“What the hell are you talking about? Are you still blaming my people for trying to kill you last month? Christ, Hicks. I already told you that wasn’t us.”
“I don’t care about that,” Hicks said. “But I do care about someone in your Berlin office reaching out to the German government to help them run down leads. The Vanguard didn’t get this big without having people in the right places who could turn a blind eye at the right time. One call from your people to the wrong person, however innocent, and these bastards will disappear. They probably know by now that they didn’t kill me in the attack. They may be shutting down their Berlin branch as we speak. If they’re moving, they’re vulnerable, so the smaller we keep this circle, the better our chances of finding them and taking them down. And getting the proof you need to keep them from falling for the Iran bait the Vanguard is feeding them.”
Hicks waited for Demerest to argue, but wasn’t surprised by the silence. The agent in him wanted to assert his people’s abilities and the full power of the entire American intelligence complex to bring the Vanguard to heel.
But there was another side of Demerest, the side that was nominated for the Director of National Intelligence position. A position he could not secure if he revealed all Jabbar’s secrets to his colleagues. It would raise too many questions about what he knew and how he knew it. And why he hadn’t gotten the information sooner. Bad news for the Agency. Worse news for Demerest’s career.
Demerest bended. “I’m giving you seventy-two hours.”
“A week.”
“No way,” Demerest said. “I’ll be shocked if I can buy you seventy-two hours. Right now half of our people are trying to figure out who did this, while the other half are working to cover their own asses in case they missed something. The Israeli and Russian friction complicates things and will keep the State Department clowns busy. That confusion won’t last long, and POTUS is going to want to kick somebody’s ass for this. I need proof that the Vanguard was behind this as soon as possible, before someone orders a strike on Iran and the Vanguard gets the distraction they want. I know neither of us wants that.”
Hicks couldn’t argue with the man’s logic. He knew Washington better than Hicks did. He knew Demerest could have just assumed control of the entire Berlin operation and shut the University out of it, but he hadn’t. He was giving them a chance, which was more than the Vanguard had given them.
Demerest was also giving himself deniability. The less he knew about what Hicks was planning, the less he could testify about under oath should the need arise.
“I’ll agree to seventy-two hours,” Hicks said, “but the clock doesn’t start until this time tomorrow. Deal?”
He could practically hear Demerest frown. “Why do I feel like I’ve just made a deal with the devil?”
Hicks didn’t have a good answer for that one, so he simply closed the phone.
He pulled out his handheld and called Jason. “You get all that?”
“Most of it,” Jason said. “His encryption is pretty good. I missed the beginning but OMNI broke through and we got most of it.”
“Good. The recording might come in handy somewhere down the line. Can you ghost the phone he gave me?”
“OMNI’s doing it as we speak. It shouldn’t be hard. You’re not going to keep the phone, are you?”
“For now, but I’m taking precautions. Are the jets ready?”
“They’re gassed up and ready to go as we speak. Are you sure about this, James? It’s a risky proposition, not to mention an expensive one.”
“I’m not sure of anything, but it’s worth the risk. Where’s Scott?”
A few clicks on Jason’s end. “Less than thirty seconds from your position.”
Hicks looked up and saw Scott’s Escalade had just turned on to St. Mark’s Place. A goth waif dodged out of the way at the last second and flipped him off from the curb.
God, I love this town.
“I see him. I’ll call you from Berlin.”
Somewhere
THE MAN listened while the German spoke. The Man insisted the German speak in Russian rather than Mandarin, as the Man found his comrade’s Mandarin poor to the point of being offensive.
Besides, bad news was unpleasant in any language, even more so in Russian.
“The three-man laser team and their driver have not reported in as they were ordered,” the German told him. “There is no sign of the operatives or their vehicle at the site. Because they were not allowed to have cell phones in case they were killed or captured, I cannot confirm their whereabouts. We must assume they are dead.”
It was an assumption the Man had arrived at five minutes ago. If his German comrade had any shortcomings, it was that he was not used to failure and did not know how to convey it properly. “The men are of no importance. What about the target? Did he survive?”
“None of my people have been able to get close enough to the rubble to see if the target has been killed. The authorities are reporting that there were no fatalities in the blast, but they are also reporting the explosion was a gas leak, so I do not believe their accounts. My sources report they have members of the ATF, the FBI, and other federal agencies on the scene, so they undoubtedly know this was a missile strike. The drone self-destructed somewhere over New Jersey. We are trying to determine if the debris has been discovered yet. If it hasn’t, it is only a matter of time before it is.”
The Man gripped the telephone tighter. “If the target is not dead, then he must have received some kind warning about the attack. If he is dead, we should know by now. Since none of your men have contacted you, we must assume the target not only escaped, but killed them as well. You assured me that would not happen. You told me you were aware of how dangerous the American was and that the strike was worth the risk. You said the American would be eliminated and whatever organization he had destroyed. You said Iran would be condemned for the attack, yet I have seen no such condemnation on American media.”
The Man felt his anger growing with each word, so he grew silent. He breathed in deeply and exhaled completely three times in succession to regain his composure. His objectivity would salvage this disaster. His rage would only compound the problem.
Besides, the attack had accomplished much. The Americans were in disarray. Their vulnerabilities exposed once again. The Russian and Israeli tension could lead to further conflict and, therefore, the possibility for them to further their influence in the region. As the Great Leader himself had once said, “In times of difficulties, we must not lose sight of our achievements.”
When the Man was ready, he said, “Your failure has exposed our organization and our cause to great risk, without any hint of reward.”
“Quite the contrary,” the German said. “We have coaxed the rabbit out of his hole. We have—”
“Stop!” The Man slammed his hand on the table, causing the others in the conference room to flinch, but none dared to look over. “Do not cloud your failure with clever hunting analogies. Despite all your protestations against their corrupt culture, I think you watch too many of their television programs and films. The Americans are neither foolish nor inept. Neither are their Jewish allies. You cannot wipe out a Mossad operation and attack a major city and expect their intelligence organization will fail to see they are related. I allowed you to conduct this exercise because you convinced me a rapid blow would cauterize the wounds we have suffered and halt their progress in learning more about us.”
“You allowed me, comrade? Such words speak to a hierarchical structure, one that has no place in our mission. This sounds more like a CEO speaking to an underling, a most capitalistic sentiment. We are equals in service to the Great Cause, are we not?”
The Man was reminded of the German’s intelligence. This gift had always been what separated him from the other thugs they employed to further their cause. “An army without culture is a dull-witted army, and a dull-witted army cannot defeat the enemy.” The German had proven essential. Pointing out h
is failures would only serve to make him defensive and possibly lead to further failure. Now was a time for encouragement, not rebuke.
“Of course, comrade. I am simply frustrated by the poor results of our efforts. Let the next words out of your mouth be plain and full of purpose, lest you cause me to lose my patience again.”
“I am sorry I offended you,” the German said. “However, although the strikes may not have achieved the results we had intended, all is not lost. I have a plan in place to leak word of Iranian involvement in the attack to members of the American intelligence community. This will support the Iranian connection they will find in the wreckage of the drone. We will feed them our Iranian drone pilot and his colleagues in New York if we need to solidify Iranian culpability. These men cannot lead the Americans to us so we will be insulated from further blame. Tensions between the United States and Iran will grow, worsened further still by tensions between Russia and Israel. These tensions will cause Iran to seek more weapons systems from their Russian patrons, a request from which we will profit quite nicely.”
The Man frowned. “I think you worry far more about profit than you should, comrade.”
The Man heard the German draw a sharp breath. “I meant a profit in influence, not merely in money, comrade.”
But the Man wasn’t so sure. “And what of the target? Assuming he is alive and your people are dead, he knows he is a target and will act accordingly. He has proven capable enough when he was ignorant of our existence. His awareness will only make him harder to kill.”
“Perhaps, sir.” The Man could practically hear the German smile over the phone. “And his awareness will make him even more predictable. “In fact, I’m counting on it. I believe I know where he is going and how he’s planning on getting there. A past oversight on his account will punish him tonight. And, if I am right, he will cease to be any further trouble.”
OF ALL the University secrets Hicks learned upon being named Dean, the most surprising revelation was that the organization had its own fleet of jets. They were part of a large corporate fleet it had acquired some years ago. Most of the fleet was leased out on a time-sharing basis to corporations, wealthy investors, celebrities, pop stars, and more than a few reality stars. They had all paid handsomely to use the service, unaware they were not only filling the accounts of the University’s Bursar’s Office, but its intelligence operation as well. Every jet was outfitted with a full complement of surveillance equipment. Everything they said and did on board had been recorded. Some of the information was embarrassing. Some of it was even criminal. All of it would prove useful, if and when the time came for the University to need them.
Only one jet had been held back from service, the newest in the fleet. A Gulfstream G650 ER. At a price tag of over sixty-seven million dollars, it had barely put a dent in the airline company’s revenue. Hicks had been shocked at how much people were willing to pay to fly in luxury, but he was glad it was a price they were willing to pay.
The airplane could fly from Hong Kong to New York nonstop, and could fit up to eighteen people. Hicks first thought the idea of the University having its own plane was ridiculous, but slowly came around to seeing how it could come in handy during some select University missions. Like the one he was performing tonight.
Despite the covert nature of the mission, Hicks had seen to it that the plane had registered a formal flight plan from Teterboro Airport in New Jersey to Schonenfeld Airport in Berlin. The manifest listed two people: Professor Henry Warren and Dr. Samuel Jessup. Sometimes even covert missions had to abide by aviation procedures. Sometimes, they even proved useful.
He switched off his overhead light and reclined his leather seat as he tracked the Gulfstream’s progress over the Atlantic via his tablet. It was just as secure as his handheld but the screen was much bigger, allowing him to see the plane’s various controls and dials as it approached European airspace. The plane hadn’t encountered much turbulence and the entire trip over the Atlantic had been uneventful.
Until an angry red bar began blinking at the top of the screen.
PROXIMITY ALERT. RADAR LOCK. WEAPONS INCOMING.
Hicks had forgotten to lower the volume on the tablet, the claxon waking Scott from his sleep on the couch across from him. “What the fuck is that?”
Hicks turned the tablet so he could see it. Scott blinked his eyes clear and looked at the screen. “Oh shit!”
But the warning hadn’t been much of a warning at all. The missile slammed into the center of the aircraft, exploding on impact, incinerating the plane and its occupants, scattering flaming debris into an indifferent Atlantic Ocean like snowflakes on a New York City street.
Professor Warren and Dr. Jessup were dead.
SCOTT GRABBED the arms of his seat tighter as the claxon continued to sound from the tablet. “Jesus, Hicks. That could’ve been us.”
Hicks winked as he put the tablet into sleep mode and set it aside. With the plane destroyed, he had nothing to pilot remotely. “That was us, Ace. At least as far as our pals in the Vanguard are concerned.”
He looked up when the co-pilot came out of the cockpit. “Just wanted to give you an update, sir. We’re scheduled to land at Vaclav airport in an hour. No need for your seatbelts until we get closer. Looks like smooth skies from here on out.”
“Thanks, Ed. And make sure you and Chris take some time to see the sights in Prague. It’s beautiful this time of year.”
“We count on it, sir. And we’ll be ready if you need us.”
Hicks waited until the cockpit door was closed before he said, “I envy those bastards. Prague is a hell of a place. Wish we had time to see it.”
But Scott kept looking at Hicks. “How the hell did you know they were going to hit the plane?”
“I didn’t, but now I do. Schneider had been able to track that same plane when I took it to Toronto to meet Jabbar. If he knew about it, I thought the Vanguard might know it, too. Now we know more about their abilities and that was the point.”
“A seventy-million-dollar aircraft is a pretty goddamned expensive way to find out.”
Hicks yawned. “Then we’ll just have to make sure the bastards pay for it, won’t we?” He closed his eyes. “We’re still an hour out. Might as well get some sleep. We’re going to need it. It’s a long drive to Berlin.”
The Hotel Delphi
Berlin, Germany
TALI SADDON didn’t particularly like The Hotel Delphi, but no one had asked her opinion. After betraying Hicks to Schneider like she had, she was happy to be anywhere above ground. At least Hicks had understood her boss hadn’t given her much of a choice. The fact that she was carrying his child only helped him see reason.
At least the view from the hidden penthouse was nice. The coffee she was drinking made it even better.
The Delphi was not as opulent as some of the other, grander hotels in the city. It didn’t boast fancy balustrades or refined architecture, or a magnificent lobby or many of the other interesting details tourist guides might rate among the nicest in Berlin.
But The Hotel Delphi had proven herself sturdy, if not remarkable, in that she had lasted through two world wars, several different forms of government, and a Communist wall that cut her city in two. The Delphi even managed to remain untouched during the Allied bombing of the city, except for some scorch marks and shrapnel damage to its unremarkable façade.
No, the old hotel may not have been an architectural marvel, but its capacity for survival had given it a certain respectability that such unremarkable buildings hardly deserved. She smiled as she remembered a line from an American movie that seemed to fit the old hotel best. “Ugly buildings, politicians, and whores all become respectable if they’re around long enough.”
Tali Saddon wondered if she would live long enough for the same to apply to her.
She had never considered herself a whore, but like any good operative she never fooled herself about what she had done or how she had done it. And like any good operative, s
he had used the tools at hand to accomplish her mission. Her tools happened to be a good body and a sexuality certain men found alluring. Men who had secrets. Men whose businesses were illegal in most parts of the world.
Men who had information she had been ordered to acquire to protect her way of life.
The University had a nasty term for her kinds of skills. Snake Charmer. She found it quaint, almost British, and far less insulting than other terms used to describe what she had done. Honey trap. Whore.
She knew that life was behind her now that she was about to bring another life into the world, a life she felt growing inside her more every day. She thought every life was a miracle, but this little one even more so.
She wondered if she would miss her old life. Another sip of coffee convinced her she wouldn’t. Another sip after that might change her opinion entirely. Such was the mind of Tali Saddon these days.
She was carrying the child of a man she wasn’t sure she loved, but whom she knew loved her. Or as close to love as people like James Hicks could know.
Tali wasn’t sure she could ever love anyone, not after all she had done in defense of her beloved Israel and for the University. But the idea that a man like Hicks could love her, not the part she had played or the part he wanted her to play, but her, after knowing who she was and what she had been, allowed her to believe she may be lovable after all.
She was grateful to Hicks for that. For that and for sparing her life when he had been so close to killing her. She had betrayed him by putting the Mossad above his beloved University. She had killed Jabbar because she had been ordered to, and didn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse about it.
The only time she had felt anything was when she saw the pain and anger in his eyes as he wrestled with the notion of killing her for it. She wasn’t sure she loved him, but knew she probably could one day. And a sense of gratitude for sparing her life and helping her to create the life she knew was growing within her now was better than feeling nothing toward him at all.
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 11
