Sylvia said, “Briggs, we haven’t heard your take on this.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to talk about. If you’re giving me a vote, it’s this: No matter what it takes — Amelia Root’s life, my life, Cahil’s life — we collect Kestrel and destroy it — all of it.”
“Then why not cut to the chase?” Barber said. “Forget Amelia Root. Go to Innsbruck, get Kestrel, and come home.”
“I doubt it would be that easy,” Tanner said. “Think about how much planning Svetic has put into this: the kidnapping, the false trail of evidence, the stand-in for Amelia Root, the sacrifice of his own man just for authenticity’s sake … I wouldn’t be surprised if Svetic’s had Root under surveillance since he landed in Trieste. When he walks into the Bank of Tirol, they’ll be watching.”
“Then leave it in the bank and wait it out,” Coates said. “We can hunt Svetic down, take him out, then retrieve the samples at our leisure.”
Sylvia considered this, then said, “Sounds reasonable. Briggs, you’re the man on the ground. What do you think?”
“The sooner we get this done, the better. Listen: We’ve been careful since we’ve been here; the chances are good Svetic believes Root is alone. Aside from Root, Svetic is the only man left alive that knows about Kestrel. We know where he’s going to be, and when. Let’s make that work for us.”
“Explain.”
“While Root is waiting for Svetic to call, we go on to Innsbruck, pick our place, lay an ambush, and hit Svetic when he comes for the exchange. In the space of a few minutes we can free Amelia Root, remove Svetic from the equation, and bring Kestrel home.”
“Bold,” said Len Barber. “And risky.”
Tanner replied, “We passed ‘risky’ a long time ago, Len. There aren’t many words for where we are now. Sylvia, we can do this. More importantly, I believe now is the time.”
Sylvia looked across her desk at Dutcher, who simply nodded. She said, “Keep your phone handy, Briggs. We’ll be back to you within the hour.”
Tanner disconnected, laid his phone aside, then leaned back in his chair and yawned. He looked across to Oliver and Cahil; McBride was still sitting with Root at the Grand Duchi.
“What’s the verdict?” Cahil asked.
“They’re debating. Barber and Coates want to wait.”
“What’s there to debate? We’ve got the guy here, right now.”
“I told them.”
Oliver said, “Sylvia’s got a lot of weight on her shoulders. Hell, by law the decision shouldn’t even be hers to make.”
“She knows,” Tanner said. “But Leland said it: How do we know anyone else would do the right thing? For my part, I’d rather be strung up for destroying Kestrel than not do it and always be looking over my shoulder.”
Cahil chuckled. “You know, I’m betting Typhoid Mary wasn’t very fond of her name.”
“A safe bet,” Tanner agreed. His sat phone trilled. “That was quick,” he said, then answered.
It was McBride: “Briggs, I’m at Root’s hotel. He’s gone.”
Tanner bolted forward in his seat. “What?”
“Root’s gone.”
The former DCI had given him the slip, McBride explained. An hour earlier the room phone had rung. Root answered, listened for a moment, then said, “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong room.” A few minutes later he asked McBride to go to the corner restaurant and get him something to eat, claiming the hotel’s room service was awful. When McBride returned he found a note from Root saying he’d gone down to the sauna room. Suspicious now, McBride hurried downstairs, but Root was nowhere to be found. “I checked with the concierge,” McBride finished. “Root came downstairs right behind me and hailed a cab. My god, I never thought he’d … What in god’s name is he thinking?”
He’s not, Tanner thought. He got the call, they scared him, and he panicked.
Better than anyone, Root knew what was at stake and had surmised Tanner’s orders would be prioritized accordingly: The recovery of Kestrel was paramount; everything else was incidental. In his desperation, Root had convinced himself he could not only rescue his wife, but also keep Kestrel safe in the process.
“I’m sorry, Briggs,” McBride said. “It never occurred to me that he’d try it.”
“Not your fault, Joe. We all missed it.”
He disconnected, hurriedly explained the situation to Cahil and Oliver, then dialed Langley. As the phone started ringing, he thought, Innsbruck … twenty minutes by air.
Root could already be on the ground.
35
Tanner’s report of Root’s disappearance made further debate irrelevant, so while he and the others scrambled to leave Trieste, Sylvia Albrecht and Dutcher focused on contingencies.
If Tanner failed in Innsbruck and Kestrel fell into Svetic’s hands, they would have no choice but to press the panic button. If on the other hand he and his cobbled-together team succeeded in recovering the canisters, they needed a plan to spirit Kestrel out of Austria and transport them safely back to the U.S.
Tanner’s next call went to Trieste’s airport. As he’d feared, Svetic’s reputation for thorough planning was proving well deserved. The day’s last shuttle to Innsbruck had left forty minutes earlier. Root’s wrong number call had likely been instructions from Svetic, who, playing it safe, had assumed Root was under surveillance and ordered the hurried departure to shake off watchers. More importantly, by controlling Root’s arrival in Innsbruck, Svetic could keep Root under surveillance until the exchange.
“If we can’t fly,” Cahil said, “we drive like hell. With luck, we’ll be there in three hours.”
Tanner thought for a moment, then said, “Go down to Hertz, get a car, then leave a message for Susanna at the Piazetta drop; tell her we’ll be back in a few days.” Briggs didn’t like the idea of leaving her on her own, but he had little choice. “Meet me at Root’s hotel when you’re done.”
“Why’re you going there?” Oliver asked.
“I want to see how well he covered his tracks.”
Tanner took a taxi to the Grand Duchi, put on his actor’s face, and found the manager. Jonathan Root, he explained, was his father-in-law and they were in Trieste on a recuperative vacation following the death of his wife. Suffering from Alzheimer’s, Root was prone to wandering off on his own.
“We’ve searched the hotel from top to bottom,” Tanner said. “I’m afraid he’s somewhere out on the street, lost.”
The manager’s eyes went wide. “Good heavens! We should alert the police—”
“My wife already has; she’s with them now. What I’m hoping you can do is show me his phone bill. He may have made some calls that would give us a clue where he was going.”
“Of course! Wait one moment.” The manager returned two minutes later with a photocopy. “What else can we do to help?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d call me if he comes back,” Tanner said.
“Of course.” The manager took down Tanner’s number. “My good luck to you.”
Tanner found Cahil and the others waiting under the lobby awning. Cahil had rented an eight-cylinder Mercedes well suited to Austria’s autobahn. Tanner climbed into the front seat. As Cahil pulled away, Briggs handed the phone bill back to McBride. “Joe, you know him better than anyone. See if any of those numbers ring a bell.”
They drove north from Trieste until they reached Lidine, where the road joined the A23 and continued north toward Austria. At Pontebba they caught the B90, and followed it across the border and into the Carnic Alps and the province of Karnten.