“Yes, I know,” Mitchell continued, “the ring is genuine, but the finger was not Erin’s. When you landed at Ramstein and turned it over to my staff, we ran the fingerprint against everything in our database. If it was Erin’s, we would have known immediately. We also tested the DNA. Believe me, it wasn’t her.”
“Then I don’t… what are you saying?”
“There’s a chance — a slight chance — that Erin is still alive.”
Bennett could feel an injection of adrenaline surge into his system. But it was anger, not elation. “How long have you known this?” he asked, his eyes flashing.
“I got the word Tuesday afternoon.”
“It took you two days to tell me? Who the—”
“Jack didn’t tell you because I told him not to,” MacPherson stepped in. “You needed sleep. We needed more data. That’s what I’ve had Jack doing for the last forty-eight hours.”
Bennett bit his tongue.
“I’m not trying to minimize what you’re feeling right now, Jon,” Mitchell continued. “But Erin McCoy is an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. We recruited her. We trained her. We—I—sent her to work for you, at the president’s direction. I put her at your side. I put her in Moscow. I know, it’s not the same. I’m not saying it is. But she’s one of our own, and we’re doing everything we can to track her down and get her back safely.
“The fingerprint isn’t our only clue. An eyewitness who was there the night of the coup says she saw a woman matching Erin’s description being taken out of the Kremlin and loaded into an ambulance. We’ve got a satellite photo that shows an ambulance arriving around that same time.”
“Do you have a photo of her alive?”
“No, unfortunately we don’t. But I’ve got assets scouring every part of Moscow. Every hospital. Every clinic. Every hotel. Anywhere we can send human agents or direct our satellites, we’re doing it. The president has ordered me to make finding her a top priority, but frankly, even if he hadn’t, we’d be doing it anyway. I don’t know what we’re going to find. I can’t tell you the outcome is going to be any different than what you thought it was a few minutes ago. But we’re trying everything we can. I thought you deserved to know that.”
The room was silent.
Just because it wasn’t McCoy’s finger didn’t mean she wasn’t dead, Bennett told himself. And just because someone said they’d seen her being put into an ambulance, what did that really prove? Nothing.
Bennett didn’t think he had the emotional energy for another roller coaster. But neither did he have a choice. If there was even the thinnest chance Erin was alive, he had to pursue every lead. The question was how.
Not alone.
That much he knew for certain.
24
Mordechai stared at the e-mail in his in-box.
He was not accustomed to communicating with the Israeli prime minister this way. But there was no mistaking the return address. This was a personal note from David Doron himself, sent through the e-mail account of his executive assistant.
“Eli — how are you, my friend? I hope all is well. My staff and I have reviewed your report on Operation Chunnel. A job very well done. I share your concern that the traffic, thus far, has been light, but this does not worry me. Now that the pipeline is built, the odds of its increased use are far better than they were, no? That said, I need something else — we’ve just learned that Gogolov held a private dinner meeting the other night with a number of key European and Asian ambassadors, including E.U.’s Lucente. No word on the evening’s agenda or any action items, but I would greatly value your take on events unfolding in Moscow. What do you believe are GOG’s objectives? How serious are they about provoking a confrontation with WH? Do you believe they have designs on the ME? SOI? When you’re ready to brief me, let me know and we’ll have lunch. — DD.”
On one level, Mordechai was flattered, to be sure. He’d been out of the game for some time, and it felt good to be of some use again.
But one word jumped off the screen and grabbed him by the throat.
GOG.
Why had Doron used it? What exactly did he mean by it?
Operation Chunnel made sense — that was the code word the Mossad had assigned to his trip to Iraq and his back-channel dealing with President Al-Hassani.
WH was the White House.
ME meant the Middle East.
SOI was the State of Israel.
But GOG? Did the prime minister realize what he was asking?
Mordechai quickly typed a reply.
“Dear Mr. Prime Minister — thank you so much for your note. I am well, and glad you found my report helpful. Let us hope you are right and Chunnel proves operational in both directions. That said, I am also honored by your latest request. I will give it some thought and get back to you soon. After all, have I ever turned down a free lunch? Forgive me, though. To what does ‘GOG’ refer? Guess I really am getting old. Faithfully, Eli.”
He read it over several times.
Was he overreacting? Was he tipping his hand? He didn’t think so. It sounded like a simple enough question. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready for the answer. But he had to know, and before he could second-guess himself, Mordechai hit Send.
Who was Yuri Gogolov?
For Bennett, the question burned in his gut night after night. To find and kill him, he had to know everything.
He knew what he was feeling was wrong. But he couldn’t help the rage he felt at the monster who might have killed the woman he loved. Even if Erin was still alive — a hope he still did not allow himself to cling to — Gogolov had to die for what he’d done to her.
But how much did the U.S. government really know?
For the last several years, the FBI had ranked Gogolov at the top of its Most Wanted List. He was believed to be the founder, financier, and strategic godfather of Al-Nakbah. He had, therefore, been implicated in the attempt on the lives of Bennett, McCoy, and Dr. Mordechai in Jerusalem several years previously, as well as in the successful assassination of the U.S. secretary of state and the chairman of the Palestinian Authority in Gaza City, an attack from which Bennett and McCoy had only narrowly escaped themselves.
Gogolov was believed to be the mastermind of a series of assassination attempts against the president of the United States and other NATO leaders over the past several years, aided by Mohammed Jibril, believed to be a senior member of Iranian intelligence.
But thus far, ironclad proof had been elusive. The case against Gogolov was largely circumstantial, and the physical evidence was underwhelming at best. Yet the U.S. government was convinced that Gogolov was extremely dangerous and had a long history of living up to his deadly reputation.
The financial resources available to Gogolov and Jibril were virtually unlimited. The breadth and depth of their network of allies and sources was beyond anything Bennett had ever seen before.
So how in the world was Bennett going to get to him? It wasn’t just a matter of identifying where McCoy was being held — if she was even still alive. He needed to get inside these men’s heads. He needed to understand who they were, what they wanted, how they operated, and what they might be planning next.
Bennett could set up base camp at Langley and pore over everything they had, but even this was not enough. As far as Bennett could tell, the CIA didn’t know who they were up against any better than he did. Neither did the NSC.