by Matthew Dunn
Will touched a hand to his head and felt a long groove along the right-hand side of his hairline. He knew that the injury must have come from the assassin’s bullet. He coughed and recalled the thick smoke within the house. His vision blurred, and he blinked several times to try to regain control of his sight. He breathed in deeply and felt pain in his lungs. He slowed his breathing and tried to calm his body and mind. He spoke. “How the hell did you get me out of that house?”
Roger came toward him. “I didn’t. But the man who torched the place and then shot you most certainly did.”
Thirty-Eight
“He should not travel that distance. He’s been shot in the head.”
Will heard the words from behind closed eyes. He opened them and saw Julian and Ben. The two men were standing over him. He looked around and recognized his surroundings as the superior suite he had stayed in before, in Sarajevo’s Radon Plaza Hotel.
Ben looked at Will and said, “I bet it feels like someone’s struck your head full force with an iron bar.”
Will raised his hand to the side of his head and felt padding. “Shit. What time is it, and where’s Roger?”
Ben spoke as he applied a damp swab to Will’s face. “We got you here two hours ago. Roger and Laith are now on a plane, seated a few seats behind Lana. They’ll be landing in Boston in eight hours.”
Will pushed himself away from Ben and sat upright on the bed. He swung his legs off the bed and stood. He instantly felt giddy, and in his peripheral vision he saw the two CIA men come to his side to hold him. He closed his eyes, breathed, then opened them again. “Let go of me.”
The two men held their grip for a while and then did as he asked.
“What time is the next flight to Boston?”
Ben frowned. “There’s a Lufthansa flight via Munich at twelve-fifty-five P.M., but that’s in three hours’ time and there’s no way you can be fit for that flight.”
“I’ve got to be. Lana’s meeting is at lunchtime tomorrow. I have to be on that flight.”
Ben took a step closer to Will. “There’s no way . . .”
Will held a hand up. “Remove my bandages. Disguise the wound as much as you can. Make sure that I’m clean and that this stench of smoke and blood is off me. Get me into decent clothes, and get me on that plane.”
Will was returning to the United States of America. Four weeks ago he had left the country in a severely wounded state, and he was now going back there in a similar condition. He reclined his first-class seat back a little and looked across the aisle toward his traveling companions. Ben looked to be sleeping, but Julian was awake, and he immediately got out of his seat and came to Will’s side.
“Do you want some more painkillers?”
Will shook his head. “No. They’ll stop me from thinking straight.”
“You need to rest.”
“I need to work through this.”
Julian returned to his seat, and Will closed his eyes. He saw the assassin standing perfectly still amid the beams of light, saw him set the house ablaze, saw the man shoot him with a precision that ensured that the bullet glanced along one side of his head rather than penetrated his brain. He wondered why the man had then lifted him onto a shoulder to carry him through the smoke and fire and out into the garden. He wondered why the man had told him he needed Will to stay alive. He wondered why the man had left him on that ground and whether he’d done so for fear of his own capture or death. He wondered why Harry had disappeared shortly after telling him that everything was now upside down.
Will opened his eyes. There was one thing he did not wonder about. He knew that the assassin had to be Megiddo.
Thirty-Nine
It occurred to Will that the men before him were probably two of the most powerful individuals in the Western intelligence community. It also occurred to him how very alike they looked. But more important than their physical similarities was the near alignment of both thinking and action that Will now believed more than two decades of covert collaboration had produced between Patrick and Alistair. They looked at him now.
“You must never tell anyone about your actions against the French.”
“Because even we would not be able to protect you from the repercussions if that event were ever disclosed.”
“All that matters is your operation to seize Megiddo.”
“If you’re still up to the task of capturing him.”
“But are you?”
Will patted a hand against freshly applied bandages. His wound had been examined and treated by the same small, bespectacled American man who had cared for him in New York. The man had told him he would need to keep the bandaging on for at least a week, and even then he would need to have minor reconstructive surgery to hide all traces of the bullet wound. Will had told him that he would be removing the bandages in the morning.
He looked around the minimalist room. It belonged to a CIA safe house in a residential area of Boston’s West End. He looked back at the two senior men. “Lana will meet him tomorrow at noon, and I’ll be there to watch it happen.”
Patrick and Alistair did not look at each other and instead kept their attention on Will. “Even though you’re now on U.S. soil, you do know that we still can’t give you extra intelligence resources to cover that meeting? And even though we probably could get help from the local and federal police and the military, that cannot be an option yet.”
“I know.” Will had already concluded that police involvement would not work. If things went wrong, their primary objective would be to save lives. And military involvement, even special ops, was too risky, because any individuals deployed from that quarter wouldn’t have time to learn the nuances of the mission and therefore couldn’t be trusted to make correct decisions without direct instructions. He had to continue to rely solely on Roger, Laith, Ben, and Julian.
“So, aside from wishing to check on my mental and physical well-being, why are you both here?”
Alistair smiled.
Patrick did not. He took a step toward Will. “We have new NSA Hubble intelligence.”
Will held up a palm. “It will be manufactured by Megiddo and therefore should be ignored.”
“This cannot be ignored, because it is genuine.” Alistair was no longer smiling. “It is not intelligence about the location or timing of the attack but rather intelligence pertaining to the movement of men. And it can be and has been verified by independent sources. We know that twenty-five men are traveling to the United States from Iran during the next forty-eight hours. We know that all of them are members of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, and we have positively identified four of them as IRGC Qods Force men. We must therefore assume they are all Qods Force personnel.”
“They must be coming to Megiddo.” Will looked at Alistair and then Patrick. “That will give him a team of thirty-two people in this country, and it must mean that his attack is going to take place here rather than in the U.K.”
“Precisely.”
Will frowned. “How do you know that the intelligence isn’t false or misleading?”
“Because it is derived from multiple entry- and exit-port database systems as well as aircraft rosters. Even Megiddo cannot manipulate that amount or type of data.”
Will thought for a moment and then asked, “Do we know anything about the men?”
Alistair answered. “Of the four that we know are definitely Qods Force, three of them have been linked to terror acts in the Middle East and South Asia. They are bombers.”
“Then the rest must be their chaperones.” Will drummed his fingers. “The men must remain untouched. I need Megiddo to feel confident that he has most of his tools in place to proceed with his mission. If we snatch his men, he’ll be so hampered that he’ll probably go to ground for who knows how long, and certainly the imperative for him to capture and interrogate me would instantly r
ecede. He’d retreat, restrategize, regroup, and then hit his target when he felt safe to do so.”
Patrick exhaled slowly. “An NSA report like this is automatically sent to the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Department of Homeland Security.”
The anger in Will was immediate. He jumped up and kicked his chair away from him. “How could you let this happen, Patrick? The Iranians will be grabbed, and then everything will be lost.”
Alistair shouted, “William, shut your mouth!”
Will had never before heard the man raise his voice.
Alistair came very close to him, cupped a hand around the back of Will’s neck, and quickly pulled his head within inches of his own. His next words were quiet and strong. “Don’t presume anything.”
Will pulled away from him and looked at Patrick. His heart was now pounding with emotion. “I told you to have confidence in my abilities.”
Patrick remained silent. He sat, crossed his legs, and placed the tips of his fingers together. Then he looked at Will. “The NSA report was shown to me two days ago while it was still in draft form. I read it and came to a conclusion. I got into a car and drove to Baltimore to see the director of the NSA. Because of who I am, the man gave me an audience, coffee, and some nice cookies. I gave him an ultimatum: destroy this report, or I would destroy the whole Hubble project on the basis that one percent of it was absolute rubbish.”
Will frowned, looking at Alistair and Patrick.
His Controller nodded once at Will and spoke quietly. “Patrick has prevented the Iranians from being touched. He has prevented the operation from faltering. He has done something that you do not have the power to do.” He narrowed his eyes. “We both have confidence in your abilities, William. But we do not wish to see our dead friend’s son be torn apart by others if he fails.”
He exchanged a brief glance with Patrick and then continued. “Patrick and I are untouchable. You are not. If there is any doubt in your mind”—his voice sounded forceful—“any doubt that you may succeed given the greater odds you now face, then you must be honest with us. If we wish it to happen, the NSA report can be recycled through CIA channels and the twenty-five men can still be arrested upon arrival here. We still have time to thwart Megiddo’s plan temporarily.” His voice softened again. “If you have absolute conviction that you will succeed, then the men must be untouched by others. But if you do have any doubt, we can arrange matters so that you can still walk away from this operation with dignity. The alternative to both is beyond our control.”
Will narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “If you touch those men, Megiddo will disappear. Leave them alone, and leave me alone.”
“What happened to you, Nicholas?” Lana’s eyes watered as she looked at his head.
Will had decided not to wait until the morning to remove his bandages but instead had taken the padding off and cleaned himself up as much as possible before meeting his agent in this Plaza Hotel room. “I made a mistake.”
She came to him and placed an arm around his back. She pressed against his body, raising her other hand close to the gunshot wound. Will could feel her breasts and her warmth, and he could smell lotions on her skin.
Lana touched the wound. She moved her fingers and touched his lips. She looked at them, then at his eyes. She pulled him even tighter against her beautiful body and shook her head slowly. “Piece by piece you are being broken.”
Will was alone in his own hotel room. It would be hours before the sun rose and many more before Lana needed to make her walk, but Will had no thoughts of sleep. He stripped and cleaned his P228 handgun, he paced the room, he studied his maps of Boston Harbor again, he poured and drank tea, he showered, he packed and unpacked and repacked ammunition clips, he checked his communications equipment, he exercised, he showered again, and he sat.
And then he wondered what mattered to him the most: getting his revenge on Megiddo or keeping Lana safe. He decided both mattered in equal measure. Both mattered to him more than anything else in his life right now.
Forty
“It’s started. She’s on her way.” Roger’s voice was clear and measured.
Will pulled his windbreaker’s hood up over his earpiece so that his head was covered, and he began to jog slowly down Boston’s Boylston Street. The road had been partially cleared of snow, but to his left he could see that Boston Common, populated with daytime strollers and frolicking families, was still carpeted with the stuff. He crossed the street and slowed to a walk until he was at the southeast tip of the Common. He checked his watch and listened.
“She’s moving up Charles Street toward Boylston. Will, get off that street and move up Tremont. Everyone else, maintain your positions.”
Will followed Roger’s instruction and came to a stop when he was three hundred meters along Tremont Street. A northerly wind coursed along the route and brought with it new and heavy snow. People were moving around him, and some, it seemed, had decided to get off the streets and out of the park to take shelter in shops and cafés. He rubbed his bare hands together and waited for Roger to speak again.
The man did so within a few seconds. “I’m behind her on Boylston, and so are three of her watchers.”
Will knew that right now only Roger could see Lana and the Iranians who were following her. Ben would be waiting in a vehicle to the south on Washington Street, Laith would be on foot to the east on Essex Street, and Julian would be standing over the dead in the Common’s Central Burying Ground. Will scrutinized the people around him, but nobody here looked out of place.
“She’s moving south down Tremont Street. Hold.”
Will waited thirty seconds until he heard Roger’s voice again.
“She’s gone left onto Lagrange Street. I’m going to stay back for a while. Laith, move to the end of Essex Street and then move to a stop on South Street so that you’re ahead of her. Julian, take over Laith’s current position on Essex and move as quickly as you can. Everyone else, hold.”
Will looked back down the street. In the distance he saw a man sprint across the road and knew that the man was Julian.
“Okay, she’s moving ahead onto Beach Street and Chinatown. Ben, get your vehicle onto Hudson Street.” Roger’s audible breathing suggested he was either walking quickly or running. “I’m moving closer to her now.”
Laith spoke. “Two men are waiting near me. They’re definitely part of the team.”
Five members of the Iranian surveillance team had now been spotted.
Roger spoke. “Will, time for you to move east. Your destination is Milton Place. Try to be there in three minutes.”
Will immediately sprinted. He headed off Tremont Street and past the Ritz-Carlton Hotel before moving onto Essex Street. He dodged pedestrians and cars, trying not to lose traction on the ice- and snow-covered pavement. He knew that passersby were watching him and no doubt wondering what he was doing, but he didn’t care. All he did care about was meeting Roger’s exacting deadline. He ran up Lincoln Street and Devonshire Street before turning right onto Milton Place and stopping. He checked his watch, panting. He had completed the thousand-meter run in just over two and a half minutes. He depressed his pressel switch and gasped, “I’m here.”
Roger replied, “Excellent. Laith, move up to the InterContinental. Ben, get your vehicle onto Matthews Street. Our lady’s now going north.” There was silence for a while before the CIA team leader spoke again. “Yes, the other two men have joined my three. Julian, get down onto the Harbor Walk. Will, go to the Langham Hotel on Franklin Street.”
Will sucked in a lungful of air and ran again. He moved up Federal Street before turning right toward his destination. As he neared the Langham, he heard Laith’s voice say, “I’ve got another one at the InterContinental.”
Six members of the Iranian surveillance team were now accounted for.
Will bru
shed snow from his shoulders and waited several minutes. He watched people coming and going from the Langham, watched them moving along Franklin Street carrying bags and with their heads low to shield themselves from the driving snowfall, and saw cars moving tentatively forward with headlights switched on to guide their path through the blizzard. He watched all those things, but he did so while mentally picturing the surroundings of the InterContinental Hotel.
“Laith, a vehicle’s just passed me and our lady.” Roger spoke quickly. “It’s a Dodge Durango SUV and is moving toward your position.”
“Seen.” Laith picked up the commentary. “One man in the vehicle. His vehicle slows. It stops by the hotel. The other man moves up to it and waits.”
The driver had to be the seventh man of the surveillance team.
Roger spoke. “You should have sight of our lady.”
Laith replied, “I do. Hold.” The radio went silent for a few moments. “My man on foot is walking away from the vehicle. The driver remains inside the vehicle. The engine is on.”
“Yeah, I’ve got him.” Roger’s voice sounded tense. “He’s coming straight toward us. My five are moving closer to her. So is the man. He stops before her. Everyone stops. I can see him talking to her. He places a hand on her elbow. He walks with her toward the vehicle.” There was a split-second sound of nothing before Roger said loudly, “They’re going to put her in the car. Ben, pick Will up now.”
Will felt his heart start to race. He reached for his pressel switch and was about to tell Roger to stop the Iranians. He thought, he cursed, he knew it was probable that Lana was simply being taken to another predetermined location in Boston, and he knew that if he did anything now to stop her, he would not only destroy the mission but also endanger Lana. He withdrew his hand from the radio mike. He looked up and down his street, and as he did so, he heard Laith again.