The Hit wr-2

by David Baldacci

  Robie left the hotel. Within fifteen minutes he was outside the area where the G8 conference was being held. The security perimeter was dense and multilayered. He had no chance of getting inside it without the proper credentials.

  As he was standing there, two men came out of one building inside the security perimeter. They had on suits, but also were wearing traditional Muslim headwear. They did not get into a car or cab. They simply walked. Robie assumed they were part of the non-G8 delegation.

  He looked at them as they passed by and decided to follow them. It might pan out or it might lead to nothing. But nothing was what he had right now.

  He slipped in behind them. They eventually entered a hotel and went straight to the bar. They were forbidden by their religion to drink, but for some Muslims that edict disappeared while they were in Western lands. And there were few places on earth better suited to satisfy one’s thirst for alcohol than Dublin.

  They took their drinks and sat at a table by the window. Robie bought his pint and took up a chair at a table next to them. He put his earbuds in and set his smartphone on the table but did not turn on any music. He sipped his beer and eavesdropped on their conversation, all the while swaying his head as he pretended to listen to a tune.

  The men talked in low tones in Arabic. They had no reason to think that a westerner would understand a word they were saying. They would be right in almost every instance except this one.

  They were attendees of the conference, but they weren’t talking about the G8. There was another conference commencing shortly. It was to take place in Canada at a small town well outside of Montreal. Robie had seen a brief news report about it a while back. It seemed a strange place for an Arab summit, but the Canadians had offered and there indeed was some logic to it. By meeting in a neutral place far removed from the violence and conflict that seemed to permeate the Middle East, it was hoped that meaningful progress could be made. At least that was the official story. And the Canadians were picking up the tab for the whole thing. It also showed goodwill from the West to try to work with the Arab countries. And while the United States, for political reasons, was not involved, the Canadians were such close allies to America that everyone knew the nexus—and implicit support—was clearly there.

  At the conference would be the leaders of the major Arab nations, all clustered together in one place to discuss ways to move forward peacefully instead of violently, as much of the recent Arab Spring had done. These men were not attending, but knew many who were. They didn’t seem to think that any major breakthroughs would happen during this conference. One man laughed and said that Muslims, like westerners, couldn’t really agree on much when it came to sharing power. They talked about certain leaders who would be there. Some they liked, others they wished dead.

  The men finished their drinks, got up, and left. Robie could have followed them, but saw no real need to. It was far better for him to sit here and try to think this through. He sipped his drink and stared at the wall opposite.

  The attack described in Roy West’s apocalypse paper had the G8 leadership as its target. Robie and Reel had assumed that people working inside the United States had assisted enemies of the G8 with planning an attack at this conference, wiping out the G8 leadership and causing a global panic. That made sense. But what the Muslim men had been talking about made him rethink this.

  A conference in Canada of leaders from numerous Muslim countries.

  Then his thoughts turned to the hit that Jessica Reel had never made.

  Ahmadi. In Syria. Blue Man had said they wanted to derail Ahmadi’s coming to power and they had a more palatable choice in the wings, waiting to take over.

  Robie put his beer down. As the liquid cleared his throat and settled into his stomach, his thoughts crystallized.

  That’s where he and Reel had gotten it wrong. They had assumed that whoever was behind this was following West’s doomsday scenario to the letter. But that was just speculation, not fact. There was going to be an attack, only not on the G8; the security nut was too hard to crack.

  But all those leaders clustered together in a small town outside of Montreal? They were fish in a barrel. Eliminating them in a single stroke would result in complete pandemonium in one of the already most chaotic regions on earth. Regime after regime falling. Power vacuums. Elements fighting to take control. But maybe there were folks waiting to take power. And maybe they’d have help. And maybe whoever was behind this thought a better future would look a whole lot like the past.

  And perhaps Roy West’s apocalypse paper would be played out in force, only not in the way its author, with all his paranoia, ever imagined.

  Robie rose and walked back to his hotel.

  The answer was not in Dublin. It was three thousand miles away.

  Chapter 73

  In two hours, Robie and Reel were packed, gone from the hotel, and at the airport outside Dublin.

  “Are you sure about this, Robie?” Reel asked for the fifth time.

  “If you want a guarantee I can’t give it. But otherwise I’m pretty damn sure.”

  Reel looked out the window of the terminal. “If you’re wrong? If we leave here and something happens?”

  “Then it happens,” he said flatly. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

  “I’m not worried about who takes responsibility.”

  “Neither am I. I’m just looking to stop it.”

  She said, “So instead of killing the G8 leadership they’re planning to knock out the Middle Eastern heads of state? That’s quite a leap.”

  “I didn’t plan it, so I can’t really account for the logic.”

  “It’s still a terrible risk.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Even if everything goes according to plan we’re still talking about a catastrophic scenario.”

  “The West used to pick their puppet and put him in power. The puppet kept everyone in line and the area was peaceful. Look at the shah of Iran. And Saddam was our friend until he stopped being our friend. I’m sure the people they want in power have been carefully selected. Remember Ahmadi? That was one guy and one country. Just hitting singles. They’re going for homers now by inserting puppets all at one time.”

  “But there’ll be security in Canada too.”

  “Not like in Dublin. And it’ll be a different sort of security.”

  “But it still comes down to how do just the two of us stop it?”

  “We have a plane ride to come up with a plan,” said Robie.

  “You really think we can map this out in seven hours?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?” persisted Reel.

  “We have eight. I checked the flight time. There’s a stiff headwind.”

  “Robie, cut the crap!”

  “An extra hour is an extra hour. But all I know is we have to try. Because if we don’t try it will happen.”

  They boarded their flight. Thirty minutes later the private wings took off heading due west.

  From the Internet Robie had assembled all the information he could on the event to which they were heading. After reviewing it, Reel finally sat back and said, “We don’t have enough intel to pull this off, Robie.”

  “Well, Janet DiCarlo said something that could help us. Missing personnel. Missions that never should have been. So we might see some old friends on this one.”

  “We might,” Reel said doubtfully.

  He stretched out his tight shoulders. “We won’t have much time when we hit the ground. It starts tomorrow in the morning.”

  “If they hit today, while people are still just arriving, we won’t even get a shot.”

  “They won’t. They have to make it look like the real thing. Otherwise people will get suspicious. Terrorists always go for the symbolic blow. The summit will have to be up and running before they hit it.”

  “So the opening ceremony?”

  He nodded. “That’s what I think.”

  He rose and poured two cups of coffee
from the small bar set up against a bulkhead. He set one down for her and retook his seat.

  “I have a question for you,” said Robie. “And it has nothing to do with what’s coming up.”

  Reel sat back and stared at him. “What?”

  “You saved my butt at DiCarlo’s, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. It was a big risk, in fact.”

  “Everything we do has big risks.”

  “That’s not an answer, Jessica.”

  She took a sip of coffee. “I figured I got you into this mess, it was my responsibility to look after you.”

  “Like you did on the Eastern Shore?”

  “Nothing is absolute, Will. That was early on. I just wanted to survive to finish this. Later, my thinking changed.”

  “Changed about me?”

  “It would have given me no pleasure to see you die.” She looked away for a few moments. Robie saw her hand tremble.

  When she turned back her features were calm. “Are we done with that? Good to go now?”

  “Good to go,” said Robie.

  For the rest of the flight they did nothing but troubleshoot what they had to do, looking for any weakness, any advantage. As they neared landing in Canada, Reel sat back, rubbed her eyes, and looked at Robie.

  “So let’s assume we actually survive this,” she said. “What’s next for you?”

  He shrugged. “Have you been thinking about your future?”

  “I’m just tired, Robie.”

  He nodded. “I can see that.”

  Reel studied him. “Do you miss her? The woman who hurt you?”

  “No,” he said, but his tone was unconvincing.

  Reel sat back. “Okay.”

  “I blame myself.”

  “What, for being human?”

  “For not doing my job.”

  She settled her gaze on him. “Which requires you to not be human.”

  “A job is a job.”

  “And a life is a life. You only have one of those.”

  He shook his head. “So call it quits?”

  “How many out there have lasted as long as we have?”

  “Not that many, I guess.”

  “You must have thought about life after.”

  “I have. But I guess I never thought about it seriously.”

  “I would respectfully suggest that you do. Because we might get really lucky and actually survive this.”

  Chapter 74

  The private wings landed in Montreal. That was where all the planes had come through on the way to the event.

  After that Reel and Robie drove.

  For a long way.

  “Why here?” asked Reel. “Why have a summit for the Middle East all the way out here?”

  “Where should they have held it? In the middle of Manhattan? On the National Mall in D.C.?”

  “It’s not easy to get to.”

  Robie said, “That’s one reason they chose it. Restricted access. They can more easily check people coming and going.”

  “Who’s moderating the event? The UN?”

  “The Canadians. The PM left the Dublin summit early to deliver the keynote at the opening ceremony.”

  “Odd choice.”

  “Odd everything,” agreed Robie.

  The town’s main street wasn’t large, but it was well stocked with shops. To Robie, it looked like a place you might find inside a snow globe.

  Trapped inside a snow globe, actually. Foot traffic was far higher than normal, as was the number of cars. But heavily armed checkpoints had been set up at all entry points. Cars were searched, the IDs of each vehicle’s occupants checked.

  Because of this, Robie and Reel didn’t drive through any checkpoints. They were staying at a hotel outside of town. They had to leave their weapons behind when they separately entered the town on foot.

  Robie walked the streets front to back, committing to memory all landmarks, the location of the major event—the town’s old city hall—and the security personnel who roamed the area. He knew that Reel was making the same sort of canvas of the area.

  He had concluded that the multihit Godfather scenario was less plausible. It would require pinpoint timing and a lot of luck. And most professionals knew that neither one was, realistically, in ample supply during these sorts of missions.

  It would be one hit, an all-out assault with concentrated fire or explosives on a central target. This included several leaders who headed up what amounted to terrorist organizations masquerading as governments. But then again, crazies had been allowed to address the UN in New York, so he supposed this wasn’t such a stretch. And some of them had been elected by a majority of voters exercising their democratic right to install whomever they chose to lead them.

  Even if it was to oblivion.

  He bought a cup of coffee and watched a group of turbaned and bearded men cross the street and enter another shop. There were many such groups here. All men. No women, at least that he could see. That was just how things were. And that was a big part of the problem, he felt.

  Despite the chill he sat at an outdoor table and drank his coffee. His gaze kept wandering and he finally keyed on a group of men walking down the far side of the street.

  He spoke into his mic. “Group of five guys on the east side of the street heading toward the hotel at the end of the street. Do a pass and tell me what you see.”

  A few seconds later Reel emerged from an alley. She wore a hooded coat and sunglasses. She passed the group. Robie was the only one who noticed that she slowed down just a tad as she passed them. Her gaze seemed to be fixed straight ahead. But it wasn’t. It roamed over the men, taking in all relevant details.

  That was what years of training got you, an almost supernatural talent for observation.

  Over his earwig Robie heard, “Nothing.”

  She kept walking and he heard her say, “Hold on a sec. Let me check something.”

  She kept walking down the street. Robie watched as she passed a guy wearing a black warm-up suit, with a ski cap pulled low. He was looking down at the pavement but Robie could tell his gaze was also roaming.

  Reel passed him. A few seconds later over his earwig Robie heard her say, “Bingo. Tag, you’re it.”

  Robie immediately rose and took up the tail on the guy. As he walked he mumbled into his mic, “Talk to me.”

  “That was Dick Johnson. Remember him?”

  “Dropped out of the clandestine service about two years ago, or so I heard.”

  “Disappeared was more like it.”

  “You sure it’s him? I didn’t know him that well.”

  “He’s changed. But what he didn’t change was a tat on his shooting hand.”

  “What of?”

  “Oh, pretty routine. A scorpion holding a gun with its stinger and the word ‘Mom’ inked on the scorp’s back.”

  “Okay, that sounds about as good as a fingerprint for ID.”

  “See where he goes.”

  “You think he’s part of the missing personnel DiCarlo was talking about?”

  “I doubt this village is a hot destination, particularly in winter. No place to ski.”

  Johnson turned down one corner and a few seconds later so did Robie. He said into his mic, “Parallel us on the next street over. Then take up the tail after the next intersection. I’ll drop off and dogleg it over to the next street. We’ll keep up that rotation all the way to where he’s staying so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

  “Copy that.”

  They exchanged the role of trailing Johnson three times. The streets were crowded, which helped. Robie was behind him when Johnson went into what looked like a hostel. Robie went to a café across the street. He sat down at a table and waited.

  A few minutes later Reel’s voice came over the mic. “Room 21, second floor. I saw three other guys in there I could swear were just like us.”

  “I wonder how many they have.”

  “More than four, that�
��s for sure.”

  “Anybody pay you any attention?”

  “One guy looked at me a little too long, so I turned around and started speaking German to the guy behind the desk in the lobby. He didn’t understand me, but the guy lost interest and walked off. Good thing I had a little plastic surgery done. But you didn’t, so keep low and your hat down and don’t talk much unless it’s in a foreign language.”

  “Right,” said Robie.

  “So what now?”

  “We sit on Johnson and his team. Let them lead us where they’ll lead us. You know what they’re going to do?”

  Reel said, “They’ll have to recon the site and do a walk-through.”

  “That’s probable.”

  “Do we hit them then?”

  “Love to, but we have one problem.”

  “Our weapons are outside the checkpoints,” she noted.

  “Right. Now, Johnson wasn’t wearing any security badges like the other grunts we’ve seen, so I’m wondering how they’re getting their firepower. Because it has to be here somewhere. They’re not going to beat these guys to death with sticks.”

  “Maybe it’s waiting for them inside the security checkpoint,” said Reel.

  “Along with whatever else they’re going to need to do this.”

  “Which might just solve our dilemma.”

  “And kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Would be nice,” she commented.

  “Yes, it would.”

  Chapter 75

  Dick Johnson went on the move late that night. And Robie and Reel, who had changed clothes and looked as different as possible from earlier, were right there with him.

  The town was actually larger than it looked, and there were many streets and back alleys off the main roads. Johnson took one of these and kept going for about fifteen blocks until the snow globe town turned into something a little less picturesque.

  As before, Reel and Robie took turns trailing Johnson. They were wearing layers, and when one broke off from the tail they would shed a layer and stuff it in the knapsack each of them carried. With different clothes and staggering their surveillance, even someone as trained Johnson would have been hard pressed to spot them.