The Icarus Agenda

'I've been here,' agreed Manny, without comment.

'Wait a minute!' exclaimed Payton. 'You said three were dead, but you're talking to me, you're all right.'

'The three were them, not us, Mr. CIA Incompetent.'

'What? . . .Jesus Christ

'He wasn't much help. Try Abraham.'

'Please be clearer, Mr. Weingrass.'

'I had to kill them. But the fourth's alive and under sedation. Get your experts out here before I kill him, too.'

The Icarus Agenda

Chapter 29

The CIA station chief in the Bahamas, a short, deeply tanned man with broad features, manoeuvred quickly from his office at the embassy on Queen Street. An armed escort was sent by the Nassau police to the Cable Beach Hotel, on the shores of Bay Road, where four uniformed officers rapidly accompanied a tall man with light brown hair and a striking olive-skinned woman from their suite on the seventh floor to a waiting vehicle in the efficiently emptied drive outside the imposing marble lobby. The hotel's director of operations, an alert Scotsman named McLeod, had mapped out a route through the service corridors, where his most trusted security guards stood watch, to the brightly lit entrance fronted by two enormous fountains sending floodlit sprays up into the dark sky. McLeod's two assistants, an immense good-humoured man with a booming laugh and the improbable name of Vernal, accompanied by an attractive young hostess, courteously explained to those arriving and departing that the delays would be brief. They persuasively explained while the five-man motorcycle unit swept the dramatically shadowed grounds. The station chief had personalized everything; favours were done for him. He knew by name everyone there was to know in the Bahamas. And they knew him. In silence. Evan and Khalehla, shielded by the wall of police, climbed into the government vehicle, the CIA man in the front seat. Kendrick was beyond talking; Khalehla could only grip his hand, knowing only too well what he was experiencing. Clarity of thought eluded him; burning sorrow and a furious anger had replaced it. Tears had welled in his eyes over the deaths of Kashi and Sabri Hassan; he did not have to be told of the mutilations, he could easily, horribly imagine what they were. Yet those tears had been quickly, impulsively wiped away by a clenched fist. A reckoning was coming, that, too, was in his eyes, in the cores of his pupils. Fury.

'As you can understand, Congressman,' said the station chief, turning partially around in the seat beside the driver, 'I don't know what's going on but I can tell you that a plane from Holmstead Air Force Base in Florida is on its way to take you back to Washington. It should arrive about five or ten minutes after we get to the airport.'

'We know that,' said Khalehla pleasantly.

'It would have been here by now but they said there's rotten weather in Miami and several commercial flights are on the same route. That probably means they wanted to stock up the aircraft properly for you, sir—I mean the two of you, of course.'

'That's most kind of them,' said the field agent from Cairo, squeezing Evan's hand, conveying the fact that he did not have to speak.

'If there's anything you think you might have left behind at the hotel, we'll gladly take care of it—’

'There's nothing,' exclaimed Kendrick, whispering harshly.

'He means we've taken care of everything, thank you,' said Khalehla, pulling Evan's hand against her leg and grasping it even more firmly. 'This is obviously an emergency and the congressman has a great deal on his mind. May I assume we've been cleared through customs?'

'This parade is driving straight through the cargo gates,' replied the government man, glancing briefly, closely at Kendrick then turning away as if he had unwittingly invaded another's privacy. The rest of the trip was made in silence until the high steel gates of the cargo terminal swung open and the procession drove through over the tarmac to the end of the first runway.

'The F-106 from Holmstead should be landing soon,' said the station chief.

'I'm getting out.' Evan reached for the handle of the door and yanked it back. It was locked.

'I'd rather you didn't, Congressman Kendrick.'

'Let me out of this car.'

'Evan, it's his job.' Khalehla gently but firmly held Kendrick's arm. 'He has to go by the rules.'

'Do they include suffocating me?'

‘I'm breathing fine—’

'You're not me!'

'I know, darling. No one can be you right now.' Rashad angled her head and looked out of the rear window, scanning the terminal's buildings and the grounds. 'Our status is as clean as it could be," she said, turning back to the intelligence officer. 'Let him walk. I'll stay with him and so can the men.'

'A “clean status”? You're one of us?'

'Yes, but you've already forgotten me, please… The flight to Washington's going to be rough enough.'

'Sure. We're okay. The guy who made up this rule isn't here. He just said, “Don't let him out of that vehicle”, in a very loud voice.'

'MJ can be extreme.'

'MJ…? Come on, let's get some air. Release the doors, please, driver.'

'Thank you,' said Evan quietly to Khalehla. 'And I'm sorry—'

'You don't have a damn thing to be sorry about. Just don't make a liar out of me and get shot. It could ruin my day… Now I'm sorry. It's no time for dumb wisecracks.'

'Wait a minute.' Kendrick began to open the door then stopped, his face inches from hers in the shadows. 'A few moments ago you said that no one could be me right now and I agree. But that said, I'm awfully glad you're you. Right now.'

They walked in a brief Bahamian drizzle, talking quietly, the CIA officer a polite distance behind, the guards flanking them with ominously drawn side arms. Suddenly, from out of the cargo area, a small dark car came racing across the field, its high-pitched engine screaming. The guards converged on Evan and Khalehla, shoving them to the ground, the CIA officer throwing himself over Kendrick and pulling the Rashad woman into his side. As quickly as the panic started, it stopped. There were rapid blasts of a two-note siren; the car was an airport vehicle. The leader of the motorcycle escort holstered his weapon and approached the uniformed man who climbed out of the small car. They talked quietly and the police officer returned to the stunned Americans, who were getting to their feet.

There is an emergency telephone call for your friend, sir,' he said to the station chief.

'Patch it out here.'

'We have no such equipment.'

'I want something better than that.'

'I was told to repeat the letters “MJ”.'

'That's better enough,' said Khalehla. 'I'll go with him.'

'Hey, come on,' countered the CIA man. 'There are other rules, too, and you know them as well as I do. It's a lot easier securing a single than a double. I’ll go and take four men. You stay here with the others and cover for me, okay? This is the meeting ground and you could have a nervous pilot on your hands looking for some special luggage, mainly you.'

The telephone was on the wall of a deserted warehouse. The call was transferred and the first words Kendrick heard from Mitchell Payton caused every muscle in his body to lock, his mind on fire.

'You've got to hear the worst. There was an assault on Mesa Verde—’

'Christ, no!'

'Emmanuel Weingrass is all right! He's all right, Evan.'

'Is he hurt? Wounded?'

'No. In fact he did the wounding—the killing. One of the terrorists is still alive—’

'I want him!' shouted Kendrick.

'So do we. Our people are on the way out there.'

'Mesa Verde was the terrorists' backup for Fairfax, wasn't it?'

'Unquestionably. But right now it's also our only hope in tracking down the others. Whatever that survivor knows, he'll tell us.'

'Keep him alive.'

'Your friend Weingrass has seen to it.'

'Strip him for cyanide.'

'It's been done.'

'He can't be left alone for a minute!'