“You’re not a morning person,” Ben said.
“We should have gone after Hector last night. Sleep was the last thing…”
“Unclench the fist. Hector knows I am questioning his loyalty since I didn’t call him back, and I’m betting he knows about your visit to the McKeen office now. Not hearing from us is keeping him off balance.”
“I can’t just abandon Teach.”
“You abandon her if you get killed in a pointless attempt to save her.” Ben stood up from the futon. “We take the fight back to him but we act like subtle knives. Not cannons that roar and attract a lot of noise.”
“This isn’t how I roll,” Pilgrim said, “You don’t know what we’re up against…”
“You wouldn’t even know who your enemy is if it wasn’t for me. So maybe you can permanently shelve the talking-down-to-me crap, because it’s gotten really old.”
Pilgrim set his coffee cup down. “Fine. What do you suggest?”
“Hector’s strength and his weakness are his business. It’s what gives him power but it’s also what he’s most fearful of losing. I helped him build it up; I can tear it down.”
“You mean you can expose his dirty laundry.”
“It’s not as much dirty as it is questionable. What I can do is get in touch with every one of his contacts at the various agencies and imply that he’s going to be under investigation very soon.”
“You’re a fugitive and lacking in the credibility department,” Pilgrim said.
“I say I’m hiding from his security forces.” Ben helped himself to coffee, black and strong. “We launch a two-pronged attack. Start smearing Hector with the people in government who matter. Politicians run from a stink. We put the stink on him. Second, we contact Agent Vochek. Delia Moon gave me her number. We cut a deal with her.”
“Useless if they want us dead…”
“I don’t believe she wants you dead. Leashed, maybe. What will help us is that you did necessary work, ordered by the government.”
“Correction. Necessary as decided by a small and secret group.”
“And that group might be her target far more than you. Vochek might cut you a really good offer to come in. You know more dirty laundry about the government than I ever will about Hector.”
“I still say we face Hector down.”
“You’ve already hurt him badly, you’ve made him desperate. You wiped out Hector’s teams, you killed his sniper. He’ll have beefed up compound security just because he lost two men to supposed terrorists. He’ll virtually have an army on his property. No way will you get to his house. We don’t even know that’s where he has Teach.”
“Fine. I see your point.” Pilgrim said this as though it caused physical pain. “So what do we say to Vochek?”
“Don’t freak at my idea.” Ben took a deep breath. “The Cellar’s done. Adam Reynolds already found you; it’s just a matter of time before Homeland finds the other Cellar agents. You just have to decide whether you surrender peacefully and cooperate, or not. Give them details about your jobs. Your results. They’ll go easier on you.”
“I joined the Cellar to avoid jail. I can’t go back into a prison.” He parted the curtain slightly, surveyed the lot. “You understand that Strategic Initiatives’ cure for us might be a bullet in the head.”
“I don’t believe Vochek would be party to murder.”
“You’ve been fooled by Sam Hector for years, so pardon me if I question your judgment of character.”
“She wasn’t comfortable with Kidwell leaning so hard on me. Says something about her as a person.”
“She was playing the good cop role.”
“Fine. We play good cop by giving them something. We can’t fight Hector, not on his own turf. We can’t go to the police. Whatever is going down tomorrow in New Orleans, if it’s bad, if we step forward now with the information, get it to Homeland, we can cut a deal.”
“But we have no idea what’s happening.”
“Help Vochek put all the pieces together and then you’re a good guy.”
“She’ll just arrest us.”
“I know this is a different approach for you. But please, let’s try it. We give Vochek ammunition. Everything you know about the Cellar. Everything we both know about Hector, both in his business and in his days in the CIA. There’s a relationship there and if…”
Pilgrim shook his head. “Vochek’s group hired Hector… Someone in that group could smother the information.”
“Yes. It’s a risk. But we’re going to have to meet with her face-to-face, see if we can convince her. You did save her life.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Take the credit, we need it.”
“Ben. This course of action sounds sane to you. It sounds crazy to me. I just want to get a gun and kill Hector. Problem solved.”
“Doing it my way makes it a lot more likely that we survive.” Ben stepped forward, leaned on the cracked Formica bar that divided the kitchen from the tiny dining space. “Jackie Lynch was in league with the people that killed Kidwell. Homeland’s going to want Jackie’s head on a plate, and he’s driving a car that ties him to Hector. They therefore will want Hector’s head on a plate. If there’s an alliance between them, we destroy it. Isolate him.”
“You should call Vochek.”
“No.” Ben shook his head. “You will.”
“I have poor phone manners.”
“You’re the one with the information she wants. But you’re going to meet her by yourself. Because she may set a trap and she can’t catch us both. One of us has to stay free if the meeting goes bad.”
Pilgrim nodded. “She’s not catching me, don’t worry.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’ll call her.” He shook his head at Ben. “No offense, but I really am not getting used to having a partner.”
“Hopefully it’s not for much longer,” Ben said.
31
Vochek glanced at the clock-just past nine on Saturday morning-and studied the photos of the dead men. The investigators on Kidwell’s murder, operating out of the Homeland Security office in Houston, sent her the latest on the dead Arab gunmen.
The men had been identified; they were all from the southern suburbs of Beirut. Two of the men were brothers, two more were their cousins, and all were tied to a gang that ran drugs into Beirut and did muscle work when hired.
She remembered a truism she’d read about the Middle East in a book by former CIA agent Robert Baer: You don’t recruit individuals; you recruit families, tribes, clans. Here was a perfect example. But the one with dyed blond hair, the other with two piercings in his ear-these men did not strike her as typical fundamentalists.
She called one of the Homeland investigators in Houston, let him complain about working with the FBI for three minutes, then she said: “But these guys don’t seem like religious extremist types.”
“Oh, I don’t think the Murads are prayerful boys. They’ve always been hired help.” She heard a shuffle of paper on the investigator’s desk. “The Murads all flew in via Paris then Miami, staggered over five days. Tickets paid for in cash in Beirut. But they all stayed together at a hotel in Miami before they flew into Austin, the morning of the attack.” He coughed a smoker’s hack. “Here’s the sticky part. Back in the 1980s, Papa Murad, the head of the clan, was eyes and ears for the CIA.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah. When we were hunting the embassy bombers, he was an informant. Not a great one but he was willing to point a few fingers for a price. He dropped off the Agency payroll about a decade ago. One of his sons got tangled up with a Blood of Fire cell in Lebanon, did some for-hire bombing work for them, got murdered a few months back.”
“So the Murads have played both sides.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t know it to hear the CIA. They say they don’t have a file on the Murads, which beggars belief; they’ve been part of the Beirut underworld for two generations. My sources are two retired CIA field officers. And Mrs. Murad.”
“You talked with her.”
“She’s not speaking publicly, of course. And she could be trying to defend her family’s honor, say they’re not terrorists. But frankly, it’s more dangerous for her to link her family to the CIA than to Hezbollah. She said her husband mentioned he’d gotten a call from an old friend, big money for a favor.”