Collateral Damage (3 page)

Holly dialed the London direct line for Felicity Devonshire, known as “Architect,” head of MI-6.

“Yes?” a male voice asked.

“This is Holly Barker, assistant director of intelligence, calling from Langley, Virginia, for Architect.”

“Architect is presently unavailable,” the man said. “I’ll say you called.” He hung up without further ado.

Well, that was short, Holly thought. She might as well go back to the meeting. Then her phone rang. “Holly Barker.”

“It’s Felicity. I’m sorry my assistant was short with you. As you can imagine, we’re in the middle of a flap here.”

“The director asked me to call and give you an idea that arose at our daily briefing this morning.”

“I’d be grateful for any suggestion, of course.”

“It occurred to us that this act might be revenge for the deaths of Ari Shazaz, aka Hamish McCallister, and his brother, Mohammad.”

Felicity was briefly silent. “Well, that’s a stretch, but . . .”

“Are you aware that the Shazazes have a sister who was complicit in the bomb making?”

“One moment.” Felicity covered the phone and could be heard to speak authoritatively to someone in the room. “No, we are not aware of that. Do you have details?”

“Her name is Jasmine, she is the youngest of the three siblings, and she may have shared Hamish’s London residence, in Cheyne Walk. I’m afraid that’s all we have, but we would certainly be grateful for anything you learn.”

“Of course,” Felicity said, “and I thank you for the call, Holly. Please give my very best to Kate and thank her for thinking of us. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Of course.” But Felicity had already hung up. Holly was about to return to the briefing when her phone rang again. “Holly Barker.”

“Holly, this is Tim Coleman. Is the director available?” Coleman was the president’s chief of staff.

“Good morning, Tim. She’s in the daily intelligence briefing at the moment, but if it’s urgent I can interrupt.”

“No, don’t do that. You’re in the loop on this, so I’ll tell you, and you can tell her.”

“All right.”

“The Oak Ridge nuclear plant has run some tests on the fissionable material found in the California device. It’s a match for a smaller sample that turned up a few months ago that is suspected to have originated in Iran.”

The hairs on Holly’s arm stood up. “That hasn’t been confirmed?”

“No, but we have samples of the enriched uranium from the stores of all the other nuclear-capable countries, and it doesn’t match any of them, so it has to be from either Iran or North Korea.”

“I see,” Holly said. “Is anything else known about the California material?”

“No, but the fact that the late Dr. Kharl supplied the material is another connection to one of those two countries.”

Dr. Kharl, who had assembled the California device, was recently deceased, an order that Holly had transmitted from the director, after presidential approval. He had been instrumental in the Pakistani nuclear weapons program, as well as the North Korean program, and had been thought to be available to just about anyone with the cash.

“I agree,” Holly said. “Anything else, before I drop this bombshell on the director?”

“Just don’t expand the loop. See you later.” Coleman hung up.

Holly hung up, too. That meant she couldn’t bring it up at the briefing. She went back into the room and waited, trying to hide her impatience, while Lance concluded his report. He was talking of the penetration of an Iranian army unit connected with that country’s nuclear program.

The director glanced at her. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said when Lance had finished, “unless there’s something else of level one importance, you’ll have to hold any other information until tomorrow’s briefing. Thank you all.” She stood up, signaling that everyone should leave, and with a motion of her head indicated that Holly should follow her.

Holly left the room and followed the director to her office, where she took the indicated seat.

“You’ve learned something new,” Kate said.

“First, Felicity and her people were not aware of the existence of Jasmine Shazaz, but now they are, and they will be checking out the Cheyne Walk house. I told her about that on my own authority, reasoning that MI-6 could get in there faster and more thoroughly than London station could, and with less of a local flap, and I think she’ll feel obligated to share.”

“I concur.”

“A second thing: Tim Coleman called and asked for you, but declined to interrupt your briefing. Since I’m in the loop he told me that Oak Ridge has determined that the enriched uranium in the California device most likely came from either Iran or North Korea, since it was introduced by Dr. Kharl and is not a match for that of any of the programs we’re familiar with.”

“I’m glad you didn’t blurt that out in the briefing,” Kate said.

“No, ma’am, I know the loop is small. I don’t even know if it includes Lance.”

“You and I are the loop in this agency,” Kate replied, “and we’re going to keep it that way. Outside, it’s the Secret Service, Mike Freeman of Strategic Services, and Stone Barrington, who somehow managed to stop the clock on that thing without blowing us all to kingdom come, and Dino Bacchetti. And the president, of course, which accounts for Tim Coleman being inside, too.”

“There’s one other,” Holly said.

“And who might that be?” Kate asked sharply.

“The reporter from
Vanity Fair
, Kelli Keane, who was in the room with the device when it was stopped.”

“Good God,” Kate moaned.

“Stone had a very serious word with her afterward, and impressed on her the importance of the event never having taken place.”

“Do you think that will be enough to keep her lid on? I mean, she’s a journalist, for God’s sake!”

“Stone thought she got the message.”

“Did he threaten her?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Holly, I want you to leave for New York immediately, by the fastest conveyance available, pick her up, sit her down in a quiet room, and frighten her to the bottom of her soul.”

Holly stood up. “Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else?”

“Do you have any doubts about the ability of Stone Barrington to keep this to himself forever? And Dino Bacchetti? It was his gun.”

“No, ma’am, I have no doubts about either of them. They’re both under contract to the Agency as consultants and, as such, have the highest security clearance.”

“Good. Get going.”

Holly went to her office, picked up a phone and called the director of transportation. “This is Assistant Director Holly Barker. Is there a chopper on the pad right now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied, “but it’s leaving momentarily for Dulles, to pick up a visiting dignitary.”

“Cancel that flight immediately and find another way to transport the dignitary. I want the aircraft fueled and the flight plan filed for New York by the time I can get down there.” She hung up without another word, got her ready bag from her closet, and headed for the elevator.

The rotors were already turning on the brand-new Sikorsky X2 helicopter, not even certified yet, but on loan to the Agency. Holly hadn’t expected this, but she was looking forward to the ride. She hopped into the cabin and buckled in.

After what seemed like only a moment, the sleek machine was flying north, directly into the D.C. no-fly zone and at no more than a thousand feet. She put on her headset. “Hey,” she said to the pilot, “aren’t we a little low?”

“On purpose, ma’am,” the pilot said. “No traffic over Washington at this altitude.”

“Can this thing really break two hundred fifty knots?”

“That’s classified, ma’am, but you have an honest face, so yes, ma’am. It’s the fastest chopper ever, and it’s all mine! I guess you got your seat belt fastened?”

“I have.”

“Well, right after we blow past the White House, I’m going to show you some climb performance.”

“You go right ahead.” Holly looked out her window and the White House blew by, indeed; she could see the ground-to-air missile launchers on the roof. Suddenly, the helicopter raised its nose, and Holly looked over the pilot’s shoulder at the speed tape on the glass cockpit’s pilot’s flight display. It was moving too fast for her to keep up with. Then they leveled at twelve thousand feet, leaving her stomach in the air, and the climb seemed to have taken but a moment.

“You enjoy that?” the pilot asked.

“I’ve always loved roller coasters,” she replied.

“We’ll be on the East Side pad in less than an hour.”

“Does the satphone work?” she asked.

“On this bird,
everything
works, ma’am.”

Holly picked up the phone, called the Agency’s East Side facility and asked for the agent in charge.

He came on the line immediately. “Holly Barker?”

“That’s right. I’m inbound for the East Side Heliport, ETA forty-five minutes. I need a vehicle to meet me, and I need an immediate location for a Kelli Keane, a writer for
Vanity Fair
magazine. She’s freelance and may work from home.”

“We’re on it.”

“Send a team to find her, stat, then politely but firmly bring her to your location. Clear a room for me to have a quiet chat with her. No video or audio, is that clear?”

“Clear.”

“Over and out.” Holly hung up the phone and sat back to watch the countryside stream past her window.

—

Kelli Keane was having lunch with a woman friend at a chic downtown restaurant when her cell phone went off. “Kelli Keane.”

“Ms. Keane, my name is Carlson, and I am a federal agent. I need to speak to you alone at the front door of the restaurant immediately. My people will settle your check, so go there now, understood?”

“No, not understood.”

“If it will be more convenient for you, I can send two agents into the restaurant to assist you outside. Would you prefer that?”

“All right, all right, how long?”

“Ten seconds.” The line went dead.

“Carolyn,” Kelli said to her companion, “it seems something urgent has come up and I’ll have to leave, maybe for a few minutes, maybe longer. The check will be taken care of.” Kelli looked toward the front door and saw two large men in dark suits walk in and look around. “Gotta go,” she said to the astonished Carolyn. The door was open when she got there.

“Straight ahead,” one of the men said, assisting her along by the elbow and nearly lifting her off her feet. She found herself in the rear seat of a black SUV between the two men, and the windows were blacked out.

“All right,” Kelli said, “what the hell is going on here?”

“Be quiet,” the man said. “Someone wishes to speak with you. We’ll reach your first destination in twenty minutes.”

“Then what?” she asked, but no one answered her.

Twenty minutes later, the car drove into an underground garage and stopped at an elevator. Several floors later, she was put into what appeared to be a small living room, furnished with a sofa, chairs, and a small dining table. The door closed behind her before she could ask where they were.

—

After the helicopter landed, Holly held the headset mike to her lips. “That was just amazing,” she said to the pilot. “Thanks so much.” Then she hopped out of the chopper and, eight steps later, into a black SUV. Six minutes after that, the car went underground, and she was rising in the elevator. The AIC was waiting for her.

“She’s in a holding room,” he said.

“Remember, no video, no audio, and no peeking. Got it?”

“Got it.” He led the way down the hall, opened the door, and closed it behind her.

Holly found Kelli Keane sitting at the table, trying to use her iPhone. She recognized her from having seen her at The Arrington hotel in Los Angeles, but they had not met. “Your phone won’t work,” she said.

Kelli put the phone back into her purse. “You look familiar,” she said. “Were you in L.A. a couple of weeks ago?”

Holly sat down. “While you were there, some unusual events occurred, and Stone Barrington had a conversation with you about them. Remember?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Then stop remembering,” Holly said. She took a pad from her jacket pocket and uncapped her pen. “I want the names of everyone to whom you have spoken about those events.”

Kelli looked her in the eye. “Stone asked me not to speak of that, and I have not spoken of it.”

“How about your boyfriend, James Rutledge? What did you tell him?”

“I told him I had a grand time at The Arrington, nothing else.”

“What about Graydon Carter at
Vanity Fair
?”

“I don’t work directly with him, but I haven’t spoken with my editor about it, either. I just turned in my piece, which mentioned nothing about it.”

“Who else have you not told about those events?” Holly asked.

“The entire world,” Kelli said. “They are all among the people I have not told about that experience. One of the men who brought me here said that this was my first destination. What did he mean by that? Where is my next destination?”

“You have two choices,” Holly said. “One is wherever you wish in Manhattan. The other is the Guantanamo naval base, on the island of Cuba, for an indeterminate time.”