“I have very little money,” the man said, “but you may have it”
He’s Russian, Panos thought.
“Empty your pockets,” Kemal barked.
The man nodded, smiling slightly. “Certainly.”
“This funny to you?” Kemal growled. “What is funny?”
“Nothing.” One by one, the man began pulling items from his pockets. “I have breath mints, would you care for a breath mint?”
“What?” Kemal said. He shoved the man.
“Kemal, don’t—”
“You think we are joking, mister? I will cut you!”
“I believe you would.”
“Then hurry up!”
Panos’s heart pounded; nothing about this felt right. “Empty your jacket pockets,” he ordered. “Now!”
The man reached inside his jacket and handed over his wallet; Panos rifled through it, pocketed the money inside, dropped it. “The rest of it.” He took the man’s passport and a plain white envelope. It was too dark to read. He backed into the light, flipped open the passport, scanned the contents, tossed it aside. The envelope contained an airline ticket Panos squinted, trying to decipher the details.
The man looked Kemal up and down. “You are a Turk, yes?”
“How do you know that?”
The man chuckled. “Why do you think I offered you a breath mint?”
“Fucker!”
“Kemal, no!”
The man parried Kemal’s knife thrust, pulled him in, and lashed out with his left hand. There was a soft crunch. With a grunt, Kemal clutched his throat and fell. Panos instinctively knew his friend was dead.
“Drop the envelope, boy,” the Russian said. “Drop it and run while you can.”
“I’m sorry, mister, I—”
“I said leave it and go! You’re trying my patience.”
Panos stooped, placed the airline ticket on the ground, then turned and ran.
For the past twenty hours, the OP Center had been running fully staffed, augmented by the periodic presence of Coates, Stucky, Sylvia Albrect, and Latham, all of whom came and went as their schedules dictated. The waiting was hardest for Latham.
What would he do if he found himself face-to-face with Vorsalov? Countless times he’d relived that night, and always it came out the same. Not this time. This time, you son of a bitch, if you come here… What was taking so long?
Dick Mason strode into the conference room, shut the door, and snatched up the phone. “Okay, Ginny, patch it through.”
There was a series of clicks. FIS Director of Operations Pyotor Kolokov’s voice came through the speaker “Hello?”
“Yes, Mr. Kolokov,” Mason said. “This is Director Mason. You’re on speakerphone. Present are my DDO, DDI, Near East Division chief, and a special agent of the FBI.”
“This is a secure line, I presume? And you are recording?”
“Yes to both.”
“We have the information you requested. Whether you will consider it favorable or not, I do not know.”
“Whatever you’ve got, we appreciate the effort.”
“First you must know: Our mutual friend made our surveillance team; one of them was killed.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“The price of business. The target stayed in Beirut for approximately two hours. We do not know who he met. He is traveling under a passport issued to a Yan Karnovsky, a Belarus citizen working as an industrial chemical buyer. We will fax you the particulars.”
“And his destination?”
“According to the surviving member of the Larnaca team, Vorsalov was carrying an airline ticket. If he follows the route, his flight will take him first to Rome, then London for another connection. That is the interesting part.”
“How so?” asked Mason.
“His last connection is bound for New York.”
“So you have no new information,” Fayyad said.
“Christ, I’ve already told you!” Smith snapped, glancing around. The footpath leading to and from their bench was deserted. “I’m going to Langley tomorrow.” Smith flicked a fern branch from his face. “This is idiotic!”
“You’re not a lover of nature, Senator?”
“Fuck nature.”
As planned, Fayyad’s choice of the United States Botanic Garden as a meeting place was causing the Senator fits. Just a stone’s throw from Capitol Hill, the garden was a favorite of tourists but was rarely frequented by politicians. Though Smith did not realize it, the chance of their being observed was slim.
“This trip to CIA headquarters… Was it your idea or theirs?” asked Fayyad.
“Theirs,” Smith said.
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“Given what I’m asking for, no. You’ve got no idea how unusual these damned questions of yours are. You just don’t ask the CIA for these kinds of details.”
“So you told me.”
“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing.”
“I think I do, Senator. I know all about you. You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself. The king of porcupine power, they call you. You berate and belittle your opponents until they surrender. It will be the same with this. You will bully them until—”
“This is different, damn it! This is the fucking CIA—”
“Just like you bully your wife—”
“My wife? Listen, pal, just because you’re fucking her doesn’t mean you know shit about our marriage. Judith is perfectly happy.”
“She is not happy—” Fayyad caught himself, took a breath. “Senator, your wife and your marriage are not my concern. All I care about is the information, and your time is running out.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I will be frank. Believe me or not, I want nothing more than to get this information and leave. Once I’m gone, your involvement will be over. You will be able to resume your life as before.”
“Suits me fine.”
“The problem is, I’m no longer in control. The people I work for are not so patient. They are insisting on more… stern methods.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I am being honest with you. If they knew I was telling you this—”
“Bullshit. This is the good cop/bad cop routine. You watch too much TV.”
“Senator, for once in your life, stop and listen! Another man is on his way here. He is a professional. His job will be to get results, whatever it takes. Do you understand?”
Smith stared at Fayyad. His face went pale. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“That doesn’t matter. I know him. I know what he is capable of.”
“Jesus, I’m trying to get it! Don’t they know that?”
“I’ve told them.”
“I’m doing my best! Can’t they give me a little more time?”
“He is already on his way.”
“Oh, God…”
“We still have a few more days, Senator. If you can get me the information before then…”
“Sure, sure. The meeting’s tomorrow. I can get it tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“If I do, you can stop this, right? I mean—”
“Yes. You understand, then? To protect you, I must have the information. Otherwise I have no control over what happens.”
“Yeah, sure, I can see that. I can get it.”
Though having seen it many times before, Fayyad was amazed at Smith’s transformation. The threat of violence, combined with the oblique offer of friendship had worked its magic. There were drawbacks, though. The fear would begin to gnaw at Smith, make him careless.
“I want you to go home and get some sleep,” said Fayyad. “Try to relax.”
“Right. Good idea. Okay, so I get this information, and there’s no reason for this guy to bother me, right?”