“Which brings us right back to why,” Ward said. “Closing Malacca would hurt Iran, so a failed attempt there might deflect blame. But destroying the canal wouldn’t greatly impact Iran, and I don’t see how either act would help Venezuela.”
Reyes shrugged. “Oil prices are sure to spike.”
“Temporarily, yeah,” Dugan said. “But Malacca’s still open, and tanker traffic through the canal is minimal. Prices will settle in a week or so. That alone can’t be the motive.”
Reyes looked pensive. “I do not know about Iran, but Rodriguez is no friend of Panama. He supports the FARC guerrillas in Colombia, who are an increasing problem on our border. Also, it is no secret he is upset our current canal expansion will be insufficient to allow the transit of loaded VLCCs. He openly advocates a second, larger canal in Nicaragua, and there are rumors that he urges the Chinese to pledge to send half their trade though a new canal so that his friends in Nicaragua can secure financing in the international market.”
Ward sighed. “That may be part of it, but my gut tells me the worst is yet to come. And we’re playing a man down. Tom obviously can’t go back into the office. The ship’s agent will have reported his arrest by now, so Braun thinks he’s in Panama.”
“Alex can help Anna inside,” Dugan said.
Ward chose his next words with care.
“Alex isn’t out of the woods, Tom.”
“Bullshit. You know he’s being coerced.”
“I do. But we have no hard evidence. Closures at either Panama or Malacca increase distances and soak up capacity. Freight rates will skyrocket and Kairouz stands to profit. Money equals motive. A nice, uncomplicated motive. People like things simple, even if they’re wrong. And between your relationship with Alex and your own involvement with Alicia, Asian Trader, and an offshore bank account, you both look pretty hinky. With Gardner beating that drum in Langley, my support might mean squat. Unless I miss my guess, he’s already on the horn, pressing for the Brits to arrest you when we land.”
Dugan looked worried. “So how do we play it?”
Ward looked at Reyes and smiled. “Well, since you’re officially, or at least semiofficially, in Panamanian custody, it’s really out of our hands. That’ll throw Gardner a curve, and he’ll hesitate to escalate things until he’s sure they won’t blow up in his face. But make no mistake. This is high profile. The holiday weekend means it’ll take a bit longer for a critical mass of political assholes to form, but in forty-eight hours tops, we enter the never-never land of congressional hearings. When the shit hits the fan, I’m the goat and you and Alex are prime suspects. Two days. After that we’re toast.”
The Luther Hurd at Pedro Miguel dominated the news. Gardner watched on his office television, the graphic gore roiling his stomach. He’d arrived at work at six thirty, sleep denied him by a pounding head and quivering gut. He chased Tylenol with tepid coffee and considered how what he’d learned in the last three hours impacted Larry Gardner. Throwing Dugan to the Panamanians was still promising, presuming Ward hadn’t screwed it up. He tried Ward again and hung up at the voice mail. He dialed Panama.
“Carlucci.”
“Gardner here,” he said. “Ward with you?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Do the Panamanians have Dugan in custody?”
“Who is Dugan, and why do you think he’s in custody?”
“Ah… I saw his name in the briefing notes.”
“Funny,” Carlucci said, “I write those. I didn’t mention a Dugan.”
“What the hell difference does it make? Where is he?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Look, Carlucci, you’re hindering an ongoing operation. If you don’t want to end up somewhere even less important than Panama, start being helpful.”
“Fuck you.”
Gardner burst into obscenities at the dial tone and slammed the phone down. Still cursing, he picked it back up and dialed.
“Flight Operations.”
“Gardner here. What do you have on Ward?”
“Let’s see, looks like he left Panama for Heathrow this morning at 0215, refueling in Miami. I show his ETA in London as 2015 local; that’s 1515 our time.”
Hair rose on Gardner’s neck. “He alone?”
The man paused. “Nope. Manifest shows Ward, a Thomas Dugan, and a Panamanian national named Manuel Reyes.”
Gardner hung up. Son of a bitch. Reyes. With Ward and Dugan. No good could come of this. He needed some cover, just in case. He was parsing the possibilities when Senator Gunther appeared on television, standing at a bank of microphones in front of the Capitol. Gardner raised the volume.
“…will leave no stone unturned in fixing the blame for these intelligence failures. To that end, I’ve convened a special Senate investigation…”
Gardner smiled. It was about to rain shit, and he’d just found a raincoat.
Braun frowned. “Be here, Sutton. That’s final.”
“But I can upload the virus now and trigger it remotely. I don’t need to be here.”
“What if it’s discovered?” Braun said. “Besides. I want you here tonight to ensure every system is running. Complete destruction. No file remnants on local hard drives.”
“You’re burning the bloody building. What’s the point?”
Braun’s stare was ice. “The point, Sutton, is you’ll do as told. Now. Backups?”
“Held off-site. Only Kairouz and I have decryption keys.” Sutton handed Braun a flash drive. “This one works but his doesn’t. Without this, the backups are useless.”
Braun slipped the drive into his pocket. “Good. Is the safe house set up?”
Sutton nodded. “I tested the cable and Internet yesterday.”
“And I drove the route,” Farley said. “Looked fine.”
“Any trouble renting the place with the cover identity?” Braun asked.
“Didn’t have to,” Sutton said. “It’s my aunt’s place in Kent.”
Braun exploded. “You bloody idiot! A place connected to one of us will be obvious!”
“Bu… but there’s no connection,” Sutton stammered. “It’s in her name. She’s in the loony bin. Alzheimer’s.”
“What’s her name?” Braun demanded.
“Married name’s Lampkin. Husband’s dead. I don’t even visit. I got the key when me mum passed last year. It’s safer than a rental.”
Braun considered it. No time for other arrangements.
“All right,” he said. “But Sutton. Don’t disappoint me again. Clear?”
Sutton nodded as Braun continued. “Everything ready on your end, Farley?”
“Yeah. I checked out the school. Like you figured, it’s all girls with no males on staff except a custodian. I slipped in last night to check the setup. One gent’s toilet, off a side corridor to a supply storeroom. It’s at the back of the building with a window opening on to the alley. It’s perfect. We’ll be halfway to the safe house before anyone knows she’s gone.”
Braun nodded. “That’s it then,” he said, dismissing them. As they left, he moved to his desk and took a pair of pliers from a drawer. He crushed the flash drive beyond recognition and slipped the remains back into his pocket for later disposal, then dialed his phone.
“Sudsbury and Smythe,” a pleasant female voice answered.
“Mr. Carrington-Smythe, please. Captain Braun calling.”