The Hadrian Memorandum (40 page)

110

11:16 A.M.

Conor White had no misgivings about the information Raisa Amaro had given him before she died. Terror had been in her eyes and soul, the same as it had been with the Spanish doctor and her students when his interrogation had suddenly turned from severe to murderous. People in that state didn’t lie unless they were martyrs, and Raiso Amaro cared too much about the lives of her workers to be a martyr. Once she realized what was happening and would continue to happen, she would have done everything she could to save the last of them. As she had proven.

From the backseat of the Mercedes he could see the
A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa
laundry truck parked outside the hospital’s front door a half block away. Red-and-white stanchions set in square concrete blocks kept the area clear of parked cars. The only vehicle there now was the truck, pulled in tight against the stanchions, its tail-lights blinking, signaling a business pickup or delivery.

His appraisal of the situation as they were leaving the laundry for the hospital had been quick. There was no doubt Marten and Anne had known they were being watched and had escaped Raisa Amaro’s apartment building via some kind of interior passageway and after that in a simple electrician’s truck, in all probability with Raisa’s help. If she had done it once, why not twice, using the same type of everyday transportation to get them from the hospital to wherever they were going next, either to meet Ryder, or to the airport and Ryder’s plane in the event the hospital was the meeting place for all three.

Every hospital needed clean laundry. Some had their own in-house laundries; others used an outside service. Either way, a laundry truck would not draw attention and made an ideal escape vehicle, and the one parked in the loading bay at Raisa’s laundry was large enough to accommodate Anne, Marten, and Ryder as well as his two RSO bodyguards. White knew his thinking might be pure conjecture, but he’d had enough experience with covert operations to know that such a scenario was more than possible, maybe even likely. What he had to do was look at it from Anne and Marten’s point of view—desperate fugitives who had escaped capture and thought they were free of surveillance—then take the necessary steps to make their thinking work to his advantage.

Marten had seen him and Patrice in the Hotel Lisboa Chiado the night before. It was probable he’d also seen Irish Jack waiting outside in the BMW, so they would need an unknown face to drive the truck. Moses, the Algerian driver and gunman Branco had supplied with the Mercedes, was quickly recruited. Provided with a crisp white A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa delivery jacket and a team radio unit, with its tiny earphone and microphone hidden in the jacket’s sleeve, he was to drive the truck to the hospital entrance, then go in unarmed and ask for Anne or Marten as if he knew what was going on and was a strategic member of their team. What happened next would tell volumes. Either he would be turned away, with some staff member informing him there was no record of anyone under those names having been admitted to the facility, or he’d be taken to them, at which time he would make radio confirmation. If they were lucky they might even find Ryder and his RSO detail with them. If indeed all five were there and expecting him, Moses could then walk them out of the hospital and into the truck. Afterward he would take them to a deserted construction site off Avenida Infante Dom Henrique on the waterfront that Branco had pinpointed. Alternatively, if Anne and Marten were alone, he would drive them to wherever they were to meet Ryder, and they would close the trap there as originally planned. Lastly, if Moses was turned away, they would simply wait and watch until Anne and Marten arrived. Or, if they were there, attempted to leave.

Branco and four of his former Portuguese army commandos were already in place, waiting in dark-colored sedans, a Peugeot and an Alfa Romeo, at either end of the alley behind the hospital. Each man was acutely aware of the less-than-hour-old death of their group member sent to tail Marten and Anne by motorcycle. Each had been warned, too, of Marten’s deadly marksmanship in the shooting of the two others of their circle who had gone after him in the blue Jaguar the night before. That they had no idea who he really was, or what his training had been, wouldn’t matter; their blood was up for a proper response, and they were more than eager for it to begin.

For his part, he, Patrice, and Irish Jack would stay were they were, parked at the curb fifty yards up from the hospital entrance, weapons and black balaclavas at hand, ready to play the game as it unfolded.

No matter what happened, or where, the end would be the same. The five targets would be quickly cut off and isolated from the public. He, Patrice, and Irish Jack would do the work. Branco and his team would back them up. It would take thirty seconds, no more. As quickly, Branco’s people would fade into the city, and they would be on their way to the airport and the Falcon 50, safe with the knowledge that there were probably no more than a handful of policemen anywhere on the planet who would stop a highly polished black Mercedes with UN plates and three well-dressed gentlemen inside, no matter how fast they were going.

That was Plan A.

Alternatively, if something happened and Moses was exposed and/or he came out empty-handed, they would immediately shift to the uglier but still very effective Plan B. Call in Branco’s men, pull on the balaclavas, then go into the hospital, lock it down, and begin a forced search of their own. The hospital was small, and they’d done such things successfully before. In Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq.

“What’s taking Moses so fucking long?” Irish Jack squirmed uncomfortably behind the wheel. “If they’re there, he would know it. If they aren’t, he should have reported it by now.”

Patrice raised a pair of binoculars and studied the building’s front entrance.

“Give the man time, Jack,” White said quietly. “Give the man time.”

Irish Jack turned to look over his shoulder. “Colonel, my balls tell me he’s taking too fucking long.”

“I never distrust a man’s balls, Jack. Let’s find out.” White lifted his arm, pressed the KEY TO TALK button on the microphone inside his coat sleeve, and spoke into it. “3-3, this is Control. Do you have a rabbit for us? Copy.”

11:18 A.M.

111

11:19 A.M.

Marten, Mário Gama, and Special Agent Grant stood inside a darkened inner chamber of the hospital’s Security Center studying a bank of monitor screens tied to security cameras throughout the building.

“There.” Gama indicated one of the screens as a man in a starched white laundryman’s jacket stepped into view near the front entrance. “He’s the one who asked for you.”

They could see Moses standing in a shaft of daylight just back from the door, a hand to his ear, seemingly intent on something.

“He’s plugged into a radio unit. Someone’s talking to him,” Grant said quietly.

They could see Moses nod, then lift his left arm to his mouth and apparently say something. He waited, then nodded slightly. A second later he turned and walked out of view. Another monitor picked him up as he approached the front reception desk to speak with a hospital employee behind it.

“Whoever he was talking to wants to know what’s taking so long, and he’s trying to find out,” Grant continued.

Other monitors showed nothing more than normal hospital activity at the front and rear entries. Another showed the emergency room entrance, with a vanlike ambulance parked in the drive-in bay. One angle from a remote camera over the front door showed the sidewalk and street outside with the laundry truck parked on the far side of the traffic stanchions.

“I’m going to speak to Agent Grant for a moment, Mário,” Marten said. “Keep an eye on our man. If he leaves the area we need to know where he’s gone.” Marten took Grant to one side and lowered his voice.

“White is a smart, tactical thinker who has all kinds of connections and puts things together fast. By now he’ll know Ryder and you people are missing. He went to Raisa’s, found out where we were, and took a gamble that you and Ryder would meet us here. His man came in asking for us on the belief that using the laundry truck was part of the getaway plan and that coming in is what the original driver would have been instructed to do. He figured that out pretty well except that he couldn’t have known what time he was to have come in, or that he was to use the back entrance instead of the front. That his man had spoken to Mário and wasn’t turned away would be interpreted as meaning that we were not only here but were expecting the truck. Because of that he’s probably brought in more assets, meaning any escape route we might have planned will be blocked off.” Marten glanced at Mário, then looked back to Grant.

“He’ll think he’s got us, and because we’re taking time and haven’t yet responded to his driver he’ll assume we’re just being cautious and thinking things through. He’ll expect that we’ll soon realize everything so far has gone as planned and before long will follow his man out and into the truck.”

“We can’t do that,” Grant said emphatically.

“Yes, we can. At least some of us can.”

11:22 A.M.

“Control, this is 3-3. Copy?”
Moses’s voice came through their headsets.

White pushed the KEY TO TALK button inside his sleeve. “This is Control, 3-3. What’s the delay?”

“There was an emergency on one of the upper floors. The security director, the man I spoke to earlier, sent his apologies and asked if I would wait. Instructions?”

White took a breath, then looked out through the Mercedes’s windshield to stare at the hospital entrance. Finally he looked to Patrice and Irish Jack. “What do you think, gentlemen?”

Patrice’s cold green eyes came up to White’s. “They’re there. They know Moses is waiting and are thinking it through. One way or another, at some point they will have to come out of the building. He walks away now, they’ll wonder what happened. I’d tell him to wait it out, see how they respond.”

“Agreed.” Irish Jack nodded.

Again White pushed the KEY TO TALK button. “6-4, this is Control. Did you read 3-3? Copy.”

Carlos Branco’s voice crackled through their earpieces.
“6-4, roger.”

“We’re going to sit tight. Copy?”

“Roger.”

“3-3. Stay where you are and wait them out. Copy?”

“Roger.”

11:25 A.M.

Marten, Agent Grant, and Mário Gama joined Anne, Ryder, and Agent Birns in the small examination room where they had remained. In the next minute and a half Marten laid out his plan.

They would split into two groups, he told them. Anne, Ryder, and Birns in the first; himself and Grant in the other. At the same time, Gama would recruit a woman and two men from the hospital staff, people who, from a reasonable distance, would resemble Anne, White’s driver, and Agent Birns. The man playing White’s driver would wear the white laundryman’s jacket. The second man, who would resemble Agent Birns as closely as possible, would wear his jacket and sunglasses and carry a briefcase. The woman playing Anne would wear the bucket hat Anne had worn in the escape from Raisa’s apartment and now had in her purse.

The idea was to have Anne, Ryder, and Agent Birns slip into the ambulance in the docking bay at the hospital’s rear emergency entrance. Then, on a coordinated signal, Marten, Ryder’s look-alike Agent Grant, and the hospital recruits would exit the front door, go quickly to the laundry truck, get in, and drive off. In the meantime, the ambulance, with Gama driving, would leave from the emergency entrance and go directly to the airport and Ryder’s waiting plane. For their part, Marten and Grant would lead White’s pursuers through city streets back toward the Baixa district then suddenly pull over, let the hospital people out, and drive away. For a moment White and his followers would be thrown off by what had happened, giving Marten and Grant a brief escape window when they could abandon the truck and disappear on foot into the crowded Baixa itself. After that they would find a taxi and take it to the airport and Ryder’s jet.

That was Marten’s plan, and he was reasonably certain it would work. The problem was, Agents Grant and Birns strenuously objected. Armed gunmen were waiting for them outside, and their job was to protect Congressman Ryder. They knew that under the circumstances they couldn’t call in outside help, but they were dead set against splitting up and leaving only Birns to protect Ryder. Furthermore, the driver had asked for Anne and Marten. That meant there was every chance they had arrived
after
Ryder, Birns, and Grant had come in themselves. So there was no reason to believe that they knew any of them were there and that the driver was being used to see if they could get some definitive information. Why not just get into the ambulance now and leave, all five of them?

“What if you’re wrong?” Marten answered. “We have no idea when they got to the laundry and learned that we were coming here. What if they’ve had people outside the whole time? What if they saw each of us arrive? They can count. What if they know we’re all here? They won’t want to come in after us. It would be too noisy an operation. So they’ll be waiting for us to come out, using the truck to bait us as if it’s our plan, not theirs. Moreover, I can guarantee you Conor White and his gunmen are not out there alone. There’ll be at least one other team, maybe more. So yes, we could take a chance with the ambulance, and we might get away with it. But then again, we might not. What then? What if they follow us, then cut us off and box us in? That happens, we’re dead, all of us. Afterward White will go back to Bioko and pick up his game where he left off, and no one will know anything about his involvement here or what was at stake to begin with. You might want to take that chance. I don’t.” He looked at Ryder. “And I don’t think the congressman does, either.”

“He’s right, fellas,” Ryder said in the calm, everyday conversational tone he used in almost any situation. “Our job is to get to the plane and get out of here as quickly and safely as possible. Mr. Marten’s plan is as sound as it can be under the circumstances. The only problem is that it puts him and you”—he looked at Agent Grant—“and the hospital people in some serious jeopardy.”

“Unless they suspect something, White and his people aren’t likely to take action anywhere close by. The neighborhood is too dense and too upscale,” Marten said evenly. “It would be almost the same as storming the hospital itself. It would draw too much attention. My sense is they will have given their driver instructions where to go. If he doesn’t go where he’s supposed to, they’ll think he’s playing along with orders we’ve given him, so they’ll follow the truck, shifting tails with as many cars as they have. Then, at someplace out of the way, a park or abandoned lot or something, they’ll make their move. That means the beginning of the ride should be relatively safe.” Marten looked to Gama. “My main concern is you and your people, because it will be dangerous. This is our fight, not yours. There’s nothing that says you or any of them have to do it. If you decide against it we’ll do something else.”

“Let me find them, and you can talk to them yourself.”

“Fair enough,” Marten said. “The thing is, it all has to be done fast, before they begin to think about coming in.”

Mário Gama smiled. “I already have three people in mind who I am sure will be more than happy to help. Perhaps you don’t know. Raisa Amaro is, or perhaps . . . was”—his voice caught in his throat; then he recovered and went on—“a leading member of the hospital’s board of directors. She fought for and saved many jobs during economic hard times. She is a legend here. People love her. Give me five minutes and I will be back with the people you desire. If necessary you can then give your speech, but I don’t think you’ll have to.” With that Gama nodded at the others and left.

Marten looked at his watch, then at Anne. “Ten minutes at best until we get out of here. How much longer is White going to sit still?”

“Not much,” she said, then abruptly opened her purse and took a small notebook from it. “If something happens and we get crossed up—” She scribbled something on a page, tore it out, and handed it to him. “My cell number. I’d like yours if it’s alright.”

“Sure,” he smiled and took the notebook from her, then wrote the number in it and handed it back. When he did, their eyes met and held there. It was an exceedingly private moment despite the fact that Ryder and his RSO protectors stood only feet away. In that instant everything they had been through together registered in gut-wrenching shorthand, one that left them wondering—fearing—if this was the last time they would see each other. If, in the next hour or minutes, one or the other would die.

Then it was over. It had been a moment, nothing more. But it had been there nonetheless. Powerfully felt by both, yet neither saying a word. Love? The terrible fragility of life? A deep understanding between human beings of how much had been shared in so brief a time? Something else? Who knew.

11:30 A.M.