“Take us to the doctor’s and wait,” she said. “We should be out by half two.”
Farley grunted and shot off with squealing tires, pondering the change in the woman over the last two days. She’d never hidden her disdain or hesitated to challenge him, but always with an undercurrent of fear, despite her brave words. She was different now, more confident. A subtle change, felt rather than spoken. Should he tell Braun? He dismissed the notion, sure he’d get a scornful response.
He curbed the tires in the waiting area of the doctor’s building, bringing the car to a rocking halt. The housekeeper ignored it as she exited the car, hurrying Cassie along with her. She’ll get hers, he thought as they bustled into the building. Maybe he’d make the old bitch watch while he shagged the retard. Now wouldn’t that be sweet.
“Why do I have to get a jab?” Cassie whined as the elevator opened on the third floor.
“It’s a flu shot,” Mrs. Farnsworth lied. “Now out you go.”
They were expected and led to an exam room, where a nurse took Cassie’s vital signs and directed Mrs. Farnsworth to the doctor’s office. Anna Walsh sat across from the doctor. She motioned Mrs. Farnsworth to an empty chair.
“Doctor,” Anna said, “might I speak to Mrs. Farnsworth alone?”
He smiled. “Certainly. I’ll check on Cassie.”
“You do know what’s going on?” Anna asked as the doctor left.
“I know you’re MI5. Mr. Kairouz told me. I assume you’ll take Cassie to safety.”
“It’s not that simple,” Anna said. “Removing Cassie makes it obvious Alex is cooperating, but we don’t have enough evidence to hold either Braun or Farley. You would all likely still be targets.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “We have to play this out, making the best of the hand dealt us. Here’s what we’re going to do….”
Motaki was anxious. Gasoline shortages ate at his support like a cancer. Former allies grew distant, rumors abounded, and even Imam Rahmani was under pressure. How ironic, he thought, that he had been so successful in importing material for his nuclear program, only to be undone by something as prosaic as gasoline. But, God willing, that would soon change. The intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Ahmad?”
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but President Rodriguez is calling.”
He sighed a thanks.
“Mr. President. Nice to hear from you.”
“Good day, my friend,” Rodriguez said, “are you well?”
Motaki curbed his impatience. “Yes, thank you. How may I help you?”
“It’s about the… our project. I’ve heard no reports and—”
Camel shit for brains, thought Motaki. Not on an open line.
“Yes, the petrol shipments,” Motaki said. “I will arrange an update via secure means.”
“All right… fine,” Rodriguez said. “It’s just I’ve heard little and—”
“Never a bother, my friend,” he said as he silently cursed Braun. “Anything more?”
“No. No. Thank you,” Rodriguez said before saying a polite good-bye.
Motaki frowned as he tapped out a terse message on his computer.
Braun returned from lunch to find a telltale spam message. He downloaded a video clip from the porn site and decrypted the embedded message.
CONTACTED BY OUR FRIEND. UPDATE HIM TO PREVENT REPETITION.
That bloody Venezuelan. Like Motaki, Rodriguez had a secure sat phone, but to preclude overuse, Braun first locked it into receive-only mode. Anticipating problems, Braun also allowed Rodriguez backdoor access to a single porn site, used by him alone to isolate him from the real operation. He’d still been a pest, deluging Braun with frequent inane messages and suggestions to the point the German no longer even downloaded them. The idiot must have contacted Motaki on a landline. He’d underestimated the Venezuelan’s stupidity.
Rodriguez answered the sat phone on the sixth ring.
“Mr. President,” Braun said, “forgive me. I was awaiting updates before reporting.”
“You do well to remember who is in charge, Braun. Now report.”
Braun stifled a laugh. “Yes, sir. China Star arrived at Kharg, and our Chechen friends—”
“Yes, yes,” Rodriguez said, “what of Panama?”
“Asian Trader is en route from Singapore. All is according to plan.”
“Remember,” Rodriguez said. “Minor damage. And we must not be implicated.”
“Don’t worry, sir. Our man can kill himself and those around him, but little more. And even if he survives, he knows nothing.”
“Are we still on schedule for July 4?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Braun said. “Is there anything more, sir?”
“No. That is sufficient, Karl, but do not fail to keep me informed.”
“You may rest assured I will, sir.”
“Thank you, Karl. That will be all.”
Braun shook his head and hung up. Bloody pompous fool.
“Caught any bad guys today?” asked a familiar voice.
Ward chuckled into the phone. Mike Hill worked for NSA, tasked with global electronic snooping. “Not yet, Mike, but the day’s young. Whatcha got?”
“You know that London site the Brits are monitoring and sharing intel on with us?”
“Yeah, Phoenix Shipping. What about it?”
“Well, we also have ongoing surveillance on that nut job in Caracas,” Hill said, “and El Presidente received a scrambled sat phone call this morning from guess where?”
“Phoenix Shipping?”
“Bingo, brother. The Brits had the outgoing, too, but not the Caracas end. We aided our cousins who were pathetically grateful, though they covered it with British reserve—”
Ward grinned. “OK, OK, Hill. I get the picture.”
“Jeez, nerds are never appreciated. Anyway, the bad news is we couldn’t unscramble it.”
“Well, even the connection is a breakthrough,” Ward said.
“Ah, but our legerdemain continues,” Hill said. “Earlier El Presidente called Iran, rather stupidly in the clear. We recorded one President Motaki shitting his pants at the mention of a ‘project,’ and El Presidente’s failure to be updated on same. Motaki says not to worry, and presto, El Presidente gets a call from London.” Hill paused. “A reasonable man might conclude a connection between Iran and Venezuela running through Phoenix Shipping.”
“Outstanding,” Ward said. “When next we meet, my friend, drinks are on me.”
“Don’t be cheap. You have an expense account. I want dinner.”
“Done,” Ward said.
Chapter Fourteen
“It’s been a friggin’ week since Jesse made the Iran/Venezuela link,” Dugan said, “and we’ve still got squat.”
Anna shrugged. “That’s not surprising. Braun’s smart, and we probably got a bit lucky on the China Star thing. With increased electronic surveillance here and in Caracas and Tehran, something will break soon.”
“Yeah,” Dugan said, “but until then, all we have is China Star, and only suspicions at that. I wish there was some way we could be sure.”
“But we have some time there as well, Yank,” Harry said. “She just sailed. She’ll be in the middle of the ocean for a while, out of harm’s way.”