Targets of Opportunity (32 page)

Even in the darkness he could see the man’s angry eyes glaring at him.

“Now, tell me how many of you are here in this villa.”

The man held up his left hand.

“Easy, big guy.”

When he slowly spread out his five fingers, Sandor shook his head. “See, I know you’re lying, and that really upsets me.” He leaned on the Walther again and the man gagged as the metal drove into the back of his throat. “You want another chance?”

The man held up two fingers.

“Very good. Now I want you to tell me who you’re working for. Do your best to speak now, but keep your voice low so I don’t have to shove this barrel through the back of your neck.”

The man responded with a guttural sound, so Sandor encouraged him to have another try. This time, it sounded something like “You’re a dead man.”

Sandor shook his head impatiently. “Uh huh. Well, just in case you haven’t been keeping score, asshole, you’re the one with the wrong end of the gun stuck in his mouth. So here we go,” and he applied more pressure until blood became visible around the edges of the man’s lips. “One more time, I want you to tell me who you work for. And remember, these are the easy questions, because I already know the answers. I’m just testing, see?”

The man winced, then managed something that sounded like “Adina.”

“That’s right, that’s very good. You see, now you get to keep playing.” Sandor thought he heard something moving outside. He gave a quick glance, then returned to his prisoner. “So, after your playmates blew up Fort Oscar and killed all those innocent people, why exactly would Adina still have you here?”

“I hope it’s to kill you,” the man hissed.

“Well you’re doing a helluva job then. No kidding, I can see you’re very good at this. And why would Adina want you to kill me?”

“I hope he orders me to kill all of you,” the man said.

“So it’s not personal then, you just want to kill anyone having dinner at Maya’s?” Sandor shook his head. “Look, I don’t want you to feel insulted by this, but it seems like you’re telling me you haven’t been given that order yet, am I right? I mean, if you had instructions to take me out, you and your friend could have made a move earlier tonight, but you didn’t. You didn’t even go to my hotel after dinner. So I’m guessing there must be another reason you’re here. Is Uncle Adina coming back to bring you and your pal to the festivities up north?”

The man did not respond.

“I want you to tell me about Baytown, and I want you to tell me right now.”

The man’s eyes betrayed no sense of recognition at the mention of Baytown.

“Your clock is running out and I promise, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, your pal in the other bedroom will, and you’re the one who won’t be showing up for breakfast.”

The room was quiet enough for Sandor to hear the sound. Someone was at the door he had just come through, although whoever it might be was not quite as adept as Sandor in disguising his entrance.

The man on the bed also heard it, making a sudden attempt to get free, but Sandor’s finger was on the trigger and, as the man jerked his head to the side it caused the automatic to fire, the man’s neck snapping back with a violent jerk.

“Just not your night,” Sandor said.

The silenced report of the .380 was just loud enough to bring the second man charging toward the bedroom. He was almost at the end of the short corridor as Sandor managed to pull the lengthened barrel of his Walther free, but before either man could act a loud voice from the open doorway called out, “Stop where you are and drop your weapon.”

The onrushing man came to an abrupt halt.

“I said drop your weapon,” the familiar voice repeated. “I will not say it again.”

The man slowly lowered his weapon as Henri Vauchon stepped from behind him, his pistol aimed in the center of the man’s back, and relieved him of his submachine gun. The Frenchman then prodded his prisoner into the bedroom.

“So nice of you both to stop by,” Sandor said.

“I had a feeling you might need help,” Vauchon replied. “I knew there was no way you were going back to your hotel.”

“How right you were.”

Vauchon had a look over Sandor’s shoulder. Even in the darkness, the grim fate of the man stretched out on the bed was apparent. “Was that absolutely necessary?”

“It wasn’t my choice. He just couldn’t learn to keep his mouth shut.”

Vauchon led his prisoner to a chair. “Watch your eyes,” he warned Sandor as he switched on a lamp. In the dim incandescent glow, Sandor now had a look at the burly man seated in the corner of the room.

“So, what is your name,
monsieur
?” When he offered no response, Vauchon asked him again.

“Jorge.”

“Sorry about your friend, Jorge,” Sandor said as he had a casual look at the dead man. “If you hadn’t barged in here everything would have been fine. We were actually getting along quite nicely.”

Jorge responded with a scowl.

Sandor stood up and wiped off the silencer with a corner of the bedsheet. “So, Jorge, are you going to tell us what we want to know or do you want to end up like him?”

Jorge stared down at his knees and gave no answer.

“We know you’re part of Adina’s team. We know you’re on the cleanup squad for the Fort Oscar attack. We know Adina has more excitement planned. Stop me if I’m boring you.”

Jorge looked up, his sullen gaze meeting Sandor’s determined stare. He still said nothing.

“Is Adina coming back here?”

As Jorge continued to sit there without speaking, Sandor leveled his gun at the man’s right knee.

“We can do this with or without pain, that’s up to you. I can tell you that a bullet in the kneecap is excruciatingly painful.”

“
Mierda
,” Jorge growled.

“Ah, a conversation at last.”

Vauchon had been watching Sandor, realizing now that he meant what he said. “Let’s place him in custody,” he suggested.

Without taking his eyes off the Venezuelan, Sandor said, “He’s already in custody. He’s being interrogated.”

“All right,” the Frenchman agreed, “but you can’t shoot an unarmed prisoner.”

“No? How about all of the unarmed people they blew up in Fort Oscar the other night?”

“These men are terrorists.”

“Hell, I’m a terrorist too, then.” Sandor cocked the hammer on the Walther. “And I don’t want to hear about how this makes me as evil as they are. I need answers and I need them now.”

Vauchon took two steps away from Jorge and offered a theatrical shrug. “You’re on your own,” he said.

The three men were silent for a moment. Then the man in the chair said, “I was sent here to see what you were doing about the fort. That is all I know.”

“I doubt that, but it’s a start.” Sandor sat at the foot of the bed. “Why would Adina care what we do after the fact?”

Jorge provided them a convincing look of ignorance. “How would I know?”

“Then who are you reporting to, and when and how are you giving your reports?”

There was no way for the man to bluff here. If he was on a reconnaissance mission, he would certainly have to be conveying his observations to someone. He fell silent again.

Without warning Sandor fired a single shot, hitting the cushion of the chair just below the man’s groin. Jorge instinctively rose, but Sandor waved him back into his seat. “Good thing for you I’m a crack shot,” he said. “Now where were we? Oh yes, you were going to tell me a few things, like how you and your friend got to St. Barths, and where your cell phone is and when you’re supposed to make your next contact with Adina.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

AN ESTATE OUTSIDE LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

D
EPUTY
D
IRECTOR
B
YRNES
received the update on a secure phone from Baghdad. Rasa Jaber had crossed the border into Iraq and surrendered to an American unit on patrol in Halabjah, not far from the area her husband had chosen for his defection. She too announced that she was seeking political asylum.

Up to now Byrnes found Jaber’s concern about the fate of his wife ironic on at least two levels. Obviously, there was the man’s bloody history as the architect of the murder of so many innocent people. He hardly seemed a candidate for sentimentality. Second, and perhaps more relevant, was the fact that if he were indeed so attached to the woman, why had he left her behind in the first place? Jaber knew the tactics of the IRGC better than anyone, having helped to develop their cutthroat methods over the past two decades. Did he really believe his wife would go unharmed? Did he really believe they would let her drive cross-country to freedom?

Byrnes knew that the chess game he had been playing with the Iranian was at an end. If Jaber and his wife were part of an intricate deception intended to harm the interests of the United States, why would the IRGC release her now? They had to realize it would only heighten American suspicions regarding Jaber’s claimed defection. On the other hand, if Jaber had been telling the truth from the outset—notwithstanding the Deputy Director’s suspicions that the man was still holding out on them—then the IRGC might well be using Rasa Jaber to reach her husband.

Either way, Byrnes knew the woman’s delivery into American custody must be treated with the utmost caution.

As he left his office in Langley to meet with the Iranian, the Deputy Director hoped Jaber’s initial reaction might tell him enough to support his evaluation of this latest development. Seated in the comfortable den situated on the lower level of the safe house, Byrnes conveyed the news of Rasa Jaber’s defection as dispassionately as he would deliver a weather report.

Jaber received the information in the same way. He paused before responding, then asked, “Where is she now?”

“On a military transport from Baghdad, on her way to Washington.”

Jaber nodded. “They know I’m here in the United States. They’ve sent her to find me.”

Byrnes pursed his thin lips, waiting a moment before saying, “To what end? They certainly don’t think your wife is going to come here and assassinate you, do they?”

Jaber responded with a sad smile. “Who could blame her if she did? I cannot even contemplate what they might have done to her over these past days.”

“You’re obviously contemplating it now.”

The Iranian nodded.

“Why release her?”

Jaber sighed. “They know I am in your country, but it is unlikely they know exactly where. Even if they do, I am beyond their reach. They may want to use her to draw me out.”

“And you think she would cooperate in such a plan?”

He thought that over. “It is impossible for me to believe. It is more likely that she is unaware of their intentions. Or they may have convinced her she would be serving the state, that I am actually participating in some plot.”

Byrnes responded with a look that said he might easily be convinced of the same thing. “You must know that bringing her to this house is an impossibility. They are undoubtedly tracking her. They almost certainly fit her with one or more homing devices. We have to assume they’re determined to find you, and I would be compromising this facility and putting my men at risk if I let her visit you here.”

“I understand.”

“Frankly, I don’t think you do.” Byrnes pushed back his thinning salt-and-pepper hair with the palm of his hand, then leaned forward. “It is the policy of my government to extend every courtesy to political defectors. It’s simply good business. The more attractive our hospitality, the more likely others will follow.”

“Of course.”

“In your case, there are various mitigating factors to consider. For starters, your past actions against my country and its allies have been, to say the least, heinous. There are many in my government who don’t care what you’ve brought here to sell, they’d like to see you in solitary confinement for the rest of your days. Or worse.”

Jaber stared at him, his coal-black eyes unblinking.

“Which brings us to the value of what you actually have provided us, which I judge to be woefully little.”

Jaber remained quiet.

“You have one hour to make your decision as to whether you want to provide us your full cooperation. I will not insult you by suggesting the consequences.”

Having said that, Byrnes stood up and left the room.

————

At Langley, later that day, Byrnes received his first back-channel communication from North Korea since Sandor’s incursion in Pyongyang. In an unofficial communiqué that was padded with the typical spy-speak that enervated the Deputy Director to the point of distraction, the source had imbedded three critical pieces of information.

First, the DPRK knew that Hwang was in the United States and they wanted him back.

Second, Kim Jong-Il would regard any interrogation of Hwang as an act of terrorism.

Third, Raabe and Bergenn were in custody and still alive.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

ST. BARTHÉLEMY, F.W.I.

S
ANDOR FIGURED THAT
Jorge knew very little about what happened in the attack on Fort Oscar and even less about Adina’s upcoming plans. Someone as careful as Rafael Cabello would never entrust that sort of information to someone on a janitorial detail, and that is precisely what Jorge and his dead partner had been charged with, surveillance and cleanup. As Jorge’s partner had admitted, they did not even have orders to take out Sandor or any of the others investigating the scene. However, just in case the man knew anything at all that might be useful, Sandor engaged in techniques he knew would be most effective when time was short and the stakes high.

For instance, the muzzle of a loaded automatic, when pressed hard into someone’s eye, can be very influential.

Lieutenant Vauchon was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as Sandor ratcheted up the level of persuasion, but Jorge was sufficiently motivated to tell them what he could. He was supposed to phone Adina at eleven every morning and report on what he had seen. He had nothing to do with the attack on Fort Oscar or the downed airplane. He arrived in St. Barths after both of those catastrophes had already occurred. The only information he had about Adina’s future intentions was that he was to await instructions here.