag.” How nice of the French to make a German feel at home.
The middle of the afternoon foot traffic in the city confirmed Paul’s suspicion that Paris had to be one of the most crowded capitals in the world. He didn’t feel he could open up the hydrogen engine until he had passed the exit to Orly south of the metropolis and the city of Palaiseau. Playing back the recording of Straight through his cranium, Paul proceeded to rocket southwest toward the Loire River near Tours. He checked in with satellite weather and found that the temperature in Paris had been five degrees Celsius and that Tours would be six. Forty-one and forty-two Fahrenheit, he calculated.
Paul soon was at top speed, but he had to concentrate as headwinds buffeted the tiny car. He continually checked his mirrors for tails and was certain there were none.
Jae had a bad feeling as she settled into her father’s own chair in the den. He was pulling out all the stops. Had he asked if she’d wanted a Scotch, she’d have scolded him for suggesting such a thing so early in the day. But when he simply poured her a tall one, straight, not even on the rocks, she took it gratefully with trembling fingers. She found it significant that he abstained.
“Had quite a meeting here last night,” he began.
“Did you?” she said, sipping and trying to sound nonchalant.
He sat across from her and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m going to tell you things you don’t want to hear.”
“About Paul?”
“Yes.”
She set down the drink and clasped her hands. She didn’t want to know, and yet there was nothing she’d rather know. “Women?”
“Likely.”
She swore. “Worse?”
“In my opinion. Of course, there’s little worse in this world than violating one’s vows to a spouse. . . .”
Oh, please. You don’t think I know your own past?
“But you’ve been through that before and found it in your heart to forgive and start rebuilding.”
“Like a fool, apparently. Get on with it, Dad.”
“Well, this latest is worse than a little marital trouble, which is not easy to say to the victim of that trouble. It points to treason, Jae.”
She couldn’t breathe. It must have showed.
“Take another sip, honey.”
She did. “Treason?”
“Paul has always had a penchant for working alone.”
“How well I know. But not alone enough apparently.”
“I’m off the marital thing now, Jae. Stay with me.”
“Treason, yes.”
“The reason he was so susceptible to temptation on the other issue was because he’s not a team player. He goes on assignment, gets briefed by locals, then goes out on his own.”
“That used to be his strength.” Jae was seething, already eager to do whatever her father was asking if it meant nailing Paul. Did she not care what that would mean to her, to the kids? Frankly, no. He would get what he deserved and they would all be better off without him. How quickly she had turned. So he had been covering something, and not just other women but something that threatened the very security of the USSA. She’d help with this operation—whatever it was—even if she wasn’t married to the perpetrator.
“Jae, are you familiar with Stockholm syndrome?”
“Where a hostage becomes sympathetic to the kidnapper?”
“In a nutshell. Being as generous as possible, that’s what we think may have happened with Paul.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You’ve lost me.”
Intense. That was all Paul had heard about Chappell Raison. He didn’t even know what the man looked like. He couldn’t wait to meet him, broad daylight or not. Normally Paul would have enjoyed the beautiful scenery. But the rolling plains and the heavily wooded plateaus and hills hardly registered as he concentrated on the road ahead and behind. He saw sheep and cows grazing, but his eyes couldn’t linger. Straight’s directions told him to watch for a famous example of French Renaissance architecture, the Château de Chenonceau that spanned the River Cher. “Chappell says you’ll know it when you see it. Unique, I guess.”
Unique was right. As the dazzling structure came into view, Paul wished he had a camera. Jae would love this. Nine parapets at the base of the roof level topped two stories of windows over four wide archways and a narrower one, all designed, it appeared, to allow boats through beneath the château. On the far right end was a series of cathedral-like towers, but Paul couldn’t tell if the building originated as anything religious, as any carved ornate symbols now bore the seal of the International Government of Peace.
Three miles past the château, Paul was to look for a right turn onto an unmarked two-lane road between a dairy farm and a cattle farm. Straight’s recording said, “If you see any traffic whatsoever, it should be farm machinery.” Paul encountered none, and to the best of his knowledge, no one had followed him into the country.
Two more miles and another right turn took him to a grove of trees, one of which had a large white scar in its trunk, as if it had once had a chunk of bark ripped off by a car or truck. Paul was to drive slowly past the tree, looking for his contact.
15
“BEFORE I GET INTO SPECIFICS, Jae,” Ranold B. Decenti said, “I must discuss something of the utmost importance with you.”
“As if Paul’s infidelity, not to mention treason, is not important.”
“You and I have had our differences, and like most people of your generation, you probably think me and others of my generation are largely out to lunch. But listen; I pick up on things. I understand subtleties and nuances, though no one would likely assume that of me.”
“Hardly.” But Jae knew it was true. You didn’t get to his station in the intelligence community by being as bullheaded and close-minded as he seemed.
“You’ve made it clear lately that you’ve been encouraged about your relationship with Paul. After what I tell you, you might begin to understand why that has happened.”
I think I’m already understanding it.
“But because you’re encouraged—and I know you are because you’re missing him so—”
I was. Right now I don’t care if I ever see him again, except to kill him.
“—I imagine you’re in frequent contact with him. I hope I don’t have to belabor this point, Jae, but you can understand how crucial it is—”
“I know.”
“You know?”
She nodded. “Mad as I’m going to be, betrayed as I feel, I can’t let on that anything has changed.”
“There! You see? You’re perfect for this assignment.”
Jae knew she should care more about the treason than the infidelity, but if she had it her way, she would force her father for every detail of Paul’s indiscretions. What a delicate word for a disgusting practice. She wanted to ask who? When? Where? For how long? Were these his typical one-night stands, or was he actually interested in someone for once?
And Jae couldn’t decide which would be more acceptable. Either made her murderous. The nerve! To come on like he was a new man, a changed guy, as eager to backhoe and fill and work on the marriage as she. Jae had actually looked forward to the rest of their married life together, allowed herself to imagine how much healthier Brie and Connor were going to be growing up in a happy home. Now Paul was going to have to su
e her to see his own kids. If he wasn’t behind bars or put to death. The latter was too good for him, unless she got to give the injection herself.
“Dad, I’m going to need a minute.”
“Jae, I haven’t even told you anything yet.”
“You’ve told me enough. Not that I don’t want to hear it all. But I just . . . just . . . I’ll be right back.” She hurried from the room, then spun and came back, grabbing the Scotch.
“Don’t be long,” he said. “I have people waiting for us at headquarters.”
“You what?”
But she didn’t stay long enough to hear him repeat it. He must have known this would push her over the top, would eliminate any hesitancy on her part about working with him against her own husband. She fled upstairs, set down her drink, and threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow and screaming.
When she thought she had it out of her system Jae rolled over and sat up, reaching for her glass. There it sat, next to her minidisc player and her New Testament discs. What a laugh. She had actually begun to wonder if perhaps Paul had been influenced—for the good, no less—by these ancient texts. Was that what her father meant by Stockholm syndrome? Did they actually suspect he had flipped to the side of the rebels? That was the very definition of treason.
Throwing back a big swallow, she sloshed liquor on her sweater. Great, she would have to change or go to NPO regional headquarters with booze on her breath and on her clothes. She finished the drink, changed her top, gargled with mouthwash, and headed back downstairs as if to her own execution. Jae had gone up to let off some steam, but by the time she reached the den again and heard her father murmuring about her on the phone—“She’s ready; she’s going to be gold, and we’ve hardly scratched the surface”—she was ready to burst.
As Paul slowly rolled along the grassy path between pastures, he saw a redhead poke out and then duck back in behind foliage. Paul stopped. If that was his contact, Paul would wait until he showed himself again and gave a signal. He wasn’t going to simply drive up to a hiding person.
Soon the head poked out again and then the torso, beckoning vigorously with a wave. Paul parked, got out, and walked toward the man, who now stepped out and showed himself. He was almost Paul’s height, maybe an inch shorter at six-two. And he looked about the same age—midthirties. He appeared to be in shape, but not from working out. More, Paul guessed, from being the type of person who lived life on the edge, a man with a galloping metabolism and too much to think about and do to worry about overeating. Pale and fleshy without being heavy, he had light blue eyes and a long, aquiline nose with a deep crease between the nostrils. His teeth were too small for his generous mouth.
“You’re Paul, right? ’Course you got to be Paul ’cause only a person who knows where he’s going comes here. I gave the directions to a guy I trust, and he passed them on to your guy, Straight, a guy he trusts, so unless we’ve got a serious breach of security, you’re Paul. You are Paul, right?” He talked a mile a minute.
“He is risen.”
“Well, there you go. He is risen indeed. Nice to meet you, Paul.”
Chappell Raison shook Paul’s hand, his elbow bouncing as he did. And before letting go he embraced Paul, then tugged him into a nearby nondescript, one-room house that looked as if it had been fashioned out of a chicken coop. The screen door slapped behind them. “Better shut the storm door too,” Chappell said. “Is it this cold in Paris?”
“About the same,” Paul said.
“Let’s sit by the fire.”
The plastic chairs and table by a tiny gas stove made Paul think of lawn furniture in the USSA. Talk about sparse. “This is the underground?” Paul said. “You couldn’t fit more than eight or ten people in—”
“Oh no. Truth is, there is no real underground in France. Physically, I mean. I know of Detroit and Rome and other places where they literally meet underground. Makes me jealous, if you want to know the truth. But here we have the famed Sûreté Nationale. They’re under the Ministry of the Interior, which reports directly to NPO International, as you well know.”
“I do, Mr. Raison.”
“Chappell, please. Better yet, Chapp. My point is, brother, that the Sûreté Nationale gendarmes overstep their bounds. They are supposed to serve as military police and cover the rural areas as well. But naturally, because of the chain of command—all the way to International—every one of them is trying to impress the next level. They give us no end of trouble.”
“You lost family, Chapp. Is that right?”
“Wife and two children, a son and a daughter.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry too. Every day.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Well, no you can’t, Paul, unless it’s happened to you. You don’t mind me calling you Paul, do you, because I can just as easily call you brother or Doctor or Mr. Stepola or anything else you want. It doesn’t matter to me, but I don’t want to offend.”
“It doesn’t matter to me either, Chapp. Call me anything you want.”
“It means a lot to me, to the leadership here, that you have come. We long for news from other groups, and we want to know the latest from the USSA. I get only a little from phone calls. You’re like a living, breathing ambassador from our brothers and sisters. I’ve got the rest of the leadership team coming just after dark, and you’re right, we’ll fill this place. Can you stay and greet them and give us an update, anything to encourage us?”
Paul looked at his watch. “I think so. I’m to check in with International in the morning to see where they are on the Magnor search.”
Raison made a sound. “Magnor.”
Paul froze. “What?”
The redhead wouldn’t look at him. “I’ve got to talk to you about him. That’s why I had to see you right away.”
Jae let herself drop again into her father’s chair and looked at him expectantly.
“Feel better?” he said.
“Hardly. But listen, Dad. Do me a favor. I want both barrels, nothing held back for my feelings. Understand?”
He nodded.
“I’m serious. Maybe you’re too close to this. Maybe you ought to have someone else debrief me. Someone who knows all the details and won’t try to spare me any grief. If I’m to do this, if I’m to help, I have to know everything.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But I can handle telling you.”
“You sure?”
“You kiddin’? There’s no love lost between Paul and me, not after what he’s done to you.”
“I thought you were genuinely proud of him. Or was that all playacting?”
“I was proud of him! He had won me over there for a while. He was a decorated operative. He’s that good, honey. He even fooled me. I don’t know how he does it, but just when we’re as suspicious as we can be and ready to move in on him, he pulls off a big bust and we assume he’s legit. One of the rebels in L.A. tried to tell us he was on their side, even described him and his car and everything. I confronted him on it, and he didn’t deny it. But you know what I thought? That he’d gone too far in infiltrating, had stepped outside his authority. I mean, he had the right to do it, but not without telling Bia Balaam or me. He could have got himself killed by either side, and if he was acting in NPO interests, we never would have known. Like an idiot, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.”
“What’s changed your mind?” Jae said. “What’s convinced you he’s turned?”
“It’s not so much what we know as what we don’t know,” Ranold said.
Jae squinted. There had better be more than that. Just because Paul was still operating independently didn’t mean he had flipped. He might still be pretending to be an insider with the underground rebels. If her father got her all exercised with no more than this—
“What don’t you know?” she said evenly.
“Where he is. Who he’s with. We’ve got some of our best people on him, and so far no one believes he�
�s aware. He makes and keeps appointments, talks with contacts, never reports in. We’re not even telling International yet, because we don’t want it to get back to the chancellor. If he started suspecting Paul, he’d just yank him out of the field, charge him with treason, and put him to death.”
“What would be wrong with that, if you’re right?”
“We want to play this out, Jae. Use Paul. Let him lead us to the heads of the European resistance. We thought we had problems in this country. And we do. But if the Europeans are going to resort to terrorist attacks—in the name of God, of course—that’s where we need to concentrate.”
Jae sighed. “Tell me you’ve got more on his infidelity than you have on his treason.”
“Wait,” Paul said. “Whoa, hold on, and time out. You’ve met Styr Magnor?”
Chappell Raison nodded. “He visited me here, not long after I lost my family three years ago.”
“Where’d he say he was from?”
“Norway, of course, but you want to know the truth? Though he looked Norse, I always thought he was faking the accent. And since then, on the phone, he doesn’t sound Norse at all. I can’t place it, but he talks like a brother. He’s angry, but of course so am I.”
“Why didn’t I know about this?”
“I told no one.”
“No one? None of your contacts in the USSA? No one else in the underground anywhere?”
Chappell shook his head. “Just my leadership team here.”
“But why? What about after the attacks? You know the world is looking for him.”
“When I realized what he really was, I was embarrassed to have met with him.”
“So you were embarrassed! If only you’d have—”
“And I realized long ago he was no friend of the underground, Paul. He predicted these attacks, you know. He told me, ‘It may take years, brother, but I will avenge your family.’”
“And you didn’t report that? Don’t you realize what you could have stopped?”
Chappell stood and paced. “Yes! I’m guilty! Why do you think I’m telling you? I know you’re assigned to find and stop him, so I’m telling you now.”
Silenced Page 17
