"No, Mr. Wizner. Unless someone has a question."
Wizner! Robert Jeffries' father-in-law. Burke figured he was the one who had arrived with Jeffries, and apparently he was chairing the session. But what would be the target for this elaborately staged mortar firing exercise from a TV truck? He wasn't familiar with Victoria Street, had no idea where it might be located. He concentrated his full attention on the voices in the earphone.
Franklin Wizner was in his element, directing things as de facto "chairman of the board." This was the game he loved, the role at which he excelled, drawing out the details from staff experts, analyzing the problems and opportunities, investigating the options and determining the one best course of action to achieve success. In the rarefied atmosphere where he operated, success was the bottom line, not money. He had more money than he could ever spend. His goal was always success, and the power that went with it.
It hadn't always been this routine, of course. He had fought his way up the ladder, stepping in to fill a void when weaker men faltered. He excelled in the milieu of corporate politics. He could spot strengths and weaknesses, and he knew who was headed up, who down. With a singular purpose, he had clawed his way to the top, and once there, he reigned unchallenged. Until Thornton Giles had come along and begun to hack away at some of his most sacred conservative roots.
Wizner and Donald Newman had been members of a small, elite group of insiders known as the Lexington Alliance. It took its name from the town where "the embattled farmers stood and fired the shot heard 'round the world." Inside the Alliance, they jokingly referred to themselves as the "dirty half-dozen." They were men of position and prominence. King-makers. They could tap a man for a Senate race, provide the resources necessary for his election, and then command his allegiance to the programs they espoused. The name Lexington Alliance was sometimes whispered in a congressional caucus room or a key White House staff office, but it was virtually unknown outside the corridors of power. Few knew its full makeup. Fewer still would be willing to reveal what they knew.
But over the past year, Wizner and Newman had angrily withdrawn from the Alliance. The other members would not go along with their hard-line stance in the face of the rapid changes taking place around the globe. The two had become bitter enemies of Thornton Giles, whom they viewed as having deserted the true conservative cause. Newman had pressed his CIA protege, Hawk Elliott, to search for a solution to the problem, and Jabberwock had been the result. Newman knew how to reach men and how to control them. Cameron Quinn had been the one big disappointment. Despite all the efforts he had exerted, Quinn had proved incorruptible. So in the end, he had to go.
Hearing no further questions regarding the technical details, Wizner turned his attention to personnel, another key ingredient. "Colonel Golanov, would you brief us on the team, please?"
Golanov. Russian? Burke frowned as he listened.
"Of course, Mr. Wizner. As you know, the team consists of the American, Gary Overmyer; the German, Hans Richter; and the Palestinian, Naji Abdalla. Overmyer is the team leader and will fire the weapon. Abdalla will be located on the television camera platform opposite Nathan Phillips Square. He is posing as a cameraman and will be in radio contact with the truck. He will determine the exact time of the firing, ascertaining that both Presidents are in their places. Should there be any problem, he can order immediate fire. However, to create maximum panic and a full television audience, he will await the proper moment, at the start of the parade. The gentlemen should go out with a little musical accompaniment, don't you think?"
Burke flinched at the words, as though they were cold steel probing his back. A sudden chill coursed down his spine. There was no mistaking the intent of Jabberwock now. It was the very thing that had lain in the shadows of his mind. His instincts had cried out, but his rational brain had rejected them, refused to listen. Jabberwock was a cold-blooded power play, a vicious plan to assassinate Thornton Giles and Nikolai Petrovsky. And to his knowledge, only he was in a position to thwart it. The cool and deadly voice was undoubtedly that of the "salesman" in Hong Kong who had called himself Emerson Dinwiddie, the one Burke had dubbed “the Englishman.”
He heard Golanov continue. "Richter will assist Overmyer, but one of his chief responsibilities is to destroy the evidence."
"What evidence?"
"The truck and everything in it, Mr. Wizner. Richter has placed plastic explosive charges throughout the truck. He has a radio-operated detonator, which is to be used after firing of the weapon. They believe the plan is for me to drive down the street in a getaway car. Richter would blow up the truck as we drove away. What they don't know is that I also have a detonator. I will ignite the charges prior to their coming out of the truck. Thus eliminating two possibilities for compromise, as well as the physical evidence of the truck."
"What about Abdalla?"
"Our responsibility," said the laconic voice of Hawk Elliott. "Richard will be on hand. He'll pass along the word, supposedly just received, that Abdalla is part of the operation. The Palestinian will probably resist capture and be killed. Then we'll reveal that his mother was Jewish, his grandfather a rabbi. We'll tie him to the Mossad."
"Excellent! That goes along with the hints you've been dropping."
"Yes, sir. The original leaks weren't planned, but fitted in perfectly. We reinforced the Israeli angle by eliminating the Palestinian on Cyprus for Quinn's benefit. We had him wired with a microphone so we'd know precisely when to shoot."
The poor bastard, Burke thought. That was what he was trying to tell Cam when he died. He and the Mossad had both been double-crossed.
"And who is babysitting the team members tonight while we sit here talking?" asked Newman's deep, resonant voice.
"We're taking care of that," said Golanov. "They're being monitored at their motel tonight by Captain Katerina Makarenko, a highly competent officer of the Second Chief Directorate. She is the only person outside of this room who has knowledge of the full details of Operation Jabberwock."
Burke had studied KGB accounts over the years and was familiar with the Second Chief Directorate. A plot involving both the CIA and KGB. And both Franklin Wizner and Donald Newman. No wonder it had seemed unbelievable.
"If I may… " It was the other "English" voice.
"Yes, General Kostikov?"
"What Andrei said is not completely correct, as one or two of you may be aware," said the general. Burke recalled a Vladimir Kostikov in the Second Chief Directorate. He listened as the general continued. "The details are also known by a key member of the Central Committee, Yevgenni Zamyatin, Minister of Heavy Industry, who has given the operation his complete blessings and support. We did not think it wise to create any suspicion, however, by having him come to this country now."
"Understood," said Wizner. "One further point of clarification. As all of you know, we have been deeply concerned by the interference of a rogue agent named Burke Hill. Richard, what can you tell us about him?"
"He's proven much more resourceful than Mr. Elliott and I ever dreamed. Using Lorelei Quinn as bait, we had a trap set for him this morning in Washington. He saw right through it. How, I can't tell you. We saw no one in the area remotely fitting his description, yet he knew we were using a double for Miss Quinn. The only thing I can conclude is that he must have a partner."
"What about this Dr. Brackin, the black man that Lorelei Quinn mentioned under influence of the drugs?" asked Hawk Elliott.
"Was he the one on the island?" Golanov inquired.