* * *
—
Ferris closed the door of Malcolm Becker’s office, then turned toward the director of the CIA, who sat smoking one of his beloved Monte Cristo cigars.
“Well?” Becker asked.
The Rat Man could control himself no longer. He broke into a wide smile, exposing his long, curved front teeth. “They got Rachel Sommers outside a bed-and-breakfast in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.” His voice was triumphant.
Becker puffed on the cigar for a moment. “And McLain?”
The Rat Man’s smile faded. “He wasn’t with her.”
Becker slammed his fist onto the desk. “Damn it!” He roared. He gazed out his window at the Virginia night. It was as black as his mood.
“It’s going to be all right, Chief.” The Rat Man made his voice soothing. “We have the girl. We can use her to lure McLain out. Conner will find McLain, and then we will smoke him out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. It will work out.”
Becker steadied himself against the desk. “Yes, we do have the girl. And McLain won’t disclose what he knows until he’s sure she’s safe.”
“Exactly.” Ferris smiled. Becker needed him in moments like this. The general was an excellent planner, but sometimes he did not think lucidly under pressure. That was why they made such a formidable team. The Rat Man became the Ice Man under pressure. “We will smoke McLain out and kill him. Then we will be fine.”
“Yes.” Becker glanced up at Ferris. “I count on you, Willard. You know that, don’t you?”
Ferris nodded. His eyes narrowed. “Have you talked to Webster?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Becker smiled. “It’s unbelievable. Broadway Ventures has invested almost two billion dollars since Vargus had his men blow up the GW Bridge.” The general shook his head. “Webster estimates that the market value of the securities the fund has purchased in the last three days is close to three and a half billion dollars. When the Wolverines retake Nyack and no bombs go off, the value of the portfolio will skyrocket back to its original value, back to three and a half billion. Webster will send the CIA’s nine hundred million dollars back to us immediately through the dummy corporations. Then he will sell the securities Broadway Ventures has purchased. He’ll sell them slowly and send us the proceeds over time, so as not to arouse any suspicion. Of course we still have to pay Chase back its one billion, with interest, as well as make the third-party investors whole, but it looks as if the CIA and Walker Pryce will net over a billion dollars. That will more than cover the overspending on the Wolverines and what I need for the campaign.”
Ferris nodded. Becker was godlike in his ability to put together something like this, to assign each person his or her task, but not convey the scope of the entire operation to any of the individuals so that he was the only one who knew everything. The Rat Man’s job had been to make certain the West Virginia operation went smoothly.
“It will be incredible when the Wolverines raid Nyack, Chief. The country will hold its breath, and the force, your force, will be victorious. Think about the press coverage after it’s over. Think about all those people screaming at you, wanting a piece of you, wanting to vote for you. You’ll say we had the raid planned the entire time. That we were just waiting until most of the people had gotten out of New York before we executed it.” Ferris was ecstatic.
Becker sat on the edge of the desk. “Yes,” he whispered dramatically. He turned toward the Rat Man. “Willard, you are certain that Vargus was able to get the bombs into the plant.”
Ferris nodded. “Oh, yes. When the Wolverines retake the reactor, they will find five bombs at each reactor. But they can’t go off. Vargus neutralized the detonators. He’s the only one who is supposed to have the authority within the group to set the things off, but if one of the other jokers tries to be heroic, they won’t work. It’s beautiful.”
Becker laughed out loud. “I can’t wait to see Andrews’ face when he sees that the Wolverines have retaken the plant. He’ll know the campaign is over.”
“Right.” Ferris was still excited. “It’s amazing how well this thing has worked out.”
Suddenly the two men glanced down at the floor. There were just two problems: Leeny Hunt and Mace McLain. Both of them had to be killed, and quickly, or the entire conspiracy could be compromised. And they knew it.
Becker inhaled heavily. “If it weren’t for that goddamned Mace McLain, everything would be fine. That Hunt woman would be dead, and we’d have no worries.”
“It will be all right, Chief. Remember we have Rachel Sommers. He won’t screw with us while we have her.”
Becker glanced at the Rat Man. “You’d better be right.” He puffed on the cigar again. “How in the hell did the agents track Rachel Sommers down? I mean, they got her in Harpers Ferry, for crying out loud. That place isn’t as remote as Sugar Grove, but it isn’t Forty-second Street either. Did she use her credit card to pay for the room? Was she that stupid? I thought this woman was supposed to be so smart.”
Ferris shook his head. “No, she used cash to pay for her room.” The Rat Man hesitated. “The car the woman rented in Baltimore was equipped with a battery-powered cellular phone. You can track a cellular phone to precise locations at any time. And Bell Atlantic is very accommodating for the CIA.”
34
Mcyntire leaned against a post supporting the farmhouse’s front-porch roof and lighted a cigarette. The night sky was overcast—there were no stars—and he interpreted this as a gift from God.
The commander watched as a pair of headlights bounced up the long gravel driveway. The Jeep screeched to a halt before the small house. Captain Ellet jumped from the passenger-side seat and moved quickly to where Mcyntire stood.
“You sent for me, sir?” Ellet saluted.
“Yes.” Mcyntire’s voice was subdued. He looked at the driver of the Jeep who had gotten out and was standing next to the vehicle. But he couldn’t hear; he was much too far away. “We attack in seven hours, at three o’clock this morning.”
“A decision from Washington.” Ellet had uttered the words as a statement, but Mcyntire heard the question. Ellet wanted to make certain that this order had come from the top, that the commander hadn’t made a unilateral decision.
“Prepare the men, Captain Ellet,” the commander said evenly.
The captain glanced down at his boots. “Yes, sir.” He regretted the question now. It had bordered on insubordination. It was just that the potential consequences of a preemptive attack were so grave.
* * *
—
“There is movement in the Wolverine lines!” Tabiq burst into the office without knocking.
Vargus groaned as he came to. His body ached all over, a reaction to the infection bloating the area around his eye to the size of an apple. “What?”
“Yes. We can see them through the night scopes. They appear to be moving back.”
Vargus checked his watch. Almost nine o’clock. It was too early. And why would they be moving back?
* * *
—
“The Mountaintop Inn, how may I help you?” The woman’s soft voice drifted through the line.
“Betty Saif, please.” It was the alias Mace had told Rachel to use.
“Just a moment and I’ll connect you.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He had been shocked by what Leeny had conveyed to him at the end of her taped admission. The story was outrageous, but the last thing she had said was incomprehensible. He glanced at his watch. Eleven-ten. Slade should be waiting.
Several moments passed, and then the phone began to ring. After the tenth ring the inn’s operator cut back into the call. “She’s not answering. Could I leave her a message?”
“Can you tell me if she’s checked in yet?” Mace asked.
“Just a minute,” the woman said, i
n the same voice she was to use many times tonight. “Yes. She checked in around three hours ago.”
Mace hesitated. That was strange. He had told her to stay in her room unless she saw something suspicious.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” the operator asked.
An uneasy feeling hit the pit of his stomach. “No, I’ll call back later.” He hung up, hesitated for a moment, then headed toward Rockefeller Center.
Malcolm Becker had assigned Slade the task of making contact with Mace months ago presumably as part of the conspiracy: to watch him; to make certain Mace didn’t do anything suspicious; to offer help innocently if Mace ever needed anything. That was what Leeny had conveyed at the end of her taped monologue. It had so unnerved Mace he had been forced to stop the recorder. The contact with Slade had been anything but coincidental over the past few months, Mace now realized. Slade had been gathering intelligence, keeping an eye on Mace for Becker. Mace felt the anger rising again.
The Rockefeller Center complex was brightly lit but was empty of people. As a result, Slade was not hard to find. He was leaning back against a cement restraining wall next to the line of flagpoles on the south side of the famous rink, smoking a cigarette, something Mace had not seen him do since they had been at the orphanage together.
Mace watched his old friend for a moment. How could it have come to this? They had grown up together, been there for each other when times were difficult. Now he had come to find that Slade was part of a terrible conspiracy.
Cautiously Mace made his way to where Slade stood, moving in the shadows so that Slade wouldn’t spot him. Mace was checking for others who might be waiting, others whom Slade might have brought with him to assist with Mace’s capture—or worse.
“Hello, Slade,” Mace said quietly.
“Hello, Brother.” Slade dropped the cigarette he had been smoking to the pavement and stepped on it. “You didn’t have to be so sneaky in your approach. There isn’t anyone else here with me.”
So Slade had been aware of his presence the entire time. “Smoking, huh?”
Slade nodded. “Yeah. I need it.”
His voice seemed melancholy, but Mace did not ask why. And he did not wait to make known the revelations Leeny Hunt had conveyed to him in the hotel room. “I know everything, Slade. I know that Becker is responsible for the terrorist attack on Nyack. I know that he coerced Lewis Webster and Leeny Hunt into setting up Broadway Ventures for him. I know that he held the prospect of prison over their heads so they would acquiesce. I know that he’s using the money he’s making off Broadway Ventures to cover overspending and fraud at the CIA. I know it all. I have Leeny in a room at the Hilt—” Mace caught himself in mid-word.
Their eyes met instantly.
“At the Hilltop Hotel in Brooklyn,” Mace finished. He hoped Slade could not see that he was so obviously making up the name of the hotel.
“I see,” Slade said.
An uncomfortable silence followed.
Mace finally broke it. “How long have you known, Slade? How long have you been setting me up?”
“I’ve never set you up, Mace. I would never do that to you,” he said quietly. “You know that. We go back too far.” A gust of wind whipped up suddenly. Slade exhaled a cloud of smoke into it. “I’ve known about what’s going on for a week. That’s all.”
“That’s crap!” Mace was suddenly angry. “Leeny told me that Becker had you checking on me right from the start.”
“That’s right.” Slade’s voice was still quiet. “But I didn’t know why he wanted me to check on you. Remember, he is my boss, and he is the director of the CIA.” Slade hesitated, and his voice dropped lower. “Once he did tell me what was going on, because I pressed him after going to West Virginia from our meeting in Charlottesville, I agreed to help him, to be a part of the conspiracy, because that was the best way to help you. And because if he had seen the slightest trace in my face that I was going to try to blow the whistle, he would have had me killed. They would have just sent someone else after you. My God, they already have.”
Mace could not believe him. “How do I know you are telling me the truth?” It could so easily be a lie. He could not trust anyone now, not even Slade, particularly after what Leeny had said.
“You don’t.” Slade turned so that he was facing Mace. Now he was becoming angry. “Look, I can’t make you believe something you don’t want to believe at this point. We’ve been friends since we were four years old. I shouldn’t have to make you believe me. I’m telling you the truth. That’s all you need to hear.” Slade paused. “I had you at the Four Seasons. If I had wanted to, I could have given you to Becker then.”
Mace disregarded Slade’s last comment and stared directly into his eyes, looking for something, looking for a shred of truth or a shred of deceit. But the eyes were devoid of information.
Slade glanced around furtively. “I have information for you that will help you nail Malcolm Becker, the son of a bitch.”
Mace heard the hatred in Slade’s voice, but it could easily have been an act. “What?”
Slade produced a package from his coat pocket. “Take it.” He handed the package to Mace.
“What’s in here?”
“The names and numbers of the dummy accounts Becker used to send money to Broadway Ventures, advices signed by Willard Ferris okaying the transfer of money out of CIA accounts. It’s the link you need.”
Mace stuffed the information into his coat, still wary of being surprised by Slade’s associates.
“Leeny Hunt was on the payroll too.” Slade continued. “I investigated her for Becker some time ago. He knew that she had an insider trading problem and would be only too willing to agree to do what she did in exchange for not being prosecuted. Becker fixed that little prosecution problem, and she was his. Although I didn’t know why he wanted her at the time.”
“I know about her insider trading problem,” Mace said firmly.
“Oh, that’s right, you have her at the—” Slade paused—“at the Hilltop Hotel in Brooklyn.”
“Yes,” Mace said, relieved. Slade had heard the false address.
Slade took a last puff from the cigarette, then flicked the filter away. “Mace, there’s something you need to know.” His voice was deadly serious.
“What?”
“Becker has Rachel Sommers. He got her in Harpers Ferry.”
For several moments Mace’s expression did not change; then his head dropped. There was no reason to doubt what Slade had said. “Oh, my God,” he said quietly.
“ ‘Oh, my God’ is right, Brother.” Slade pointed at the package he had just given Mace. “You can’t give that information to the authorities if you ever expect to see her alive. I just talked to Willard Ferris, his assistant, a couple of minutes ago.”
“So why the hell did you give it to me?” Mace’s voice rose angrily.
“As a bargaining chip,” Slade said calmly.
“What do you mean?”
“He knows you were in Sugar Grove.” Slade lighted another cigarette.
“You told him that too? I can’t believe it.” Mace’s voice rose.
Slade’s eyes became nothing but slits. “They figured it was you who had broken into the old mining facility when you didn’t show up for work. So they showed people in Sugar Grove your photograph, and a couple of them recognized it. IRS agent, huh?” Slade shook his head. “I know you’ve been through a tremendous amount. That’s why I can’t blame you for suspecting me.”
Mace looked away. It was so hard to trust Slade at this point. He had answers for everything, and his answers seemed plausible. But Mace’s gut was saying that Slade had been working with Becker the entire time. And if he had just gone with his gut in the first place, when Webster first approached him about Broadway Ventures, he wouldn’t be in this situation now.
“Becker knows you figured out something, somehow. How else could you have found the site in West Virginia?” Slade hesitated for a moment. “I want that man. I want him to go down. But you have to take him down. I can’t.” He nodded at the package under Mace’s arm. “I’m going to tell him that I’ve talked to you over the telephone and that you have that information, that you quoted the names and account numbers of the dummy corporations to me over the phone. I’ll convince him to make an even exchange. Rachel Sommers for that information. Without that package you can’t prove anything. If he knows you have it, though, he’ll know you could take him down, and then he’ll deal.” Slade puffed on the cigarette.
Mace smelled the cigarette smoke as Slade exhaled. It was all too neat. A baited trap waiting to be sprung. He was still suspicious of Slade. He couldn’t help himself. But it didn’t matter. If he didn’t agree to what Slade was saying, Rachel was dead. He had no doubt of that.
Slade flicked away the second cigarette. He would have to call Becker as soon as he and Mace left each other to tell the general that Leeny Hunt was at the Hilton Hotel.
35
The assault helicopters bore down from the night sky on the Nyack Nuclear Generating Facility, diving swiftly, at forty-five-degree angles. At three hundred feet above sea level they delivered their lethal payloads onto the terrorist lines dug in on the perimeter of the plant’s grounds. Missiles exploded in the midst of the militants, incinerating bodies instantly.
Wolverine ground troops began to pour into the compound, meeting little or no resistance. Actually entering and taking control of the buildings was not so easy, but within a half hour of the initial attack everything but the core room had been retaken. Twenty-seven Wolverines were dead, but so were almost a hundred terrorists, some of the most highly skilled men the terrorist world had called members.
Vargus gazed about the huge room that housed the nuclear reactor. He was the only one left now. He sensed it. He sensed that they were close. He sensed his liberation approaching rapidly. Then the knock came, just as he knew it would. Two quick raps and then three short ones. Exactly as he and Becker had planned. His shoulders slumped. The Nyack nuclear plant was in control of the Wolverines, meaning that the mission was a success. Broadway Ventures had made billions, and he was just a few short days away from twenty-five million dollars for himself.
The Vulture Fund Page 36
