The Geneva Strategy

by Robert Ludlum

  “Not much here,” Darkanin said.

  Asam shrugged. “It’s a safe house, nothing more. The authorities come and I can be gone in an instant. I found your man.” Asam walked over to the laptop and pointed at the screen. Darkanin joined him and raised an eyebrow. A frozen frame showed a man, lean and tall with the ramrod posture of a member of the military. The face matched the picture of Smith that Darkanin had given Asam.

  “Nice work. Where was this taken?”

  “Just over a mile away.” Asam bent down and scrolled through a set of still photos, stopping at another. This one showed only Smith’s back as he stepped into Brown’s Hotel.

  “Where is he now?”

  Asam clicked on another screen and the action changed from a still photo to a video feed. In it Darkanin saw a line of cars idling in a row.

  “What’s that?”

  “The queue to get into the Saudi embassy.”

  Darkanin smiled. “That’s where I’m going. So Mr. Smith and I will be at the same event tonight? How ironic.”

  “I presume that now you intend to take him out?” Asam asked.

  Darkanin shook his head. “Not just yet. At least not until after the reception. If he’s expected there then it would raise alarm bells if he doesn’t appear. Afterward he can be taken out quietly.”

  Asam turned to a nearby kitchen cabinet and opened it. He pulled out a black holster and slid from it a long knife with a wicked-looking, narrow blade. To Darkanin it looked like a knife for gutting fish.

  “This is for you,” Asam said. “Slip it between his ribs after he leaves the party and leave him to silently bleed out.” He slid the knife back into its sheath and held the holster out for Darkanin.

  Darkanin shook his head. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. If anyone attacks him it will be you. I hired you to handle this, not to push it off on me.”

  “Is the big CEO afraid to do his own dirty work?” Asam’s voice held a nasty, goading tone.

  What an asshole, Darkanin thought. “What about the ten thousand dollars that I gave you didn’t you understand? I don’t pay that much for a couple of photos. I pay that much for a job completed. You were to find Smith and Beckmann.”

  Asam indicated the computer monitor. “Beckmann is next, but I found Smith. That’s what you wanted, so I’ve earned half my fee. You’ll be at the same party, so it just makes sense that you would follow him out the door and find the right time to take him out while he walks home.”

  Darkanin felt his anger rising. “I’m the CEO of a well-respected pharmaceutical company! The killing can’t in any way be traced to me.”

  Asam gave Darkanin a wry look. “Fine, then I’ll kill him. But as you can see”—Asam indicated the idling car—“he has a driver. I’ll need to follow the car and kill both him and the driver. You never paid me for any of this, so the job will cost more.” At that moment the limo driver exited the car, walked to the passenger door, and opened it. From what Darkanin could see the driver was older, possibly in his fifties, and lean to the point of being skinny.

  “The driver doesn’t look like much. He’ll be a breeze to knock off,” Darkanin said.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. Limousine drivers always carry a gun in the car,” Asam replied.

  “That’s in the States, not in London. Here they don’t.”

  “Still, I’ll need eight thousand more for the driver.”

  At that moment Smith emerged from the passenger side of the vehicle and seconds later a woman as well. She kept her head turned from the camera and Darkanin frowned.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  Asam glanced at the screen. “Presumably his date. She’ll need to be killed as well. That’s another eight, so now it’s sixteen thousand to you.”

  The woman turned to face the camera and Darkanin stilled. Asam noticed his sudden silence.

  “What? You know her?”

  Darkanin pulled himself together. Suddenly the additional cost paled in comparison with the result. In one evening Asam could solve several of Darkanin’s problems at once. Still, he would continue to act outraged. It might help keep costs in check.

  “That’s more than double the agreed-upon price! What in the world makes you think that you can simply raise your stated fee?”

  Asam looked supremely bored with the conversation, which irritated Darkanin even further. The lying, stinking assassin didn’t even care enough to get angry.

  “Then you should take the knife and do it yourself. It makes no difference to me if they live or die,” Asam said. He strolled to the sleeping bags, reached down, grabbed one of the nearby pillows, and tossed it next to the cocktail table. Then he lowered himself onto it and crossed his legs into a lotus position. He picked up a lighter off the table and used it to light the tobacco in the pan. He put the pipe to his lips in preparation to smoke.

  Darkanin wanted to knock the pipe out of his mouth and punch Asam in the face. He was astonished at the man’s audacity. Who did he think he was dealing with? At that moment Darkanin knew that as soon as the job was finished, he would arrange for Asam to be finished as well. He’d have a video taken while it occurred so that he could revel in the slaughter. Darkanin smiled in anticipation. You’ll regret the moment you decided to cross me, he thought as he watched Asam inhale a mouthful of smoke.

  “Fine. Sixteen thousand, but only after you prove to me that Smith is dead.”

  Asam looked at him through slitted eyes. “Pay me now.”

  Darkanin shook his head. “Half now, half when you bring me proof.”

  “Pay me now,” Asam said.

  Darkanin shook his head. On this he would remain firm. He knew, without a doubt, that if he paid it all up front Asam would take the money and never follow through.

  Asam shrugged. “Then do it yourself.”

  Darkanin had had enough. “I’ll get someone else to handle it. Clearly you’re not as qualified as everyone told me.” In one step he was at the door and turning the handle.

  “Wait,” Asam said.

  Darkanin paused, waiting for what he knew he would hear.

  “Fine. Half now and half when it’s done, but be ready with the money and close by. I don’t want to remain in London a second longer than I have to.”

  Darkanin opened the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll be at the same reception, remember?” He paused.

  “And leave that fish knife somewhere close to the embassy. I’ll retrieve it when I leave the reception and have it ready should something go wrong.”

  Asam blew out the richly scented smoke and leveled a stare at Darkanin. “Don’t insult me in this fashion. I’ve killed many, many times before. Everyone from U.S. Army Rangers to Israeli Mossad. One simple soldier, his driver, and a woman will be easy.”

  “I still want the knife ready.”

  Asam shrugged. “As you wish.”

  Darkanin closed the door behind him and headed down the stairs into the night.

  30

  Howell pulled up outside the embassy and turned to Smith and Arden.

  “It’s close. The line of cars is blocking the view. I hope you don’t mind walking. It’s only half a block but would save me half an hour in gridlock.”

  “Of course not,” Smith said.

  Howell got out and opened the passenger door. He handed Arden out first and stepped back to allow Smith to emerge.

  “I’ll see you after the party?” he said in a low voice.

  Smith nodded, put a hand on Howell’s arm, and joined Arden on the sidewalk.

  “Ready?” he said.

  She had been unusually quiet during the short ride to the party. Now she walked next to Smith and kept her right hand in her pocket as they walked to the entrance.

  The embassy’s elaborate wrought-iron gates were thrown open and flanked by two armed guards, each with a semiautomatic rifle slung over his shoulder and wearing black cargo pants and a matching shirt. A line of partygoers stretched from the portico across the driveway and lawn to the side
walk. Smith and Arden joined the line and began the slow shuffling progress toward the entrance.

  “Can you see what the holdup is?” Arden asked.

  Smith stepped out of line to get a better angle into the doors. From there he could see that the guests were lining up in front of reception tables manned by embassy personnel. Guests spoke to the greeter, and then began to fish in their pockets to retrieve wallets. Smith watched as the embassy staff checked the offered identification before allowing the guests to move to the next table, where they were issued name tags. After pinning on the name tags, the guests were allowed to move deeper into the building.

  Smith took advantage of the new angle to check out the entrance opening. The first bit of luck was that both doors were thrown open, creating a nice, wide expanse for Russell to pilot the drone through. Smith could see an elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling on a chain. The crystal drop pieces sparkled, throwing light rays around the foyer. Smith estimated that once Russell guided the drone through the doors she would have to fly it around the chandelier; it looked somewhat difficult but he presumed the device would be able to navigate around the piece. He stepped back into line to tell Arden what he’d seen.

  “It’s the usual check-in bottleneck exacerbated by the fact that they’re requesting identification before allowing anyone to continue,” Smith said. From somewhere deep inside the foyer there was a periodically recurring buzzing noise. Each time this occurred, the line stopped moving briefly before resuming its slow progress.

  “What’s that noise?” Arden asked.

  Smith shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure. I couldn’t see that far into the foyer to tell.”

  They shuffled a few steps closer to the doors. After ten more minutes of the shuffle-and-wait procedure, Smith and Arden had bisected the drive and were within ten feet of the main entrance. Smith watched as the embassy staff worked silently and efficiently, checking identification and waving the guests to the next stage with a smile. The periodic buzzing, the slowing of the line, and then the resumption continued. After a couple of minutes more Smith could see far enough down the queue to discern the cause of the sound. Two black obelisks, about three feet high and eight inches wide, were placed on either side of the open entrance into the main living areas. When certain guests walked past the obelisks they would light up and emit the buzzing sound that he and Arden had been hearing.

  “Metal detectors,” Arden said in a flat voice after she spotted them.

  “Yes,” Smith said. “It’s the least we should expect.”

  He watched the detector light up when a man stepped through. Whenever this happened, a guard would use a wand and run it over the guest’s clothes. Most of the time it appeared as if the women’s jewelry was the culprit.

  They shuffled a bit closer. The obelisk went off again.

  “I think you should know that I have a gun in my right jacket pocket,” Arden said in a voice so low that Smith could barely make out the words, which was why he at first was unsure that he had heard her correctly.

  “What did you just say?”

  Arden leaned into him and put her mouth to the ear in which he’d placed the listening device and said, “I have a gun in my right jacket pocket.”

  Beckmann was leaning back in his chair drinking a cup of coffee and watching the line of people snake from the embassy doors when he jumped at Arden’s suddenly loud voice as it echoed in the room. Russell sat at the computer next to him concentrating on the small handheld mechanism that would pilot the drone and she looked at Beckmann in surprise.

  “Was that Arden?”

  Beckmann nodded. “Woman’s crazy. She brought a gun.”

  Russell put the controller down and rolled her chair next to Beckmann. His computer screen showed a close-up of Smith and Arden. Smith wore a furious frown on his face and Arden kept glancing from him to the doorway.

  “She’s nervous as hell,” Russell said.

  Beckmann snorted. “She should be. In thirty seconds she’s going to pass through those metal detectors and all holy hell is going to rain down on her.”

  “What does she hope to accomplish?” Russell asked.

  At that moment Arden leaned once again into Smith’s ear and both Beckmann and Russell bent their heads closer to the speakers to catch what she said.

  Smith took a moment to digest Arden’s astonishing information, standing still and staring at her while the line moved forward. He felt a slight touch on his arm, which snapped him back to the present. It was Arden, indicating that he should close the gap between them and the guests in front. Smith did, and put his lips to Arden’s ear.

  “Why in God’s name did you bring a gun? You had to know they’d have heightened security.”

  She nodded. “I want them to discover it. I think they should know that I’m armed and able to take care of myself.”

  The line shuffled, bringing him and Arden within ten feet of the initial registration table.

  “That’s insane,” he whispered, putting as much emphasis into the word “insane” as he could given the sotto voce way in which they were communicating. “They’ll have you arrested. At the very least they’ll pull you aside and interrogate you regarding your intentions, perhaps for hours. What can you possibly hope to gain from this?”

  They shuffled closer and stood one couple back from the initial security check.

  “Oh, I intend to tell them about the gun. I’ll explain that I go nowhere without it. I think they should be aware of that fact in all of their future dealings with me.”

  Smith was scrambling to find a way to salvage what was soon going to be a disaster. “Do you have a permit to carry concealed?”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “In the States? Of course. Here? No. But does that really matter? I simply intend to send them a message. They had better not get the idea that they could arrange my ‘disappearance’ without me putting up one hell of a fight. I told you I didn’t trust them,” Arden said.

  Smith kept his eyes on the couple in front of them while he tried to come up with a way to get rid of the gun without anyone noticing, but there were no bushes nearby, another couple stood directly behind them, and two guards stood sentry on either side of the entrance, never taking their eyes off the line.

  “Yes, but you didn’t tell me you had a death wish,” Smith said. He was hissing the information close to her ear. “They find a gun and you’ll be arrested, questioned, and likely charged with spying. How could you have been so shortsighted?” The couple in front moved past the registration table and prepared to step through the metal detector.

  “I know how to shoot,” Arden said. “And being a human rights attorney means that I have to subvert tyrannical power every day and take actions that make a clear statement that business as usual will not be tolerated. That’s what I’m doing now.”

  “Spoken like a true dissident and arrogant to the core.” Smith did his best to smile at the men behind the registration desk while he whispered at Arden.

  The couple in front walked through the metal detector without incident. It was Smith and Arden’s turn.

  31

  I’d better get this bird in there fast,” Russell said.

  Beckmann placed a hand in the air to stop her. “Howell’s not in place yet. Let’s see if she gets tagged. If so, and they grab him along with her, then there’s no call to use the drone.”

  Russell shook her head. “That’s not true. We still have the operative available and she has a detonator pen as well. I’ll give her instructions to detonate and head down the stairs. She can take over the main project while the guards interrogate Smith and Arden.”

  A small quadrant of the computer showed Howell driving away. After a moment he disappeared from the screen entirely.

  “I’m in place.” Howell’s voice echoed in the room.

  “So am I,” Russell said. “Let me know when you’ve got the drone out of the trunk and ready to fly.”

  “It’s out. I’m
holding it up in the air,” he said.

  Russell put a headset microphone on her head, her hands on the controller, and activated the drone. A light on the controller turned from red to green.

  “The motor just switched on,” Howell said. “It’s vibrating.”

  Beckmann rolled his chair next to Russell to watch the proceedings. She carefully flew the bird higher until it was two stories above street level and clear of most of the lower buildings in Mayfair. She switched on the GPS and the bird rose even higher and made a graceful turn to the left. Russell sat back.

  “I’ve plugged in the coordinates for the embassy’s side yard. Right now it’s on autopilot.”

  “How does it avoid obstacles?” Beckmann asked.

  “It works on a lidar system, which means ‘light detection and ranging.’ Kind of like an advanced sonar. Once it’s there it’s programmed to hover until I take over.”

  “I’ll tell Smith,” Beckmann said. He rolled back to his console. “The bird is up. Fifteen minutes until the battery gives out. Be ready.” He saw Smith nod.

  “He got the message.”

  “Get ready, we’re off auto,” Russell said.

  Beckmann moved to watch her. She began piloting the bird lower. Through the grid display he saw the embassy’s wall appear. Trees, power wires, and light poles appeared in fuzzy outlines and each time the bird came within a foot the lines began blinking, slowly at first and then faster as the bird flew even closer. Russell piloted it around the building and stopped it, setting it to hover once again. She lowered the camera lens to focus on the front door. It was closed.

  “Shit. They closed the door even though the line continues. What’s that all about?” Russell said.

  As she spoke the door reopened, and the next couple was escorted inside. The door closed behind them.

  “They’re opening it for each. I wonder why the sudden change in procedure?” Beckmann said.