Hansen absorbed this for a few moments. "What's the worst-case scenario?"
"Kovac's a traitor and he's working for whoever hired Yannick Ernsdorff. Up until I went off the bridge into the Rhine, Kovac had been getting regular updates from Grim. The moment it became clear to him that I was heading to Vianden--and in Yannick Ernsdorff 's general direction--he got nervous and Ames's tip miraculously appeared. Think about it: After I lost you at the foundry in Esch-sur-Alzette, did you have any leads? Any trail to follow?"
"No."
"That's because I didn't leave one."
"Okay, some of what you're saying makes sense, but Kovac a traitor? Grim suggested that a while ago, but that's a big leap."
"Not too big a leap for Lambert. It's why he asked me to kill him. It's why I went to ground. He was convinced the U.S. intelligence community, including the NSA, was infected to the highest levels. Have you ever heard of doppelganger factories?"
"No."
"They're secret Chinese factories dedicated to cloning and improving on Western military technology. The Guoanbu steals schematics, diagrams, material samples--whatever it can get its hands on--then feeds them to doppelganger factories for production."
"Sounds like an urban legend."
"Lambert didn't think so. He thought they were real, and the Guoanbu was getting help from the inside: politicians, the Pentagon, CIA, NSA. . . . No one's willing to admit it, but when it comes to industrial espionage, the Guoanbu has no peer. You don't get that lucky without help."
"So, Kovac--"
"That, we don't know yet. Here's the important part: Yannick Ernsdorff is playing banker for a black-market weapons auction starring the world's worst terrorist groups. Grim and I call it the 738 Arsenal--named after the doppelganger factory it was stolen from."
"And you know this how?"
"I found the crew that did the job--a bunch of bored former SAS boys led by Charles 'Chucky Zee' Zahm."
"The writer?"
"You can add professional thief to his resume," Fisher said, then explained about Zahm and his Little Red Robbers. "Zahm had proof of the job, including a complete inventory of the arsenal."
"What kind of stuff?"
"I'll show you the list later, but suffice it to say we can't let the 738 Arsenal get away from us. Ben, you might have even seen pieces from the arsenal."
"Come again?"
"The doppelganger factory that Zahm hit was in eastern China, near the Russian border. In Jilin-Heilongjiang, about a hundred miles northwest of Vladivostok and about sixty miles from a Russian town called Korfovka."
At the mention of Korfovka, Hansen's eyes narrowed. "I was there. A while ago."
"That's where Zahm claims he delivered the arsenal."
"When was this?"
"About five months ago."
"I was there before that. The mission went . . . bad."
"That happens," Fisher said carefully. "It seems you got out okay."
Hansen was nodding vaguely. He stopped and studied Fisher's face. "I got out because somebody helped me. Stepped in at just the right moment."
"Lucky break."
"Yeah . . . lucky." Hansen shook himself from his reverie. "This is a tall tale, Sam. Doppelganger factories, Chinese replica weapons, this auction, Kovac . . ."
"Truth is stranger than fiction."
"This cat-and-mouse game we've been playing has been for Kovac's benefit."
Fisher noted that this was a statement, not a question. Hansen and his team had already realized their strings were being pulled, but not why.
"Correct," Fisher said. "He forced her to put a team in the field. If she refused, she'd be out, and all the work we'd done since Lambert's death would be gone. I had to make it look good--keep you guys close, but not so close I couldn't work. Without some minor victories and near misses, Kovac could have called Grimsdottir's plan a failure, and she'd be out."
"This explains why she's been jerking us around. She's been juggling a lot of balls," Hansen said. "Back to Kovac. If he's not just an asshole but an asshole anda traitor, and he's working for Ernsdorff 's boss, then . . ."
"We couldn't afford to have him know I was on to Ernsdorff or the auction."
"But Kovac knew you were there. Wouldn't he have already pushed the panic button?"
"Probably. And the first thing Ernsdorff and his boss would have done is check security. I didn't leave any fingerprints when I hacked Ernsdorff 's server; none of the auction attendees have disappeared. . . . As far as they can tell, all is well. We suspect the auction is days away; they're at the point of no return."
"Yeah, you don't invite the world's worst tangos to one location, then tell them at the last minute to turn around and go home."
"No, not with these kinds of stakes. And this is where you come in, Ben."
"You mean we get to stop playing straight man in your comedy road show?"
"Exactly. Yesterday I tagged one of the auction attendees. A Chechen named Aariz Qaderi."
"CMR, right?" Hansen asked. "Chechen Martyrs Regiment?"
"That's the guy. I tagged him. He's headed east into Russia--on his way to the auction, we hope."
"Hold on. All the attendees will be scrubbed before they reach the auction site. Any kind of beacon or tracker will be found."
"Not the kind we used." Hansen opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but Fisher cut him off. "Another time. Trust me: You can scrub all you want and these trackers won't come off."
Hansen shrugged. "What's our plan?"
"You get your team in here and brief them. Once they're on board, we start moving east and wait for our trackers to phone home."
"What about Ames?"
"We'll deal with him later. For now he's part of the team. We include him in everything."
"What about his cell phone? And his OPSAT? He'll try to contact Kovac."
"Let him. Grimsdottir's made modifications to his phone and OPSAT. Every communication he makes beyond our tactical channels will go straight to her. She'll be playing Kovac and anyone else Ames has been talking to. He'll get voice mail, but Grim will respond to texts. Your phones aren't Internet-capable, right?"
"Right." Hansen smiled. "I like it. I like the plan."
"I thought you might. One thing, though: One of us has to stick to Ames like glue. If he slips away and gets a message out another way, we're done."
"Understood."
"How do you want to handle your people? I'd prefer to not get shot in the confusion."
Hansen chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."
FISHERsat along the office's back wall, the lights off. Ivanov, with a second dart in his thigh for good measure, lay on the floor before him. Hansen dialed his cell phone and recalled the team. Once they were inside he told them Grimsdottir had come clean, then gave them the Reader's Digestversion of the story Fisher had laid out a few minutes earlier, save any mention of Fisher, his mission, Ernsdorff, Zahm, Qaderi, or how they were tracking him. These last two items Fisher had decided to hold in reserve.
Hansen fielded twenty minutes of questions and gripes before, finally, the team cooled off and seemed to accept its new mission. "One last thing," Hansen said. "We're taking on a new member. He's going to be our team leader from this point on."