“That it all boils down to this.” She indicated the gun.
He shook his head. “Not all of it.”
She glanced up and he could read the disbelief in her eyes. “Tell me what part of it doesn’t, because I’ve spent most of my career battling violence and now I’m the one holding the gun. And this time it’s not for show.”
Smith placed his hands on the table and leaned across it. “You’ve spent your career defending those who have been victimized by violence. And that is a good thing. I’m handing you this gun so that you won’t be victimized in turn.”
“I’ll become the perpetrator.”
“No. The one trying to kill you for your work in defending those less fortunate is the perpetrator. He always was. Now you’re just using the tools of a different trade to stop him.”
“Tools of whose trade?”
“Mine,” Smith said.
She searched his face. “That is the closest you’ve ever come to telling me what you’re really about. Will you ever tell me it all?”
“No.”
“Kind of keeps a distance between us,” she said.
“I don’t want to stay removed, but some things you have to take on faith. In this case, faith in me.”
“I’m an attorney. I believe in facts. Faith doesn’t play in a courtroom.”
“We’re not in a courtroom.”
“Sometimes you scare me.” That surprised Smith. He would have said that nothing scared her. “Want to know what I think you are?”
Smith wasn’t sure he did want to know, but he nodded anyway.
“I think you’re some sort of covert operator. At first I thought you were a part of a government black ops team and I made a silent vow to bring you down. But now I think that whatever game you’re playing or master you’re playing it for, you mean to peel away the grime and get down to the core. I think that core is on the side of good and not evil.”
“Why does that scare you?”
“Because I’ve never had blind faith in anyone. But I do now. In you.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I’d never hurt you.”
She nodded. “I know. But if it came down to the wire and what you are doing is illegal I won’t defend you. I have faith but not facts. If the facts fall the wrong way you’ll have to find someone else to defend you.”
“I thought attorneys stayed neutral under the theory that everyone deserves a defense.”
She nodded. “That’s true, but if I ever discovered that you were actually a bad actor I would be too upset to be unbiased.”
He leaned over and kissed her. After a moment he broke away. His head was spinning and he pulled himself together. “I promise not to cause you pain.”
A bit of humor lit her eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.” She rose and picked up the gun. She reached the hall and leaned against the corner of the wall.
“Good night.”
“Same to you.”
She went to the near bedroom and he heard the door quietly close. Just as quietly he returned to the mudroom, picked a pistol off the rack, loaded a magazine, and headed to the master bedroom to sleep.
53
Darkanin sat in front of a breakfast tray in the private villa on a golf course outside Geneva. The country club boasted a restaurant, eighteen holes, and a small hotel and conference compound where the pharmaceutical meeting was to be held. It also touted its private, forested setting near enough to Geneva to make a commute to the city easy, yet far enough to retain a rural beauty. The gated compound emphasized privacy and exclusivity.
He had taken care to rent the villa farthest from the conference compound and close to an access driveway for the various workmen and gardeners that the club employed. The club had been closed to all visitors and club members during the conference, and the weather was brisk. Gore sat opposite him.
“Tell me what happened in Paris.”
“Wyler had a bodyguard.”
“I thought none were assigned.”
“He must have hired private.”
“One rent-a-cop takes out four trained mercenaries? How is this possible?”
Gore’s face darkened. “It wasn’t four at first. I remained with the vehicle and so didn’t get there until the situation had already deteriorated. Wyler was holed up in the bathroom and Westcore and Ralston were dead.”
“And Denon?”
“He remains in England and never came near the arena.”
“And again I ask, how did one poorly trained private cop take out three highly trained Stanton Reese contractors?”
Gore shook his head. “Whoever it was he wasn’t a poorly trained private cop.”
Darkanin sipped his coffee. He was happy to take his frustration with the situation out on Gore and wouldn’t tell him that he knew exactly who had been in the room that evening. Let him believe that his crew had been outdone by a common security guard. Darkanin would use the assumption to short Gore on his fee.
Darkanin’s only regret was that he had vastly underestimated Ms. Russell and had blithely assumed that one woman was no match for four Stanton Reese operatives. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. When he found her next he’d kill her after feeding her to another torturer equal to the late, great Curry. He flicked a hand at the door.
“Get the rest of your crew ready for the action this afternoon. I’ll not have any more slip-ups, is that understood?” Gore shoved away from the table and stomped out of the villa. Darkanin dialed his phone and placed it on speaker to leave his hands free to finish eating.
“What’s Gore’s excuse?” Yang said when he answered the phone.
“So the news traveled to Shanghai already?” Darkanin replied.
“Bad news travels faster than most. This is the second try against Wyler that’s failed and both times this Russell operative has been the one to derail the action.”
“Honestly I don’t know why you hate Wyler so much. He’s the smallest player in our plan.”
“He’s the smallest player in your plan, but not in my backers’ plans. He’s been pushing back at them, shining a light where there should be darkness.”
Darkanin snorted. “The Mafia bakery mob? What does the U.S. ambassador to Turkey have to do with them?”
“Idiot. It’s not the Comorra. It’s Syria. Wyler has proof that the rebels used chemical weapons on the villages that line the border between Syria and Turkey and that despite their assurances to the world that they’ve destroyed those weapons, they’ve actually stockpiled them.”
Darkanin sat back and stared at the phone. “You’ve been lying to me all this time. You told me that you were only interested in helping me to steal Taylor’s research and selling it to the highest bidder after we disseminate it with the hacked drones. Now you tell me that you’ve been backed by the Syrians?”
Darkanin rose and began to pace. The whole plan—its shape, size, and possible payoff—had been misrepresented to him from the beginning. He’d assumed that Yang wanted what most of the Chinese state-sponsored hackers wanted: to steal U.S. trade secrets in order to engineer the products quicker and cheaper, then sell them on the world market. Even when the hacker was busy attempting to manipulate the U.S. drone force, Darkanin had been assured that once the hack was accomplished a Chinese company would ride to the rescue and offer a programming patch to the U.S. military. For a price, of course. And he’d assumed that the Arabs wanted to use the drug to snap back against the Iranians, their most hated enemies. Now he realized that both had used him and his money to further their own agendas.
“Why are you so shocked? You’re the one planning to wipe out half of Europe’s pharmaceutical regulators in one afternoon,” Yang said.
“Not wipe them out, force them to see that Bancor’s cognitive enhancement drug is essential to ward off this new and imminent danger.”
“Semantics. There’s no way you’ll be able to control who lives and who dies when you unleash the drug and you know it. They could all die.”
; “The computer module predicts only forty percent. It’s an unfortunate but necessary loss,” Darkanin countered.
“And your drug doesn’t even work. You needed Taylor’s expertise to tweak it and now she’s dead.”
“You let me worry about that,” Darkanin said. “The Syrians must want a different outcome. Tell me what their angle is.”
“The same as yours. Once the drug’s devastating effect is shown they want to use it on Washington.”
Darkanin’s mind raced. He sensed that Yang still wasn’t telling him everything. “We need to bring my backer into this conversation. He is not aware that you’ve been negotiating with the Syrian rebels.”
“Yes he is. He’s always been aware. In fact, it was his idea. You’re the only one out of the loop on this one.”
Darkanin contemplated then discarded several scenarios in which he utilized the information that Yang had just given him to his advantage. He realized that the plan’s essentials remained the same, but the arena had widened from a plan that included governmental officials from several countries to one that put the highest governmental official and the largest concentration of powerful men and women in the world in its crosshairs. The drug that would circumvent an attack on the president of the United States and Congress would be worth very much indeed. Bancor would be seen as a savior and Darkanin a hero.
“You need to tell the Syrians to give me a bit more time to research altering Bancor’s drug before they unleash the weapon on Washington. Without Taylor it will take me a little longer to work out the science.”
“That’s not going to happen. The Syrians don’t give a rat’s ass if the drug kills everyone in DC. In fact, that would suit them just fine.”
“Tell the Syrians that I don’t care if they release their drug in the States, just not in DC. Dead politicians don’t authorize multibillion-dollar military contracts. They have to be alive to do that.”
“The Syrians don’t care.”
“But I do.”
“Like I said, what you want and what the Syrians want are not necessarily the same. But I can tell you one thing that may make them a bit more willing to negotiate with you.”
Now it comes, Darkanin thought.
“And what is that?”
“Wyler dead, Russell dead, and Smith dead.”
Darkanin breathed a sigh of relief. The task would be easy.
“I don’t care about the others, but Smith? Why? I may need his expertise now that Taylor’s gone.”
“That’s just it. Smith is the researcher at USAMRIID who’s been working on aerosols similar to Taylor’s. They’re concerned he’ll find a way to stop the drug’s effectiveness.”
Darkanin wanted to throw the phone across the room. Stopping the drug’s effectiveness was exactly what he’d hoped to do with the Bancor drug. He and the Syrians were working at cross-purposes. He wanted to sell the antidote and the Syrians wanted to ensure that no antidote was ever created. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Fighting the Syrians wasn’t advisable. They’d find a way to assassinate him. He’d have to come up with a solution before they attacked the United States.
“Tell them it will be done.”
54
FBI agent Mark Brand stepped into the plush hotel suite in Geneva reserved for Ambassador Wyler. The FBI had gotten and received permission to investigate the possible connection between the recent attack on Wyler and the Washington kidnappings. Fred Klein had called Brand and asked him to push to be the FBI point man so that he could manage the investigation in a way that would keep Covert-One’s participation in the kidnapping search quiet. Klein’s request was clear.
“Wyler’s neighbor stated that a woman was with Wyler the night of the attack. The FBI initially was unable to verify her identity, but last night an anonymous video feed was sent to the Washington branch that showed a woman walking into Wyler’s town house earlier that evening. The sender claimed that the woman was Randi Russell,” Klein had said.
“Where did the feed come from?”
“The NSA office in Croughton. But when contacted they insisted that they are not conducting any type of surveillance on Wyler and they don’t know who from inside their office sent the video. Can you get in front of this?”
Brand pushed, received the assignment, and flew to Geneva, where the ambassador was preparing to attend a pharmaceutical conference. It would be a delicate balance to keep the investigation thorough while also keeping Russell’s multiple affiliations secret, but Brand was confident that whatever Russell had done at the town house to protect Wyler had been necessary.
Wyler stepped into the suite flanked by two members of the Secret Service. Brand had read a dossier on Wyler in preparation for the interview and so he knew that Wyler had been educated at Georgetown University, began his career as an intern, and worked his way through the diplomatic ranks as a junior consular by accepting postings that were considered low-value. One of those postings had turned to gold when he’d been in the right place during the initial overthrow of Saddam Hussein in Iraq, and from that moment his star had begun a steep climb. The dossier revealed that he kept an apartment for his own use in Washington, was divorced, had no children, and paid his taxes. He never seemed to want for female companionship, but since the divorce had kept most women at a safe distance and had had a series of short-term relationships only. The latter issue may have been a function of his constant movement. He’d held three different posts in three years.
An FBI dossier wasn’t complete unless it dug for dirt, and Wyler’s name had been run through the usual files for escort service invoices, strip club credit card receipts, improper expense report items, or deviant or other sexual behavior that would make a government official vulnerable to a possible blackmail or extortion attempt by spies of a foreign government. In compiling the dossier they’d also searched for any signs of addiction, including gambling, alcohol, and prescription drugs. Wyler had come up clean. Clean, that is, until the video leak. Then a second sweep revealed that he had exhibited an unusual interest in a CIA officer assigned to Turkey and that the same officer had been in his home on the night of the recent attack. Fraternization between a CIA officer and an ambassador did not violate any policies on either side of the equation, but it was unusual enough behavior for both parties that it was flagged for further investigation.
Wyler acknowledged Brand with a handshake and waited for the Secret Service guards to leave. He closed and locked the suite’s door behind them.
“I see you have security,” Brand said.
Wyler nodded. “Temporarily, yes. I’m told they’ll be pulled once the investigation into the bombing has been completed. Please, sit down.” Brand took a chair near the window and Wyler sat on a nearby couch. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to talk about a rash of kidnappings in Washington and the recent attack against you.”
Wyler looked surprised. “Does the FBI believe that they were intent on kidnapping me?”
“We don’t know, but we can’t rule out the possibility. What do you think they were after?”
Wyler ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you’ve read my report on the bombing in Turkey. I thought it had something to do with my activities there in pressing back against the Syrians. Why does the FBI think this was a kidnap attempt?”
“One of the men found dead in the town house was the same man who, while posing as a member of the Department of Veterans Affairs, confronted a USAMRIID researcher about a missing colleague. It wasn’t until later that it was discovered the colleague had also been kidnapped. We now think that perhaps he was attempting to kidnap you.”
“Posing? How did he manage that?”
“He actually had some clearance in security. He was a non-governmental official assigned to the Department of Veterans Affairs.”
“Through what organization?”
“The Stanton Reese contract security company.”
Wyler’s face turned grim. “This is not the fi
rst time Stanton Reese has employed some bad actors, is it?”
“True. But it employs over sixteen thousand people worldwide, so some problem employees are to be expected. My real concern is with Officer Randi Russell, who I understand may have been present during the attack.”
Wyler nodded. “She was.”
Brand was surprised at Wyler’s quick affirmation. In all prior interviews with the local police Wyler had invoked his diplomatic immunity and carefully avoided mentioning that a woman was involved that night. It was only after the net had been thrown wider and the neighbor interviewed that the fact that he was not alone had been revealed. Even then, though, he had refused to give her name in order to protect her privacy and kept assuring the local police that whatever had happened that evening, it had little to do with the woman. When pressed he invoked diplomatic immunity once again.
“In what capacity was she there?”
Wyler’s pause was nearly imperceptible, but Brand had long experience conducting such interviews and to him the pause was obvious.
“She’s a friend.”
“And I understand that you are aware she’s also a CIA officer?”
Wyler nodded. “I am.”
“So was she present at your home in her capacity as a CIA officer or as a friend only?”
“As a friend only.”
“Where were you when the attack began?”
“I was asleep.”
“And Officer Russell?”
“Also asleep.”
“Down the hall?”
“No.”
“Nearby?”
“She was asleep next to me.”
Beyond friendly fraternization, then, Brand thought. Still, since both were adults and consenting, he didn’t see any real problem with the connection.
The Geneva Strategy Page 27
