“I copy,” Latham said. “Stay with him. Janet’s ten minutes away.”
Latham was surprised. If in fact this was Fayyad, he was showing much more caution than were the other Arabs.
“Take a look, Charlie. Randal was standing over the technician’s shoulder. One by one, the thumbnail photos appeared on the computer screen.
Latham walked over. “Can you enlarge ’em?”
“You bet. Which one?”
“The woman… number six.” The tech did so.
“Something, Charlie?” asked Randal.
“No.” Latham shook his head. “No, I guess not. How about the man?”
The tech called up the thumbnails.
“How about that one, where he’s walking by the porch light,” said Latham. The tech punched a series of keys, and the image expanded. “Tighten on the face.”
The image contracted on the face, then swam into focus. Latham stared at it.
“It’s him. It’s Fayyad.”
After turning onto the Leesburg, Fayyad made a U-turn and backtracked to Lee Highway. There the surveillance van passed him off to Janet Paschel. At the Key Bridge, Fayyad turned off and pulled under the awning of the Marriott.
Janet drove down a block, parked, and picked up the radio.
Vorsalov gestured Fayyad to a chair beside the balcony doors and poured them both a cup of coffee.
As before, Fayyad was struck by the Russian’s presence. Though of medium height and build, Vorsalov was solidly built. And his eyes… Like staring at a corpse, he thought. He imagined those eyes on Judith and shuddered.
“You were not followed?” Vorsalov asked him.
“No. If I had been, they would be crashing through the door.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Vorsalov shrugged. “You don’t approve of my involvement, do you? You don’t like my methods.”
“Whether I approve or not is irrelevant. I simply think it’s unnecessary.”
Vorsalov shrugged. “Believe it or not, I agree. I’ve read your reports. You’ve made amazing progress in a short time. This woman — Judith, is it? — is in love with you?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad it may go to waste.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Her husband was the wrong target for this operation. He’s not in a position—”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m simply doing my job.”
“And now you want to know what I have planned.”
“Yes.”
“We have no choice but to take her.”
Fayyad felt his heart thud, but he kept his face impassive. “The wife?”
“No. Her disappearance would cause too much commotion. The mistress. She’s a nobody. She won’t be missed until we’re done.”
“I see,” said Fayyad. “And when we have her? Then what?”
“Whatever is necessary.”
“I don’t think Smith can take the strain,” Fayyad said. He told Vorsalov about Smith’s fainting at the CIA meeting. “He is near the breaking point.”
“As long as he’s under our control, such a break could be useful.”
“I’m not so sure. I’ve come to understand him. He’s—”
“It’s already been decided.”
“I think it’s a mistake.”
“As you said earlier, whether you approve or not is irrelevant. However, I assumed you would feel this way, so I have arranged confirmation from your superiors.”
“I don’t understand.”
Vorsalov handed him a slip of paper. “Memorize it, then burn it. Tonight at eleven you will receive the call.”
“At home? That’s not—”
“Follow the script. Nothing can be gleaned from it. The call will be short. Tomorrow morning, call me at this number.” Vorsalov recited a number and had Fayyad repeat it twice. “I’ll explain the rest then.”
Janet Paschel watched Fayyad tip the valet, get in his car, and drive off. Latham, who had joined them a few minutes before, said, “Let him go. Radio Glen Echo and tell them he’s coming back.”
Janet relayed the orders, then got out, walked across the street, and entered the lobby. She returned in ten minutes. “I had the night manager check the log for the night Vorsalov would have checked in,” she said. “None of the names rang a bell.”
“Damn.”
“But,” Janet said, smiling. “The night he would have arrived there was only one bellman on duty.”
“Fancy place like this, I’ll bet nobody carries their own bags. Can we talk to him?”
“If you don’t mind driving to Fairmont Heights.”
The bellman, a young black college student, opened his front door and peeked out. “FBI? What for?”
“We just need your help.”
“Uh-huh. What for?”
“Listen — it’s Parnell, right? Parnell, you’re not in trouble, okay?”
He considered this, then shrugged. “What’s up?”
Latham handed him a photo of Vorsalov. “You were on duty at the Key Bridge day before yesterday. You remember seeing this man?”
Parnell studied the photo. His face lit up. “Shit, yeah, I remember.”
“You’re sure?”
“Uh-huh. Pasty-faced guy, some kind of accent, too. Bad tipper. Room four-twelve.”
38
They found an opening in the vines and crawled through one of the gun ports. They crouched against the inner wall, listening, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the cavelike interior.
Spaced evenly down the bunker’s axis were three spiral ladders. Tanner peered down one and saw nothing but blackness. Somewhere he heard water dripping. The floor, walls, and ceiling were splotched with mold. Behind them, something moved. They spun. Caught in their flashlight beams, a lizard skittered across the floor and disappeared into a crack in the wall.
Tanner tested the handrail, found it sturdy, and they started downward. Briggs counted steps, and by the time they reached the bottom they were twenty-five feet underground. Ahead lay a dark passage.
Tanner raised the .45, clicked on the flashlight, and shined it down the passage. Ten feet away lay a stainless steel door. They walked closer. The door’s edges were bordered by a thick rubber gasket, and its handle was a lever type like those used on industrial refrigerators.
Cahil pressed his ear against the steel, then shook his head. “Maybe Takagi’s hoarding rump roast,” he whispered.
“He strikes me more of a veal man. Higher brutality factor.”
They checked the door for alarms or sensors and found nothing. Tanner grasped the handle and lifted gently until he heard a soft click-click. A puff of air escaped. That meant air-conditioning, which in turn meant electricity. Tanner opened the door the rest of the way, and they stepped through.
Two things struck him simultaneously: the coolness of air, which after the jungle heat felt like an arctic blast, and the feeling they’d stepped into a high-tech laboratory.
Instead of stone, the walls, floor, and ceiling were made of gray Lexan plastic. So well-seamed were the walls that Tanner had a hard time telling where they ended and the floor began. There were no corners, no right angles. He felt momentarily dizzy.
“Briggs, take a look.”
Cahil pointed to a stack of shelves containing plastic gowns, hair caps, and booties. “Whatever they’re up to, its delicate,” he said.
Tanner nodded. “No symbology on the walls.” Sanitary, anonymous.
The corridor ended at a T-turn. Tanner looked left, then right. More pressure doors. “You have a preference?” he asked.