Pandora's Grave (41 page)

Harry had finally secured the second property following the death of the owner and used it as his own personal safehouse, registering the deed in the name of a close colleague at the Agency.

Wooden stairs appeared, their outline a dark green through the lens of the goggles. He paused at their bottom to unzip his jacket, withdrawing the .45 from its holster. Time to roll…

5:21 A.M.

“Where are we at, Vic?”

Vic sighed in exasperation. “Do I have to answer that question every five minutes?”

“Just nervous, I guess. Nichols still hasn’t left this bogus property and no lights have been turned on. It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

“He’s a career operator. Cautious. Can you blame him? Believe me, that caution extends to his computer security. It’s one of the most thorough jobs I’ve ever seen.”

“Nice to know my work is appreciated,” a new voice cut in. Vic whirled on heel to find himself staring into the muzzle of a .45 Colt. The man behind the gun was tall, his height seemingly accentuated by a pair of NVGs perched atop his head. Cold blue eyes stared down the barrel of the Colt at Vic. But he knew the face well, from a dozen surveillance photos taken over the last week. Harold Nichols.

“Take off the wire and give it here,” Nichols instructed carefully, his voice even. Determined. The look on his face told Vic he would shoot without hesitation if his orders were not followed.

The CIA man took the microphone from him and crushed it against the floor, his gaze never wavering. “Now, I don’t need to know who you are. Names are irrelevant and I know you’re the man who was following us at the service station five days ago. What I want to know is who you’re working for.”

Vic took a deep breath. “My ID is in my wallet—may I?”

A smile crossed Nichols’ face and he cocked his head. “Left hand, and do it slowly. Very slowly.”

Harry watched the man as he reached into his back pocket, moving awkwardly with his left hand. The wallet came back out and fell open, disclosing a blue shield. The man smiled suddenly. “Special Agent Victor Caruso. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation…”

5:30 A.M.

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

Carter came bustling through the door of the op-center with his jacket over his arm, a cup of steaming coffee in his right hand and a bagel clenched firmly between his teeth.

“I’ve got a call for you, Ron,” Michelle announced, looking up from her terminal. “Harold Nichols, on your secure line.”

He rolled his eyes and gestured toward her with the cup of coffee. “I’ll transfer it to your workstation,” she replied.

He mumbled something that might have been “thanks” and hurried to his cubicle, punching the speaker button as he bit off a chunk of bagel and deposited his coffee beside the computer. “Good grief, Harry,” he began with his mouth full, “do you suppose you could have picked a busier time to call? I haven’t been here five minutes and we’re already running damage control on an international situation. Everything’s gotta be tight before the intelligence briefing in an hour. Is this important?”

“I’m sitting here in my den with a gun pointed at a burglar who claims to be working for the Bureau. So, no, to answer your question, it’s not important,” Harry retorted acidly. “Not important at all.”

6:13 A.M.

Grove Manor

Cypress, Virginia

Harry looked from the picture on his TACSAT’s screen to the handcuffed man sitting in front of him and back again. “You check out,” he announced finally.

The FBI agent smiled. “What did I tell you? Now safe that blamed pistol before you hurt somebody with it.”

“We’re not done yet,” Harry announced, rising from his chair, the cocked .45 still leveled at the agent’s mid-section. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here, in my house.”

Caruso looked back at him, unruffled. “As a federal agent without powers of arrest, you don’t have the authority to interrogate me regarding the nature of my warrant.”

Taking him by the collar of his jacket, Harry pulled the agent to his feet, propelling him toward the door. “For now, it’ll suffice that I’m the guy with the gun. Come on, we’ve got a trip to take.”

The first faint traces of dawn were creeping over the Piedmont as the pair exited from the side door of the house. Harry pushed the FBI man toward the large outbuilding that served as his garage.

“How did you get back into the house?” Caruso demanded, looking back over his shoulder as they entered the garage.

Harry snorted, opening the door of his sedan. “Wouldn’t you just love to know. Get in, you’re driving.”

A man in the treeline across the road watched through binoculars as the garage door opened and the two men drove out onto the road. “Get Director Haskel on the phone. Agent Caruso is in CIA custody.”

7:01 A.M.

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“What is the Bureau doing running an investigation of our operators?” David Lay wondered aloud, looking up from his desk into the eyes of Ron Carter.

“I don’t know, sir. Nichols and this Agent Caruso just arrived at the main gate, so we may get some answers soon.”

“He brought him here?”

“Yes, sir. I authorized the visitor’s pass for Caruso, although I’m told Nichols has him in handcuffs.”

The DCIA chuckled. “An FBI agent in irons. That alone should be worth the price of admission.”

The phone on his desk buzzed and he picked it up. “Sir,” his secretary began, “I have Director Eric Haskel on line 4.”

Lay rolled his eyes. “That didn’t take long. Put him through.”

The phone beeped twice and then the transfer was complete. “Good morning, Eric,” Lay greeted cheerfully.

The FBI director did not reciprocate. “I’m informed that you have one of my people, Lay. An agent named Victor Caruso.”

“Your sources are good, Eric. I was only told fifteen minutes ago myself.”

“I want him released. At once.”

The congeniality went out of Lay’s voice. “ And I’d like to know why your agents have been pulling black bag jobs on my men. Any answers?”

A long silence. “Let me place a call.”

“To whom? Blast it, Eric, who authorized this operation?”

“Let’s set up a video-conference for nine o’clock,” Director Haskel said after a moment. “I will then read you in on the operation, if I am authorized to do so.”

Lay looked up at Ron and shook his head, puzzled by the words of the Bureau chief. “I want Ron Carter and Harold Nichols read in as well.”

When Haskel responded, there was uncertainty in his voice. “I’ll get back to you.”

4:34 A.M. Pacific Time

The Hilton

San Diego, California

“That’s where we stand, Mr. President,” Cahill announced, moving back from the whiteboard he had been writing on. “As of today. With a month to go.”

“Problem areas, Ian?” Hancock asked, leaning forward on the couch. He covered a yawn with his hand. Late nights and early mornings would be the death of him, but she had made him feel young again.

“A number of them, Mr. President, and regrettably, many of them are beyond our control.”

“Such as?”

“The price of oil, for example,” Cahill responded, taking the red marker in his hand and underlining an item on the board. The chief of staff was old school and avoided powerpoint presentations as though they were the work of the devil. “It’s hitting Americans below the belt every time they fuel up. And they’re going to remember this on Election Day. I have the Gallup poll here on your handling of the economy. Thirty-two percent approval, Mr. President. I don’t have to tell you how bad that is. And while your latest stimulus package met with a mixed reception on Main Street, there’s not a thing you can do regarding the price of oil.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Hancock said, his voice quiet.

Cahill turned toward him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean things may turn around in the Middle East.” The President shrugged. “There’s always that possibility.”

A snort came from the Chicago strategist. “As long as those Jews squat on the Muslim promised land? Not very likely. I’ll tell you what you
can
do.”

“And that would be?”

“Stop bedding young staffers and spend some time with your wife, take her on a romantic weekend getaway, anything—I’m telling you, Roger, if any of this gets out, this close to the election…you are
through
! Done, finished.
Fini
.”

Hancock chuckled. “I know you were a top student in parochial school, Ian, but your Latin is less than impressive.”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” Cahill retorted, disbelief in his tones.

The President rose and crossed the room to place his finger on the whiteboard. “Oil, Ian. If the price of oil went through the floor, if Americans could fill up their cars for what they could six, even seven years ago—what would you give our chances?”

“The economy’s just a part of it, but with a drop in gasoline prices and barring a sex scandal, I’d say we had it in the bag. Norton’s good, but he doesn’t have anything to beat that.”

“Consider it done,” Hancock responded, enjoying the incredulous look on Cahill’s face. It was a rare sight.

The phone rang before the chief of staff could pose the question forming on his lips. “FBI Director Eric Haskel on line 2, Mr. President.”

“Put him through.”

7:59 A.M. Eastern Time

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“Just the man I wanted to see.” Harry walked out of the elevator and looked up to see Ron Carter bearing down on him.

“What did you do with Agent Caruso?” the analyst asked without further preamble.

“Left him downstairs with Security. Any word on what type of investigation the Bureau is running?”

“A conference call is set up with Haskel at 0900. In the meantime, you’re to meet Carol Chambers in Conference Room #11. She’ll debrief you on this morning’s encounter and start prep for the call to Asefi.”

“We have go-mission on that now?”

“You know it.”

5:25 P.M. Tehran Time

The Presidential Palace

Tehran

“I am happy to report, sir, that the American did not escape with samples of the toxin.” President Shirazi lifted his eyes to look into the monitor above his desk, displaying the video uplink from the border. He smiled. “Well done, Harun. You have confirmed this?”

“Yes, sir. Plastic vials were recovered from the saddlebags of the dead horse. They contained the blood samples he was transporting. Having brought the Americans under fire, they were unable to retrieve the vials before we closed in.”

“You have pleased me, my nephew, but your work is not yet done. I want you to return to Tehran as soon as possible.”

“As you will, sir.”

Shirazi hit a button on his remote and the monitor went black. He rose and walked across his office. Fate. Destiny.

The will of Allah. It didn’t much matter what one called it, the end result was the same. His fingers trembled at the thought of it. This was the purpose for which he had been born.

Casualty reports lay on his desk, estimates of the Jews and Muslims who would die in the attack. They were only the beginning. The world would be set aflame…

8:27 A.M. Eastern Time

NCS Operations Center

Langley, Virginia

“Do you know whether this Agent Caruso was acting alone? Was his, in effect, a solo mission?” Carol Chambers asked, looking up from her notes.

Harry shook his head. “No, he had a woman follow me on my run, so that gives you two. Standard protocol would be a third person who would hang back and provide coordination and overwatch. Minimum three.”

“So that would likely be how Director Haskel found out so quickly?”

“Correct.”

She turned back to her laptop and began typing. “If you’ll give me a moment, I need to get this forwarded to the DCIA immediately. Then we’ll prepare for your call to Achmed Asefi.”

“Good.” Harry remained seated, watching her as she typed. “One thing Carter didn’t say—how did we get a current number for Asefi?”

“If Ron didn’t tell you, I’m sure you don’t need to know,” she replied, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Harry shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to be.”

“Just jerking your chain,” Carol retorted with a laugh. “Let’s put it this way. Asefi is a dirtbag.”

“I gathered as much.”

“Carter told you about the whorehouse in Bulgaria?”

“An ‘Eastern European escort service’, was I believe the delicate way he described it,” Harry responded with a smile.

“A whorehouse in Bulgaria,” she repeated, looking over the top of her computer at him. “Asefi left contact information there, updated every two months. It seems that they have periodic access to young boys, and our man wanted to stay in the loop on the hottest ‘deals’.”

“So, we’re negotiating with a pedophile,” Harry said after a moment.

“That’s right. We don’t know if the contact number will connect us directly with Asefi or whether he has a cut-out, but the director has given the go-ahead.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

5:58 P.M. Tehran Time

The training camp

Isfahan, Iran

Chaos. As a warrior, Hossein had always been tasked with its creation, its manipulation. Having it thrust upon him was another matter.

He looked at the model on his desk, a model of their target made from bits of wood and clay by a recruit who had been considerably more skilled at art than he was with a rifle. He was gone now, along with the rest of the ineffectives.

Hossein rose and crossed the room, carefully considering and rejecting his options each in turn. He could still hear Isfahani’s words, streaming through his mind.