Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  Oh, my, thought Bourne. A better head on his shoulders? What Freudian principle caused that to pop out? Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Clew won’t get it.

  “Let me summarize,” said Bourne. “We had an agreement; I’ve done my part; you’ve stopped that arms shipment. Something went wrong; you’d love to blame me, but you can’t so go deal with it yourself.”

  “Yeah, we had an agreement. But you’re lying through your teeth. Now you want me to tell you where to find Stride. What does she have to do with germ warfare, Mr. Bourne? What connection does she have to all this?”

  “None whatever.”

  “Oh, really?” said Clew. “As it happens, I know better.”

  “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have asked. And you don’t because the two are not related.”

  Bourne waited for some rejoinder from Clew. None came. He’d been right. The man was bluffing. Bourne said, “You’re either fishing or you’re looking to renege. Please excuse me for a moment. I have to pee. I’ll remind you that you have given your word. When I come back, I expect you to keep it.”

  Bourne stepped behind a shrub at the rear of the stables. An indelicate ruse, but he needed a moment. Clew had said something that had caused a stirring somewhere deep within the wiring of his brain. What connection? There was none. At least not directly. Elizabeth Stride and this shipment of arms? They should not have been related, but were they?

  The shipment was Bobik’s. In the works for some time. He’d asked Chester whether Bobik might be selling VaalChem’s wares. Chester couldn’t be sure, but Bobik certainly had access. And we know that Bobik might have “tried them out” against Alameo and that bunch. But would Bobik have sold Marburg to a lunatic like Mobote? It would be vastly more likely to kill Mobote and everyone within a few miles of him. Could killing Mobote have been his intention? No, certainly not. If it were, he could have simply poisoned those condiments that Chester said had been included. A dose of strychnine in Mobote’s barbecue sauce. A dash of hemlock in his paprika.

  But suppose that Bobik really did ship the Marburg. And that’s if it was Marburg. We’re not sure of that yet. We’d be sure if Clew had mentioned the color the label. If the label was pink, it was certainly Marburg. If the label was yellow it was Marburg and then some. It was Marburg grafted to smallpox. Clew may not even know and we can’t ask him, of course. We’re not supposed to know such details.

  Bourne’s urine stream had reduced to a trickle. But he held his pose. He wanted more time to think.

  Very well, he decided. Say the flasks contained Marburg. Say that Bobik did in fact get his hands on that material. Say he did ship some to Mobote. Would Bobik have shipped them in a VaalChem container? He could not have been so stupid. It’s not possible.

  At that moment he felt the same stirring again, but this time it was rising in volume. This time it seemed to be shouting at him. It was asking him, “When did Bobik die?”

  What had Chester said? Bourne was trying to think. They’d got Bobik first. He was the ripest of the three. They may have only brought his head to Winfield’s office. They’d shipped all three heads on the Friday or Saturday preceding their arrival here at Briarwood. But the arms for Mobote hadn’t left by then, had they? According to Chester, they hadn’t. And Alameo, according to Chester, had wrung Bobik dry before detaching his head from his body.

  Oh, damn, thought Bourne.

  Alameo. He did this.

  Among the things he had wrung out of Bobik must have been the details of this shipment. He found the crates before they were put on that freighter. But wouldn’t he simply have taken the weapons? No. Too heavy. Too much to haul off. Or too much to get past army checkpoints in Luanda. So he booby-trapped the shipment in such a way that the virus would be traced back to VaalChem. That would have been his motive, not Duganga’s stolen diamonds. He sent that lab flask in a VaalChem container like those in which he sent the three heads. Mobote was to open it, probably sniff it, and decide that it didn’t seem flavorful enough. He and everyone around him would be dead within days.

  Alameo sent one, but he must have kept others. Not just Marburg. All those different strains of Smallpox. He might or might not have a plan for their use, but something will doubtless occur to him. And if he found all those toxins in Winfield’s safe, he probably found the corresponding vaccines and Winfield would have told him which is which. One assumes that he’d have Winfield inject himself first to be sure that Winfield was not being sly. That done, would he not have injected himself? Against everything? All of it? Bourne wondered; can one do that? If he could, he’s now immune and so is Duganga. So are all of Duganga’s key people.

  Oh, my, thought Bourne. This gets worse and worse.

  Roger Clew called out, “Um…I don’t have all day.”

  Bourne muttered, “Prostate problems. One moment.”

  He shook himself off. He zipped himself up. He repeated, “Oh, my.” This is not at all good. Finding Stride grows more essential by the hour.

  He took another moment to gather himself. He said to Clew, “No more fencing. I think you’ve found Stride. I think you’ve delivered my proposal.”

  Clew stared at him hard. “A little bird told you? That same little bird back at State?”

  “Informed intuition. I can see it in your eyes. And you’re going to try to tell me she’d dead.”

  He saw that Clew was vacillating. He was making up his mind. Clew surprised him by saying, “No, I won’t. And yeah, I have.”

  Bourne’s heart leaped. “Well, where is she? What did she say?”

  “She said that you’re full of shit about VaalChem. Oh, wait. That wasn’t her. That was me.”

  Bourne darkened. He repeated, “You’ve given your word.”

  Clew gestured toward Bourne’s feet. “You know you’ve pissed on your shoes?”

  Bourne narrowed his eyes. “I will ask you one more time.”

  “And you got a few drops down your pants leg.”

  “Mr. Clew…”

  “She did get your message. That’s all I agreed to. Her answer was no; she does not want to see you. And I’m going to shut VaalChem down.”

  “Do your worst,” said Bourne. “You gave her the whole message?”

  “What? That you’d pay her? She isn’t for sale.”

  “You were to say to her; ‘He isn’t dead either.’”

  “Either she didn’t know who you’re talking about or she didn’t care either way,” replied Clew.

  Bourne blinked. “You’re a liar. That cannot be true.”

  “Sticks and stones, Mr. Bourne, but I’ll spell it out for you. If your ‘he’ is Martin Kessler, she knows better; he’s dead. If your “he’ is someone else from her past, that’s where he’s going to stay. In her past.”

  As Clew spoke, Bourne looked deeply into his eyes. He realized that Clew wasn’t toying with him. Clew actually believed what he was saying.

  Bourne wanted to say, “You damned fool,” but he didn’t. He said with forced calm, “You may leave now.”

  “Oh, I’m going. I’ll be busy. I’m going to hurt you.”

  “With that? You have nothing. Goodbye, Mr. Clew.”

  Clew started toward his car. He looked back over his shoulder. He said, “I’m also going to get you for killing your wife. One way or the other, you’re finished.”

  “Please get off my property, Mr. Clew.”

  That last part, the wife thing, had barely registered with Bourne. It was a dead issue, so to speak. And gratuitous. Clew had already managed to make him lose him temper. He had very nearly said far too much.

  Stride knows he dead, does he? She’s certain? You damned fool. Stride might believe it and you might believe it, but she doesn’t know any such thing.

  Bourne wanted to say, “You don’t think he’s alive? Take a walk with me down to my freezer. I’ll show you three more of those VaalChem containers. I’ll show you the calling card that came with Savran Bobik’s. It’s a poster. Here, let m
e unfold it.”

  He’d like to have said, “See? Does it begin to sink in? Alameo is Kessler. Kessler is Alameo. ‘Alameo’ is Portuguese. What it means is ‘The German.’ He’s alive and, I assure you, he’s kicking.”

  But Bourne couldn’t say that. Not now. Not in this context. If Clew were to realize that those two men are one, he would quickly put the rest of this together. Clew’s antipathy may have been clouding his judgement, but that only made the man stubborn, not stupid. Those heads, and especially Savran Bobik’s remains, would do violence to one’s claim of non-involvement.

  And truth be told? That claim was largely true. He was innocent of almost every part of this.

  Damn Bobik, thought Bourne. He had brought all this on. If he hadn’t tortured and beheaded that woman, we wouldn’t have Kessler seeking vengeance in kind. What was her name? Sara. She was Kessler’s new woman. That tidbit alone might have been of use in pulling the strings of his former love, Stride. Kessler’s been less than faithful. How would she respond to that? She would not have required him to be faithful if dead. But pretending to be dead? And then dallying with Sara? It seems imprudent to cheat on an assassin.

  We’d best keep that to ourselves if she’s to be of any use. And we’re getting off the subject, thought Bourne.

  If Kessler had simply killed Bobik and been done with it, he might never have learned that VaalChem was testing certain of its creations on the rebels. But he did question Bobik. Duganga might have insisted. Duganga would have wanted to know what became of his stolen diamonds. That would have led to Bobik telling them about Mobote. Ratting him out, as they say. Kessler learns of the shipment; Kessler booby traps the shipment, never dreaming that it might be intercepted. And but for Bobik’s greed and Kessler’s revenge, VaalChem’s useful work might have gone on unnoticed. All that would have remained would be to neutralize Kessler through his one Achilles heel, namely Stride. Neutralize him, control him, and through him, Duganga. Through Duganga, we control all those excellent diamonds. We control the entire world market.

  But now we have Roger Clew, more annoying than ever, threatening to cause even more disruption. How much does he know and how much of it is bluff? We’d best know the answer, and quickly.

  Bourne placed another call to his contact at State. He was careful not to use the man’s name. On reaching him, he asked, “What success have you had?”

  “Getting into his files? Not much, I’m afraid. If our other friend is right and he has found that woman, he’s buried his notes somewhere in his system and he seems to have downloaded some. We found one early message from some general in Liberia. It looks like it should have been the first of a series, but we don’t see anything more recent.”

  “Downloaded them?” asked Bourne. “To another computer?”

  “If he hasn’t, he will. He has one in his apartment. From that one, apparently, he spreads them around. As you know, he is tight with a certain friend up north. I’d bet he parks copies up there. He is, incidentally, going up there next Tuesday. He’s marked off three days on his calendar. The word is, there’s some sort of…I don’t know…some summit meeting.”

  Bourne paused. “Well, never mind then. It’s really not worth the trouble.”

  “It isn’t? Mr. Bourne, I was under the impression…”

  The man sounded piqued. He had risked his career. Never mind that he’d been well rewarded.

  “It’s no longer a concern,” Bourne told him. “But I thank you.”

  Bourne had lied to him, of course. He was more interested than ever. And Clew won’t be attending any meetings. But it was better to have his friend at State think that nothing more was to be done. If questioned under oath, he could say that’s where it ended. Artemus Bourne had shown total indifference.

  Bourne looked at his watch. Lilly must be on his way. Bourne took his cell phone from the pocket of his overalls and punched out the number of Chester’s device. Chester answered on the third ring.

  Bourne asked him, “Where are you at this moment?”

  “On my way from the airport. Just got in from Houston. Look, I have to tell you, the news isn’t good. There’s some scary stuff missing over there.”

  “I am not surprised. And you don’t know the half of it. Where are Toomey and Kuntz? Can you reach them?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “Do you recall asking me whether you could have Clew? I’ve had a change of heart. You may have him.”

  Chester hesitated. He said, “All these names. Are you using the cell phone I got you?”

  “I am.”

  “The Nokia, right? The GSM digital?”

  “Very nearly impossible to eavesdrop,” Bourne answered. “You’ve explained that. I took it to heart.”

  “Okay, but you still shouldn’t say too much more. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. You can tell me when and where.”

  “This evening,” Bourne answered. “Before he gets to his apartment. I will tell you exactly what I need you to do. You are not to deviate from it.”

  “Mr. Bourne...I got the picture. Fifteen minutes.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “That looked pretty ugly,” said Alex to Clew at the start of their drive back to Washington.

  Clew didn’t reply. He stared ahead.

  “I could see his face after you walked away. The guy was not having good thoughts.”

  Still nothing.

  “I’d say he looked like he had a bee in his bonnet, but that would be beating this to death. Except, from all I hear, Bourne’s not someone to mess with. I bet you that he’s on the phone right now, trying to get you reassigned to some shit hole, maybe embassy duty in Kabul.”

  Clew took a breath. “I need to ask you a question. Is there anything you think you should tell me?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like whether you’ve had business with Bourne.”

  Alex turned in his seat. “Where’d did that come from?”

  “It’s a simple question, Alex. Yes or no?”

  Clew was watching to see whether Alex turned pale. He didn’t. His color was rising. “You’re asking me whether I have been bought. Is that what you’re asking, Mr. Clew?”

  “Consider this practice for a lie detector test. I’m going to need you to take one.”

  “About me and Bourne? That’s the question you’ll ask? Back then was the first time I ever saw him. What, you think I’m a regular at his brunches?”

  “With his people, then. Have any approached you? Have you ever met with anyone in his employ?”

  “Mr. Clew…this is getting me mad.”

  Clew chewed on his lip for a moment before speaking. “Bourne does have someone on the inside at State. He knows things he shouldn’t have known.”

  “You’re saying he has sources.” Then sarcastically, “You think? We’re State. This guy’s world. Of course he has sources. He probably has hundreds. That doesn’t mean anyone’s bought.”

  Clew started to speak. Alex held up a hand. “In the first fucking place, I have taken an oath. I do my job; I follow orders; no one buys me. Second, just for practice for my lie detector test, I admit that I have met two of his people and that one of them did tempt me a little.”

  “Who and when?”

  “The first one was what’s-his-name…Chester. Chester Lilly. I met him when he came to State to see you. You recall that I sit outside your door, do you not? You recall that you blew him off, do you not? This is how it came to pass that I met him.”

  “Not since?”

  “Never seen him, never heard from him, never again. Negative. Nada. No more after that. No time, no way, not fucking ever.”

  “Lose the attitude, Alex. I do have to ask. Who’s the other one? You said you were tempted.”

  “I’m not sure I should tell you. Maybe I should take the Fifth.”

  “Alex…I’m really in no mood for jokes.”

  “Yeah, well I’m in no mood to have my loyalty questioned. The other one was Claire, the English babe
who brought you Bourne’s invitation. I showed her in, remember? I could hear every word. I could see she was ready to give you a blow job if that would have got you to go to Bourne’s brunch. I suspected that I could have got one myself if I promised that I’d try to talk you into it.”

  Clew almost smiled. He didn’t respond.

  His driver asked him, “You happy? Are we through with the questions?”

  Clew answered, “One more.” He paused for a moment. “Alex, who else do you report to at State?”

  “I report to security. You know that.”

  “I mean on my activities. And you know what I’m asking.”

  “Like…does anyone get curious?” asked Alex. “Sure they do. All the time. It’s not news that you make people nervous. Do I answer their questions? That depends on their rank. It also depends on whether I know. And most of the time I know zip.”

  “Who in particular?”

  A brief pause. “No one special.”

  Clew folded his arms. “Very well.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe there might be something that you wish you had told me. Take your time. Let me know when you think of it.”

  Neither man spoke much for the rest of the trip. Clew thought it best to give Alex some room. As Alex had said, he took an oath; he follows orders. But it’s not always clear whose orders to follow. And sometimes all you’re asked is to do a small favor. It seems harmless; you do it; you want to be a team player. Except that there are teams and there are teams.

  They got back to the State Department building on C Street. By then it was almost four o’clock. Clew spent the next two hours on his computer, gathering all that he could find about VaalChem and especially about Artemus Bourne. A lot of it was blocked. Clew wasn’t surprised. He would find out exactly who blocked it, but for now, he downloaded those files that he found.