Countdown

by Iris Johansen

  Mario shook his head.

  “You’re looking for someone to blame and Trevor’s the closest target. But it’s not true. It’s a terrible, terrible tragedy, but the only one to blame for it is Grozak.”

  Mario was gazing at her in scornful disbelief. “You believe Trevor? You actually trust him?”

  She was silent. If he had asked her that last night, she wasn’t sure what she would have told him. What had changed?

  The answer came with unerring certainty. The terror and shock of this monstrous killing had burned away all the confusion and hesitancy, and, for the first time since she’d seen Trevor outside that dorm at Harvard, she was responding with instinct and not emotion.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I do trust him.”

  Wickman?” Trevor asked as he put the video on pause. “Same height.”

  Brenner frowned. “I was thinking maybe Rendle. I’m not sure Wickman is that thin. Of course, you’ve run across him more than I have, haven’t you?”

  “Twice. Once in Rome, another time in Copenhagen. He’s smooth. Everything about him is smooth. The way he talks, the way he moves . . .”

  “I remember. But Rendle is thinner.”

  “Weight can vary. It’s difficult to change your body language.” He punched the rewind button. “But you may be right. We’ll watch it again.”

  Brenner grimaced. “Great.”

  Trevor knew how he felt. He’d seen many atrocities in his life, but the sight of that old man’s bewilderment and terror was enough to make him want to throw up. “We have to get a handle on who we’re dealing with.”

  “And take him out?”

  Trevor nodded curtly. “Particularly if it’s Wickman. He’s good, and I don’t want him turned loose on Jane or anyone else here.” He pressed the button and Eduardo’s face appeared on the screen. “So we’ll watch this damn video until we go blind if we have to. Wickman or Rendle?”

  10

  They’re still in the library,” Bartlett told Jane when he met her coming down the stairs an hour later. “Trevor told me to keep you out. I didn’t ask him how I was to do that since you’re probably more martially adept than I’ll ever be.” He frowned. “But please has always worked for me. Will you please not cause me undue distress by barging in there?”

  “Yes, I don’t need to see that video to know what we’re dealing with. My friend was killed by them.” She shuddered. “But I admit the sheer callousness of what they did to Mario’s father is almost beyond belief. It’s . . . barbaric.”

  Bartlett nodded. “Attila the Hun comes to mind. Trevor told me Grozak was vicious, but one can’t take it in until—”

  “I need to charter a plane, Bartlett.” Brenner had left the library and was coming down the hall toward them. “Get a helicopter to take me to Aberdeen and have a jet ready to take off when we land there.”

  “Right away.” Bartlett turned toward the phone on the hall table. “Where are you going?”

  “Lucerne. Trevor and I aren’t agreeing on the possible executioner. I’m going to see if I can nose around and narrow it down and try to get confirmation.” He looked at Jane. “How’s Mario doing?”

  “Not good. Devastated. What would you expect?”

  “I’d expect him to be mad as hell and not cave. I’d expect him to be on his feet and fighting me for a seat on that plane that’s going to Lucerne.”

  “He’s not you, Brenner.” She started down the hall toward the library. “Give him a chance.”

  “I’ll give him a chance if he doesn’t open his mouth to me about Trevor being to blame.” His tone was cold. “If he does, his luck is going to run out.” He headed for the front door. “Trevor told me to make sure security is at high alert before I leave. Call me when you have an ETA on that helicopter, Bartlett.”

  Bartlett was talking on the phone and merely nodded.

  Things were moving, stirring. Bartlett was operating with meticulous efficiency, and Brenner was no longer the easygoing Aussie she’d met on the plane. He was impatient, machete-sharp, and very defensive of his friend. She could understand his reaction. She was feeling that impatience and stirring to action herself.

  The door of the library was open and she saw Trevor sitting at the desk, putting the videotape in an envelope. He looked drained. She’d never seen him with that expression of extreme weariness and disappointment. She hesitated. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” He tossed the envelope aside. “I’m sick to death. And I’m wondering why the human race hasn’t evolved to a higher state that could prevent us from producing the Grozaks of the world.” He looked at her. “So has Mario convinced you what a callous bastard I am?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Sometimes I have a soft heart, never a soft head. How could you be to blame? Grozak lied to Mario.” She paused. “And there’s no way you’d be capable of the kind of coldness it would take to deliberately ignore a ransom letter to keep Mario working.”

  “I wouldn’t?” His brows lifted. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She frowned. “And I didn’t come down here to defend you to yourself. I just got through trying to talk sense into Mario.”

  “And did you succeed?”

  “No, he’s too busy trying to blame everyone but himself for his father’s death, which I guess is understandable.” Her lips tightened. “So I stopped being diplomatic and patient and told him he needed to face up to the truth.”

  One corner of his lips lifted in a faint smile. “Well, that’s certainly not diplomatic.”

  “He didn’t have any right to blame you, even if he has just had the most incredible shock. If you need him to continue with the translating, you’ll have to try to soothe him.”

  “Good God, I believe you’re defending me.”

  “I just don’t believe in unfairness. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “And I may not have completely alienated Mario. He’s a nice guy and he may be able to face his guilt and stop blaming you if we give him enough time.”

  “I don’t know how much time we have.”

  “What’s the hurry?” She sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “Why would Grozak kill that poor man just to stall for time?”

  “Grozak and I are in a bit of a competition. First one who crosses the finish line gets the prize.”

  She shook her head. “Another one of your games? And what’s the damn prize?”

  “Initially? A chest full of gold.”

  “Initially? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means the prize may be a hell of a lot bigger down the road.”

  “Stop being cryptic. Give me a straight answer.”

  “I’m not trying to be cryptic.” He leaned wearily back in his chair. “I told you last night that I’m not hiding anything anymore. I guess I’m just tired.” He reached in the drawer, drew out a rolled document, and spread it out on the desk to reveal a map of the United States. “You want to know what the prize is?” He pointed to Los Angeles. “That’s a prize.” He pointed to Chicago. “That’s a prize.” He tapped his index finger on Washington, D.C. “And that may be the biggest prize of all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “On December twenty-third there will be nuclear explosions set off in two cities. I haven’t been able to find out which ones. But it will be a sizable blast, and enough radioactive material will be released to kill thousands.”

  She was staring at him in horror. “9/11,” she whispered.

  “Maybe worse. It depends on how many kamikaze are put into play.”

  “Kamikaze?”

  “The modern-day terrorist version of kamikaze: the suicide bomber. It doesn’t work nearly so well unless the man who’s setting off the bomb is willing to put his neck into the noose.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re talking about terrorists? Grozak is a terrorist?”

  He nodded. “Since 1994. After his stint as a mercenary he fina
lly found his niche. Over the years he’s hired himself out to several terrorist groups for fun and profit. He hated practically every minority anyway and it allowed him to expend that hatred in violence and get paid for it. He operated in Sudan, Lebanon, Indonesia, and Russia that I know about. He’s clever. He has contacts. And he has no problem taking that final step.”

  “Final step?”

  “Many terrorists go so far and if the risk proves too great they back down. Grozak builds a bolt-hole and goes for it anyway.”

  “If he’s that dangerous, why hasn’t the CIA picked him up?”

  “They’ve made several attempts, but they’re stretched pretty thin and he’s not at the top of their priority list. They get hundreds of tips every week about potential terrorist threats. I told you he was clever. He’s aimed his attacks at other countries in Europe and South America. He’s not gone for U.S. targets either at home or abroad—so far.”

  So far. That qualification sent a shiver through her. “So why now?”

  “I think he’s been biding his time, building his contacts. He’s always had a grudge against the U.S. and there was no question he’d be targeting them eventually. It was only a question of when.”

  “Why now?” she asked again.

  “It’s all come together for him. He’s got the weapons, the money for the operation, all he needs is the manpower.” His lips twisted. “Or should I say cannon fodder? It’s more apt. The most valuable tools a terrorist has are accessories who are willing to sacrifice their lives for the cause. That was proved on 9/11. They’ll take any risk, and after they execute their mission there’s no chance of them talking and leading trails back to home base. But it’s become increasingly difficult to recruit fanatics who won’t back down at the last minute. Of course, there’s the Middle East religious contingent, but the CIA is watching them like a hawk.”

  “And so is Homeland Security.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure Grozak’s prepared to have half the world on his tail for the pleasure of bringing the U.S. to its knees, but he doesn’t want to take any additional chances.”

  “It’s crazy. He’d have to crawl into a hole like Saddam Hussein.”

  “His hole would be gold-lined, and he has the arrogance to believe he’d be able to wait out the search. He’d be a hero to the terrorist world and have plenty of support.”

  She shook her head. “You said he was clever. This is mad.”

  “He is clever. He’s also full of venom and bitterness and ego. He’s going to go for it. He’s been nurturing this goal for years.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We were in Colombia together. I knew he was a son of a bitch then and had no love for the U.S. He was always ranting about the pigs who put him in prison. It’s rather ironic that by putting him in jail for hate crimes the U.S. turned all that hatred against the government instead. But I was more interested in keeping the bastard from trying to run over me than listening to his political views. I ended up breaking his arm before I left Colombia.” He grimaced. “That could be why he hates my guts. What do you think?”

  “I’d say that would do it,” she said absently. “How did you know Grozak was planning this?”

  “I didn’t know the exact details. I’ve kept an eye on him through the years because he’s a vengeful bastard and I knew he’d eventually come after me. Eight months ago I began to get some weird reports on Grozak’s movements. Six months ago I got hold of an informant in Grozak’s circle, who I persuaded to talk.”

  “Persuaded?”

  “Well, forcefully persuaded, but afterward I gave him enough money to make him disappear.”

  Her mind was whirling, overflowing with what he’d told her. Unbelievable. Yet she was terribly afraid it was true. “What can we do to stop it from happening?”

  “Find Cira’s gold.”

  “What?”

  “Grozak needs his suicide bombers. He’s negotiating to get them from Thomas Reilly. Hell, it may be Reilly who first approached Grozak. Reilly needed muscle to get what he wanted, and he might have decided to manipulate Grozak to go after the gold.”

  “Manipulate?”

  “Possible, even probable. Reilly likes to stay in the background and pull the strings. He has a tremendous ego and loves to show how clever he is. He was actively involved with the IRA for years and later branched out to other terrorist organizations and moved to Greece. Then five years ago he pulled up stakes and disappeared from view. He was rumored to have gone underground in the U.S.”

  “And how could Reilly help Grozak?”

  “Reilly had a special interest that made him invaluable. He was a brilliant psychologist and would pick up dissidents and kids who could be easily influenced and brainwash them into doing almost anything he wanted. They’d take crazy chances and several times they were killed planting bombs at his orders. Later he was rumored to be training suicide bombers at a terrorist camp in Germany. I know he approached al Qaeda at one point and tried to make a deal.”

  She stiffened. “Al Qaeda?”

  He shook his head. “No, they’re not involved in this. Al Qaeda doesn’t like to deal with non-Muslims. They didn’t greet Reilly with open arms years ago when he offered his services. And Grozak doesn’t want to deal with al Qaeda right now. That would send up a red flag and tip his hand. He’s more interested in another sideline Reilly’s been exploring. Reilly’s rumored to have recruited a team of American ex-GIs who have a grudge against the U.S. and to have been training them.”

  “You mean brainwashing.”

  “That’s right. The potential is very attractive for Grozak. Americans with American papers and backgrounds who are willing to kill themselves to get back at the U.S. government.”

  “I can’t believe they’d do it.”

  “I had my doubts. Reilly sent me a film clip of one of the GIs blowing himself up in front of the U.S. embassy in Nairobi.” His lips tightened. “He made sure the kid wasn’t too near the embassy and didn’t have enough firepower to do any damage and get Reilly in trouble. After all, it was only a sales presentation.”

  “Sent you the clip?”

  “He wanted me to know how much power he had. He doesn’t trust Grozak to be able to deliver. He said that if I can come up with Cira’s gold, he’ll call off the deal with Grozak. He’ll even help me trap him.”

  She stared at him in bewilderment. “You don’t have Cira’s gold. And what difference would it make to a slimeball like that anyway?”

  “Even slimeballs have their weaknesses. He’s an antiquity collector and has a passion for anything connected with Herculaneum. I’ve run into him several times over the years while he was trying to acquire stolen artifacts. I bought Cira’s statue before he could get his hands on it, and he was mad as hell. He probably knows more about Herculaneum than most university professors. He’s acquired ancient letters, ships’ journals, documents, supply lists. Anything that would give him the Herculaneum experience. His collection has to be mind-boggling. He has a particular passion for antique coins. He’d give his eyeteeth for the gold from Precebio’s tunnel.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I got a list from Dupoi of the people he’d approached to sell the scrolls. He told me that Reilly was near the top of the list of people he knew would be interested. He didn’t notify Grozak; he was on the second rung to be contacted.” He paused. “To Dupoi’s surprise, Reilly didn’t make an offer. But Grozak approached Dupoi almost at once after he’d contacted Reilly and started negotiations.”

  “Reilly sent Grozak?”

  “That was my guess. And I hadn’t expected it. It made me damn nervous that Reilly was in Grozak’s camp. Grozak was small-time as long as he couldn’t put a total package together. Reilly could supply the missing links.”

  “Christ.”

  “According to what Reilly told me later, he was going to supply suicide drivers for Grozak’s trucks in exchange for Cira’s gold. I told Reilly that Grozak didn’t have a chan
ce in hell of coming up with it and agreed that I’d give the gold to him if he’d cancel the deal with Grozak.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re both nuts. Neither of you has it.”

  “But I told him I knew where it was, that the location was in the scrolls Grozak didn’t get his hands on.”

  “He believed you?”

  “I’m a pretty good poker player. He gave me until December twenty-second to deliver if I could come up with everything he wanted. After that he goes through with the deal with Grozak. And who knows? Maybe it wasn’t a bluff. That’s why I wanted Mario to finish that Cira scroll.”

  “And what if he won’t finish it now?”

  “Then I’ll get someone else.”

  “And it might not have any clue about where the gold is.”

  “That’s true. But at least it gives me time to work out something else to do.”

  “You can’t take chances with a potential disaster like this. We have to notify the authorities.”

  He picked up the phone and handed it to her. “The number is in my memory list. Carl Venable. Special agent. CIA. If you’re going to call him, you might tell him about Eduardo Donato. I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  She stared down at the phone. “Venable. You’re working with the CIA?”

  “As much as I can. There seems to be a break in the ranks. Sabot is Venable’s superior, and he disagrees that Grozak is a threat. He believes Grozak is a minor player, uninterested in targeting the U.S., and not capable of an operation of this scope.” He grimaced. “And either Grozak or Reilly has set up a cry-wolf scenario that’s keeping Sabot from believing an attack is coming.”

  “Cry wolf?”

  “Over the last year there have been leaks to the CIA, FBI, and Homeland Security several times warning of attacks at specific sites by Grozak. They raised the alert, sent out teams, and nothing happened. Except they came back mad as hell and with egg on their face. Sabot’s not willing to be made a fool of again. He thinks this is just another threat.”