The Escape

by David Baldacci

  arsenal is very tricky politically and diplomatically. If an inspection were done with, say, Pakistan, it might turn up locations of WMDs and their security status. If that information were leaked, it could lead terrorists right to the stockpiles, the very thing such an inspection was trying to avoid. Again, Aust is sort of a trusted-by-both-sides intermediary who keeps the system honest, or at least reasonable. And look at Syria. Assad has chemical weapon stockpiles. Under an international agreement he agreed to destroy them. No one with even a grain of intelligence believes that he destroyed all of the stockpiles, for what sane dictator, pardon the seeming oxymoron, would do such a thing? But Aust was sent in to verify what was done. I’m sure he is very good at his job. I’m sure he knows how much Assad destroyed. I’m also sure he knows of other caches.”

  “But wouldn’t he report that?” said Puller.

  “He would make an official report, absolutely. That one would be dribbled out to the global media according to the timetable of the powers that be. But there would also be an unofficial report, with limited dissemination, that would tell a different story.”

  “So the public is kept in the dark,” said Puller. “How does that make sense?”

  “It makes perfect sense if you want future leverage with someone like Assad or Kim Jong Un or a host of leaders of that ilk. You always hold something back to play later when you need it. Proof that someone like Assad lied and did not destroy all of his WMDs can be very powerful when used later on. It’s all in the timing. We still hope for a resolution in Syria that does not involve all-out war. Such intel can pave the way for that.”

  “But why would Syria allow Aust to know of other caches? They would realize that this would be used later against them.”

  “That speaks to how good someone like Aust is. He knows places such as Syria like the back of his hand. He has moles everywhere. He can sniff out WMDs. That’s why he does what he does. And countries like Syria know this. It’s a game that they all play. If the chit is played later against Syria they will respond accordingly. But it buys them time. And it also buys us time to deal with countries like that in a diplomatic, measured way, instead of declaring war and sending boots on the ground. After Iraq and Afghanistan we don’t have the stomach or the money for that anymore. But we still have a significant role to play in international affairs. The world expects America to lead. And this is one way we can without committing lives and treasure in vast quantities. It’s all about what we know and when we use what we know.”

  Puller shook his head. “Way above my pay grade. It’s why I’m just a grunt toting a rifle.”

  “Give yourself a little more credit than that, Puller,” said Knox.

  “But it does come back to Aust,” said Robert. “If they need him, then it certainly narrows our search considerably.”

  Knox interjected, “But what if he’s doing so willingly? You said Reynolds seduced him. That it’s all about sex on his part and business on hers. But what if he’s in on it?”

  “And his motivation?” asked Robert.

  Knox turned to Puller. “Tell him what you told me before.”

  “He was the loudest voice that Iraq didn’t have WMDs,” Puller said. “And we went to war anyway. What if he wants to teach the world a lesson? Particularly America?”

  “By helping someone like Reynolds? By perhaps leading her to a cache of WMDs to use against us?” Robert shook his head. “I don’t think that’s plausible, John, I really don’t.”

  “Well, if it’s not then the real answer must be something totally off the wall, because nothing else I can think of makes sense.”

  Knox said, “We do have one tactical advantage. I’ve been listening to the news. The authorities are all over that apartment where Schindler was. It was totally destroyed. Apartments above and below were damaged as well. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be collateral casualties. They haven’t released Schindler’s name yet. They may not have identified him yet. But Reynolds probably thinks we’re dead too, our bodies blown to bits in that rubble. If she thinks she’s free and clear of us I believe she’s going to go ahead with her mission.”

  “And she might relax her guard a bit,” noted Puller.

  “Exactly.”

  “Then we might just have a chance,” said Robert.

  Puller suddenly stood, a look of intense concentration on his face.

  “What is it?” asked Robert and Knox together.

  “We need to go somewhere, right now.”

  “Where?” asked Knox.

  “Reynolds’s office at DTRA.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I just remembered there was something in her office that might just blow the lid off this whole thing.”

  CHAPTER

  65

  IT WAS A country house situated between Middleburg and Purcellville, Virginia, originally a horse farm. There were no equines left. It had been purchased for five million dollars, in cash, and was used approximately four weeks out of the year. The rest of the time its owner was traveling the world.

  The Range Rover was parked out on the cobblestone motor court directly in front of the double arched front doors. There was a staff to care for the house during the day and a cook at night if needed, but tonight he was not needed and thus the house had only one occupant.

  Malcolm Aust was dressed in jeans, a loose-fitting white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black Ferragamos without socks. He wore his wealth easily because he had possessed it all his life. He had not earned a penny of it himself, but he felt his potentially dangerous work as a WMD inspector justified his living in luxury. He was fifty-four years old, but looked younger because he had the money to take care of himself. He exercised, ate only organic, and had his meals prepared by people who knew what they were doing. His mind was nimble and filled with important facts, invaluable confidences, and a sophisticated world strategy that he was dutiful in carrying out.

  He walked around the small table that had been set up in the library. It was a wood-paneled room with three walls of books and cabinetry and windows looking out over the garden. Aust liked to be surrounded by weighty tomes, and had written several himself. To his credit, unlike some people with beautiful libraries, he had read nearly all the books on the shelves.

  The table had two place settings. The meals themselves were on a side table and under cover to keep them warm. There were two wineglasses on the table. He checked his watch and then uncorked a bottle from his personal stock. This bottle was especially good, and tonight he wanted especially good.

  He heard the car drive up. It stopped and he could hear a car door open and then the click-clack of heels on cobblestones.

  Aust poured two glasses of wine. Then he turned and walked down the hall toward the front doors. Seconds later he opened the door and there she was.

  She was dressed as seductively as she had been at their dinner. Well, perhaps even more seductively.

  Susan Reynolds’s smile was warm and coy and intriguingly suggestive. And despite himself, Aust felt a trickle of delight reach from his neck to the base of his spine.

  They kissed. She let her lips linger over his. His hand slipped a bit past her waist and gripped her where the flesh was soft. Through the fabric of her dress his fingers slid across the top of her thong underwear.

  Apparently the woman was ready to go to the next level tonight.

  “Dinner seems a long time ago,” said Aust as he pulled away from her and closed the door.

  “Much too long,” she agreed. “I missed you the moment you left.”

  He led her down the hall to the library.

  When she saw the table set up she exclaimed, “How lovely, Mal.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “Matches my guest. Lovely.”

  She beamed. “If you keep that up I’ll think you have intentions.”

  “Well, let me clear that right up. I do have intentions.”

  “I thought you would be exhausted after all your recent t
ravels. I was surprised you even had time for dinner last night. I was stunned when you called and asked to see me tonight. Stunned, but delighted,” she amended.

  “All I do is travel. I’m used to it. But this last trip was particularly arduous, I will admit that. I’ve been back for weeks, but I’m still exhausted.”

  “Zaire is not an easy place to get into or out of,” she noted.

  “It is certainly not. But the mission was too important.”

  “Perhaps one of your most important, Mal, and that is saying something.”

  “Shall we sit? I’ve poured out your favorite wine.”

  Reynolds glanced at the bottle and smiled. “That symbolizes many happy memories for me.”

  “Then let’s hope we add to that list tonight.”

  They sat at the table.

  “DTRA, I know, must be in a terrible state right now,” said Aust somberly. “Donovan was a good man. Good at his job.”

  “It was awful. We’re in total disarray.”

  “And now there is this bombing at an apartment building in D.C.”

  “I know. I heard about that too. They don’t know the cause. There are casualties, but they haven’t released any names yet. But I can’t think that it’s connected to Donovan’s death.”

  “And the work at the WMD Center?”

  She spread her hands. “As you just said, the mission is too important. Even if our leader is dead, we have to carry on.”

  “Of course,” said Aust.

  “Despite its remoteness, Zaire must have seemed a bit quaint after the violence of Syria.”

  Aust shrugged. “I’ve confronted many dictators like Assad. He gets away with as much as he possibly can. He will lie, cheat, and hide.”

  “So how many chemical weapons does he have in reserve?”

  “Susan,” he said in a gently admonishing tone.”

  “I know you like to keep things close to the vest, but no clues?” she asked sweetly.

  “Not even for you, my dear. But when the report is officially released you’ll get to read every word.” He picked up his wineglass and indicated that she should do the same with hers.

  They clinked glasses and drank their wine.

  Aust wiped his mouth slowly with his napkin. “I must applaud you for drawing the potentially calamitous situation in Africa to my attention.”

  “Well, our work at the center is all about spotting those types of scenarios and cutting them to the quick, if possible.”

  “There had been rumors about it being weaponized. But I thought they were simply rumors. How did you manage to get onto it? You never said.”

  “Through various channels. We have human intel all over the place. Even in remote Zaire. But we only had generalities to go by, Mal. You were the one who tracked it down.”

  “We might have been a bit late to the party,” he said, his brow suddenly creased with concern.

  She lowered her glass. “Late? How so?”

  “It will be in my report on Zaire, but on this I can give you a bit of a preview.” He put down his wineglass and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together.

  “I’ve seen you do that before. When you’re very nervous,” she added.

  He ignored this and said, “I had communicated particulars to you on the target site.”

  “Correct. And I sent them onward.”

  “Well, when we got to the target site it appeared that someone had been there before us.”

  “Who?”

  “Unknown as yet.” He suddenly slapped his hand on the table, nearly upsetting his wine. “The thing is, Susan, I’m fairly certain we didn’t get all of it.”

  “Have you made this known yet?”

  “I don’t want to incite a panic based on incomplete information.”

  “But why can’t you be sure one way or another?”

  “There was no one at the target site. Just the cache. Where we expected it to be.”

  “Well, then?”

  “I’m very meticulous in my work, as you know.”

  “Of course you are. You’re a legend, Mal.”

  “The canisters were in an underground bunker. Ten feet down. Dirt floor, concrete block walls and ceiling.”

  “And no one was there?”

  “They had been.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We found two shell casings and traces of blood. Very faint but they were there.”

  “As you said, meticulous.”

  “And something else in the dirt too.”

  “What?”

  “We retrieved six canisters, five-foot-tall cylinders. They weighed many kilos apiece.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But in the dirt, you see?”

  “Yes?” she said expectantly.

  “It was only a faint trace. But it was unmistakable.”

  “What was it, Mal?”

  “Three more canisters. You could just make out the indentations of the bottoms of them in the dirt.”

  “But they weren’t there? Hidden somewhere else, perhaps?”

  He shook his head. “We searched everywhere. There was nothing.”

  “So three canisters might be missing?”

  “Coupled with the shell casings and the blood, I think someone beat us to it. And we found some villagers who had seen the canisters being brought in. There were nine of them. They were sure of that.”

  “But why take only some of the canisters?”

  “Perhaps they hoped we wouldn’t see the evidence of the others. Or of the possible attack on those who had possessed the canisters.”

  She sipped her wine. “There has always been talk of the Russians aerosolizing it.”

  “That was just a rumor. An unsubstantiated one. I don’t believe that the Russians ever managed to do it.”

  “But why Zaire of all places?”

  “Well, that’s where the deadliest form originated. An average eighty percent fatality rate. They have science in Africa, Susan. Better than we think. And parts of that continent have become ground zero for terrorist activity. Lots of money is pouring in there, and it’s not to build schools or infrastructure. It’s to do harm in other parts of the world. Like right here.”

  “Which was one reason the center was focused on it.”

  “And pointed me in that direction.”

  “We had just the barest of intelligence. You did the hard work tracking it down.”

  “But if someone got there ahead of me? If they took those canisters for their own purposes?”

  “It all sounds very ominous, Mal. How can I help?”

  In answer, he reached under his chair, slid out a pistol, and leveled it at her head.

  “You can tell me who you tipped off, Susan. And what they plan to do with the canisters. And you can tell me right now.”

  Reynolds didn’t even flinch. “That was quite a segue, Mal. I’m not sure I’ve seen better. Or worse, depending on one’s perspective.”

  “You were my point of contact at the center. You said you sent the intel on the target site onward. I’m sure you did. I just need to know to whom.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I won’t insult your intelligence, so please don’t insult mine. Donovan Carter called me the day he died. He told me he wanted to talk about something important. When I asked him what, he only mentioned one name. Yours. He knew we were friends. He knew we were working together.”

  Reynolds drank some more of her wine. “And what did dear departed Donovan say about me?”

  “That he had doubts as to your loyalty. That issues had been raised. That people were making inquiries and forming sound arguments about your possible treachery. That you might have even framed Robert Puller in order to place your own person at ISR.”