“Sir.” A steward interrupted him as he sat on the sundeck of the large yacht, admiring the blue of the sea and sky.
“Yes.”
“The captain asked me to inform you that we will arrive after dawn tomorrow, as you requested.”
“Excellent,” Adina replied, then sent the young man on his way.
He sat back and reached for the beverage on the table beside him, taking a sip of the cold, fruity drink. He reflected on his meeting with Hwang, Kim Jong-Il’s plenipotentiary for subversive activities. He was surprised the man knew so little of the plans that were already under way, but he allowed himself a silent nod of respect for Kim’s obvious caution, if not paranoia. At least the North Koreans were now fully on board and would fulfill their end of the bargain. That was the important thing.
A few moments later, one of the other passengers on this voyage came on deck.
“Renaldo. Sit,” Adina said in Spanish. “Have a look at this beautiful day.”
Renaldo, some thirty years Adina’s junior, took the chair beside him.
“Would you like a rum punch? Quite delicious.”
Also speaking in their native tongue, Renaldo declined the offer. Then he said, “We have had further confirmation from Tehran.”
“Indeed?”
“The authorities have completed their search through the rubble at Jaber’s home. They recovered the remains of one body in the bedroom.”
Adina considered that for a moment. “Remains? Have they verified that the deceased was Ahmad Jaber?”
“Not yet.”
“The death of such an important man and still no positive identification?” Adina shook his head, as if disappointed in the Iranians for such inefficiency. “Has DNA testing begun?”
“I am not sure, we’re attempting to find out.”
“Do that,” Adina told him, then took another drink of the punch. “Was there no one else found in the house?”
“Not that I know of.”
“No sign of his wife?”
“Not that we have been told.”
“Isn’t that interesting?” He turned from the glorious scenery, having been nearly mesmerized by the steady wake of the large ship. Now he cast an inquiring look at his companion. “As I recall the dossier, Jaber was married, was he not?”
Renaldo nodded.
“Odd then, don’t you think, that after a morning visit from Seyed Asghari, he meets his end that very same night amid the total destruction of his home and yet his wife is nowhere to be found?”
Adina did not await a reply, sending Renaldo on his way to make further inquiries. Then he returned to his ruminations about Hwang, regretting that these developments might require him to have further dealings within Iran.
CHAPTER TEN
Sandor and his team were told to put their affairs in order before they left for Toronto the following morning. The true risk of this sort of mission went unspoken, but it was understood that certain matters must be attended to before they became four Canadians en route to Beijing.
Each went his separate way, dealing with their families and personal issues. Sandor was flown back to Teterboro, then driven into Manhattan. He made a few phone calls from the road, then headed for his first stop, dinner with his best friend, Bill Sternlich.
Sternlich was an articles editor for the New York Times. He and Sandor had been close for many years, dating back to Bill’s assignment in the Washington bureau when Sandor was working out of Langley. They had both since returned to New York, their friendship intact despite the huge political divide that separated them. Sternlich was a confirmed liberal, his perspective having become even more skewed, as Sandor taunted him, by his long-running association with America’s most shamelessly slanted newspaper. Sandor, according to Bill Sternlich, was just slightly to the right of Attila the Hun.
In fact, neither assessment was true. Sternlich was possessed of a far more moderate perspective than one would usually find in the daily screeds on the Times’ op-ed page. Sandor, although an archconservative in matters of national security and the sort of advocate for individualism that would make Ayn Rand proud, could be something of a social liberal, for which he was frequently teased by his friend.
Political differences aside, there were indeed professional considerations that weighed heavily on the friendship. Sandor was limited in what he could discuss about his work for the government and, what little he might share, Bill generally could not print. Nevertheless, Sandor provided leads when he could, and Sternlich had been helpful in acquiring background information on more than one occasion, even managing to publish a piece that Sandor had penned when he was posing as a retired State Department attaché working as a freelance political writer. The friendship had survived, even in the face of recent events that had shaken them both.
By the time Sandor arrived back in the city it was after seven in the evening. They agreed to meet at one of their regular haunts, Esca, on Forty-third Street and Ninth Avenue. Sternlich had reserved a table in the corner of the back room, where he was waiting when Sandor arrived.
Bill stood and greeted his friend with a warm hug. “Been a while, pal.”
“Yes, it has.”
Sternlich was a few years older than Sandor, nearly forty-one, with the unmistakable look of a man devoted to a lifelong desk job. He sported a soft middle, pale complexion, and receding hairline, and his bespectacled gaze always bore that slightly weary look of someone who simply did not get out in the world enough. “So,” Sternlich said as they took their seats, “it’s time to catch up.”
Sandor began by inquiring about Bill’s wife, of whom he was very fond, then about Bill’s children, a young boy and girl Jordan found endlessly amusing. After that he hesitated before asking about Beth Sharrow.
“She’s coming along,” Sternlich said. “Time for you to see her again, I think.”
Beth was an Agency analyst in the New York office. She and Sandor had been an item a few years back, and she became close with Sternlich and his wife. Beth remained friendly with the Sternlichs after her romance with Sandor ended, as all of his romances ended, without resolution or reason. During Sandor’s most recent assignment, Beth had unfortunately become embroiled in the action when she was identified as someone with access to him. She suffered a vicious beating that would certainly have killed her if Sandor’s backup team had not arrived in time to take out the assassin and save her life. Sandor felt completely responsible.
Beth was hospitalized for several days, then spent time in rehab, where they worked on her broken jaw as well as her shattered psyche. Sandor visited her in the hospital as soon as he returned from Europe, but the doctors thought it might be best for him to stay away for a while.
Sternlich had agreed at the time.
“It might actually help for her to see you at this point,” Sternlich admitted.
Sandor nodded. “As soon as I get back.”
His friend responded with an uneasy smile. “Are we going on the road again?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I thought you were still on some sort of medical leave.”
“Some sort, but I’m ready to go.”
“Right back into the deep end of the swimming pool, eh?”
“Something like that.”