Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  He’d prepared his troops for the counterattack that would surely follow the rain of fire that he would soon visit upon VaalChem. Its destruction would begin at first light. He had fewer Katyushas than he’d wanted. Only twenty. He could have had more if he’d asked Duganga for them, but he had not consulted with Duganga. In addition to the rockets, he had six heavy mortars manned by crews that he had trained himself. They would pound through the roofs and then one floor at a time until they reached those that were well below ground. The fires would take weeks to extinguish.

  The Mossad agent. Yoni, said, “Don’t do this. I beg you.”

  He answered, “It should have been done long ago.”

  “You spoke to Netanya. He has given his word. Netanya spoke to Bannerman. You have Bannerman’s word. Your lady is safe. She is with Bannerman.”

  “Paul Bannerman has given his word before this.”

  “What, to not tell your lady that you are alive? How can you say that he was bound by that promise after Bourne found out where she was?”

  “I believe that she’s been taken. I do not believe she’s safe.”

  The Mossad agent said, “I must tell you three things. I, too, will break my word as I tell you the first of them. Netanya had asked me to keep it from you. It’s about Savran Bobik’s arms shipment.”

  Kessler listened as he heard what had become of that freighter when the vial that he’d added was opened at sea. Most of the crew dead. All of Mobote’s men dead. Mobote himself torn apart by the sharks. Twenty children on board, most of whom will surely die. The Liberians who boarded. Most of them will surely die.

  Kessler didn’t believe him. “So many dead already? It’s been what? Three days? Four? What kind of virus works that quickly?”

  “Not the virus. Not yet. They were shot, drowned or eaten. Those shot or drowned were the lucky ones.”

  Kessler answered, “You told me. The sharks.”

  “It is true about the children. This is not an invention. You can call the Red Cross, World Health; they will tell you. You can call America’s CDC in Atlanta. You can call the Liberians, a general named Tubbs. Everyone knows of this but you.”

  Kessler was still doubtful. “I would have been told.”

  “We kept you from knowing. For your own good and ours. You would have done something crazy.”

  Kessler’s hand went to his chin. He said, “If this is true…”

  “Now you’re thinking, so let’s get to the other two things. Those on the ship have a chance to be saved. What will save them is down there.” He pointed at VaalChem. “We need what is down there to save them.”

  “Antivirals?”

  “Precisely,” said Yoni. “Unless you already have them. I refer to what you took from Winfield’s office.”

  Kessler shook his head. “I don’t know which is which. Most are marked with colored tape, nothing more.”

  “Did Winfield not tell you as he begged for his life?”

  “He identified the worst of them. The Marburg. The smallpox. He said there were treatments, that he had antivirals. I took what he had, but as I’ve said, they were coded. Also, this was a hit and run raid. We didn’t have all day to sort them out.”

  “Yet you took time to send three heads to Bourne.”

  Kessler looked away. He was silent.

  “And it’s hatred that is driving you now, Alameo. It’s making you forget who your friends are. Who to trust.”

  Kessler remained silent. He was staring toward VaalChem.

  “And now,” said the agent, “we get to the third thing.” As he spoke, he drew a pistol from his belt. He pressed its muzzle against Kessler’s neck. Several troops were nearby. They shouted warnings to Kessler. They all turned their weapons on the agent.

  The agent said, “I have been ordered to stop you from doing this. I asked, ‘Yes, but how? How am I to survive?’ All Netanya could do was repeat this hard order. He knew very well that I would die seconds later. So I ask, as a friend, would you please save my life?”

  Kessler turned his head. He said a few words in Bantu. The soldiers eased their grip on their weapons, but slightly. He asked, “This is true? Netanya ordered my death?”

  “With the greatest reluctance, I assure you,” said Yoni. “This reluctance, I should tell you, is shared by Paul Bannerman. We won’t even get into how reluctant I am, but believe me, I will shoot you right now.”

  “And Bannerman knows? He has given his approval?”

  “Only if I’m unable to persuade you to wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “One more day. He asked you to give him one day. Look at VaalChem. It’s moving? It will be there tomorrow. I also wouldn’t mind one more day.”

  Kessler turned. He paced. “Is Elizabeth truly with him?”

  “He’s your friend. How are you able to doubt him?”

  “Because Bourne says he has her. It’s possible that he’s lying. But even if Bourne does not have Elizabeth, he has a certain young girl who owns part of my heart.”

  The agent shrugged. “If you don’t mind a personal suggestion, why don’t you stand down long enough to go see?”

  “Go how? Through Tel Aviv? When I’m on your hit list?”

  “Reluctant, Martin. That’s the key word. What you’re mostly on is a don’t-blow-up-the-plant list. You’re also on a don’t- go-nuts-again list like you did when Bobik cut up Sara Gleissman. You’ll recall, however, that I went nuts myself. I did worse than you to Savran Bobik.”

  Kessler took a breath. He rubbed his chin.

  “This gun is getting heavy. Can we make a decision?”

  “Put it down for the moment. Wait here.”

  Kessler walked to a soldier who wore captain’s bars. It was the Captain who went with him after Bobik. Kessler spoke to him quietly. The officer seemed troubled. But the officer nodded and reached into his collar. He extracted a small leather pouch that he wore hung from a thong around his neck. He pressed the pouch into Kessler’s hand and embraced him.

  He turned back to the agent. “You won’t have to shoot me.”

  “That’s a magic pouch he gave you? Then this gun won’t work anyway.”

  “Three days,” said Kessler. “You asked for one; I’ll give you three. This officer is to assume that I’m dead if I am not back in three days. This officer will then lead the attack and he will obliterate VaalChem.”

  “Deal.”

  “After that he will execute the first ten Mossad agents that he’s able to find in Angola.”

  “That’s no good. You’re not heading for a weekend in the country. You’re going where someone is bound to get killed.”

  “Then I’m sure that you’ll do your best to protect me. You’re going to get me to the States in one piece. You’re going to be at my side every moment.”

  “That does what? I wear a sign saying that this guy’s with us? We’re not all that popular either,” said Yoni.

  “Netanya will have known that I won’t do Tel Aviv. He’d have given you options. What are they?”

  “Small plane to Lagos, Lagos to Lisbon, Lisbon to Dulles, D.C. Better and quicker is direct from Luanda. An International Aid flight, non-stop, JFK. It’s going back with doctors who’ve finished their tour. About a third of those doctors aren’t doctors at all, but nobody messes with Aid flights.”

  “When?”

  “Three hours,” said the agent. “I can have papers waiting and I’ll get you the right clothing. You will be Belgian, a researcher of AIDs. There is always a risk that you’ll be stopped and detained, but we’ve done this before. Money talks.”

  “I’ll be armed,” said Kessler. “I will not be taken.”

  “You want extra insurance? I will give you my advice.”

  “Which is?”

  “Don’t walk in with that hat.”

  THIRTY EIGHT

  Bannerman was at home in his kitchen, fixing dinner for Susan and Cassie and the nurse. Bannerman and the nurse, a former combat nurse, Gulf W
ar, had set up Cassie’s old layette and crib after washing them down with disinfectant. The nurse had brought a wheelchair and made Susan use it. They’d have dinner out on the terrace.

  Carla had stopped by, announced by her “Jaws” tone, with some of the photographs that she’d brought to Town Hall. They were down to only three. The same two men were in each.

  In one they were joggers trotting together. In another they were cyclists riding on bikes that had probably been rented in town. In a third, they were driving together in a car. The face of the man in the passenger seat was obscured by a camera; he’d been taking pictures, but there was no mistaking the driver. They were both in their thirties, both lean and fit. They would not have stood out in Westport.

  She said, “These are the two who were digging through records. They must like our little neighborhood a lot.”

  Bannerman asked, “Do we have anything more?”

  Carla said, “I’ve made copies. We have people out looking, checking all the area motels for a start.” She touched a finger to the photo of the two on their bikes. She said, “This one I remember. I saw them in the flesh. I was walking down the road from my place with Cassie. These two were pedaling from the opposite direction. They looked at us and one of them said something to the other. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

  Bannerman asked, “Might they have known who you are?”

  She shrugged and shook her head. “No, I didn’t get that feeling. I thought they were paying more attention to Cassie, but that wouldn’t have set off any alarms. People smile at her every day.”

  “Were they smiling on that day?”

  “No, they weren’t. Hey, we’ll find them.”

  Bannerman said, “I expect to be busy tomorrow. Normally, I’d ask you if you’d care to be part of it.”

  “I told you. I’m in. For whatever.”

  “I’d rather have you here.” He gestured toward the photos.

  “Yeah, I figured. Don’t worry. I’ll stay close.”

  “There’s this, and then our guests will be starting to arrive. Lesko and Elena should be here by noon. Harry Whistler and his crowd could show up any time. He never announces in advance. You’ll know he’s here when you see one of the twins.”

  “I know Harry’s act. I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Have you heard any more from John Waldo?”

  “He’s late. It’s been more than three hours.”

  “He’s okay. Don’t worry.”

  “I’d like to hear that from him.”

  Carla was dismissive. “I know his act, too. He’d see them before they’d see him.”

  “Would you like to stay for dinner? We have more than enough.”

  She said, “Thanks, but Viktor’s made a pot of lamb stew. His mother’s recipe; it sucks and it stinks up the house. But he thinks it’s to die for. I pretend.”

  Not well, thought Bannerman. Viktor knows she gags it down. He’s still getting even for her shooting him.

  Waldo called as Bannerman was just sitting down. He excused himself from the table.

  Waldo said, “Well, they’re here. The Chester guy brought them.”

  “You saw them? What condition are they in?”

  “Out cold, but no real damage from what I could see. Aisha’s face is swollen. She has a black eye. The one they think is Stride…”

  “They still do?”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s what I heard them call her. Right now they got her strapped to a cot. I got one look, but I had to be quick. Aisha’s in the next room; it’s like a regular bedroom. She was taped, but not now. They’re letting her sleep. Bourne peeks in through the glass now and then.”

  “She’s locked in?”

  “Both of them. I told you. Heavy steel doors with windows. You need a key card to get in. I’d try them, but I think they’re both rigged to alarms and I need time to dope out the system. I found the one on the freezer, but that Mosler door’s tough. I told you it’s a vault? I can’t open it.”

  “It’ll keep.”

  He said, “Listen, there’s Bourne and there’s the Chester guy; that’s it. They were saying something happened to the other two guys, but I couldn’t hear much of that part. So there’s only these two. This is not a big deal. Tell me why I don’t finish this now.”

  “John, as I’ve said, there’s more to it than this. I’m trying to work several strings.”

  “One of them’s Kessler?”

  “He’s the most urgent, yes. We might not be able to save him.”

  “Could he be Aisha’s father?”

  “Kessler? Of course not. That’s not possible, no.”

  Waldo asked, “Then could Stride be her mother? I mean, I know she can’t have kids. But maybe before her insides got shot up…”

  “Out of the question. We know Aisha’s history. Lebanese mother, Egyptian father. You’re not asking this idly. What’s happened?”

  “Well, I’m not clear on this. I only overheard parts. But Bourne has got it into his head that her parents might be Kessler and Stride.”

  This gets more bizarre by the moment, thought Bannerman. “If he thinks so, he’ll be sure to keep her healthy.”

  “Trust me, she’s good. I won’t let anything happen. I might spend the night down there anyway.”

  “In the basement?”

  Waldo grumbled. “Yeah, there’s a closet I can use. That pain in the ass, Lilly, took one of the maid’s rooms. I thought I’d have the third floor to myself. Second floor, there’s the peep shows, but I better stay out of them.”

  “You’re referring to the rooms with the cameras?”

  “The guest rooms, yeah. I found cameras in the big ones. I didn’t check the others, but I shouldn’t take a chance. This closet in the basement has two shelves full of tapes. I can’t sit around and watch them, but I looked at the labels. Lots of names that you’d recognize with some woman named Claire. Looks to me they got taped playing whoopee.”

  Bannerman asked, “Is Howard Leland’s name among them?”

  “I didn’t see that one. I don’t think so.”

  “Bourne might get a visit from Leland tomorrow.”

  “Just from Leland?”

  “And whomever. Get some rest.”

  Bannerman heated his plate in the microwave oven. Once again, he was about to return to the terrace when heard the first bar of “Pretty Woman.” Molly Farrell knocked and entered minutes later, looking pleased.

  She said, “Kessler’s okay. They stopped him in time. They’re sneaking him out. He’s coming here.”

  A sigh of relief. “Coming when?”

  “Netanya says barring any unexpected problems, sometime tomorrow, not before mid-afternoon. One of Netanya’s top agents is escorting him. He’s been told about the freighter. He had no idea. Netanya thinks he’s been persuaded that Elizabeth is safe, but even Netanya’s in the dark about Aisha. I promised him that Aisha will be fine. Will she be fine?”

  “She seems to be now. Waldo saw her.”

  “Well, why doesn’t he…”

  He stopped her. “One thing at a time. Finish what you were saying about Kessler.”

  “Kessler has to be back in three days. If he isn’t, VaalChem gets flattened.”

  A soft smile from Bannerman. “He’s no fool.”

  “And Netanya wants to know if his agent can stay for the conference we’re having this week.”

  “Did you tell him that it’s only a gathering? Friends and family?”

  “Sure, but we both know he’d never believe it. He knows that people aren’t coming from as far away as Moscow just to grin and make faces at a baby.”

  “Netanya’s not so dumb either,” said Bannerman.

  “He says he knows that you won’t let his agent sit in. But he asks if we can give him an hour to discuss what ought to be done about Angola.”

  “I think everyone’s been doing quite enough about Angola. But I owe him one for Kessler. We’ll listen.”

  Molly nodded. “On to
Bourne. What do we do about Bourne.”

  “I won’t ask you…”

  “Oh, stop that. Who’s hitting him and when?”

  “I was thinking that I might drop in by myself. He and I need to have a quiet talk.”

  She glared at him. “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning sometime. Can you keep Elizabeth under control until I can resolve this with Bourne?”

  “Yes, I can, but I won’t. I’m coming. So is Billy. And so, by God, is Elizabeth Stride. By yourself? What the heck are you thinking?

  “Waldo’s there. He’s in place. I don’t need to go in blasting.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Paul, what time?”

  “You’re not listening.”

  “I asked you what time?”

  “Okay, but not Stride. All she’ll want is blood. She should stay here and wait for Martin Kessler.”

  “This is Aisha. Her Aisha. Stride’s in it.”

  “Besides, all that Seconal. She might still be in a fog. I’ll want nothing but clear heads around me.”

  “Paul…when and where? Or I make my own plans.”

  “Bridgeport airstrip at six in the morning.”

  THIRTY NINE

  Bourne had overslept. His bedside clock read almost nine. He was usually awakened with his breakfast tray at seven. He reached for his intercom and pressed the button for the kitchen. There was no answer from the kitchen. He pressed for his butler. No answer there either. Next he pressed the button for the gate house.

  A guard answered, “Sir?”

  “Have any staff been through yet?”

  “No, sir. We haven’t seen them.”

  “Have any at least called to say they’d be late?”

  “No, sir. Not to the gate.”

  “Well, damn it, they did not get the whole weekend off. Get on the phone. Round them up. I want them all here. They have a brunch to prepare.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Except it might not be much of a brunch, thought Bourne. We’ll see who shows up. It will be a good test. It will separate the wimps from the chaff.