Risking the World (12 page)

David had a feeling he was about to find out, based on Bobby's conduct thus far.

"I have good news," the Governor said to Bobby. "We have identified Dr. Black for you."

Did Bobby know of this beforehand?  "How did you find him, Governor?"

"We have our sources, Mr. Tiger."

And they were obviously better than his.  David had screened multiple image banks without uncovering a trace of the scientist.  "Such as?"

"Forgive me."  The Governor averted his gaze.  "I do not know the specifics."

Right, of course not.  And you wouldn't share them if you did.  He deplored how often this game played out across the globe, even among allies, as Bouchta withdrew a photograph from his coat pocket and placed it on the table.  The image was grainy, but the diminutive despot who presided over the lab in Tivaz stared back at him.

"His name is Omar Messina," the Governor said.  "He's a Moroccan of Amazigh descent.  The world knows them as Berbers.  But it is a point of pride for them to use the name Amazigh."

"It translates as free and noble men," Bouchta explained.

"Unlike Algeria, our policy toward the Amazigh is one of inclusion," the Governor boasted, though that was questionable to David since Morocco refused to issue birth certificates with Amazigh names.  "Omar Messina is allied with extremists," the Governor continued.  "And their intention is to kill the Moroccan Royal family with this deadly TB and establish a state in which the Amazigh hold supreme power."

Bouchta waved his hands and jumped into the conversation asserting, "Omar Messina is obsessed with killing the King's children and therefore severing the royal line."

Equally agitated, the Governor sliced his arm across his throat.  "If he attacks the King's children, our response will be quick and ruthless."  His knife wielding gesture implied he was ready to act personally.  "Believe me, we will not spare any of the extremists. Justice will be done."

Wonderful.  Let us complicate the matter with genocide of the Amazigh.

The Governor licked his lips and addressed Bobby straightaway.  "My government believes Messina's threat is credible. With which of you gentlemen should my government communicate?"

"Either of us," Bobby answered.

Really?
  David believed he was running point on intelligence, and a clear chain of communication was essential.  But he would not query Bobby in front of the Governor or show that he had cuffed him in the face.  "We hope there will be little need for such communication, Governor.  Omar Messina has yet to weaponize his TB, and we intend to find him before he does so.  We do know, however, he is being assisted by a man called Varat, an arms dealer who's found someone willing to pay a steep price to see this bioweapon succeed."

"Whom do you suspect, Mr. Tiger?"

Varat was rumored to have traveled in and out of Iran and Claire's debrief said he'd spoken to her of Persia.  It was not actionable intelligence, but unlike the Governor, he'd share it.  "Definitive proof is lacking, but some signs point to Iran."

The Governor shook his head in disagreement.  "They have no quarrel with us."

"Right.  Yet they may be willing to help Messina if they have larger aims."

"Yep, Governor."  Bobby pointed a finger at his own temple.  "This TB's bound to be intended for the West.  America is their great Satan."

"Forgive me, Mr. Keane, but you Americans see yourselves as the center of the universe."

"We are all at risk," David told them as they lingered near the refreshment table.  Even should Omar Messina's obsession with Amazigh control of Morocco be real, he knew furthering someone else's politics wouldn't lure Varat.  "My guess is Varat and Messina will look for help in Morocco to weaponize their TB.  I've contacted the vaccine plant where Dr. Ashe worked, and no other scientists are missing, but I require your help with the universities."

"To see if anyone has disappeared from the classroom?" the Governor asked.

"More than that.  I would like attendance records, including sick days for professors of science, their graduate students, and the employees of the vaccine plant.  We seek a pattern of absences."

"Attendance records?  That is a privacy matter, Mr. Tiger."

Damn him.  "If Tivaz TB is released, privacy will be the least of your problems, begging your pardon, sir."

It took a moment, but the Governor finally granted his point. "I will see what can be done."

"I would also like to discuss border security."

"Our customs and immigration department is on full alert," the Governor proclaimed with a puffed out chest.

David struggled with his frustration.  "My concern surrounds the informal routes – treks into the desert, mountain passes, small boats across the Mediterranean.  You must increase surveillance."

"Impossible.  Our coast is on two seas.  The mountains are wild, as you are well aware, Mr. Tiger."

"We will assist with satellite imagery, but we need help from you on the ground. "  He looked at Bobby who nodded agreement. "If a terrorist attack on the U.K. or the U.S. is traced back to Morocco, investment and tourism here will wither."

That threat caught the Governor's attention and by the time they bid good-bye the Governor had pledged full cooperation.  David trusted him, more or less.  You could never be too sure because Morocco operated in a less than straightforward manner.  In his last visit he walked through Morocco's destitute underbelly seeking a terrorist hideaway and today he stood in a chamber where the fate of the local population was settled.  In both cases, he sensed strings being pulled by an unseen puppet master.  Today was more disturbing, however, because Bobby's hands were on the marionettes as well.

Standing in the heat outside the mansion, Bobby skimmed his fingers through his bushy short hair.  "That went pretty good, d'ya think?"

"Perhaps it might have gone better if you hadn't surprised me with Bouchta's presence here, or telling them Claire Ashe was at Sherborne House –"

"C'mon, no big deal –"

"Not until you told the Governor he could contact either of us.  That's not standard protocol, as you are well aware.  Am I in charge of intelligence gathering?"

"There's a lot ridin' on this, pal."

"If I were your pal, you'd level with me."

"Hey, this ain't personal between you and me.  But it's personal between you and Varat, and that worries me big-time.  Revenge clouds a man's judgment."

"Are you suggesting I be removed from this operation?"

"Hell no.  We need you on this mission."

"Then give me your word I have full operational authority, Bobby."

"Done.  But I reserve the right to retract if you step over the line.  That's the best I can do.  Take it or leave it."

At this precise moment he didn't totally trust Bobby, but he'd take it.  To get Varat, once and for all, he'd accept any terms.  "Deal. But you must agree to keep me fully informed.  No sins of omission, such as with Claire."

"What's she got to do with it?"

"You didn't fully brief her in hospital.  She arrived at Sherborne House with certain misimpressions."

Bobby shrugged his broad shoulders.  "What didn't get through?"

"For starters, that Sherborne House was my residence. She expected government accommodations."

"I told her you had a house that was safe, and figured she'd get my drift."

"You also neglected to make the security arrangements absolutely clear.  She sees me as her prison guard."

"Hey, gimme a break.  She was in pain that day.  I figured as long as she knew the risks involved, you could handle the details."

"I'd have preferred you covered the ground rules.  You don't have to live with her."

Bobby grinned as though he knew Claire was a handful.  "How's she holding up?"

David wasn't ready to give in to their typical camaraderie. "She held up in Tivaz with Varat, no doubt she'll survive me."

Bobby turned serious.  "But do you think she can come up with a cure for Tivaz TB?"

He waved the thick file on Omar Messina from the Governor in Bobby's face.  "Let us hope this provides her with useful clues."

"If she can't crack it, then you gotta find Varat before he releases this TB shit."

"I intend to."

Bobby's deep blue eyes didn't blink for a full count of ten.  "I'm counting on you.  Go for it, pal."

Chapter 15

"I'll run you home tonight, Dr. Ashe."  Ian Barker looked as bushed as she felt.  "Jim's been sent to Heathrow to collect Mr. Ruskin."

She was surprised to hear he was coming home tonight.  But why should she be?  He was under no obligation to inform her of his comings and goings.  She gathered her things quickly and walked out with Ian.  She hated keeping Ian late, especially since he wore a wedding ring.  "I'm sure these late nights are tough on your family.  My apologies to your wife."

"Goes with the territory.  They learn to be understanding, right?"

So, he'd noticed her wedding band, too.  She shouldn't wear it in the lab but wasn't ready to give it up to a jewelry box either.  She'd think about it some other time.  At the moment all she wanted was to get home and get some sleep.

The trip to Sherborne House coincided with the West End theatres emptying out.  Animated people swirled through the streets unaware life as they knew it might evaporate in an instant . . . unless she figured out a way to kill Dr. Black's TB.  Or better yet, David Ruskin rolled up the terror plot before its execution.  Funny.  As much as Tiger unsettled her, she'd missed him.

"Dr. Ashe," Maggie said when she arrived at Sherborne House, "I was about to set out Davvy's meal.  Plenty to share, luv."

Tired as she was, the aroma of Maggie's dinner competed with her exhaustion and won.  "Maggie, I'll take care of the food.  I need to speak to David about some things anyway."

The coy smile on Maggie's face irritated her, but she shrugged it off.  It was true she wanted to see him and she'd convinced herself that finding out what he learned in Morocco would do more to help her sleep tonight than anything.  She ran upstairs, took off her arm brace, and changed into one of the outfits Elizabeth brought by earlier.  She smiled to think her friend chose this lovely outfit for her to wear to work.  Even protected by a lab coat it wasn't what you wore around pipettes and petri dishes.  She gathered her unruly hair in a pretty silk scarf, one of her small indulgences, and went downstairs to wait for him.

Because setting the table always soothed her she inspected the Sherborne china closets more closely.  She chose a beautiful Elizabethan-inspired pattern with an embellished central medallion on a pale ivory field edged in gold.  It reminded her of Aunt Carrie's china pattern, which waited for her, boxed in storage in Boston, along with her mother's dishes.  Originally she planned to select her own china pattern when she married, but never did.  Now she had no need.  Carefully she removed two plates from the Ruskin family china cabinet, glad for a change from white everyday dishes.

The vestibule door opened.  She heard him speak to Jim, and saw he entered with a suitcase and huge briefcase that he carried in one hand as easily as if they were two empty boxes.  Unaware she watched from the dining room, he set the suitcase down and started up the stairs with his briefcase. His tie was loosened, but he managed to look formal in a well-cut brown suit that clung to his lean musculature.  Not for the first time she wished he weren't so attractive; it only complicated things between them.

"Welcome back."

He crouched instantly and reached under his suit coat.

She shrank.

"Claire."  His hand abruptly stilled.  "Sorry. I didn't see you."

"Were you going for a gun?"

He waited a beat before saying, "Circumstances being what they are, prudence is required."

"You might've shot me."

"I never shoot impulsively."

That's not an answer.  "Never?"

"My response is habitual."

Well, I've never known of anybody with habits like you.

"Please don't be alarmed.  I'm experienced with weapons.  I do not use them casually."

 She couldn't believe how calmly he spoke when he was just about ready to shoot her.  At the same time she was aware he was mesmerizing her with his voice and eyes, as though he were a trainer talking down a nervous horse.  Is that how he saw her?  It didn't matter because she remained frozen in place even as he came back down the steps.  Did he have any idea how he'd wrecked her sense of security inside Sherborne House.  While she understood the need for security outside the house, he was inside his own home . . . armed and ready to shoot.  He stepped so close to her she felt his body heat.

"Please try to appreciate that weapons are a piece of my life.  I sincerely regret if I alarmed you."

She managed to reply, "No, I understand." 
Well not really, but I shouldn't have startled him.

"I'm sorry."

She fumbled on,  "I was waiting to have dinner with you, and –"

"Dinner.  With me?"

Clearly she'd surprised him for the second time tonight.

"Right.  Let me put my things upstairs.  I shall be down momentarily."

But he didn't move to break their contact until she dropped her hand from his arm, which she hadn't even realized she'd touched.

What a weird conversation they'd just had, she thought, and how normal for their bizarre relationship.  Except for the touching . . . that wasn't normal at all.

***

He'd handled that rather well under the circumstances.  It might have been much worse.  She might have rejected him directly.  And she was waiting to have dinner with him.  This was progress, considering the last time they dined in Sherborne House together she turned her back and stormed out of the room.

While David freshened up, he checked his home messages. Four.  First the club, and he jotted a note to reschedule the racquets match he postponed when he left for Morocco.  Next he heard Meg, twice, saying Bernard would be out-of-town and he should visit.  He erased both of her messages from the machine . . . and for the time being his mind.  The final message was from his mother.  Thorn Hall this weekend.  He could no longer delay his visit; it was time to initiate the estate process with his father as he had promised.