“What do you suppose that is?” asked Conley. “A seat or section number?”
Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know. But Nickerson said something before he left. Something about Saturday being a big day.”
“Who’s playing Saturday at RFK?” Conley wondered aloud. And then it hit Morgan.
“I know what the number means. Nobody’s playing on Saturday. That senator, McKay, she’s giving a speech there. I imagine that X is right about where her podium is going to be. Conley, that number is a range, as in for a rifle. T is planning to assassinate Senator McKay.”
CHAPTER 38
Dennis Poole walked into Senator Lana McKay’s office to find her sitting at her cluttered desk, with a pen in her hand, poring over a thin document, deep in concentration. She looked up at him from the paper and smiled, that sincere, guilelessly disarming smile of hers that he had always found so compelling, that had won him when he had first met her. And yet he knew there was a fighter behind that smile, one who could be as hard and unyielding as steel.
“Hi, Dennis,” she said. “Tell me, how are things looking out there?”
“Crazy as usual. But it’s all going to work out.”
“God willing,” she said wearily.
“Ritchie wants to know what you think of the speech.”
“I’m looking it over one last time now,” she said. “Tell him I have some notes to go over with him, but it’s powerful. Between you and me, this is his best yet.” She sighed and sat back in her chair. “I just hope it’s good enough to get people to take notice.”
“It will be,” he said. “You’re going to make sure of that.”
“I’m glad one of us has that kind of confidence,” she replied. “I just hope it’s not misplaced.”
“I’ve seen how people respond to you, Lana. They see you, and they know you’re the real deal. It’s going to happen.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she said, perking up. “We’re going to stop them. No more using taxpayer money to fund thuggery. No more profiting off the blood of American soldiers.”
“You made a believer out of me, Lana. You’re going to do this.”
“We’re going to do it, Dennis. You’ve been a crucial part of everything I’ve done in office. This is going to be your big day as much as it is mine.”
He flashed her a broad, grateful smile. “We’re gonna push this law through,” he said. “No compromises, no derailments. We’ll expose the opponents of justice and transparency, and they will be shamed into voting for us. If politics is the only thing they believe in, then that’s what we’ll play. We’ll expose their hypocrisy and corruption. The electorate won’t stand for maintaining the status quo.”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” she said.
“You’ve made me believe that it doesn’t, Lana. Even when I was a kid fresh out of college, I knew that most politicians didn’t act against their own interests, that they voted with their biggest donors, always seeking out money and votes, almost never giving a damn about justice or the people their policies affected. But this, this is different. Lana, you made this cynic believe in our government again.”
She smiled softly at him. “It truly makes me happy to hear you say that, Dennis. All that’s left now is to reach everyone else.”
“That will come. Just wait and see. The American people will be on your side.”
Her office phone rang.
“Sally,” she called out to her assistant in the other room, “did you send this through?”
“No, Senator. Whoever it is called your line directly.”
“Hmm,” she said, and she picked up the receiver. “Hello, you’ve reached Senator McKay.”
“Senator.” It was a man’s gruff, unfamiliar voice. “You don’t know me, but please don’t hang up.”
“Who are you? How did you get this number?”
“I can’t tell you who I am. But what I can tell you is that your life is in danger. There is a plot to assassinate you on Saturday. You need to call off your speech.”
“What? Are you threatening me?”
“No!” said the voice. “But someone is going to kill you, Senator. You need to cancel the rally.”
“That’s not going to happen. If you have information, why don’t you call the police?”
“They won’t be able to do anything about it. Not against the people who are plotting to kill you. You need to go somewhere secret and safe and stay there.”
“And who are these powerful people who want me dead?” she asked, affecting mild amusement.
“Look, I know you won’t believe me. But think about whether Senator Edgar Nickerson might have the means and the motive to take you out of the picture.”
“Edgar Nickerson!” she laughed, skeptically.
“This is serious, Senator!”
“Look, sir,” she said, losing her patience, “if you have information about an assassination plot, please contact the authorities. If you have information that implicates Senator Nickerson in this kind of conspiracy, by all means take it to the newspapers. But don’t ask me to cancel my speech on hearsay. I won’t be stopped by vague threats.” She slammed down the receiver hard and sat back, fuming.
“Are you okay, Lana?” asked Poole.
She waved him off, but he could tell she was shaken. “This isn’t my first death threat, Dennis. Just alert the security team that there’s been another one, and have them do what they do.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Can I get you something?”
“I’ll be fine. These . . . these thugs think that they can intimidate me. Well, I’ll show them. If they want to stop me from making my speech, if they want to stop this bill from becoming law, they’ll have to make good on their threats and kill me. Because anything short of that will not hold me back.”
“Aren’t you worried that they will?” asked Poole, who was himself more than a little apprehensive. Still, he couldn’t help admiring her grit.
McKay looked out her window with steely resolve. “If they do, if all the powers in Washington are arrayed against me, then I suppose I can’t stop them. But backing down is one thing I will not do.”
“You really think this reform is worth your life, Lana?” he asked.
“Yes. But even if it weren’t on the face of it, I wouldn’t let that stop me. If I back down now, it’ll be the same thing next time, and the next. And next thing I know, I’ve got a lifetime of backroom deals and compromised principles. And then I’m no better than any of them.”
“If that’s your decision,” he said, “I’ll be right there with you.”
“I know you will, Dennis,” said the senator. “I know you will.”
“Do you think she believed you?” Conley asked Morgan.
“Not enough.” He looked down at the prepaid cell phone, its face still glowing from the call.
It was the afternoon of the same day that Conley had rescued him, and they were sitting in Conley’s car in a supermarket parking lot. Morgan had been stitched up and had bandages wrapped around his thigh and torso. The bruising on his face, if anything, looked worse. But although he hadn’t rested, he had taken a shower and eaten, and he felt refreshed and alert.
“What do we do now?” asked Conley.
“I don’t see that we have a choice,” said Morgan. “We can’t let Nickerson win. We have to stop him.”
“We can’t do this alone, Morgan.”
“And who are we going to call, Conley? If we call the Feds with a story about a CIA conspiracy but no credible evidence to back it up, they’re just going to think we’re another couple of crazies.”
“Then we have no one else to turn to. We have to contact the Agency,” Conley reasoned.
“Are you crazy? They tried to kill me and my family, and you want to trust them with this?”
“This is about saving the senator, Morgan. We have to do something. Not everyone in there can be compromised. Even with the mole, they can still protect her. They have resources that we d
on’t.”
“I don’t know, Conley,” he said, looking away.
“I’m not willing to gamble with the senator’s life. I hate this just as much as you do, and I trust them about as far as I can throw them. But it’s our best shot at stopping Nickerson.”
“Fine,” said Morgan, gritting his teeth. He didn’t like it at all, but Conley was right.
“Here, give me the phone. We’ll call Boyle directly.”
“No,” said Morgan. “We shouldn’t let anyone know you’re alive. I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” said Conley.
“You mean, am I going to lose my temper and tell him to go to hell?”
“I mean, you’ve been beaten and deprived of sleep. I don’t mean to have this conversation all over again, but are you sure you’re up for anything right now?”
Morgan glowered at him. “Yeah, I can handle myself. Just tell me how to get his direct line.”
Conley dialed for him instead and handed the phone back to Morgan. It rang twice, and then he heard the voice on the line.
“Boyle.”
“You son of a bitch. This is Cobra. I have some information for you. Now listen closely, and if for a second I think you’re stalling to keep me on the line, I’ll hang up.”
“Cobra, you need to turn yourself over to us right now,” Boyle demanded. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll send someone to get you.”
“Like you sent that sick bastard to get me and my family?” said Morgan acerbically.
“Wagner veered off mission. He was supposed to bring you in, that’s all.”
“Bullshit. But that’s not why I called you, Boyle. I have information. I want to tell you who really killed Eric Plante and Zalmay Siddiqi. It was Natasha Vasiliyevna. Now she’s plotting to assassinate Senator Lana McKay at her rally on Saturday.” He decided against mentioning Nickerson. Morgan knew how it would sound, and there was no need to make it less believable.
“That’s impossible,” said Boyle incredulously. “She’s not even in the country.”
“You’re being played. She’s here, and she’s been after me ever since I was in Afghanistan.”
“If that’s all true, Cobra, then it’s all the more reason for you to turn yourself in and let us take care of the investigation.”
“Damn it, Boyle, there’s no time for an investigation! You need to find her now, before she kills the senator!”
“Just come in, and we’ll discuss this calmly. You can present everything you have, and we can determine whether it’s credible here at headquarters.”
“No. I told you what I know. What you do with this information now is your problem.”
“I can’t act on your word alone,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
“Why don’t you just turn yourself in . . .”
“Why don’t you go to hell?” Morgan threw the phone hard onto the dashboard, and it bounced back, landing on Conley, who turned it off and popped out the battery.
“No luck, then?” he said glumly.
“Looks like we’re on our own.” Morgan glanced at him. “What now?”
“Like I said before,” said Conley, “we check into a hotel so we can both get some sleep. Tomorrow morning we begin planning. It looks like we’re running this solo.”
“Maybe not entirely,” said Morgan. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
CIA Director Boyle laid down the receiver, thought, and then picked it up again.
“Get me Kline.”
“Yes, sir?” came Kline’s voice, after a few seconds.
“It’s Cobra. He just called me.”
“Did you record the call? Did you trace it?” asked Kline.
“No, it happened too quickly, and I wasn’t fast enough. But what he told me was concerning. He raved about some sort of conspiracy against him and talked about a rally that Senator McKay is holding on Saturday. I’m afraid he’s planning something and that it’s happening there.”
“Sir, what do we do?” asked Kline. “Deploy another operative?”
“No. Alert Homeland Security. I want every officer in that stadium to have a photograph of Cobra. Give them a story about him being some kind of anti-government extremist. And tell them he should be considered armed and dangerous. If he is spotted, orders are to shoot on sight.”
CHAPTER 39
The rain poured mercilessly as Morgan sloshed through the streets of Prague on a dark spring evening, a briefcase in his hand. It was an ancient city and looked older still after enduring decades of Soviet rule. That night, however, there was electricity in the air, and the city buzzed with an atmosphere of vibrant youth and new possibilities.
Revolution, however, was not Dan Morgan’s business in Prague that night. After one last quick look backward to check that he wasn’t being followed, he turned in to the Three Hunchbacks Hotel, in the Zizkov district. Soviet rule had not been kind to the once-beautiful façade, which was now stained and dilapidated. The inside, dusty and smelling of mildew, had not fared much better. Morgan walked up three flights of stairs, then down a dark, wood-paneled hallway to the third door on the right. He knocked, tapping out a prearranged code. He heard footsteps, and the heavy door swung open.
“Andrei,” Morgan said to the man at the door.
“What news do you bring, Cobra?” Andrei said, dripping with anxiety. “Tell me we have not been found out. Tell me my sister is alive and well.” He was impeccably dressed, as usual, in an elegant brown suit and slicked back sandy hair. But the bags under his eyes were more pronounced, and his cheeks were sallow and more sunken than usual. He held a small weapon loosely in his hand, a Makarov semiautomatic.
“Everything’s okay. Natasha’s fine, and everything’s still according to plan,” Morgan replied.
“Good, good,” Andrei said, relieved. “Please, come in.”
Morgan walked into the room. A stiff bed lay on warped floorboards. Everything that belonged to Andrei was arranged in an open suitcase on the dresser. He seemed to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.
“I have some documents for you,” said Morgan, motioning to his briefcase. “A passport and entry papers that will get you through the border. We take the morning train to Vienna.”
“Do you know how long I have been here, Cobra? Trapped, in this apartment? Two days!” he exclaimed, keeping his voice low. His eyes were wide, wild. “Do you know what my people are capable of? Do you know what they would do to me if they caught me?”
“I’m sure you know better than I do,” said Morgan.
“The penalty for defection is death. And not quick death, as you Americans do it. Americans, even coldhearted ones like you, are merciful. In Russia, we like our executions slow and painful.”
Morgan sighed. “I came as soon as I could.” He tossed Andrei’s suitcase onto the bed and placed the briefcase on the dresser.
“And left me nearly mad in the meantime!” he exclaimed. “But tell me, Cobra, where is my sister?”
“Natasha’s safe,” said Morgan. “She’s with Cougar.”
“We will not be going together, then?”
“Soon, Andrei. Once you’re both in Paris. Then you’ll come together to the United States.”
“I must see her now, Cobra,” Andrei said, and he walked to the window. “I must see her before I go. Is she here? Is she in Prague? I must know.”
Morgan opened the briefcase and shuffled through the papers inside. “You’ll see her in good time,” he said. He pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it onto the bed. “There’s your ticket out of here.”
Andrei walked over and bent down to pick up the envelope. As his back was turned, in one fluid move, Morgan slipped a length of wire from his coat pocket and looped it around Andrei’s neck, pulling it taut. Andrei, startled, reached up, but he couldn’t get his fingers under the wire. He tried to wriggle himself loose, then heaved back, trying to knock Morgan against the wall behind them. Morgan held firm, the garrote biting into his hand. Andre
i thrashed, kicked, and elbowed him, his strength slowly withering, until finally, after two minutes, he went limp. Morgan held the garrote tight until he was sure the man was dead, then laid him on the bed, facing away from the door. Morgan packed up his briefcase and gave the room a quick sweep to make sure he had left nothing behind that could identify him, then left.
He made his way out of the hotel and walked down a few streets before hailing a cab to the Old Town Square, where Conley sat at a café, wearing an elegant European overcoat and sipping an espresso as if he’d been living in the city his whole life.
“It’s done,” Morgan said. “Clean and quiet. Nobody saw me leave. How’s T?”
“In the safe house, eager to get out of here. We’re driving out right away, headed for the Austrian border. Hopefully we’ll make it before they find Andrei.”
“Don’t count on it,” said Morgan. “The Russians will be expecting him to report back on her whereabouts. They’ll know he’s dead before the day is done. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure they’re busy until your trail is nice and cold.”
Conley laughed. “I’m sure you will. Give those bastards hell.” He took a few bills from his wallet and put them on the table. “Good luck, my friend. I’ll see you on the other side.”
“God willing,” said Morgan, shaking his hand. “Oh, and, Peter,” he added, as he got up. “T never finds out about this. Deal?”
“She’ll never hear it from me,” said Conley.
CHAPTER 40
Saturday was a bright, beautiful day, and although the senator’s speech wouldn’t start until seven that evening, which was more than three hours away, the people who had trickled in since noon were already waiting in line at the gate, wearing shirts or hats or carrying signs with McKay’s name on them. All in all, a casual observer might have mistaken it for a ball game. Natasha, who was most certainly not a casual observer, watched with unmitigated contempt, this audience in the circus world of political rallies. Well, there would be a spectacle tonight. She would make sure of that.
“Vera!” came a voice from behind her. She turned to see Dennis Poole, in a white button-down with the collar open and sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
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