Paul Janson said, “I’m wondering if we should draft in on the gunrunners. Somehow they’re getting on and off the island and in and out of the camp. They must be bribing Iboga’s coast guard patrols and soldiers.”
“But your pal Doug says they’re hands-off.”
“I was talking to Neal Kruger. The Swiss? He claims he knows where to get some Starstreaks still in the crate.”
Kincaid’s eyes widened. “Cool.”
“We could trade them to the gunrunners for passage in. The FFM would be happy to buy man-mounted laser-guided surface-to-air high-velocity missiles. We land on their boat, split off from them once we’re close, go in light, and come out fast.”
“What if the gunrunners run into trouble?”
“We have our own boat waiting and rendezvous offshore with an OSV.”
“Supplied by Doug?”
“No. The client pays for deniability.”
Kincaid said, “Another problem: FFM is not going to be happy when we skedaddle with the doctor. Would the gunrunners risk pissing off their client?”
“We’ll have to find some way to persuade them to take the chance.”
Janson studied the topo map until he became aware that Jessica was staring at him.
“What is it?”
“Why did Case have us followed?”
Janson shrugged. “Old warhorse stuff. Just trying to keep his hand in.”
“Why did he keep asking about me?”
“Same thing. Old reflexes. I noticed you took a strong dislike to him. Why?”
“He’s a jerk.”
“Have you ever met a top operator who was not a pedal-to-the-metal, Type A, supercompetitive personality?”
“I’m not a jerk. Neither are you.”
“Some of us hide it better than others. Just like some hide what it feels like sitting in a wheelchair better than others.”
“That’s a cool chair. Did you see the balance wheels come out when he raised the seat?”
“Typical Doug. He threw unbelievable energy into designing it, while he was still recovering. He said, ‘Damned if I’ve going to sit when everyone’s standing.’ Went about it like it was an operation.”
“Did the foundation back it?”
“Sure. Doug wants everyone who can’t walk to have one, but at a hundred-and-forty grand a pop it’s going to be a while. Anyway, they’re still working out the kinks. What did you think of Kingsman Helms?”
“Good-looking. Going places. I pity who gets in his way.…Paul?”
“What?”
“Is Doug Case one of the ‘saved’?”
“The ‘saved’?”
“Is Doug Case one of the former agents who you’ve rescued with your covert MacArthur-genius grants?” Jessica said.
“Covert MacArthurs? I like that.” Paul Janson showed his pleasure with a smile. “Good a name as any.”
Jessica stared at him, demanding an answer.
Janson was not inclined to answer. Rules kept him alive. Both of them alive. Need to know was the primary rule. “ Whydo you ask?”
“This doctor rescue is not a good job.”
“I would not call it a piece of cake,” said Janson. “But it’s not as grim as Doug made it out to Helms. Strict in-out. Insertion and extraction.”
“A rebel camp that successfully defends itself is a hornet’s nest.”
“You and I have done worse.”
“I’m trying to figure out why you want to take the job.”
“The doctor deserves rescuing.”
“So do a lot of people. Lucky for him ASC can afford our fee. But that’s not why you want the job. Is it because Kingsman Helms and Douglas Case are cooking up something they didn’t tell us about?”
“I don’t know about ‘cooking up.’ They’re probably just holding something back.”
“They are lying,” she said firmly. “You know it and that intrigues you.”
Kincaid knew Janson so well she could see on his face the lupine gleam of the hunter catching movement on the periphery of its vision. No, she corrected herself. Not lupine, he’s not an animal in the woods; he’s more like a pirate: Something was out there and he was sailing closer, wondering was it something he wanted?
But Janson only shook his head. “I don’t knowthat they’re lying.”
He extinguished the gleam so thoroughly that even she could not tell what he was thinking. “But yes, I am intrigued. For the U.S. and China, and anyone else trying to corner a stable source of oil, the Gulf of Guinea looks more and more like an end run around the mess in the Middle East. The stakes are huge, potentially.”
Kincaid knew that. It was obvious. What was not obvious to her, and it drove her crazy, was what he was really thinking. What did Janson want? He was as complicated a person as she had ever known. She had learned that his apparent straightforwardness was more a factor of acute decisiveness. Like her, he thought and acted quickly. It was necessary to survive. But in Paul’s case, she thought, decisiveness masked complication.
“But it’s more than that,” she pressed him. “I think you are also influenced by concern for Doug Case. Isn’t that the truth?”
“The truth?” Janson returned a bantering smile.“Our old friend.”
“ Yourold friend,” she retorted, and watched his thoughts sink inward.
To keep healing Paul Janson knew that he had to brave the truth daily: Crimes he had committed to serve his country were still crimes; assassinating even the most deserving of termination was murder; a successful assassin was a serial killer; and unless an agent possessed the empty heart of a sociopath, murder after murder exacted a fierce toll on the murderer.
But as he had explained years ago to Doug Case, admitting the truth could only save him if he atoned. He could not change the past, but he could work with every fiber in his being to make amends. That was his dream, one that was battered daily by reality, human failings, moral conundrums, and the paradox of atoning for violence with violence.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Doug is one of the ‘saved.’ ”
“I knewit!” she said triumphantly. “The Phoenix strikes again.”
“Doug was my first. Back when I was blundering around on my own.”
Doug Case had been right about one thing: Janson had soon discovered that it was impossible to do it alone. The man who loathed institutions had to create one. He had recruited experts to help create the Phoenix Foundation to seek out and rehabilitate former covert officers suffering the mental wounds of dehumanizing service. Astute management of the money planted in his overseas accounts, bold moves at moments of financial meltdown, and some astonishing good luck helped pay for Phoenix grants to former covert operators to set them up in academia or public service or community institutions. Jobs like this one to rescue ASC’s doctor earned the money to maintain facilitators, specialized operators, computer wizards, and hackers.
None knew the whole story. Jessica was special and knew more than most.
“Doug is also a major success. Head of global security for the biggest oil company in the world. In his so-called spare time he’s big brother, dad, and uncle to an entire halfway house for former gangbangers crippled in shoot-outs. At Christmas everybody gets an electric superchair.”
“What did he do? What did you save him from?”
“Nothing you need to know.”
“Of course I don’t needto know. Except if I’m suddenly hanging upside down by my ankles watching you get tortured and waiting for my turn, I would like to think that we went into this job with our eyes open.”
“Funny you should mention torture.”
“What is funny about torture?”
“Doug Case was against torture. Vehemently. He believed that everyone—citizen, soldier, covert agent—was in the war against terror. Therefore, he claimed, we should not destroy the best part of ourselves—our civilization, our morals—just to save ourselves. He said innocent victims who are killed because a terrorist was nottortured into giving up information die serving the greater good.”
“Which is?”
“Our decency.”