Targets of Deception

by Jeffrey Stephens[epub]

  “No,” Jordan said. “Never.”

  “No kids then.”

  “No.”

  Andrioli took a long drag of the Marlboro and blew it towards the open window. “What the hell would you see, then, when the lights are going out?”

  Jordan had a look at the man’s profile, the uneven nose, the prominent, bearded chin. “I have no idea,” he said. “Will it matter?”

  “It might,” Andrioli said. “If there’s no God or anything, I figure those last seconds, that becomes your heaven or your hell, right then and there. It may be all you get.”

  Jordan peered over his shoulder. Christine had curled up in the back seat and was sleeping under his sport jacket.

  “You have a passport?” Andrioli asked him.

  Jordan told him he did.

  “Your own name?”

  “No, I’m covered. Don’t worry.”

  “What about Christine?”

  Sandor had another look in the back seat. “We should leave her in Atlanta.”

  Andrioli nodded. “I guess so.” He let another few miles go by before saying, “You came to see me without a weapon.”

  “I did.”

  “Kind of risky, wasn’t it?”

  “Not any more than trying to get them through at LaGuardia.”

  “No shit,” Andrioli said, thinking of their narrow escape.

  “I sent a package to myself. Won’t come until tomorrow morning, back in Lauderdale.”

  “Great. A day late and a gun short.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well forget it. I can work it out when we get to France.”

  Jordan watched him drive the car, neither man saying anything as they covered a long stretch of highway.

  Andrioli took a long drag on his cigarette, blew out a cloud of smoke, then broke the silence. “Hey, about that thing that went down in Bahrain.”

  “What about it?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. I mean, we heard about it afterwards, but McHugh and I weren’t involved. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s not like I even knew who you were. You were just the name of some guy from Traiman’s past. Anyway, I wanted you to know I had nothing to do with it, in case you had any ideas about that.”

  “Okay,” Jordan said again, taking a moment to have another look at Andrioli. “So why are you really going to Paris? Why not just make a stand here?”

  “It’ll never be safe for me here. You just saw that. Jimmy already bought it. This is a business deal at this point. I’ve got something they want, and if I get just a little more of it, it might save my life. Strengthen my negotiating position, if you see what I mean.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Traiman believes Jimmy and I knew more than we did. The government’s not so sure. If Traiman gets to me first, I’m dead. If the government finds me, they’ll see I don’t have enough to deal with and they’ll lock me up. Either way, I’m finished.”

  “What do you really have?”

  Andrioli turned to him. “I already told you everything I know. I truly did. And it’s not enough.”

  “Okay. So, what’s in Paris?”

  Andrioli looked out at the highway and took a long drag on his Marlboro then let it out slowly. “Answers,” he said. “Answers.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  John Covington had flown back to Washington for a meeting with Deputy Director Byrnes. The DD was in his office, waiting.

  “Coffee, John?”

  “No thank you, sir.”

  The director removed his reading glasses and began gently massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “We may finally be getting someplace,” he said with a weary sigh. “It’s about time.”

  “Yes sir. Things developed quickly in Florida.”

  The DD nodded. “I received a call from the Bureau. Needless to say, they were not happy about your antics in New York.”

  Covington knew that Byrnes was sensitive to criticism about governmental agencies not sharing information in the post-Nine Eleven world. He was surprised at being awarded the blame, however, since he was following the DD’s orders. “It had to be done.”

  “Yes, of course it did. There’s too much at stake to risk their interference. In any case, there may be less of an issue than they think.”

  “Sir?”

  “This matter wasn’t going to remain within the Bureau’s jurisdiction for long,” the DD said.

  “After the debacle in Fort Lauderdale, I don’t think Andrioli will make a run back to North Africa.”

  “Where then?” The DD took a quiet sip of his steaming black coffee, effortlessly raising the cup to his lips without compromising his posture.

  “France would be a better guess.” Covington told him. “They found a plane ticket at McHugh’s house. First class to Paris. It was in my report.”

  Byrnes nodded, and Covington waited for him to say something. He did not.

  “So sir, do you think he and Andrioli were planning to go back?”

  “What do you think?” Byrnes asked.

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It might, if they thought they could make a better deal there than they could get here.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Perhaps there are others involved.”

  Covington nodded.

  “What about Sandor?” the DD asked.

  “We’ve pushed him this far. Knowing him, he won’t be able to resist.”

  Byrnes nodded without taking his eyes from Covington.

  “You don’t really believe Andrioli has enough information to interrupt Traiman’s plans, do you?” Covington asked.

  Byrnes leaned back in his chair. “Not based on the preliminary interrogation of the three men we arrested. And we’re not likely to get more from them at this point.”

  “Are they explosives experts?”

  “There was no evidence of that in their Washington apartment. The arsenal we found in their apartment was designed for sniper attacks, not the construction of bombs. They’ve been questioned separately, of course. Each denies any involvement in the destruction of the Loubar office building.”

  “I see.”

  They discussed the implications of having apprehended the team of potential assassins. Then Covington returned to the subject of his assignment.

  “Do you think we’re wasting our time on Andrioli, then?”

  “Not at all,” Byrnes said. “Whatever he has—whatever he can get—we want it. We also want to see where he goes. The path he travels may have more value than anything he can tell us.”

  “If he has so little intelligence data on these ops, why is Traiman so intent on removing him?”

  “I believe it may have more to do with Vincent than with Andrioli.” Byrnes had worked with Traiman for years. “Vincent was always a cautious man.”

  “And what if Traiman’s people reach Andrioli first?”

  “They’ll kill him. We saw that yesterday in Florida. That is, of course, unless he has something to trade.”

  “And the risk assessment?”

  “We clearly stand to gain more by pushing him than bringing him in, at least for now.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “The girl . . . yes.” The DD raised his right eyebrow slightly. “What options does she have? She may be too frightened to move on her own.”

  “Yes,” Covington agreed, “I suppose you’re right. They might leave her behind.”

  “It’s possible,” Byrnes agreed. “I assume you’ve reviewed the CTC reports on the teams Traiman sent into Western Europe.”

  “I have,” Covington said. The Counter-Terrorism Center had confirmed the movement of men believed to be involved with Traiman. They were currently running down the specific locations and identities.

  “The press is going to get hold of this,” Byrnes said. “There are leaks we can’t plug. They may even be coming from the other side, as part of their terror
campaign.”

  “You think al-Qaeda would use advance teams to advertise their plans?”

  “Possibly. This is about terror, after all. The governments involved have increased security measures for the heads of state, particularly in the U.K. and Italy. The Secret Service is obviously on high alert.”

  “They believe this is for real?”

  “We all do,” Byrnes acknowledged solemnly. “Traiman is doing an effective job of gearing up without allowing us to pinpoint the source.”

  “Or the targets.”

  “Yes. The President has his hands full with Iraq, Iran and rest of this mess. He can’t afford another domestic catastrophe on his watch. The war, the stock market, the fear. The American people have had enough. And you never know how the Arab nations will align themselves.”

  “Petropolitics.”

  The DD permitted himself a grim smile. “The Arabs love to hate one another, but they’re uniformly resistant to outside interference.” He thought that over and then asked, “So where are we on locating them?”

  Covington shifted in his seat. “They left Fort Lauderdale right after the shootings. We’re trying to pick up their trail now.”

  “What about the shooters?”

  “Two of Traiman’s men, or that’s what it looks like. We sold it to the local authorities as a drug deal gone bad. The Bureau helped with that.”

  “And Sandor?”

  “As I said, we’re canvassing the airports. Got a lead on a car switch. Trying to trace that now.”

  “Keep your eye on Paris,” Byrnes told him again.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Morning broke in a glare of hazy sunshine that seemed to mock their loss of sleep. Night had become day, but it was less a transition than a milestone on their journey.

  They stopped for breakfast at a Waffle House, just off the highway outside Macon. A short, unkempt waitress, who looked even wearier than they felt, took their order and brought them each a cup of steaming coffee.

  “I heard you.” It was the first thing Christine had said in quite a while.

  “Heard what?” Andrioli asked, taking a sip from the heavy, ceramic mug.

  “You expect me to stay behind, don’t you?”

  Neither man responded.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Christine . . .” Andrioli began, then stopped, not sure of what to say.

  “You’ve seen how dangerous these people are,” Jordan said quietly. She was sitting beside him in the small booth, and he turned toward her, placing his arm around her shoulders. “You wanted to find Tony, and we have. Why would you put yourself in any more danger?”

  “Why would you?” she asked defiantly. “I’m involved in this as much as you are.”

  Jordan knew it might be useful to have a woman with them. He also knew the risks they would be taking.

  “These people are killers,” Andrioli said as casually as if he were commenting on the coffee. “You’ve seen it firsthand. They murdered Jimmy, and they’ll keep after me wherever I go. If either of you are with me, you’ll be in the line of fire.”

  “Don’t you think I’m in the line of fire now?”

  The two men exchanged a knowing glance. She was, of course, correct. Christine and Jordan had become targets, whether they went with Andrioli or not. Traiman would regard them as contaminated by the information he might have given them. Just as Dan Peters was terminated, as a collateral risk, Christine would be in their sights, one way or another. Sandor also realized what they did not—that Traiman had ulterior reasons for eliminating them.

  “All right,” Jordan said. “But any time you want to bail, you just give us the signal.”

  “Not me,” she said. “I’m in this till the end.”

  They drove on to Atlanta, where Andrioli located a shop offering instant passport photos. Christine had her picture taken, then got back in the car. Meantime, Andrioli used his passport and false credit card to buy a cell phone.

  “I’ve got some arts and crafts to do,” Andrioli told Jordan. “You drive.” He climbed in the back seat, opened his attaché case and began working on a passport for Christine. Jordan got behind the wheel.

  “You carry blanks?” Christine asked as she watched him applying her photo to the first page of a forged US passport.

  “Comes in handy, as you can see. Not much trouble using one of them when you leave the country. Hassle getting back in with it, though.” He looked up at her as they shared the obvious thought—that they might never get that far.

  As Jordan drove, Andrioli went back to expertly affixing the photograph to the page before applying a stamp. He handed it to Christine and had her sign it.

  “At least they won’t be able to track us by our real names,” he said, taking the passport back to finish his work. “The first thing they’ll do is run flight rosters through the IATA computers. We’ll travel separately. You two as a couple. I’ll book as a single.” Andrioli then used his new cell phone to make the reservations—two phone calls, different credit cards. Jordan had his Scott Kerr passport, and an American Express card issued in the same name.

  They made another stop, at a luggage store, where they bought a matching set of suitcases. Jordan and Andrioli agreed it would be less suspicious if they checked in for an international flight with baggage. They purchased a few items in a clothing shop then left the city, resting for a few hours until dusk in a park overlooking a small lake.

  They arrived at the airport, left the car in the short-term lot and went through the contents of Jordan’s black leather bag and Andrioli’s attaché case. They knew they had to leave the two automatics behind. As they walked to the parking lot exit they placed the guns in a nearby trash can, making certain no one was watching as they covered them with newspapers, then moved on.

  “I feel naked,” Andrioli said.

  Jordan smiled. “Second time for me in two days. I’ve been throwing away some very nice hardware.” He slapped Andrioli on the shoulder. “Look on the bright side. At least we don’t have to worry about a weapons charge.”

  His encouraging demeanor belied the tension he felt rising up the back of his neck as they approached the terminal. If anyone had followed them, or if someone were waiting at the airport, they would be captured. Or worse.

  “I think we should call Covington,” Andrioli said.

  Jordan stopped. “Covington?”

  “I told you, he was the point man when Jimmy and I tried to come in.”

  “But you told me he wouldn’t deal. He turned you down.”

  “It’s worth a try, if I can talk our way out of this.”

  “It won’t work,” Sandor told him.

  “I still think we should try.”

  “And as soon as we call, he’ll trace us. They’ll pick us up. You’ll be done.”

  “They’ll never trace this cell phone. Not it if we’re quick.”

  Jordan knew that whatever phone number Andrioli had for Covington would be hooked into the satellite links at the Global Response Center that could pinpoint their location within ninety seconds. He decided not to divulge his own knowledge of Covington’s secure line. “All right,” Jordan agreed, “but it’s a waste of time.”

  “Why?” Christine asked.

  Jordan was not prepared to give that answer, not yet. He understood that Covington wanted them in the hunt, that he would reject any deal Andrioli tried to make at this point. “Just a feeling,” he said. “Let me do the talking. And time me. Give me seventy-five seconds.”

  Andrioli’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he handed Jordan the phone. They were at the edge of the parking lot, across the access road from the international terminal. Andrioli opened his case and pulled out a number. Jordan recognized it as one of the sterile lines the Agency kept for outside contacts. As he had guessed, it was also a line easily tapped for tracing through GPS locators.

  Jordan dialed the number and listened to it ring.

  “Covington,” the familiar voice
answered.

  “Jordan Sandor.”

  “You and who else?” he demanded brusquely.

  “I’m standing here with Tony Andrioli and Christine Frank. Christine and I are paying Tony a visit here in Fort Lauderdale.”

  “I heard about the shootings.”

  “Good. Then you know Andrioli is telling the truth when he says he’s got something to deal.”

  “Where are you?”

  Jordan didn’t answer. Instead he turned to Andrioli. “Covington sends his regards.”

  “I realize you can’t talk. Just tell me if you’re leaving the country,” Covington said.

  “First, we need to know where the Agency stands on helping us. We were almost killed last night,” Jordan replied into the telephone.

  “So you’re on the move.”

  “Naturally,” Jordan said. “You don’t want us sitting out in the open for target practice, do you?”

  “Are you going to Paris?”

  “Look, Andrioli has information. He’s willing to trade it for protection.”

  “We don’t bargain with traitors, and we’re not convinced he has all that much to sell.”

  Jordan looked to Andrioli again. “Covington says you can turn yourself in and they’ll put in a good word for you at sentencing.”

  Andrioli responded with a grim smile.

  “He says you can shove it,” Sandor replied to Covington. “If the best you can offer is the deluxe cell at Leavenworth, he’ll take his chances on the outside.”

  Covington said, “Tell him he’s got to give me something with real substance I can take to the director. Meantime, Sandor, I need to know where you’re going.”

  Jordan only repeated the first part of Covington’s remark, to which Andrioli just shook his head.

  “Tell him to pound sand,” Andrioli said. “That’s what he told me.”

  “He says you should pound sand,” Jordan said into the phone.

  Christine pointed to her watch. She mouthed the words, “Thirty seconds left.”

  “This guy is setting you and the girl up for trade bait.” Covington tried a different tack.