“We wouldn’t know where to begin,” said Conley. “Valter, the man Siqueira interrogated, couldn’t tell us. The ship is slated to arrive in Miami in less than a week. We can’t mount an investigation in that time frame.”
“Shepard,” said Bloch. “How about computer records? Is there any way to narrow down the ship’s contents electronically?”
“I’ve been looking into this,” he said. “It doesn’t look like detailed records of the containers are online. Customs declarations apparently take some time to be processed.”
“We can get those papers,” said Conley. “I have contacts here, and I could easily have access to them.”
“Wouldn’t help much, I think,” said Shepard. “That might work in a long investigation, but there’s not much I could do with those in just a few days.”
There were a few seconds of silence as each of them thought about more possible solutions.
“Well, we might as well consider the obvious,” said Bloch grimly. “With this fungus threatening to hit Miami and spreading beyond, it’s not too much to sacrifice some lives to prevent that. We can sink the ship. What do you say, Pope? Is it viable?”
“That’s not a good idea,” said Pope, the scientist, from off-screen. “You sink the ship, and the fungus is in the wild. It could be that everything would sink to the bottom of the ocean and we’d never see it again, but there’s no way to tell for sure. Spores can be extremely resilient. The results of that would simply be unpredictable. Who knows how long it might survive, and where it might wash up eventually? We could start an epidemic this way. It’s not a risk we should take, under any circumstances.”
“It’s better than an outbreak in a major American city,” said Bloch. “But we’ll take your opinion into consideration. It remains a measure of last resort, but only that. What else can we do?”
“Quarantine the ship,” said Conley. “Until we have further information. We can search the containers thoroughly, and be sure to get the right ones.”
“Sketchy plan at best,” said Bloch. “There are hundreds of millions of dollars in goods on any given cargo ship. That’s a lot of reasons not to want to keep it in port. Whatever clout our people have is going to be tested. And it’s a battle we’re likely to lose in a few days, without actually telling the government what’s in the cocaine.”
“Well, what if we do that?” asked Conley. “I meant, at this point, how much worse could we do?”
“It doesn’t seem like the worst option,” said Shepard. “We cut our losses and wash our hands of this. It might cause a panic, but that might be the least bad option here.”
“No,” said Bloch. “Absolutely not. The existence of this fungus needs to be kept a secret.”
“Are a few people’s sensitive secrets really worth endangering a major American city?” Morgan asked impatiently.
“Listen, Cobra,” said Bloch, “as secret as it has been kept thus far, we still had its existence leaked to Novokoff, and he managed to infiltrate a top-secret base to steal it. If this gets out, every major terrorist is going to want a piece of the action. And maybe one of them is going to get it. And that’s not even taking into consideration that people in our own government might just as easily want to have it and use it as a weapon. That is the choice that we need to make. I think it’s clear that we cannot allow this under any circumstance. The existence of this organism needs to be kept a secret, even if it means that some people have to die. Understood?”
“So what can we do?” asked Conley.
There was a prolonged silence. Then Morgan spoke up.
“I think I might have a way.”
CHAPTER 47
Miami, February 17
The foyer was all done in white and pink marble. There were large ornate mirrors on the walls, and fresh flowers in decorative vases. Morgan walked in confidently, but with due deference. He was about to ask a favor of a man who would not be happy to see him, and it would do him no good to act tough.
He heard the footsteps before seeing him: a large man, in a dark blue suit, his huge gut protruding from the jacket. “Hello, Sal.”
Salvatore Massaro was the head of a powerful crime family in Miami. He had a hand in all the dirty dealings in the city, from drugs to prostitution to illegal gambling. Back in his high school days, Morgan had gone to school with Sal’s niece, Gabriella, who was also Sal’s godchild. Morgan was friendly with her family, which was involved in organized crime in the Boston area. Shortly after high school graduation, Morgan had learned about a major drug bust in the town he’d grown up in, just outside of Boston, through a good friend who was a local police detective. Morgan had asked if he could go along for the ride and observe. Some warehouses had been raided, including one of Massaro’s located on the waterfront. During the raids, several of Massaro’s top people had been killed with several others arrested and a huge amount of narcotics had been confiscated. A crack house had also been raided and one of those detained was Gabriella. She’d been pretty strung out, but recognized Morgan and asked for his help. Dan had gotten his detective friend to agree to let Morgan take her to a clinic, where she would hopefully get clean. Dan had, and notified her family of her whereabouts. The family had made it clear to Morgan that they owed him a favor. Morgan had met Sal years earlier through Gabriella, and while they had never been exactly friends, there had been some degree of mutual respect between them. The police operation ended that relationship, and left Sal Massaro resentful of Morgan for not tipping him off somehow.
“Well, look who’s here,” Massaro said acidly. “What do you want?”
“And here I thought you’d be glad to see me,” said Morgan.
“We don’t like white hats, Dan. Not unless they’re on the payroll.”
“I’m not here to bust you, Sal, you know I’m not a cop. I’m here because I need your help.”
“Help?” he scoffed.
“There’s a shipment of cocaine that’s coming into port on a certain ship.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about any of that.”
“Please,” said Morgan. “You’re not letting anything come in and out of your city without your knowledge. Don’t play coy with me. I don’t want you arrested, Sal. Now hear me out. This stuff ’s been tainted as part of a terrorist plot. There’s a deadly fungus mixed in with this powder.”
“What, like anthrax or something?”
“Worse,” said Morgan.
“Worse?”
“If this thing gets out, I promise it’s going to be ugly. And if they trace it back to the cocaine, I can assure you that the DEA is the last thing you’ll have to worry about. Suddenly, ending the drug trade will be a matter of national security. And you know how civil rights and due process are the first to go out the door as soon as terrorism is mentioned.”
“That they are,” said Sal pensively.
“So you’ll help?” asked Morgan.
Sal laughed bitterly. “You come here with some half-baked story about some terrorist attack, and you expect me to leap off my feet to help you? To give up millions’ worth of pure blow? What the hell do you expect?”
“I expected a favor from someone who owes me,” said Morgan.
Sal looked dour, seething. “I never sold that junk. Meth. It made me sick to find out that Gabriella was sucked in by it. If it hadn’t been for you she would probably be a strung-out junkie or dead.”
“You can repay that debt today,” said Morgan. “In full.”
“All right.” He took out a pad and a pen and wrote four numbers down on a sheet of paper. “You’ll find the shipment in this container. It’s marked as being full of soybeans. Just get it out of there before the pickup crew arrives. They don’t play nice with people who steal their property.”
“Thank you, Sal.”
“My debt is repaid, Morgan. If I ever see you darkening my doorstep again, you’re a dead man. You hear me? Dead.”
Morgan looked him in the eyes and said, “I think we have an underst
anding, Sal.”
CHAPTER 48
Miami, February 22
The sun had not yet come up in Miami, and Morgan was huddled in the back of a van with Bishop and Spartan, with Diesel at the wheel. It was warm enough that they did not have to wear winter clothing—although nothing near the blazing heat in Rio—so the team wore light black gear. They’d brought only handguns and no heavier weapons.
Bishop checked his watch and said, “Let’s move out.” Morgan swung open the back door to the van, emerging into the darkness of Port Miami. They were in a parking lot surrounded by containers piled high, and in the distance, he could see the silhouette of a row of towering port cranes. He held the back door to the van as Spartan and Bishop came out, then closed it behind them. Diesel came around from the driver’s door, and they ran, single file, in between the sparse, dim lights to the edge of a pile of containers. The security guards had already been bribed, and would stay clear of the unloading area for the next half-hour.
The Argos had been unloaded in the late afternoon into the yard, and the containers still sat there, unopened. They walked down the rows until they found what they were looking for: the container that held the tainted cocaine. It was a rusting dark blue that looked black in the darkness.
Diesel used a heavy bolt-cutter to take care of the lock, and Spartan opened the door. It was packed floor to ceiling with sacks marked as being filled with soy. They pulled out the sacks, piling them outside the container. It took several minutes, but having burrowed through the container, they reached what they were looking for: heavy unmarked bags.
“Jesus, there must be thousands of pounds there,” said Spartan.
“All right,” said Spartan into the comm, “looks like our information checks out. Send the chopper.”
The chopper in question was an S-64 Skycrane, a transport helicopter that was built especially for heavy-lift jobs such as this. They kept watch for the five minutes until Morgan heard the sound of the approaching chopper. They waved it down by the container.
“Diesel, Spartan, like we practiced. Cobra, keep a lookout.” They began loading the sacks of cocaine into the chopper.
Everything was still in the port. The night was bright, and in the clouds Morgan saw searchlights from the nightclubs in the city. A whole other kind of brightness suddenly called his attention.
“Headlights,” said Morgan. “I’ve got headlights.”
“Just about done here,” said Diesel.
The source of the headlights turned a corner, and Morgan saw that it was a truck and a pickup. They seemed to be coming right at them. It could only be one thing.
The dealers had come to collect the cocaine.
“Everybody get in the chopper,” said Morgan.
“But there are only three seats,” said Spartan.
“I know. Get the hell in there.”
He took off, running between two rows of containers, and taking a right. The whir of the choppers’ blades grew louder as it took off. Morgan heard automatic fire, as the dealers shot at the departing helicopter. The sound covered his footsteps as he circled back between rows of containers until he emerged from behind them.
There were seven men in all, three of them holding Uzi submachine guns and the others wielding handguns. There was no way he could face them alone in the open, but all he had to do was draw their attention long enough for the chopper to escape.
Crouching at the corner of a container, he took careful aim with his Walther and fired three shots at one of the men with an Uzi. Two hit home, and he dropped to the ground. They heard him and turned to find the source of the shots. He quickly emptied his clip, hitting another man in the leg, and disappeared between the containers again. He switched the clip in his Walther as he ran, turning left, going down the length of three containers and turning left again.
Being alone, he had to rely on stealth and misdirection. By moving constantly, he could convince them that there was more than one enemy and lead them into confusion. He emerged from the rows of containers and fired three times, then ran out of sight again. It had been enough to allow the helicopter to escape, but the dealers were now swarming on him. He ran back into the maze of containers. He nearly bumped into one of the dealers and shot him at point blank. As he ran down the corridor, he heard gunfire behind him. He fired his two remaining bullets for cover and turned a corner. He was faced with a dead end. Morgan was trapped and out of ammo.
He heard footsteps of the man approaching, running toward him. He rounded the corner of the corridor, a man in Bermuda shorts and a red shirt with four buttons undone, with an Uzi in his hand.
“There you are,” he said with a cruel grin. He had raised the Uzi to shoot Morgan when three shots rang out, and the man staggered and fell forward. Another person emerged into the corridor. A woman with close-cropped blond hair, dressed in black.
“Spartan? You were supposed to be on that chopper!”
“You didn’t think I’d really abandon you, did you?”
“You were supposed to run away!” he said, grinning.
“Yeah, right,” she said.
“The others?” he asked.
“Gone. Come on, champ. Let’s get out of here before the rest of the family shows up.”
They ran through the maze, away from the chopper’s landing point, until they reached their van. Morgan got in the driver’s seat and Spartan in the passenger’s. He found the key, which Diesel had hidden in the visor on the driver’s side. He peeled out, leaving the port’s unloading docks behind as dawn’s first light appeared in the sky.
CHAPTER 49
Andover, February 23
Morgan arrived home late the next day to find Jenny alone in the house. It was a Saturday, and Alex was out having fun with friends. Jenny was sitting alone at the kitchen table, eating tuna salad and reading a decorating magazine, with a Sharpie sitting next to it. She always had it with her to circle pictures that inspired her.
“Hi, Dan,” she said dryly as he walked into the kitchen. “How was your trip? Do I even want to know?”
“I don’t think you do,” he said.
“I didn’t think so,” she said. “Look, I think . . .” She trailed off, looking into the middle distance thoughtfully.
“What is it, Jen?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind. But I did have something to talk to you about. Did you know that Alex has been out shooting a gun?”
Morgan winced. “How did you find out?”
“She had it in her purse,” said Jenny. “I didn’t snoop. She left it out and I could see it. So you did know about it.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I caught her in the act. She was sneaking off to the woods to practice on her own. I told her I’d teach her.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” asked Jenny. “Are you crazy?”
“She wanted to learn, and I didn’t see any harm in it,” said Morgan. He didn’t see a need to tell her about their daughter’s career plans.
“No harm in our teenage daughter going off and shooting a gun God knows where? What if she hurt someone? What if she hurt herself?”
“I taught her to be safe,” said Morgan. “She knows how to shoot without hurting herself and others. It’s something she likes and she’s good at. I learned to shoot a gun when I was years younger. She’s seventeen already. If she had been a boy, she’d have learned it as early as me.”
“And I still wouldn’t have liked it,” said Jenny. “I hope she’s not getting any ideas from you. I hope it all really is harmless fun. But I see her training martial arts and working out like crazy, and I’m afraid there’s something else going on. I’m afraid she’s learning to shoot because she thinks she’s going to use a gun someday.”
“Is that really a problem?” Morgan asked.
“Yes!” Jenny exclaimed. “She’s moving into your world, which is a dangerous world, and you’re letting her because you want a way that you can connect with your daughter.”
“I�
�m letting her because it’s what she wants!” he retorted. “If I don’t let her, she’s going to do it anyway! I might as well teach her to be as responsible as she can while I still have some kind of say over what she does.”
“Well,” said Jenny, pushing away from the table and leaving one third of her uneaten sandwich on the plate. “I hope you know what you’re doing, because I sure as hell don’t. But I guess it’s just one more person in my life who’s going to be keeping secrets from me.”
“Jen, please understand . . .”
“I do understand,” she said. “I understand why you do what you do, and I understand, I think, what Alex is doing here. What I don’t understand is why you need to lie so much to me. Good night, Dan.”
She walked out of the kitchen, upstairs to their bedroom.
Morgan went into Zeta the next morning. He took the elevator down from the garage and found Bloch waiting for him there as the doors opened.
“Welcome back, Morgan,” she said with a measure of warmth, which for her was uncommon. He almost thought he had seen a smile form on her lips. Almost.
“I really hope you weren’t standing there all morning waiting for me.”
“I knew you were coming,” she said. “I’d just like to congratulate you on your performance during this mission.”
“We didn’t get Novokoff,” he said. “I don’t think that’s cause for congratulations.”
“True,” she said. “But you did prevent a massive biological weapons strike in the United States. You saved a lot of lives, Morgan. And I want you to know that I recognize that.”
Morgan chuckled. “Does Diana Bloch have a heart after all?”
“Don’t push it,” she said. “All I can say is that I’m glad to have you on our team. You did good, Morgan. But he is still out there, and so are the people he worked for.”
“Do we have any developments on that?” he asked.
Silent Assassin Page 23