"But remember," Hannah said, "computers can be reprogrammed. I think what John did to me blew a fuse and I'll never function that way again, making someone else more important than me." She reached out and put a hand on Neeley's arm. "But now you'd better get some rest. We've got a lot to do in a little time and I have a feeling France is going to be a pain in the ass if the last couple of days are any indication."
CHAPTER 22
Nero was alone in his office. He sat in the dark smoking and pondering his soul. Or rather the soul of the country, which he considered one and the same.
The last several phone calls were most interesting. The free lancer’s body had been found in Eldorado Canyon. On top of that, he’d just received news of the debacle in the Rocky Mountain National Park from the Agency. Seven dead, two destroyed choppers and the women were still on the run. Not at all what might be expected from the two women by anyone other than Nero.
Nero was the keeper of all the secrets and when he died, they would be in the possession of his successor. His predecessor had told him there were only two prerequisites for this job: to be able to keep a secret and to be loyal to a higher concept. Nero had none of the burning drive found in most people to share all they knew for profit or position. He got no pleasure from shocking people and he detested the simpering idiots who traded information for acceptance. He would be a hard man to replace, something he had spent many years pondering.
His job was simple — keep the country safe — from enemies foreign and domestic, and police the covert world. It was the latter job that Nero had found most difficult to accomplish over the years, especially since Vietnam. The misguided decisions that had to be corrected. The out-of-control politicians who had to be corralled or covered for. The sociopaths who had to be terminated before they destroyed too much. The terrorists, home grown and those from abroad, who could not be dealt with through normal channels and whose threat was so great they demanded the attention of an organization as efficient and ruthless as the Cellar. Nero had seen it all and more over the decades in the shadow. If he had not been ill for the six months preceding the 9-11 disaster, things might have turned out much differently. That illness had caused him to look at something he had put on hold until then — his own mortality and what the lack of his presence would mean for his country.
He also had been forced to accept that he, like the others in the covert world, had misread the signs and failed the country.
It wasn’t that he had not previously considered his death and what it would mean. He had put things in place decades previously in preparation for that possibility. But he had finally accepted it was time to move those preparations forward. Anthony Gant’s death had helped greatly in that matter.
Nero's reverie was broken by the demanding ring of the phone. Nero hit the on button and listened as his Paris contact told him who Senator Collins money was going to. It was not, as Nero had suspected, a mistress. His contact had done an efficient job and Nero memorized the name, address and phone number he was given.
Breaking the connection, Nero then dialed the number in France. A man answered and Nero identified himself as Senator Collins representative. A long silence followed, the live connection indicating the man was hooked. Nero informed him that the payments would be ceasing.
The man exploded with a flurry of vague threats.
Nero's dull metallic voice filled the office. "I called you out of courtesy for past services rendered."
Nero listened a while longer, but the man grew no more specific with his threats. "You are free to do what you want." He smiled at the thought. The man was a fool. People were so naive, especially when it came to themselves.
The voice stridently went on for a few more minutes.
Nero finally interrupted with a question. “Do you know a man named Racine? Have you ever met him?”
The denial was the slightest bit too strong.
“You are certain?” Nero asked. He always believed in giving someone a second chance to jump out of the grave they dug themselves.
The man immediately went into another tirade of threats and denial.
Nero would have sighed if his throat could have handled it. "Of course the Senator has much to fear and of course I know that if you go down, we shall all go down. Dear Sir that has been the refrain I have heard from many my entire professional career."
Nero finally hung up the phone, disgusted with the conversation. He tilted his head toward the door opening. He could smell the gum and follow the man’s movements from the chewing.
Nero was curious to see how this next act turned out. These two women were doing quite well. He felt it was time they received some breathing room. From the latest information he’d received, they were on their way to France, which could prove to be most interesting given his last conversation.
“Mister Bailey, I have some things I would like you to do.”
CHAPTER 23
Ray Suggs was not a happy man. Earlier he had received a call from some connected guy in New York saying he needed papers for some chick who was a friend of Anthony Gant's. The guy had told him she'd pay twice his usual fee for a couple of sets of papers. It sounded like an OK deal and Ray had let his anticipatory greed rise.
His van was gliding without much mental energy on his part toward the Atlanta Airport. He was eating a veggie bagel sandwich purchased before he got on the highway. There were some alfalfa sprouts hanging on his beard as he lit his after-lunch cigarette. He was a vegetarian smoker, something that drove people crazy. Ray couldn't see the problem; not much different than being a Christian soldier, he thought.
He remembered Anthony Gant well, or as well as you can remember the guy who saves your ass from frying.
Ray could hardly think about that disaster so many years ago in Africa without his blood pressure spiking. As it was, he had been toasted enough that his beloved Army had declined his services any further, thank you very much.
He had never met Anthony Gant before October 3, 1993 but he had met his brother Jack, who was a captain in the Rangers in Mogadishu. How Anthony Gant had arrived there no one, not even the Delta commandos seemed to know.
Suggs was flying one of the support Blackhawks for the raid and he was brought in to pick up some of the wounded and one of the prisoners. To Suggs it looked like everything was falling apart with the amount of incoming fire that was being poured into the friendly forces.
As he prepared to take off from a dusty street in between two buildings, an RPG round hit his helicopter. The next thing he knew, he was engulfed in flames as the chopper hit the ground. His co-pilot was gone, out the window, saving his own butt. Ray knew right then and there he was dead man. A couple of the guys in the rear and the rag-head prisoner they had just loaded were dead.
That was when he met Anthony Gant. This crazy looking guy, fire extinguisher in hand, had appeared in the passageway leading to the rear of the chopper, carving out a small opening in the flames with the device.
"Come on!" Gant had yelled after checking the bodies and confirming they were gone.
Ray's burned hands couldn't unbuckle his harness and Gant had slid between the pilot seats, unsnapped him and dragged him out. Ray clearly remembered being over Gant's shoulder as he ran from the chopper, seeing the aircraft burst into flame even as he felt the pants of his flight suit burning. Gant threw him down in the dirt and extinguished the flames but the damage had been done.
Gant had saved him then, and several months later he had shown up at the VA hospital where Ray was recuperating.