The Geneva Strategy

by Robert Ludlum

  “Not on your life. You want me to add murder to the current list of illegal acts that I’ve supposedly been a party to this evening? Well, you can forget it. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  “You seemed willing enough earlier tonight when you thought they’d be after you.”

  “There’s a difference between the threat of violence to back someone off and actual violence,” Arden said.

  “Trust me, the actual violence is coming,” Smith said.

  “I’ll do it,” Taylor said. “After everything they’ve put me through these past few months I’ll be happy to blow them away.” Her voice was grim. She reached over the seat for the gun. As she did, Smith got a look at her gaunt face and the deep blue circles around her eyes. Those, and the obvious emotion that she was feeling, made her a bad choice. She was unpredictable and bound to overreact.

  “Can you shoot?” he asked.

  “If you tell me what to do I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out.”

  Smith shook his head. “Not good enough. If we had time I would stop this car and let one of you drive while I shoot.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “But it’s clear that we don’t have that option.”

  The black car was gaining ground, but so was Beckmann in the silver Corsa. Now all three of them were only a few lengths apart from each other and Smith pushed the town car even faster. He was doing ninety, then ninety-five miles an hour and still dodging through the traffic. Lines drawn across the highway glowed white in his headlights and after he drove over them he saw the flash of a camera.

  “What was that?” Arden asked.

  “Speed camera,” Smith said. The camera flashed again when his pursuers passed it and a third time when Beckmann’s Corsa sped by.

  If he had to go faster Smith would have to put all his concentration into driving. The fact that he was driving in England and oriented on what was for him the wrong side of the road only added to his need to focus. The two lanes in front of him were filled by a truck and a minivan, leaving no room for him to pass. The black car pulled parallel on Arden’s side and the driver lowered his window and stuck a gun out.

  “They’ve got a gun!” Arden yelled and bent at the waist and curled lower in her seat. Smith hit the brakes and the attacker’s car zipped ahead. Smith’s quick deceleration must have caught Beckmann by surprise, because Smith saw the Corsa begin fishtailing as Beckmann slammed on his brakes to avoid rear-ending them.

  “And watch the brakes on this tin can,” Smith heard Beckmann say. “Good idea, though. Slow it way down and let us get in front.” Smith complied by slowing even more and the Corsa shot past him. The black car’s taillights glowed red as it too cut speed.

  “They’re trying to match us,” Arden said.

  “While you’re having an attack of conscience about shooting them, they’re going to kill us,” Smith said.

  “I can see that. The bastards. Give me the gun,” Arden replied.

  39

  Smith handed Arden the gun and slowed even more. He passed another camera, but this time it didn’t flash. He held the car at a speed that would keep it behind the Corsa and watched as the black car slowed until it was nearly parallel and to the left of Beckmann. Smith saw the Corsa’s window lower and the muzzle of a gun and the slender arm of a woman holding it.

  “Looks like your CIA officer is going to handle our problem for us,” Arden said.

  Smith watched as Russell pulled the trigger. He saw the flash of cartridges ejecting from the weapon and heard the sound of shots. The black car jerked and swerved violently before accelerating ahead. As it did it maneuvered into the far-right lane, the passenger window lowered, and a man leaned out, pointing his own gun.

  “Driver doesn’t want to be first in the line of fire,” Smith said. He, though, stayed in the left lane.

  “You’ll have to move over as well if you want me to have a clear shot at them,” Arden said. “In this lane I’d have to push you aside to shoot out your window.”

  Smith watched as the Corsa and the black car dodged and weaved across the lanes of traffic and settled into the far right. Beckmann and Russell pulled alongside and the two cars surged and slowed as each attempted to avoid being in the line of fire. Smith stayed steady but moved into the center lane to avoid a passing truck. The black car slowed again, forcing Beckmann, who was directly behind him, to slow with it. Smith passed the Corsa once again and the black car slowed to match him.

  Smith didn’t see the new danger until it was too late. A red car lined up on his left timed to when the black car had slowed. Now Smith was sandwiched in between the cars, and a man, his face obscured with a scarf that wrapped around his head and neck, leaned out of the black car’s passenger side, his arm extended while he took aim with a gun. Smith couldn’t slow, because a civilian’s car was behind him, and so he increased his speed, but the two cars increased theirs as well, keeping him sandwiched between them. Arden yelled something incomprehensible and fired several times out the open window.

  “Taylor, get down,” Smith said. From the corner of his eye he saw the holes punch through the red car’s window on the driver’s side and it dissolved into shards. Smith heard the reports of return fire. Behind him the passenger window of his car shattered as bullets hammered through. He heard Taylor scream and saw a spurt of blood geyser upward.

  “Get to Taylor,” Smith said. “Give me the gun.”

  Arden screamed and dropped down onto the center console. More bullets punctured the car and Smith felt one wing past him.

  Smith surged ahead, moving around two cars and swerving through traffic, with the two attackers right behind him. Arden shoved the gun at him before crawling over the seat and into the back.

  “She’s bleeding badly.” Arden sounded distraught.

  “Put pressure on the wound,” Smith said.

  Beckmann’s Corsa cut across all three lanes and onto the shoulder before it sped ahead. When it was even with the red car Russell fired only twice, but unlike Arden and the men in the red car, two bullets were all she needed to hit her targets. The passenger fell onto the seat and out of Smith’s line of vision and the driver slumped forward over the steering wheel. The red car swerved and hit the guardrail, spewing pieces of plastic and glass before spinning away. It drove across three lanes of traffic, onto the shoulder, down into a culvert, and slammed into a stand of trees.

  The black car sped up, whizzing away from the Corsa with ease. Another traffic camera flashed as it passed and shortly afterward the car shot off an exit ramp.

  “We’re not following,” Smith heard Beckmann say. “Our first priority is to get you out of that car and Taylor to safety and debriefing. Pull over in the next five hundred yards. Marty told me that we’re between speed cameras.”

  Smith pulled to the shoulder, slowing until it was safe to stop.

  “We’re making the switch,” he said. Arden nodded, and to his relief she seemed unhurt.

  Smith threw open his door, got out, and reached for the passenger-door handle as the Corsa pulled up behind. The other car’s doors swung open and Beckmann and Russell emerged. Smith was somewhat dismayed to see that they were dressed all in black and wearing full-face balaclavas with two holes for their eyes and one for their mouths. In the darkness and on the deserted road they looked sinister and not exactly like the saviors that he’d been assuring Arden they were.

  Russell still held her gun, which she placed in a shoulder holster as she walked toward them. Smith leaned into the back of the car to check on Taylor.

  Taylor lay bent from the waist and facedown on the seat. Arden crouched next to her, pressing her hand on Taylor’s neck.

  “I’m going to roll her over. Try to keep your hand in place.”

  Arden nodded and Smith gently rolled Taylor over. Blood seeped through Arden’s fingers and was pooling on the leather seat. The wound was in Taylor’s neck, near the carotid artery. Smith removed his tie and wrapped it once around.

  “Slide
your fingers out from under the tie and I’ll tighten it,” he told Arden. He wrapped the wound again, knotting it tight. Taylor’s skin was clammy and her pulse so weak that he could barely make it out. He held his hand over the cloth at the wound.

  Russell strode up to stand at the open door. “Transfer time,” she said. She peered into the backseat. “Oh, no, is she alive?”

  “Barely. She needs a hospital, not a safe house,” Smith said. Taylor’s blood was beginning to seep through the cloth and he could feel it pooling under his palm. In the distance Smith heard the sound of an ambulance siren. “Is that ours?”

  Beckmann appeared at Russell’s shoulder.

  “Not ours,” he said. “I presume they’ve been told about the accident and are coming for the guys in the red car. I called for one of ours about ten minutes ago. The minute I saw the chase car I figured we might need one.” He took in the scene in the backseat and said, “I’ll find out how far away they are.” He pulled out a phone and walked away while he spoke into it.

  Russell leaned farther into the car. “Ms. Arden, I apologize for the face masks, but my colleague and I don’t want the many CCTV cameras in the UK to record our faces. It’s safer if we can work with some anonymity. As it is I’ve arranged for a third car to be brought here for you and Smith. I’ll wait with Dr. Taylor and travel with her to the hospital.”

  Smith felt the muscles in his jaw unclench at Russell’s calm and well-timed words. If anyone could win Arden over it would be Russell, with her pure professionalism and long experience in handling assets and emergencies for the CIA.

  Arden looked devastated. Smith could tell that she was trying to pull herself together to respond. She swallowed once. “Are we on camera now?”

  Russell shook her head. “We’re between speed cameras. This is a dead zone. However, I think you need to assume that you are constantly on camera until you can leave the UK.”

  “I would like some identification,” Arden said. She held out her hand, but pulled it back when she realized that it was covered in Taylor’s blood. Smith saw that she was shaking.

  Russell nodded. “I understand.” She reached into her pocket and removed a small wallet that she flipped open to reveal an official-looking identification card. She held it open for Arden to see. Arden leaned in to look at it.

  “It says you’re the public liaison for the CIA,” she said.

  “I am. But I have other duties as well. I’d really like to leave quickly. I don’t know when those attackers will return, but I have no doubt that they will.” She looked at Smith.

  “Be sure to ask…your friend to try to block the feed from those two speed cameras. If he can’t, your face will be front and center on every law enforcement computer in Europe. We’ve called him so many times already that we’re hesitant to use our phones again. Yours might be more anonymous.”

  Beckmann jogged back up to them. “The guys think the ambulance will be here in the next few minutes.”

  “Where are you taking her?” Arden asked.

  “Initially to a fully equipped medical center that they’ve arranged to open after hours. After that we’d like to get her back to the States. It’s easier for us to protect her there.”

  A white Audi sedan pulled off the road onto the shoulder and stopped behind the Corsa. The driver, a woman in her thirties and dressed in a black cocktail dress and heels, got out. Smith recognized her from the embassy party and it was clear that she recognized him as well, because she nodded once.

  “I can’t introduce you, but our operative here will drive your car. Smith, Arden, take the sedan.” Russell leaned in and placed her hand over Smith’s. “I’ll take over. Do I just keep pressing down?”

  “Yes,” Smith said.

  Arden pulled out of the other side and closed the door, leaving Smith and Russell alone.

  “Will she live?” Russell spoke softly.

  “Chances are slim. She’ll need immediate surgery to close the wound and a blood transfusion.” Smith felt the sadness welling in his chest and he pushed back the emotion. He’d seen worse cases survive and he wouldn’t count Taylor out. He slid his hand away and stepped back. Taylor’s blood dripped from his fingers onto the gravel.

  The operative walked up and handed Smith a small travel packet of tissues and a set of car keys. He wiped the blood from his hands while she watched in silence. When he was done he surrendered his keys.

  “Thank you for the distraction that you provided at the embassy. It bought me some crucial time,” Smith said to her.

  She indicated Taylor. “I only wish I could have bought you some more. How bad is it? Does she need a hospital or can I drive her to the safe house? We have a physician there.”

  Smith shook his head. “She needs a full-on hospital. Now.”

  “I’ve already arranged for emergency dispatch. Once we move her you can drive the car to the safe house,” Russell said to her. The woman nodded.

  “I’ll get it sanitized and retagged,” she said. She handed Smith an envelope and a small black plastic device with two leads. “There’s a new passport with a fake name in the envelope as well as a few thousand dollars. The license plate on the car is clean but I didn’t have time to burn the tires. You might want to do that as soon as you can.”

  Smith nodded.

  “You and Arden need to go,” Russell said to Smith. “Now, before the ambulance gets here.”

  Smith strode to the white car, which was a two-door coupe.

  “You drive, I’ll keep the gun,” he said to Arden. Her face was set and she didn’t respond. He tossed her the keys across the car’s roof and Arden caught them in one hand. Once inside, she put the transmission in drive, waited for an opening, and punched the gas to merge into the lane. Unlike the earlier car, this one accelerated like a rocket.

  “Keep it within the speed limit. We’ve been photographed enough this evening,” Smith said.

  Arden settled the car back into a steady pace. She was unusually quiet and Smith wondered just what she was thinking.

  “Will she make it?” Arden asked.

  “It’s bad,” Smith said. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re with the CIA, aren’t you?” Arden shot him a glance before returning to watch the road.

  “I am not.”

  She looked irritated. “I really wish you would tell me the truth.”

  Smith sighed. This conversation was the last thing he needed. What he needed was to get Marty busy erasing their images from the speed cameras.

  “I am telling the truth. I’m not with the CIA.”

  “You’re awfully cozy with them.”

  He nodded. “USAMRIID has all kinds of connections to the CIA. We used to devise chemical weapons for warfare, so it makes sense that the CIA would consult with us.”

  “Consult, yes. Run a search-and-rescue mission? Not so much.”

  Smith’s phone rang and he was relieved to have an excuse to cut short her line of questioning. The phone number was unknown, so once again he assumed it was either Russell or Beckmann.

  “Smith, here. What’s up?”

  “You have two hours to deliver Dr. Taylor back into our hands.” The male voice was inflected with an accent that Smith couldn’t place.

  “Who is this?” Smith asked. Arden glanced at him in concern when she heard his sharp tone.

  “This is the man who is going to kill you.”

  40

  Smith’s line went silent. The man had hung up. He shut off the device and began disassembling it.

  “What’s going on?” Arden asked.

  “Someone, I don’t know who, just threatened to kill me if I don’t deliver Taylor back to him.”

  The color drained from Arden’s face. “He knows you have her and he has your phone number.”

  Smith nodded. “Yes. And while both facts alarm me, it’s the phone number that really concerns me, because this is a brand-new model that I picked up when I landed in London. He’s been able to track a prepaid p
hone purchased with cash only two days ago and registered in a phony name.”

  “Who can do that? Can the CIA?”

  “Not that quickly. It would require a whole series of steps that would take time to implement.”

  “Like what? Run down the steps for me.”

  Smith sat back and tried to settle his racing mind long enough to consider her question. “Well, he’d have to know who I am, for one, and that I am the person who helped her escape from the embassy. Then he’d have to identify my phone’s signature.”

  “How is that done? You say you used cash and the phone is not registered in your name. There must be thousands of phones sold every day in the UK.”

  Smith thought back to the few minutes that he was in the embassy building. Beckmann had called him right at the entrance, before Smith had stepped inside.

  “I was told that the embassy has a grainy image of us outside that locked room. It’s possible that they’ve finally been able to identify me and put it together that I have Taylor. From there it’s a short step back to the moment that I used the phone at the entrance. If they’ve reversed to that moment in time they may have been able to access all the incoming signatures and pinpoint which was mine.”

  Arden shook her head. “There’s no way they are able to do that this quickly. I may not know much about the latest stealth technology, but I know the most common methods that law enforcement uses to track individuals. When you’re a defense attorney it comes with the job. It’s my understanding that most phones only provide triangulating tracking, not pinpoint tracking, and in a city as large as London there could be thousands of phones in use within a triangulated area. They would have to sift through them all. You’re thinking too technically. Think simpler.”

  “Then they have a CIA insider with access to the CIA’s network.”

  “Okay. Statistically rare, but possible. Those two we just met. You told Taylor that you trusted them, but could one of them be ratting you out?”

  “Absolutely not,” Smith said.