by Liz Wolfe
“So, this is just a heads-up?” Ethan asked.
“Pretty much. We’ll be sending an agent there to work the op full-time, but extra eyes and ears are always beneficial. Once we can pinpoint his activities, we’ll arrange for something deeper.”
“You mean infiltrating his organization?” one of the men suggested.
“Possibly. For now, just ask your agents to be aware that he’s out there. That’s all.” Bolton stood as the men gathered their notes and left the conference room. “Ethan, can you stay a moment?”
“Certainly.” Ethan sat back down and waited until the others had filed out of the room. Bolton walked over and took the chair next to him.
“I want to send Drake to Italy.”
“He’s still on desk duty.”
“Take him off. I’ve spoken to him and to the doctors. He thinks he’s ready to return to the field and the doctors agree.”
“Physically, I’d agree. He’s recovered from the beating he took. But psychologically, I’m not sure. I think something like that can take a while to work itself out.”
“I know. And it’s not that I disagree with you. But we need him there. He can use the same cover he used last year when we took down the arms dealer. He’s fluent in the language and easily passes for a native Italian. And last year’s op put him in contactwith several persons whom we believe are involved in terrorism. He could be a key factor in leading us to Ziyad.”
Ethan considered the request. If it could be called that. Director Bolton seemed determined to put Drake on the op and unless Ethan could come up with a very good reason not to, it would happen.
“I’ve assigned him to be Zoe Alexander’s handler. He has more knowledge of the Order than anyone.”
“He can still do that. This op won’t take all of his time. In fact, he’ll mostly be hanging around, being seen in the right places with the right people. He’ll make himself available and we’ll see who contacts him. He can still handle her work with phone calls.”
Ethan nodded. It could work. If he could convince Bolton that Drake needed to make Zoe his priority. And Zoe was already in Italy doing another job for the Order. He didn’t think that she would have an opportunity to meet with Drake while she was there, but at least he would be someone she could contact if there was trouble.
“As long as Zoe is still his priority, I think it could work,” Ethan said. “But there’s another problem. The Order appears to be headquartered in Florence. I have no doubt they’d kill Drake if they spotted him.”
“True. But it’s unlikely that they hang out with the crowd Ziyad is involved with.”
Ethan nodded and stood. “I’ll let Drake know. Frankly, he’s been chomping at the bit to get back in the field.”
December 5, Iraq
Ziyad Al-Din stood when Shahid Nassar entered and said, “As sala’amu alaikum.” Peace be upon you.
“Walaikum as sala’am,” Shahid responded automatically. And unto you, also peace. “Please, be seated.”
Ziyad gestured toward a pair of chairs in front of his desk. He rose and walked around the desk to take the chair next to the one in which Shahid sat.
“It is almost ready,” Shahid said. His excitement was apparent to Ziyad. “I cannot explain all the details, for I do not have the scientific background. But the scientists have performed the necessary tests and assure me that it will perform exactly as we wish.”
“Did you witness the tests yourself?” Ziyad asked.
“Of course. They exposed ten victims. They all showed evidence of infection within minutes and were dead within half an hour. Two of them hemorrhaged from the ears and eyes less than five minutes after exposure. All of them had hemorrhaged within fifteen minutes.”
Ziyad allowed himself a smile. “That is very important. We want the American people to see their leaders suffer and die. That will send a crucial message.”
“The infidels will be thrown into a panic.”
“And there is no known preventive? No way for them to save anyone exposed?” Ziyad asked.
Shahid shook his head. “How could there be? This mutation of the virus has never been created before. Most scientists don’t even believe it to be possible.”
“This is good. This is exactly what we need.”
“I assured Dr. Stubeck that as soon as I reported to you, the monies would be transferred.”
“And they will.” Ziyad nodded. “Another fifty million euros now, and a hundred million more when we take possession of the product, as we agreed.”
“Dr. Stubeck assured me that he can stabilize the virus,” Shahid said. “He said between ten and twenty-six degrees.”
“That range will be easy enough to work within.” Ziyad spoke with assurance. He had known they would have to deal with the delicacy of the mutated neurotoxin and had expected to have a much more narrow range to work within. This was good news, indeed.
“This is good,” Shahid said. “Our next issue is the detonation device.”
“Exactly,” Ziyad agreed. “There is nothing on the market that currently meets our needs. This is a problem.”
“That does not mean that it is not readily available. We only need to find the right source.”
Ziyad smiled. “I assume you have a source?”
“Of course.” Shahid paused. “I must make some connections. But I believe that I have a source that will be able to accommodate us.”
“The detonation device must be small enough to be contained in this.” Ziyad drew a white pen from his pocket and handed it to Shahid. Chief Justice Isaac Jacobs was known to always use an identical pen. Every photograph Ziyad had seen of the man showed the distinctive Waterman L’Etalon pen in the breast pocket of his suit coat. It was another way to convince everyone of Rashid’s impersonation of the man. And no one would think to examine it.
8
December 5, Langley, Virginia
DRAKE PUNCHED A NUMBER INTO his cell phone and pulled a suitcase off the top shelf in his closet.
“Yes?”
“Hey, Hank, Drake here.”
“You have something for us?”
“Not much, actually. I called because I just found out I’ll be out of the country on a project for a while so there won’t be much chance to get that data you wanted.” Drake was careful to not use any words that would alert any of the computers the NSA used to routinely monitor cell phone conversations. He was also using a new cell phone that had been purchased in a different name.
“I see. How long will you be gone?” Hank asked.
“No way to tell at this point, but I had a chance to do a preliminary search and I haven’t found much that’s new since the last time we met.”
“I’ll have to let the leader of the project know and see if he has any further instructions for you.”
“That sounds good. I’ll be in Italy, so I thought we might get together and I can share the small amount of research I’ve been able to do so far.”
“I’d like that,” Hank agreed. “And you can tell me about your current project.”
“Sure. Although I doubt you’ll find it very interesting.”
“You never know. I might.”
“I look forward to our meeting. The more I’ve thought about your project, the more interested I am in it.”
“I’m not surprised. Something like this doesn’t come along every day.”
“I’ll call you when I get in,” Drake assured him.
Hank punched the end button on his phone and then a speed dial number. “Mr. von Bayem, I just heard from Drake.”
“He has information?”
“Possibly. I’ll be meeting with him tomorrow. They’re sending him to Italy on an op, so unfortunately he won’t be at CIA headquarters to gather information for us.”
“That’s unfortunate. But it’s possible we can obtain the information through other channels.”
“Good. Sir, I’m getting the impression that Drakemight like to have a closer association with us
. And I believe we could use someone with his abilities.”
“That’s a possibility. But I’ll have to be assured that he’s trustworthy first. And that’s your job.”
“No problem.”
December 8, Sardinia, Italy
Zoe slid open the metal drawer, wincing when it squeaked, even though she and Logan were the only ones in the basement of the museum. A cloud of dust rose from the tattered envelope she took out and opened. Damn. There had to be fifty pages. She’d never get them all photographed before Logan came in to see what was taking her so long. She pulled a gold lipstick case from her pocket and aimed the hidden lens at the top page. She’d just have to get as many as she could. She was on the third page when the pop and clink of breaking glass startled her. She quickly slipped the lipstick camera into her pocket and shoved the papers back into the envelope.
“What happened?” she asked Logan when he joined her.
“No idea. I was standing at the stairs when I heard the glass break.”
Zoe heard the distant tinkle of more glass breaking and seconds later an alarm. “Damn it!” She pulled Logan back into the small room in the basement of the Castel Sardo Museum.
“Did you trip an alarm?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Hardly. My guess is that someone broke into the museum to steal something.”
“Probably that jewel display on the main floor.”
“The jewel display isn’t worth that much money. Although amateurs wouldn’t know that, which explains them setting off the alarm.” Zoe could hear footsteps on the floor above them. Had to be the thieves. Not enough time had passed for the police to have arrived. “We need to get out of here.”
“Maybe we should just stay here until they’re done,” Logan suggested.
“No good. The police will be here soon, and they’ll likely search the entire building.”
“Good point.”
“Follow me and stay as quiet as you can.” Zoe stuffed the envelope of papers inside her jacket and zipped it up. She climbed the stairs and cracked the door that led to the main floor. The museum was lit only by moonlight shining in through the windows, but it was enough to see that the thieves had left. The side walls of the museum consisted of tall windows.
Shards of glass lay beneath one, and more glass glinted in the moonlight on the floor in front of the jewel display. The far wall was empty where two small paintings had hung. A Bellini and a Masaccio. Great. The antique jewelry was one thing, but the paintings by renaissance masters would make getting off the island with the documents impossible.
Zoe ran across the marble floor with Logan right on her heels. She opened a door at the back of the museum, trotted down a dark hallway and through the third doorway on the right. She wove through the tables in the staff room and slipped through the exit door to the outside.
She sprinted to the end of the alley and peered around the corner. “Damn it.”
“What?” Logan tried to look around her, but she pushed him back.
“The street is crawling with police. Every cop in Sardinia must be here. And they’ll be suspicious of anyone in this neighborhood at this hour.” She peeked around the corner again, then pulled back and turned to Logan. “Just play along with this, okay?”
Before he could answer, she pulled him around the building and onto the sidewalk. Her arms wound around his neck and her body snuggled up against him while her lips captured his mouth. Logan seemed frozen, his hands hanging at his sides.
“Kiss me,” she demanded. Logan complied and if she hadn’t been watching for the police, she might have enjoyed it. Maybe she did enjoy it, just a bit.
“Hey, what are you two doing here?” the policeman asked in Italian.
Zoe pressed her knee into Logan’s upper thigh hard enough to make him groan and ignored the policeman until he tapped her on the shoulder. She moaned as she pulled her lips away from Logan’s and turned her head toward the policeman.
“What?” she asked, pretending to not understand the man.
“You are American?” he asked in heavily accented English. “Why are you here?”
“Here in Sardinia?” Zoe asked. “We’re on our honeymoon.” She giggled and put her left hand around Logan’s waist. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek, using the movement to cover pulling Logan’s left hand behind his back with hers. She didn’t want the policeman to notice the lack of wedding bands.
“It’s beautiful here,” she gushed.
“Si.” The man nodded. “We have had a problem. You must go back to your hotel.”
“A problem?” Logan asked. “What kind of problem?”
“Nothing to worry about. A burglary. That is all.”
He shook his head. “Just go back to your hotel.” He smiled at them. “It is where you wish to be anyway, no?”
“You got that right.” Logan pulled Zoe close and grinned at the policeman. She giggled and hid her face in Logan’s shoulder. “Come on, honey. Let’s let the men do their job.”
Zoe gave the policeman a little finger wave as they walked off, then watched as he waved at the policeman halfway down the block and pointed to them. Logan started to pull away but she pinched his side. “Not yet. Not until we’re out of their sight.”
Logan leaned down and kissed her lightly, laughing when she frowned at him. “Just keeping up the act. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Over here.” Zoe pulled him down the next street they came to. After they walked another block, she stopped. “We’re in trouble.”
“Not really. The cops bought the act. They think we’re honeymooners.”
“Not that. We aren’t going to be able to get off the island with these documents,” she explained.
“Why not?”
“The first ferry leaves tomorrow morning at seven. If they haven’t found the thieves by then, they’ll be searching every person who leaves the island. How the hell are we going to explain that we just happen to have Arturo Fazio’s papers on us?”
“Can’t we hide them?”
She shook her head. “By morning, the curator will have gone through the entire museum and they’ll know that the papers were taken. They’ll be searching everyone who leaves the island.”
“You think they’ll even check in the basement where the papers were?”
“The thieves took two incredibly valuable paintings by renaissance masters. If I were the curator, I’d check everything in the building, wouldn’t you?”
Logan sighed. “Yeah, I guess I would.”
“The Triumvirate is going to be pissed about this,” Zoe said.
“Worried about your fee?”
“Actually, I’d expect the Triumvirate to do something a little more drastic than refuse to pay me.”
“Good point.”
They walked into the hotel and took the elevator up to the honeymoon suite. When Logan closed the door behind them, Zoe unzipped her jacket and pulled the envelope out, tossing it on the desk. “Got any ideas?” she asked.
“Actually, I do.” Logan pulled the satellite phone from his briefcase and punched in a number. “I’m calling the Triumvirate.”
Zoe sat at the desk and considered her options.
She still needed to photograph the rest of the document. And that wasn’t going to be easy now. Maybe after Logan went to sleep. The night before, he’d slept on the sofa, leaving the bed for her in spite of her protests that she’d be more comfortable on the sofa. The sitting room and bed area were separated by a short wall and she could possibly take the photographs while he was sleeping, but only if she got the documents into the sleeping area first. She took her vest off and threw it on top of the envelope, keeping an eye on Logan as he paced across the room, talking on the phone. After a few minutes, she gathered up her vest with the envelope and walked into the sleeping area. She laid the vest on the bed with the envelope carefully concealed under it, making sure the vest looked like she’d just thrown it on the bed. For good measure, sh
e took off her shoes and tossed her socks on top of the vest. Not enough. She glanced into the sitting area to make sure Logan was still on the phone, then pulled off her pants, turtleneck, and underwear and threw them on top of the pile. She’d just pulled on the thick terry robe and slipped the lipstick case into the pocket when Logan walked in.
“Oh, sorry.”
“No problem. What did they say?” Zoe cinched the belt around her waist and turned to face him.
“We’re supposed to meet a man at the bank in three hours.”
“The bank?”
“Nazionale Banca d’Italia.”
“At four in the morning?”
Logan shrugged. “That’s what Weisbaum said.”
“Then what?”
“Then we go back to Florence.”
“Whatever they want.” Zoe shrugged.
“Is there a problem?”
“No.” Zoe moved to the small coffeemaker on the counter, measured coffee into the basket, and pushed the button. “I’m just used to completing a job. This doesn’t feel complete. You want some coffee?”
“No. I’m going to take a shower and grab a few minutes of sleep before we have to leave.”
Zoe watched the coffeemaker and listened to Logan. The bathroom door closed. The shower turned on. Still she watched the coffee dripping into the pot. When she was sure he was in the shower, she walked back to the sleeping area, pulled the envelope out, and spread some of the papers out on the bed. She quickly clicked off the photographs, then returned the papers to the envelope, pulled out more, and spread them out.
She never even heard Logan behind her before she flew through the air to land on the pillows at the head of the king-sized bed. In spite of the soft landing, the air whooshed from her lungs.
“What are you doing?” Logan demanded.
“Nothing. What is wrong with you?”
Logan threw himself on top of her with his forearm pressed into her throat, almost cutting off her ability to breathe.