“I think not.” Mercer was going to meet with Hyde, but in any opening negotiations with someone who wanted something, it was best to quickly establish control. “Shall we say noon at the Willard Hotel? You can buy me lunch while we talk.”
Hyde chuckled. “Very good, sir. I knew your price would be high. However, it’ll be worth it. For both of us. Tomorrow at noon.”
“Tomorrow at noon,” Mercer agreed and hung up.
Now, what in the hell was that all about? He finished dressing and left to meet Harry, realizing that the tension he’d felt this morning was gone.
Across town, the listener waited a few seconds for both parties to clear the line, then began tapping at the computer in front of him. Behind him, his superior waited, watching the screen as the listener attempted to track the signal from their bug.
While the living room of the College Park apartment had traditional furniture, the two bedrooms were unlike any other in the high-rise complex a few blocks from the University of Maryland. The first contained desks, computers, and all manner of communications gear with one wall dominated by a large map of the city. The other was furnished with three sets of bunk beds, jammed together so closely that only a narrow walkway separated them. The permanent staff who used the suite slept in shifts to minimize their conspicuousness.
“It’s an unlisted number in the Washington area. Give me a second to track it down,” the eavesdropper said. The computer whirled frantically, narrowing down through the unlisted numbers until it found the one it wanted. The algorithms used for the search were the most sophisticated in the communications encryption/decryption arena and halved the time normally needed to trace calls.
“Philip Mercer,” the listener said to his boss. “I’ve got an address in Arlington. The computer’s about to print out a hard copy of their conversation.”
“Do you have anything on him in Archive?”
The listener cleared his screen and brought up their massive database. A moment later, a slim dossier of Philip Mercer appeared. The overseer, a medium-built man in his late thirties with black curling hair and strong dark eyes, read the file as his aide scrolled through it, memorizing nearly everything with just a glimpse. It was a skill he had been taught, not born with.
“I have no doubt why Hyde’s calling in this geologist,” the leader said, then called to a man in the front room of the apartment. “Come in here, please.”
The man wore a plain gray suit, and his skin and features were so ordinary that he almost blended with the walls of the bedroom. If one wasn’t actually looking at him, he seemed to have the ability to hide in plain sight, a talent necessary for a field operative.
“Sir, Hyde is making another call,” the listener said, pressing the earphones tighter to his skull.
The group leader led the other agent to the kitchen to give the communications officer privacy to do his job. “I want round-the-clock surveillance on a man named Philip Mercer. Hyde may be bringing him in, and we need to know everything about him. I’m going to get a full background check as soon as possible, but I want teams in place immediately.”
The man nodded.
“I have a feeling that this may be the one we’ve been waiting for,” the team leader continued. “Use as many men as necessary and for now assume Mercer knows counter-surveillance techniques. Understood?”
“Anything else, sir?”
“No. As soon as I get anything from the background check, I’ll let you know.”
Washington, D.C
The Willard Hotel has been around for generations and has gone through numerous transformations since the time it was the home away from home for senators and representatives, a time when politics wasn’t a full-time profession, merely a yearly calling. Renowned as one of the finest establishments in the city, the hotel’s Round Robin Bar exuded an aura of wealth and power and privilege with subdued lighting, heavy woodwork, and a skilled but unobtrusive staff.
Sipping his first vodka gimlet of the day, Mercer debated with himself whether he should have done a Nexis background check on Prescott Hyde. Certainly, the powerful news search system would contain general information on the Undersecretary; however, he hadn’t bothered. He had a sneaking suspicion that this meeting was a fool’s errand.
The Round Robin was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday. He overheard two men arguing a pending House bill a few stools down on the bar, and clusters of men and women were conferencing around the numerous low tables. Black-tied waitresses laden with trays of drinks and snacks danced around the furniture, their movements appearing choreographed. Mercer liked to see anyone, no matter who, do a job well. He suspected that these women were better waitresses than the people they served were public officials.
“Dr. Mercer?” The maître d’ was at Mercer’s shoulder. “Your party is here.”
“Thank you.” Mercer glanced at his aged Tag Heuer watch. To his surprise, Hyde was right on time.
Walking behind the maître d’, Mercer felt his stomach suddenly knot up. It was an old feeling, the sixth sense that had kept him alive countless times. It had saved him while working underground when millions of tons of earth were about to collapse and aboveground as well, when the danger was from men, not nature. It was telling him that something wasn’t right. He spun quickly, scanning the patrons in the bar. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but there was a tingle at the base of his neck and he didn’t know why. He swung back and followed the retreating maître d’ into the dining room.
The watcher was not certain if she had been seen; but her orders were clear. While Mercer’s glance had passed right by her as she sat unassumingly in a corner thumbing a Washington guide book, she felt it wasn’t worth the chance.
She reached into the pocket of her skirt, making sure her motions were masked by the folds of her sweater and double-clicked the micro-burst transmitter all of the team carried. Seconds later, another member of their detail walked in, alerted by a similar transmission from their cell leader. The woman did not acknowledge her teammate. She simply finished what little remained of her diet soda and signaled the waitress for her bill.
While no surveillance is immune from detection, usually no more than ten people are needed to maintain a twenty-four-hour watch on even the most paranoid target. Such was their interest in Mercer that all twelve operatives stationed in Maryland were assigned to shadow him and report on his every movement. As the woman walked out of the hotel to catch a taxi, she realized she hadn’t been told who Philip Mercer was or what the interest in him could be.
“Dr. Mercer, I presume?” Prescott Hyde laughed at his tired joke as he proffered a hand.
Hyde was in his early fifties, almost completely bald, with a fleshiness that showed self-indulgence. His face was dominated by a large chiseled nose that on someone else would have been distinctive but on him simply looked big. His chin was soft and his cheeks were rounded, giving him an open, comforting quality. But as Mercer shook his hand, he noticed that Hyde’s eyes were hard behind gold-rimmed glasses.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Undersecretary.”
“I thought we dispensed with that yesterday. Please, it’s Bill. My middle name is William, thank God. I can’t imagine going through life being called Prescott.” Hyde flashed another smile. His teeth were perfect. Capped.
Until they ordered, the conversation was dominated by Hyde, who turned out to be a gracious host, talking about the latest scandals within the halls of power with an insider’s knowledge and a gossip’s love of speculation. Mercer ordered another gimlet while they waited for their food. Hyde drank sparkling water.