Lodner smacked his fist on the conference table. “How the devil did anyone know the names of the agents involved in the exfiltration?”
Mr. Grace said simply, “They bought the names from someone who knew.”
“I refuse to believe that, Carlton. No more about this; it is highly classified and absolutely none of the FBI’s business.”
Savich thought he could work with Carlton Grace, but Fulton Lodner wouldn’t give him the time of day, unless by a direct order. He was too angry at being forced to hand over the reins to the FBI, resentful at even having to waste his time here at the Hoover Building, the FBI bastion. Savich was considering how to ask Lodner about the obvious conclusion that there was a mole in the CIA, when Olivia said clearly, “Mr. Lodner, what about Mike Kingman? He’s the team member, Agent Savich, who retrieved the flash drive and saved my life. He and the flash drive are both missing. Have you learned anything about Mike, Mr. Lodner?”
Lodner drew a deep breath, sent her a death stare. “The whereabouts of a CIA operative is hardly a conversation to be held here, Agent Hildebrandt.”
Olivia was past caring about her future with the CIA. She looked at Mr. Grace, then at Mr. Lodner. “Maybe the FBI can help find Mike, sir. And the flash drive.”
Lodner looked ready to burst into flame.
Grace jumped into the breach. “Olivia, you look tired, you need to rest. We should continue this later. We’ll take you back to the safe house.”
Lodner nodded. “Yes, Agent Hildebrandt, we’ll protect you. Agent Savich, you may call me if you have further questions. I will give you what information I am allowed to share.”
Before she could say anything, Grace stood, looked down at her. “Are you ready, Olivia?”
Olivia was used to doing whatever he said, to carrying out whatever order her chief gave her. She’d trusted Carlton Grace forever, he’d always had her back, her team’s back, always had their best interests at heart. He put his agents above the mission. He’d even protected her from Lodner and the higher-ups for ignoring the “abort” order trying to save Hashem, though they all knew she’d put everyone at risk and could have caused an international incident.
But there was Mike; she knew something very bad had happened to him. She looked at Savich. “Can you find out who that man was I had to kill?”
“Yes,” he said, “I believe I can.”
“Can you find Mike?”
“Yes, I can.”
Lodner snorted. “That’s absurd, you’re grandstanding. The men who attacked Olivia won’t be found in your databases. And if we can’t find our agent, you won’t, either, especially if he doesn’t want to be found. Good day to you, Agent Savich.”
After this stiff, emotionless speech, there was a moment of stark silence. Olivia looked again at Savich. He winked at her. It was so unexpected from this tough-faced man who looked like he could derail a train, she nearly spurted out a laugh. Savich said calmly, “Mr. Lodner, Mr. Grace, thank you for your assistance. Olivia will call you, Mr. Grace, so you can tell her where the safe house is. For now, though, I need to speak to her further. Good day, gentlemen.”
It was easy to see neither Lodner nor Grace wanted to leave Olivia with him, but Savich merely looked at them and said nothing until both Grace and Lodner left the interview room, each with one last look at Olivia.
Olivia said, “I am so screwed.”
10
Olivia
Savich laughed. “Chin up, Agent Hildebrandt, it’ll all work out, you’ll see.” He took her hand. “You’ve been through a lot and you don’t know me. I know you’re tired, running on reserves, and you’re scared for your teammate, Mike Kingman. But we need to talk. We’ll stop whenever you say, all right?”
Olivia nodded. She’d felt like a Ping-Pong ball bounced between Lodner and Agent Savich. But now, since she was with Savich, she’d say he’d won. At least there were no bodies on the floor. He was a handsome man, tough as nails, as she’d observed, but what impressed her the most was how he’d so smoothly taken down Lodner, and that was enough for now. “I could tell Lodner is starting to believe Mike never intended to bring in the flash drive, that he stole it and will sell it. That’s just plain crazy. Mike is sometimes a pain in the butt, a stubborn macho idiot, but he’s a man you’d trust with your life, a man to admire, loyal to his bones. Do you really believe you can find Mike? Find out why he went under with the flash drive?”
So this Agent Mike Kingman was important to Olivia, no, he was much more to her. Savich saw the desperate hope in her eyes and said without hesitation, “Yes.” It rather shocked him. Was he the macho idiot now? Did he think he was invincible, think he was so bloody smart he could resolve this mess?
Olivia searched his face. A small smile appeared. “All right then.”
So be it. Now he had to deliver. Savich rose, offered her his hand. “I think you’d be more comfortable, though, in my own conference room in the Criminal Apprehension Unit. It’s nearby. But first I’ll make sure we won’t have to talk things over with your CIA superiors again.”
He pressed a couple of buttons on his cell phone. “Ruth? Please go to the door and make sure our two CIA guests are well gone.”
A moment later, Ruth came back on. “They’re standing in front of the elevators; the taller man seems angry, seems like he’s berating the other one. The doors are opening, and they’re on. Doors close, now they’re gone.”
“Thank you, Ruth. CIA Agent Olivia Hildebrandt and I will be right with you.” He rose, stepped back, and motioned Olivia to join him. They walked into a large room full of workstations separated by short partitions and shelves. She heard voices, the sound of typing, saw an older woman with violent red hair give her a little wave. Shirley Needleham, the unit secretary and the keeper of the orange juice? She smiled, waved back. At the back of the room, a large glass window showed another office, this one with a view of the park outside, probably Savich’s. A man stood up, smiled at her.
Savich said, “Olivia, this is Agent Davis Sullivan. Davis, Olivia Hildebrandt, CIA.” He was a good-looking man, obviously surprised she was CIA. He smiled. “Don’t worry, you’re safe in here from the FBI gestapo.”
Olivia laughed. “And I have your big boss to protect me.”
Davis said, “None better.”
Savich introduced her to three other agents in the area before he led her into the glass-windowed conference room. Savich paused a moment when Shirley came into the conference room after them with tea and a plate of cookies. He thanked her, said to Olivia, “Shirley is famous for her sugar cookies, they’re made with Splenda, actually.” He poured Olivia a cup of tea, offered her a cookie.
So this big man bothered about cookies. Olivia felt more of her uncertainty fade away. She drank the tea, nibbled on the cookie, swallowed, took a deep breath. The blanket of fatigue lifted a bit.
“As I said, Olivia, we don’t know each other yet, but we have two common goals—finding Mike Kingman and the flash drive, and bringing down whoever is behind this. Well, that’s three actually, but I imagine we’ll find out soon enough they’re each a part of the whole. By the way, you can call me Dillon.”
“The most important to me is finding Mike. Alive.” She hated it but felt tears burn her eyes. “Your agents, they all seem nice.”
Good, she was trying to keep herself together. Savich said, “They’re the best. Now, before we break off today, you’ll give me all of Mike’s usual haunts, even those you’ve already checked yourself. Names of relatives who live in the area, their haunts, you know the drill. I gather you know Mike well?”
“Yes,” she said, then added, “Okay, truth is, I know him more than just well. We’ve worked together at times for the past several years, in most of the hot spots on the globe, primarily the Middle East and Northern Africa, since both of us speak Farsi and Arabic. He’s smart, Dillon, and besides being a macho idiot, he has great intuition. I’ve often been afraid for him, because when there’s obvious danger, he ru
ns toward it, not away, and he never second-guesses himself. He risked his life to save me in Iran, to try to save Hashem, the operative we were sent to bring out.”
Savich saw the tears on her cheek. “You’re more than teammates.”
She blinked at that, started to shake her head, realized it was true. “Yes, I suppose we are. Our assignments have separated us for periods of time, so we’ve been on and off, I guess you’d say. But I’ve trusted him with my life many times.” She paused and another tear trailed down her cheek. She brushed it away angrily. “I’m sorry to be so weak, but Mike is very important to me.”
“Have you seen him at all since your injury?”
“Yes, he came to see me, in Balad, but I was too confused to speak to him. It’s possible he wanted to warn me, tell me he’d discovered something was off, but he couldn’t. I was dead to the world.”
“Why do you think he disappeared?”
“I have no doubt something bad happened or he would be here, ready and eager to fight. I think he went under to protect himself, protect the flash drive, maybe even me and the rest of the team.” She stared at him, swallowed again. “I won’t accept that they’ve found him, killed him to get the flash drive even though the logical part of me, the experienced part, keeps trying to convince me he has to be dead. The people who want that flash drive will stop at nothing.”
“Which means what’s on it provides evidence of malfeasance.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you anything classified, but—” She shrugged. “Hashem was embedded in the Iranian military. I’m guessing he found out who was selling missiles and guidance systems to Iran. And whoever it is will stop at nothing to get it back.” Olivia looked down at her clasped hands that were close to shaking. Firm up, Hildebrandt. “If he’s alive, no, no, he is alive, but why hasn’t he called me? I’m well enough to kill a man, I’m certainly well enough to help him. So I’ll give you a list of where I’ve looked, who I’ve asked. How can you possibly find him when I can’t?”
Savich said, “Like your Mr. Lodner, I have resources, Olivia, resources he doesn’t have. Trust me. Maybe after Mike visited you in the hospital, he decided he needed to figure some things out on his own, and he believed staying out of sight would keep you safe. You say he’s smart, he’s experienced. Your mission was compromised, and you all were almost killed. It’s possible your satellite communications were intercepted or that there’s an internal data breach at the CIA, or even a mole.”
She was nodding. “Yes, everyone at the CIA, including the director, is aware of those possibilities, and taking steps. I’m just afraid they’ll look no further than Mike.”
Savich sat back, smiled at her, and said, “He sounds too tough to let anyone get him.”
He saw color bloom on her face, and there, again, that desperate hope in her eyes. “Yes, you’re right about that. He’s one of five sons, and both of his parents are Marines. He told me surviving his brothers is how he learned his survival skills, that, and the street fighting in all the countries he’s lived in. He speaks street Farsi, Arabic, and some Italian from a Neapolitan grandmother.”
Savich nodded. He’d find out everything about Mike Kingman, including his high school prom date. “Olivia, I think Mike will contact you now, if he can, because whoever is behind this tried to either take you or kill you. He won’t want to leave you in the dark any longer, it’s too dangerous.”
“But I don’t know anything!—not even where he is.”
He took her hands, strong hands, calloused, short buffed nails. “It’s obvious someone believes you do. And that’s why the two men came to your house last night, to take you because they believe you know where Mike is.”
She sighed. “I’ve told you what I think is on the flash drive, but of course I shouldn’t have. Don’t rat me out. Everything at the CIA is held close to the vest, need to know only, which is important for national security.”
“What about your two other team members, Olivia? Are they being protected now?”
“As far as I know, they aren’t, not yet. I had dinner last night with Andrea—Andi—Creamer. Both she and Tim Higgs were debriefed, then put on R&R. Tim was wounded in Iran, but now he’s in Maine visiting his family, so he’s safe.”
“When you were debriefed, what did you tell them about the wounded operative, Hashem, and Mike before the RPG hit?”
“I told them the truth. I still have gaps in my memory. All I can remember is Hashem gave Mike the flash drive, and maybe they spoke because I remember Mike leaning close to him, and yes, I was close by trying to help stanch the chest wound, but if I knew what was said I can’t remember.”
There was so much more to talk about, but Savich could see Olivia was flagging. “I think it’s time for you to call Mr. Grace for the safe house address. It’ll be your home until this is over. After you’ve rested, text me the list of places you’ve looked for Mike. Here’s my private number. Make it one of your emergency numbers.” Savich rose. He watched her take a final bite of cookie, slowly rise. She didn’t move for a moment until she’d steadied. She turned to him and managed to smile. “This is what they call a real SNAFU in the army, right?”
“Looks that way now, but you know what? In the end, in my experience, I bet it will turn out to be straightforward.” He escorted her to the elevator, waited with her. When she got on, he smiled, said, “Olivia, when this is all over, you’ll come to my house for pizza, meet my wife and son, Sean.”
11
Armament Météore Headquarters
Lyon, France
Tuesday
Henri Delos gently replaced the elegant receiver into its art deco cradle. He preferred it to his soulless cell phone that wanted to be everything, telling him when to exercise, when to brush his teeth. The antique phone had been his grandfather’s, a savvy old pirate who’d founded the Armament Météore at the start of the First World War. He’d sold weaponry and armaments to any country willing to pay his price, except to Germany, of course, because he was, after all, a French patriot. Henri’s father hadn’t appreciated either the phone or his own father and was fast running the company into the ground when he’d keeled over dead from a heart attack. Finally, Henri took over. Henri had expanded into aeronautics and aerospace and, like his grandfather, sold to anyone he could, except the Chinese, who stole the technology from other countries and had the brains and hands to build as many weapons as they wished. His major clients of late were in the Middle East, on all sides, an endlessly profitable place with its bone-deep hatreds and tankers of oil to finance never-ending attacks. Of course, many of his sales were off the books, the profits funneled back into his own pockets. He thought of the lovely little cliffside getaway near Portofino both his wife and his mistress enjoyed. Better in Italy, and not France, no reason to take chances. He’d learned early that dealing with the bureaucrats in the Direction Générale des Finances Publiques required a bit of stealth and subterfuge. As for the Sûreté Nationale, he knew the players, knew whose pockets required a few euros to look the other way, how to skate smoothly through their loopholes. All in all, everything had been working very well in his world. Until now.
He looked over at a painting of his father, done only six months before his death. Tufts of white hair stood up from his bone-white skull and Henri saw a familiar hint of a snarl in his compressed lips. His father had been a vicious drunk, a bad combination for a wife and son but now he was gone, forever. Henri thought of his mother living in luxury with her handmaiden divorced daughter, his older sister, to see to her every whim. When his mother spoke of her husband, it was with near reverence. He’d prefer to believe her myriad medications had altered her memory.
Henri did have to admit the old man had done one thing right. He’d been active in establishing the Organisation for Joint Armament Co-operation, or OCCAR, which had positioned his company, Armament Météore, as one of the actual authors of its export restrictions and their loopholes. Henri himself was a very vocal presence in the Europe
an Defence Agency, the EDA, which gave his company a position with far-reaching influence and respect.
Except with the cursed Americans, who bulled their way around Europe, threatening companies with their sanctions, telling them who they could and couldn’t do business with, interfering with their sovereign rights as French citizens to follow their own laws, see to their own interests. Americans sought the role of the world’s peacekeeper, depending on who was in power any given year, but Henri thought them imperialists, like their cousins the now toothless English had been throughout history. What choice did they leave him but to find ways around them? Off the books, of course—disguised shipments through third countries, payments in cash through small regional banks, even using the ancient Persian system of havaleh and its regional brokers to make sure his payments moved across borders secure and out of sight, as they had since the eighth century. No traces of anything to piss the Americans off, all under their radar.
He sighed. All was going so well, until the unexpected cock-up by the Iranian military, and loss of the flash drive that could end with the American CIA tracing it all back to him. It would mean prison and the destruction of his company, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. He’d railed at the Iranian general who’d sent the soldiers after the CIA agent, and he, naturally, had blamed the captain for disobeying orders. And now the flash drive had disappeared as well as one of the CIA agents. Henri had sent his own man to the US to take care of the matter, and he’d failed. Claude Dumont, the idiot, had left a dead man behind, and not just any dead man. Razhan Hasid was an Iranian security agent they’d insisted be involved. Well, that hadn’t worked out as they’d hoped, had it? Henri had no doubt the American CIA would identify Hasid soon, what with all the new computer technology the Americans had. He rubbed his fist into his palm. Dumont’s incompetence was unacceptable, and anyone who worked for him knew it. He hated failure.
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