Library of Gold (31 page)

At the top of a slight incline they saw a house, large and expansive, built of weathered stone with a blue-tile Ottoman roof. Lights showed inside, and as they approached, exterior lights flashed on, illuminating flower beds, patches of grass, and a stone gazebo. Empty wine barrels were stacked against sheds. There was a large clapboard structure toward the back that was probably where the wine was made and aged.

The door to the house opened, and a man in his late fifties appeared, a shotgun resting across an arm.

“Who goes there?” he shouted in Turkish and English.

“An old friend from long ago, Hugo Shah,” the Carnivore replied. “You remember me, Alex Bosa.”

“Alex, you’ve come to taste my wine again. I’m honored.” Then as they approached, Shah stared. “Alex? Yes, it is you. What a magnificent disguise. What are you up to now?”

“No good, as always.”

Shah laughed. The pair shook hands, and the four trooped into a living area of tasteful wallpaper and thick carpets. Fine old furniture was placed here and there, while a modern sofa and easy chairs faced a handsome fireplace.

“Who are your friends, Alex?” Shah asked.

“It doesn’t matter. They need your help, which means I need your help. Is that light plane of yours available?”

“At this hour?” Shah’s eyes narrowed as he studied the Carnivore. “I see. It is an emergency. Very well, I will fly them myself. Do you wish to accompany us?”

“I’ll wait here with the wine.”

Shah smiled broadly.“Excellent. Please give me a moment.” He returned soon, wearing a jacket and carrying a small valise.

As all four walked outside, Shah explained about his vineyard, “I grow gamay, cabernet, and
papazkarasi
grapes. I have in mind two fine reds I will open for us, Alex—it will be Alex and Hugo again.”

About a half mile from the house, they went into a large garage where a single-engine Cirrus SR20 was waiting. They helped Shah roll out the plane. He gazed at the windsock and sniffed the air.

“I’ll say good-bye now.” The Carnivore backed off.

They climbed on board, Judd sitting next to Shah, and Eva behind. As the engine warmed up, Judd gazed out the window. The Carnivore was smiling. He lifted his hand and pressed two fingers against his temple in a smart salute.

Judd found himself smiling back. He snapped off a two-finger salute in return.

“Where are we going?” Shah asked as the propellers started rotating.

Judd glanced back. Eva was looking at him. He heard the strength in his voice—also the urgency. “Athens.”

PART THREE

THE BATTLE

When the celebrated Greek general Aristides learned from one of his assets that a Persian spy had infiltrated his military camp, he ordered every soldier, shield-maker, doctor, and cook to account for another person there. In that way the spy was uncovered. The next month the Greeks defeated the invading Persian army at the Battle of Marathon, in 490
B.C.

—translated from
The Book of Spies

Strategic intelligence is the power to know your enemies’ intentions.

—The New York Times

May 14, 2006

44

Washington, D.C.

As he ate a late lunch at his desk in Catapult headquarters, Tucker Andersen studied the photo of the blond woman who might be the Robin Miller mentioned in Preston’s note.

His people had located thousands of women with the name, ranging from infants to the elderly in the United States and abroad. Narrowing for age and occupation, he had settled on this one as the most likely, thirty-five years old now. Born in Scotland, she had degrees in classical art and library science from the Sorbonne and Cambridge and had worked in rare books and manuscripts in Boston and Paris. A couple of years ago she had quit her job at the Bibliothèque. After that, there was no record of her employment in other libraries or museums. No record of a new address—she had moved out of her apartment when she quit her job. No record of death. No trace at all.

He e-mailed the information and photo to Judd and sat back, thinking.

Then he picked up his phone and called Debi Watson, Catapult’s IT chief. “Any word from NSA about those phone numbers I gave you?” She was honchoing the numbers in Charles Sherback’s disposable phone, one of which could be Robin Miller’s.

“No, suh. I’ll call if something turns up. It all depends on where the satellites are, and of course there are millions of data bits to sort through. NSA is watching for us. They know it’s important.”

“It’s crucial,” he corrected.“Contact Interpol and the Athens police and tell them we’d be obliged if they’d let us know pronto if they run across a woman named Robin Miller. We believe she may be in Athens. I’ll e-mail you the details.” He hung up.

There was a knock on his door. When he responded, Gloria Feit, general factotum and receptionist, walked in and closed it behind her.

Her small frame was rigid. “He’s back. In her office.”

“Hudson Canon, you mean?”

“You asked me to let you know. I’m letting you know he’s back.”

“You’re pissed.”

“Me? How can you tell?” Her face broke into a smile, the lines around her eyes crinkling.

“No one’s going to take Cathy’s place. But we need a new chief. Hudson is temporary.”

“Yes, well, temporary as in ‘short-timer’ suits me just fine.”

“You don’t like him?”

She fell into a chair and crossed her knees. “Actually, I do like him. I just felt like being petty.”

He chuckled. “Then why are you pissed?”

“Because you’re not telling me what’s going on. You don’t think I’ve leaked anything about the Library of Gold operation, do you?”

So that was it. “The thought never crossed my mind.” Actually it had, but he did not want her to know that. He needed to consider everyone and anyone who could have had access to the information.

“Good,” she announced. “So tell me where you are with the mission.”

“Gloria.”

She sighed and stood up. “Oh, all right. Be that way. But you know you can count on me, Tucker. I mean that. For anything.” She walked to the door and turned. “When you’re offered the job of heading Catapult—and we both know you will be—take it this time. Please. I’ve already got you broken in.”

He stared as the door closed and shook his head, smiling to himself. Then the smile vanished. He stood up and left. It was time to talk to Canon.

Adjusting his tie, Hudson Canon stared into the mirror in what had been Cathy Doyle’s office. He did not like the way he looked. His short nose, round black eyes, and heavy cheeks no longer seemed solid, real to him. There was something otherworldly there, insubstantial, although he knew damn well he was a substantial man in all ways.

He turned back into the office, glad Cathy’s photos, plants, and personal things were gone. It had been a shock when he heard the news of her death, and then an even bigger shock when he received a phone call from Reinhardt Gruen, in Berlin, telling him what he had to do—or lose his savings. He had invested all of it in the Parsifal Group at Gruen’s invitation, and it had made him far more money than he had ever thought possible.

His cell phone vibrated against his chest. Locking the door, he answered it as he walked around to sit at the desk. Cell phones, PDAs, any sort of personal wireless devices were not allowed in Langley or Catapult, but he was boss here, and no one needed to know he must keep the disposable cell with him at all times now.

“We have a problem with Judd Ryder and Eva Blake. Our man hasn’t reported in, and we suspect they’re on the loose again. Where are they?” Reinhardt asked in a friendly German accent.

“I don’t know.”

“You were supposed to stay on top of this.”

“I’m not sure I can get the information.”

“
Ach
, really?” The tone was less friendly.“You are an important man. You are the head of Catapult. Nothing can be kept from you.”

Canon screwed up his resolve, banishing thoughts of losing his house. He was highly leveraged and had planned to take out the next six months of payments from his Parsifal account. He had already sold his beloved Corvette and bought a used Ford. The alimony and child support to his two ex-wives were killing him.

“It’s not that,” he said. “Look, Reinhardt, this has gone far enough. Obviously it’s not an easy fix. Catapult is never going to find your precious Library of Gold anyway. The whole mission has been a disaster.”

“Remove Tucker Andersen. Run it yourself.”

“I can’t take him off it. There’s no legitimate reason to do it. I’d be in hot water if I tried, especially now that Cathy’s dead. Besides, my boss wants an experienced hand here as number two to back me up.”

Gruen swore in German. “We think if Ryder and Blake are free they are heading to Athens. We need to know exactly where in Athens. Have you heard anything about a woman named Robin Miller?”

“No,” Canon answered truthfully. “Who’s she?”

There was a cold pause. “Let us be clear. Do you really think Catherine Doyle’s car crash was an accident?”

Canon felt sweat gather in his armpits.

“We need the information,” Gruen told him. “You will get it.”

“There’s no real need for it,” Canon tried. “I can close the operation down in just a few more hours anyway. I have the boss’s permission.”

“As you know it is far more than a few hours until you can do that, and too much can happen.” There was a pause. “You must make Tucker Andersen leave the premises of Catapult. Phone me immediately when he does. Do you understand what will happen to you if you do not?”

Tucker knocked on Hudson Canon’s door. Surprised, he heard the lock click open. Why had Hudson locked it? But then, Hudson had once been a highly successful undercover op, and habits of secrecy were hard to break.

The door opened, and the new chief gave him a short smile in greeting. “Come in, Tucker. I was thinking about checking in with you, too.”

Tucker entered as Hudson headed for the desk.

“Give me an update on how things are going.” Hudson sat and leaned back in the chair, clasping his hands comfortably behind his head.

“There’s not much new.” Tucker took a chair and recounted the few changes in the various missions. Canon wanted more frequent reports than Cathy had. That was fine—each manager had his own style.

“And the Library of Gold operation?” Canon asked.

“Glad you brought it up. I was wondering whether you happened to mention to anyone that my people were going to the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul.”

The answer was immediate. “Of course not.” The expression unchanged.

“They still haven’t located the library,” Tucker continued, “and the last time we talked, they were on their way out of Istanbul. Preston—he’s the janitor who’s been dogging them—was left behind alive but tied up in the Grand Bazaar. It’ll be a while before he gets free.”

“Where are they going now?”

This was the moment Tucker had expected, and it made him sick. After doing a thorough search through his memory, he knew he had written no one, phoned no one, e-mailed no one, made no notes to himself, and told only one person the critical details that Ryder and Blake had gone not only to Istanbul, but to the Grand Bazaar, to find Okan Biçer, and through him Andrew Yakimovich.

And so he lied: “To Thessalonika.” It was a large city north of Athens, within logical distance for Robin Miller to reach—if she were in Athens. Continuing the lie, he said, “A woman named Robin Miller got in touch with them. In exchange for helping her, she’ll meet them there and tell them where the library is.”

“That will solve a lot of problems—if they can pull it off.” Canon took a deep breath and stretched. “Thessalonika seems strange, though. Athens would be more likely, don’t you think?”

Why did he mention Athens? A sour taste rose in Tucker’s throat. “No, I don’t agree. This whole operation has been unpredictable. Thessalonika is large and historical. It makes sense to me.”

“Who is Robin Miller?”

“She has something to do with the library. I don’t have the details yet.”

Canon nodded. “Then it’s all good news. Your people have another decent lead. How are they getting to Thessalonika?”

“Judd didn’t have time to tell me.”

“I see. Well, then, you still may pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat and find the library.” Canon studied him, concern on his face. “Do you have any idea how lousy you look? You’re pale. Your clothes are a mess. With all of the action in Europe, there’s no need to be concerned someone is still after you here. It’s a beautiful afternoon. Get out and breathe some fresh air. Take a walk. Use my car if you’d rather drive than walk. If you don’t want to go home, at least go shopping and buy some new clothes. This is a direct order, Tucker—get the hell out of Catapult.”

45

Tucker Andersen stalked around his office, mulling whether to phone his old friend Matt Kelley, the head of the Clandestine Service. But he had only one piece of evidence that Hudson Canon was the leak. It was possible Judd and Eva had been tracked to the Grand Bazaar through another means. One did not report one’s colleagues unless one was damn sure.

He stopped in front of his wall of books. It was not nearly as impressive as Jonathan Ryder’s huge library, but he had carefully chosen each one. As his gaze ran over the titles, mostly politics and intelligence and spy thriller fiction, he remembered the journeys he had taken in them, learning and entertaining himself with others’ lives, ideas, and knowledge. He thought about what Philip K. Dick had written: “Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane.”

Shaking his head, he poured himself a whiskey. He probably should get out of here. A walk around the block might clear his head. But then, Hudson Canon had been the one who suggested it, which made him want to stay put. Looking out the window, he gulped whiskey and saw that night had fallen. Dammit, he was tired of the cold in-transit room upstairs in which he had been bedding down.