The Icarus Agenda

'One of these days we've got to get rid of that garbage,' said Mitchell Payton.

'It works, MJ. If I'd used “Banana Two”, how would you have responded?'

'I'd have called your father and told him you were a naughty girl.'

'We don't count. We know each other… What is it?'

'I don't want to talk to Evan, he's too upset to think clearly. You have to.'

'I'll try. What's your query?'

'I want your evaluation. The information you got from that fellow you went to see from the old Off Shore Investment crowd in Nassau—you're convinced he's reliable, aren't you?'

'His information is, he isn't, but he can't hide if he lied for money. The man's a floating drunk who lives off what's left of his wits, which may have been more acute before his brain was soaked in gin. Evan showed him two thousand in cash and, believe me, he would have given away the secrets of the drug trade for it.'

'Do you recall exactly what he said about the woman, Ardis Montreaux?'

'Certainly. He said that he kept track of the money-whore, as he called her, because she owed him and one day he was going to collect.'

'I mean her marital status.'

'Of course I remember, but Evan told you over the phone, I heard him.'

'Tell me yourself. No mistakes can be made.'

'All right. She divorced the banker, Frazier-Pyke, and married a wealthy Californian from Sun Francisco named Von Lindemann.'

'He was specific about San Francisco?'

'Not actually. He said, “San Francisco or Los Angeles”, I think. But he was very specific about California, that was the point. Her new husband was a Californian and terribly rich.'

'And the name—try to recall precisely. You're certain it was Von Lindemann?'

'Well… yes. We met him in a booth at the junkanoo and there was a steel band, but yes, that was the name. Or if it isn't exact, it's certainly close enough.'

'Banco!' cried Payton. 'Close enough, my dear. She married a man named Vanvlanderen, Andrew Vanvlanderen, from Palm Springs.'

'So blame a mouth drowned in gin.'

'We're beyond gin, Field Agent Rashad. Andrew Vanvlanderen is one of Langford Jennings's most distinguished contributors—read that as a mother lode for the presidential coffers.'

'That's interesting.'

'Oh, we're even beyond interest. Ardisolda Wojak Montreaux Frazier-Pyke Vanvlanderen, an admittedly gifted and obviously talented administrator, is currently Vice President Orson Bollinger's chief of staff.'

"That's fascinating.'

'I think the situation calls for an informal but nonetheless quite official visit from one of our Middle East specialists—you'll be in southwest Colorado, barely an hour away. I choose you.'

'Good God, MJ, on what basis?'

'Threats were supposedly made against Bollinger and an FBI unit was assigned to him. They kept it quiet—too quiet in my judgment—and now the unit's suddenly recalled, the emergency declared over.'

'Coinciding with the attacks on Fairfax and Mesa Verde?' suggested Khalehla, sharply interrupting.

'It sounds crazy, I know, but it's there. Call it the twitching of an old professional's nostrils, but I detect an odour of amateurish offal drifting out of San Diego.'

'Implicating the Bureau?' asked Rashad, astonished.

'No… Using it. I'm working on an inter-agency interrogation. I intend to interview every member of that unit.'

'You still haven't answered me. What's the reason for my going to San Diego? We're not domestic.'

'The same as mine for questioning the unit. With regard to those threats against Bollinger, we're looking into the possibility of terrorist involvement. The good Lord knows that if we're pressed to reveal tonight's events, we have every justification… I don't know where it is, my dear, but somewhere in this madness there's a connection—and a blond man with a European accent.'

Khalehla glanced around the cabin as she spoke. The two attendants were talking quietly in their seats and Evan was staring blankly out of the window. 'I'll do it, of course, but you're not making my life any easier. It's obvious that my boy had an affair with this Vanvlanderen woman—not that it bothers me but it bothers him.'

'Why? That strikes me as an odd sort of morality. It was a long time ago.'

'You're missing the point, MJ. Sex isn't the morality. He was conned, seduced into almost becoming an international crook, and he can't forget it or forgive himself maybe.'

'Then I'll relieve your concerns for the time being. Kendrick must not be told anything about San Diego at this juncture. In his state of mind God knows what he'd do if he even had an inkling of such a connection, and we don't need any loose cannons. Make up something about an emergency business trip and be convincing. I want you to interrogate that very odd lady from left field. I'll prepare a scenario for you by morning.'

‘I’ll handle it.'

'I trust you brought your hat-switch papers out of Cairo, didn't you?'

'Of course.'

'You may want to use them. We're on extremely thin ice. Incidentally, none of our people know you nor do you know them. If I come up with something, I'll somehow relay it through Weingrass in Colorado… Very thin ice.'

'Even Evan realizes that.'

'May I ask how things are going with you two? I warn you, I'm inordinately fond of him.'

'Let's put it this way. We had a lovely two-bedroom suite at Cable Beach and last night I could hear him pacing the living room outside my door until all hours of the morning. I damn near walked out and ordered him inside.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Because everything's so confusing for us, so consuming for him—and now tonight, so horrible. I don't think either of us could handle personal complications.'

'Thank heavens we're on a scrambler. Follow your instincts, Field Agent Rashad. They've served us well in Special Projects… I'll call you in the morning with instructions. Good hunting, dear niece.'

Khalehla returned to her seat and Evan's anxious stare. 'Other worlds go on and they're just as deadly, I'm afraid,' she said, buckling her seat belt. 'That was the station chief in Cairo. Two of our contacts disappeared in the Sidi Barrani district—it's a Libyan connection. I told him what to look for and whom to go after… How are you feeling?'

'All right,' he answered, studying her face.

'Our distinguished passengers and our not too shabby crew,' came the general's deep loud voice over the intercom from the flight deck. 'It seems we're destined to repeat ourselves, Dr Axelrod. Remember that “southern island”?' The pilot went on to explain that in order to avoid the excitement—and publicity—of an 'AF bird' dropping in at the airport of Durango or Cortez, they were instructed to head directly into the one at Mesa Verde. The runway was deemed officially adequate 'but our touchdown could be a mite rocky so when I give the word, belt 'em up tight. We're starting our descent from the satellites; arrival estimated in forty-five minutes—if I can find the damn place… Remember, Doctor?'

As the general had predicted with considerable understatement, the landing shook the aircraft with a series of massive vibrations, the blasting eruptions of the braking jets filling the fuselage. Outside on the ground, thanks were expressed, goodbyes said, and the brigadier delivered his special cargo to a field officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. Khalehla and Evan were ushered quickly to an armour-plated vehicle flown down from Denver, their motorcycle escort an armed six-man contingent from the State Police, oblivious as to why the governor's office had ordered them to the backcountry 'millionaires' airport' near the Mesa Verde National Park.

'Let me get you current, Congressman,' said the CIA man, sitting, as had his colleague in the Bahamas, in the front seat beside the driver. 'There are five of us here, but two will fly back to Virginia with the prisoner and the three dead bodies… I'm spelling things out because I was told I can speak in front of the lady, that you were official, miss.'