by Joseph Badal
Zeller felt as though his brain would explode. He thought, Please, Pavlos, get to the point.
Ierides continued. “All the companies were asked if they’d had any unusual policy activity in the last month. They all responded that they had not.”
“Dammit!” Zeller cursed.
“Give me another minute, my friend. I’m not finished. Not ten minutes after I got off the telephone with my contact, he called me back. One of the Greek insurance companies had recently introduced new coverage for its clients.”
“What sort of coverage, Pavlos?” Zeller asked, barely able to keep from shouting the question.
“The insurance company is the first in Greece to provide comprehensive coverage against the risks of civil unrest, war, and acts of terrorism, including against riots, looting, and other risks. It provides war, terrorism, and political violence insurance as an extension to other policies, including coverage of buildings, contents, computer equipment, machinery, stock, loss of business income, ships, and cargo. It also includes global medical benefits for individuals and organizations outside their home countries.”
“Where does that leave us?” Zeller demanded.
“The company literally just started to offer this coverage. It sold a terrorism rider a few days ago to a client that owns a dozen buildings in Greece, Italy, and Turkey. That client also owns seven oil tankers, which the same insurance company insures.”
“But—”
Ierides cut Zeller off. “The strange thing about the terrorism rider is that the client only bought it on the buildings it owns in Athens and on one of its tankers.”
“Huh!”
“Walter, this could be nothing. Perhaps the client merely perceives Athens as being more susceptible to terrorist attacks than other locations. After all, between the 17 November terror group and the activities of other shadowy groups, Athens has not been the safest place on the planet.”
“But why the one tanker?” Zeller said.
“That’s the question.”
“Did you get the client’s name?”
“Of course. Farouki Holdings. F-A-R-O-U-K-I.” Ierides then gave Zeller the company’s address, phone number, and the name of its contact person.
“Thank you, Pavlos. I’ll—”
“I am glad to assist you, my friend. But I need to know what’s going on. If there is the possibility of an upcoming terrorist event in Athens, I want to move my wife and children immediately.”
Zeller ignored the question. “I have two more questions, Pavlos. What’s the name of the tanker the company insured and does the terrorism insurance policy provide coverage in the case of a nuclear event?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for the tanker’s name. I’ll have to call and get that. As to the policy coverage, as I said earlier, it’s a comprehensive policy. It covers every kind of loss that might occur as a result of terrorist activity, whether nuclear or otherwise. It even covers the lives of employees working in buildings or aboard a ship.” Ierides paused for a second, breathed loudly into the telephone, and then muttered, “Skata! I think you just answered my previous question. Something is about to happen here. Isn’t it?”
“That’s pure conjecture, Pavlos.”
“And it could be nuclear.”
“That’s also pure conjecture.”
“Of course it is.”
“I need someone to dig into this Farouki Holdings,” Zeller told Raymond Gallegos, Frank Reynolds, and Tanya Serkovic who were all conferenced in to his call.
Frank said, “I’ll put someone on it right away. As soon as you get the name of the tanker, call me. We might have a better chance to discover the ownership behind Farouki Holdings if we backtrack the tanker’s ownership.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I hear something,” Zeller said, and dropped the call.
Tanya said, “I’m on my way to the office. The DCI will meet us in the Special Ops Center. In the meantime, call Michael Danforth and tell him to forget about splitting up his team. I want the whole team in Athens and I want them there yesterday.”
CHAPTER 52
“So, the three teams failed,” Anwar Rastani said. The man’s tone of voice belied the fire behind his eyes.
General Kashkari swallowed and said, “If you mean that they did not destroy American naval vessels, you’re correct, Sayyid. But, as I told you from the start, those attacks were meant to be diversionary.”
“But we did zero damage. The destruction of American ships off Sicily would have been a better diversion than our men accomplishing nothing. And, speaking of those men, what happened to them?”
General Kashkari shrugged. “We’ve received no communications from them since the last check-in time.”
“Do the weapons rest on the bottom of the sea? Have our men been killed?” He paused and then loudly added, “Or have they all fallen into the hands of the Great Satan?”
“We have no word at this time.”
“Tell me again, Kashkari, that there is no way the Americans can reverse engineer the bombs and learn they were manufactured here.”
“I assure you that cannot be done. We stamped in serial numbers and parts numbers in Farsi. And the explosives came from Iranian weapons we’d captured.”
“I seem to recall you assured me our men would destroy one of the Great Satan’s ships, too.”
“I am confident that will happen tomorrow, Sayyid.”
“I will hold you to that, General Kashkari.”
With new orders from Raymond Gallegos, Michael and his DELTA team boarded a U.S. Navy sea plane that, after a short hop, landed off Glyfada, south of Athens. A skiff waited there and transported them ashore where a van took them to a safe house. While his men unpacked their bags and checked their weapons and gear, Michael walked outside and placed a call.
“Hello.”
“Dad, it’s Mike.”
“Hey, how’s Sicily?”
“Dad, I’m not on Sicily. I’m . . . in the Athens area.”
“Is that public information?”
“No. But I need to know where you all are.”
After a long pause, Bob said, “We’re still in Athens. The charter boat won’t be available until tomorrow.”
“Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Athens may not be a safe place.”
After a brief pause, Bob said, “I understand, son. Be careful.”
“Always, Dad. Give Miriana and Robbie hugs for me.”
Michael hit the END button on his cell phone and called Raymond Gallegos.
“We’re in the safe house, Ray.”
“Good. Listen, we called the insurance company in Greece. We’re still waiting for the name of the ship.”
“How hard can that be?”
“More difficult than you might think. The company’s database isn’t updated daily and the insurance agent who wrote the coverage has been unavailable so far.” Raymond explained the insurance underwriting process between the insurance company and its agents.
“Oh, brother. Call me as soon as you know something.”
CHAPTER 53
“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” President Andrew Garvin said.
Warren Thurston sagged into a chair in the Oval Office and stared at Garvin with bloodshot eyes. His skin looked grayer than its normal pale.
“I assume you’ve seen the news reports about the assassination attempt against DCI Cole.”
Garvin shot Thurston a contemptuous look. “Warren, I get incident reports about events before those events become news.”
Thurston nodded. “Of course, Mister President.”
“So, what’s . . .?” Garvin suddenly interrupted his own train of thought and half-rose out of his chair. He flipped off the recorder. “Don’t tell me you had something to do with that. Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“You said you wished there was a way to get rid of him. I told you we had means to do so. I—”
“I wanted to find a wa
y to fire Cole, not kill him. Please tell me you weren’t that stupid.”
Thurston hung his head and stared down at his hands in his lap.
Garvin stood, came around his desk, looked down at Thurston. “Look at me!” he demanded.
Thurston slowly raised his head. He momentarily met the President’s gaze but couldn’t hold it. His eyes shifted back and forth.
“Can this come back on us?”
Thurston shrugged.
“Dammit! I asked you a question. Can this come back on us?”
Thurston eyes stopped ping-ponging and for a brief moment locked in on the President’s. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I don’t know. I mean, there’s no way the payment I made can be traced to me. He’s never seen my face. He doesn’t know my name.”
“You can contact the guy?”
“Yes. On his cell phone.”
“Then call the sonofabitch and tell him to stand down.”
“I already tried that. I called from a pay phone this morning. He didn’t answer. I left a message that the assignment was cancelled and that I would pay him the rest of his fee anyway.”
Garvin looked up at the ceiling as he meandered around the office. He suddenly stopped and whipped around to face Thurston. “You left a message on his cell?”
“Oh my God,” Thurston blurted. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah, oh shit,” Garvin said. “If the man’s been arrested and he had his phone on him, then the authorities have it now. They might be able to do a voice print analysis of your message.”
“But there’s been no news about any arrests. Surely, we would have heard if an arrest had been made.”
Garvin returned to his chair and rocked. He stared at Thurston and wondered how long it would take the man to collapse. “I want your resignation now. I’ll announce to the media that you left for personal reasons. Then I want you to disappear for a couple months until this hopefully blows over. You’ll spend a few days at my beach house. You can make plans while you’re there for where you’ll go next. Call your wife and tell her to pack a few bags.” He pointed a finger at Thurston and said, “No one is to know where you’re staying. Not your kids, your wife’s best friends, no one. We can’t allow the media to discover your location.”
Thurston nodded. More to himself, he muttered, “What will I tell Susan?”
Garvin smiled at Thurston. “Tell her you and I disagreed on some policy matter and your conscience wouldn’t allow you to continue to serve in my administration. That will allow both of you to take the high ground. Save face.”
“Thank you, Mister President. I’m sorry about this. I thought—”
Garvin raised a hand and cut him off. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to draw up a letter.”
Thurston stood and slouched out of the office.
Garvin pushed a button on his intercom and told his personal assistant to find Linda Petrovich, Special Agent in Charge of the Presidential Protective Division of the Secret Service. Ten minutes later, a knock on the door startled Garvin.
“Come.”
“You want to see me, Mister President?” SAC Petrovich said.
“Close the door and sit down.”
Garvin eyeballed her legs as she sat and then crossed them. His gaze rose to her chest and then to the green eyes in her classically beautiful face. She smiled at Garvin and tossed her short black hair.
“I want you to escort Mister Thurston to his home. You’ll pick up Missus Thurston and then drive them to my place in Annapolis. Make sure they are well taken care of.”
“Yes, sir, Mister President,” Petrovich said. “Annapolis. Right?”
“Correct. And no one else is to know where they’ll be.”
Garvin felt sick. His Chief of Staff had royally screwed up. Jack Cole should be dead. He’d known exactly what Thurston meant when he’d told him he had the means to get rid of Cole. It had been so easy to manipulate the man. He was a sycophant who had always unquestioningly done his bidding. But the idiot had made a mess of things when he called the assassin’s cell phone and left a message. Maybe no one would be able to link the message to Thurston, but that was a chance Garvin could not afford to take. Maybe the killer was still in the wind and had not been arrested. But maybe the guy was now in the hands of the police. Garvin shuddered.
CHAPTER 54
“Okay, guys, pay attention,” Michael said to his men in the living room of the Glyfada safe house. “This is about the most cryptic, uninformative briefing I will ever give. The Company thinks a terrorist event might occur in Athens. We don’t know exactly who the bad guys are, who they work for, what they might be up to, or when or if they might execute an attack. So, we’ll sit around here and wait. Questions?”
Lieutenant Lewis Campbell said, “Is there any theory about what might be planned here in Athens?”
“The assumption is that whatever might happen will be . . . significant.”
Master Sergeant Winfield asked, “Can you define significant?”
“It could be anything from bombings of buildings in the city to attacks on one or more of our ships in the area.”
“Friggin’ wonderful,” Winfield said. “Besides best guesses, conjecture, and figments of Langley’s imagination, what facts do we have?”
Michael explained the stock trades that Laila Farhami discovered and the terrorist insurance policies taken out on buildings in Athens and on a ship. He mentioned Farouki Holdings.
“I assume we’re looking into the ownership of Farouki Holdings,” Campbell said.
Michael nodded. “And we’re waiting to learn the ship’s name. Once we know it, Langley will try to locate the ship. If it’s anywhere near Athens, the odds go up that something bad is about to happen here.”
“Can’t someone call the insurance company to get the ship’s name?” Winfield asked.
“Apparently the insurance underwriter knows one of their Athens agents wrote terrorist coverage for a ship owned by Farouki Holdings,” Michael said. “The underwriter issued a preliminary binder that authorized the coverage, but the binder didn’t include the ship’s name. It seems Farouki Holdings has multiple policies with an agent in Athens who does a lot of business with the insurer. The insurer often issues binders before it receives a complete application from the agent. Langley is trying to contact the agent to get the ship’s name.”
Winfield muttered something.
“What was that, Sergeant?” Michael asked.
“Nothing, General. I was just thinking that I’m sick and tired of water and boats. If I’d wanted to spend time on boats, I would have joined the Navy.”
CHAPTER 55
Secret Service Agent Linda Petrovich had a do-or-die loyalty to President Andrew Garvin. In addition to being the head of his protection detail, she’d been his mistress for two years. Her relationship with POTUS had been damned good for her career—Garvin had pushed through two promotions for her—and wonderful for her psychological well-being. Sleeping with the most powerful man on the planet had been a thrill in and of itself. To make things even better, Garvin was an attentive, unselfish lover.
A year ago, Garvin had begun to share personal thoughts, fears, and ambitions with Petrovich. He’d shared information about his loveless marriage. He’d even told her about the confrontation he’d had with Jack Cole over Operation Lone Wolf in Mexico. At that time, Petrovich had offered to disappear Cole. Although Garvin had appeared shocked at the suggestion, she knew he’d considered it. They’d established a code at the time. If Garvin mentioned sending someone to his Annapolis beach house that was the signal he wanted that person terminated. Until today, the code had never been used.
Petrovich sat outside Warren Thurston’s house and watched the man and his wife, Susan, descend the steps to the sidewalk. Petrovich got out of her black Chevy Tahoe and helped the Thurstons load their bags into the trunk of their Infiniti QX-60.
“I’ll follow you to the beach,” Petrovich told them. “Make sure you’re settled in, and then I
’ll return to the district. While you’re there, you can call me if there’s anything you need.”
“Thank you, Linda,” Thurston said.
Petrovich thought Thurston looked like death warmed over. He was pale; his eyes sad and dewy; and his posture slumped. She had no idea what had transpired between Garvin and Thurston in the Oval Office, but she guessed it was nothing good.
“Of course, Mister Thurston. I’m here to serve. I know President Garvin considers you a great friend and supporter.” She paused a beat and then added as she looked at her watch, “It’s after 1:30. I haven’t had lunch. Would you mind if we stopped at a fast food place so I can grab something to eat?”
Thurston nodded a couple times, then turned away and got behind the wheel of the Infiniti. Petrovich led the way as they took the highway toward Bowie, Maryland. She pulled into the first fast food restaurant they came to, parked in the lot, ran inside, and bought a chicken sandwich, fries, and three cokes. She detoured to the bathroom and stirred in four crushed Zolpidem tablets into each of two of the drinks. Then she went out to the lot, passed the two doctored cokes to the Thurstons, and got in her Crown Vic. She checked the dashboard clock as she pulled away from the restaurant: 1:57. The drugs should take effect in about twenty minutes.
Petrovich drove slightly under the speed limit and frequently glanced at the clock: 2:02; 2:08; 2:13; 2:18. She watched the Thurstons in her rearview mirror. When she crossed Maryland Route 202 on the John Hanson Highway, just past Landover, she noticed the Thurstons’ car weave. Less than a minute later, the car veered off the highway, plowed through the landscaped shoulder and grassy area between the highway and the woods, and crashed into a thick stand of trees. The sound of the impact was like thunder in a Spring storm.
Petrovich drove onto the shoulder, immediately called 9-1-1, and then ran to the Infiniti. She hoped she had a couple minutes before some Good Samaritan stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.