The Icarus Agenda

'I'd rather not.'

'Then there were four or five on-scene Arabs, the best we and the Company have, each of whom studied your photograph but weren't given your identity. They couldn't tell what they didn't know. The last two did know who you were, one was on the scene, the other here at OHIO-Four-Zero running the computers.'

'The computers?' asked Kendrick. 'Printouts?'

'You were programmed only on his; you were zapped from the central unit. His name's Gerald Bryce and if he's the whistleblower, I'll turn myself in to the FBI as Mr. Bolaslawski's Jewish mole for the Soviets. He's bright and quick and a whiz with the equipment, no one better. He'll run Cons Op some day if the girls leave him alone long enough to punch a clock.'

'A playboy?'

'Landsakes, Reverend, shall we go to vespers? The kid's twenty-six and better looking than he has a right to be. He's also unmarried, and one hell of a cocksman—others talk about it; he never does. I think that's why I like him. There aren't too many gentlemen left in this world.'

'I like him already. Who was the last person, the one on the scene who knew me?'

Frank Swann leaned forward, fingering his empty glass, staring at it before raising his eyes to Kendrick. 'I thought you might have figured that out for yourself.'

'What? Why?'

'Adrienne Rashad.'

'Doesn't mean a thing."

'She used a cover—’

'Adrienne…? A woman? Swann nodded. Evan frowned, then suddenly opened his eyes wide, his brows arched. 'Khalehla?' he whispered. The man from the State Department nodded again. 'She was one of you?'

'Well, not one of mine, but one of us.'

'Christ, she got me out of the airport in Bahrain! That big son of a bitch MacDonald slammed me into the concourse traffic—I was damn near killed and didn't know where I was. She got me out of there—how the hell she did it, I don't know!'

'I do,' said Swann. 'She threatened to blow the heads off a few Bahrainian police unless they passed her code name up the line and got clearance to take you out. She not only got clearance but also a car from the royal garage.'

'You say she was one of us, but not one of you. What does that mean?'

'She's Agency but she's also special, a real untouchable. She has contacts all over the Gulfs and the Mediterranean; the CIA doesn't allow anyone to mess with her.'

'Without her my cover might have been blown at the airport.'

'Without her you would have been a target for every terrorist walking around Bahrain, including the Mahdi's soldiers.'

Kendrick was briefly silent, his eyes wandering, his lips parted, a memory. 'Did she tell you where she hid me?'

'She refused.'

'She could do that?'

'I told you, she's special.'

'I see,' said Evan softly.

'I think I do, too,' said Swann.

'What do you mean by that?'

'Nothing. She got you out of the airport and roughly six hours later made contact.'

'Is that unusual?'

'Under the circumstances, you could say it was extraordinary. Her job was to keep you under surveillance and to immediately report any drastic moves on your part directly to Crawford at Langley, who was to contact me for instructions. She didn't do that, and in her official debriefing, she omitted any reference to those six hours.'

'She had to protect the place where we were hiding.'

'Of course. It had to be royal, and nobody screws around with the Emir or his family.'

'Of course.' Kendrick again was silent and again he looked into the dark regions of the decrepit bar. 'She was a nice person,' he said slowly, hesitantly. 'We talked. She understood so many things. I admired her.'

'Hey, come on, Congressman.' Swann leaned over his empty glass. 'You think it's the first time?'

'What?'

'Two people in a hairy situation, a man and a woman, neither one knowing whether he or she'll see another day or another week. So they get together, it's natural. So what?'

'That's offensive as hell, Frank. She meant something to me.'

'All right, I'll be blunt. I don't think you meant anything to her. She's a professional who's gone through a few black wars in her AOO.'

'Her what? Will you please speak English, or Arabic, if you like, but something that makes sense.'

'Area of Operations—'

'They used that in the newspapers.'

'Not my fault. If it was up to me, I'd neutralize every bastard who wrote those articles.'

'Please don't tell me what “neutralize” means.'

'I won't. I'm only telling you that in the field we all slip now and then when we're exhausted, or just plain scared. We take a few hours of secure pleasure and write it off as a long overdue bonus. Would you believe we even have lectures on the subject for people we send out?'

'I believe it now. To be honest with you—the circumstances crossed my mind at the time.'

'Good. Write her off. She's strictly Mediterranean and hasn't anything to do with the local scene. For starters, you'd probably have to fly to North Africa to find her.'

'So all I've got is a man named Crawford in Langley and a station chief in Bahrain."

'No. You've got a blond man with a Middle-European accent operating here in Washington. Operating very deep. He got information somewhere and not from me, not from OHIO-Four-Zero. Find him.'

Swarm gave Evan the standard private numbers at both his office and his apartment and rushed out of the dark, seedy bar as if he needed air. Kendrick ordered a rye from the heavy black waitress with the flaming red hair and asked her where the pay telephone was, if it existed. She told him.

'If you slam it twice on the lower left corner, you'll get your quarter back,' offered the woman.

'If I do, I'll give it to you, okay?' said Evan.

'Give it to your friend,' replied the woman. 'Crumbs in suits never leave no tips, white or black, makes no difference.'

Kendrick got up from the booth and walked cautiously to the dark wall and the phone. It was time to call his office. He could not put any more pressure on Mrs. Ann Mulcahy O'Reilly. Squinting, he inserted the coin and dialled.

'Congressman Kendrick's—'

'It's me, Annie,' broke in Evan.

'My God, where are you? It's after five and this place is still a madhouse!'

'That's why I'm not there.'

'Before I forget!' cried Mrs. Mulcahy breathlessly, 'Manny called a while ago and was very emphatic but not loud—which I think means he's as serious as he can be.'

'What did he say?'

'That you're not to reach him on the Colorado line.'

'What?'

'He told me to say “allcott massghoul”, whatever the hell that is.'

'It's very clear, Annie.' Weingrass had said alkhatt mash-ghool, Arabic for 'the line is engaged', a simple euphemism for tampered with, or tapped. If Manny was right, a trace could be lasered out and the origin of any incoming call identified in a matter of moments. 'I won't make any calls to Colorado,' added Evan.

'He said to tell you that when things calm down, he'll drive to Mesa Verde and call me here and give me a number where you can reach him.'

'I'll check back with you.'

'Now then, Mr. Superman, is it true what everyone's saying? Did you really do all those things in Oman or wherever it is?'

'Only a few of them. They left out a lot of people who should have been included. Someone's trying to make me out to be something I'm not. How are you handling things?'