Dark Heart (DARC Ops Book 3) (6 page)

N
ight had descended
on Washington at the same time as Jackson’s private jet. They boarded a black limo on the warm tarmac of Ronald Reagan, and then crossed the Potomac River, Jackson and Jasper picking up Clarence Mitchell along the way. Mr. Mitchell was the venerable director of Lambert Memorial Hospital, who seemed mostly annoyed with the whole thing. From the hospital, they continued on through the snarled traffic of Capitol Hill. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of police cars that night, some with their lights flashing and parked lengthwise to block this or that street.

“Welcome home,” Jasper teased his boss.

“Yeah, thanks,” grumbled Jackson, not looking up from the glowing screen of his tablet.

“Any idea what this is about?”

“No idea,” said Jackson. “Matthias said it’s been like this all week.”

This
meant a whole slew of detours around the extra police presence. Random road closures. Checkpoints. And
that
meant there had probably been some bomb threats.

“Has there been anything at the hospital?” Jasper asked Clarence. “Any security threats?”

“None at all. It’s been quiet.”

“That’ll change,” said Jackson.

Clarence gave him a mild scowl through the dim lighting of the limo. “I thought you were supposed to be convincing me this was a good idea.”

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” said Jackson. “But it’ll be certainly be a lucrative one for you.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“And soon you’ll find out just how lucrative. Don’t be afraid to haggle a little bit. Money is no object to them.”

Clarence smiled. “So how much are they paying you?”

Jackson lowered his gaze back down to his work.

“Sounds like a lot,” said Clarence. “It better be worth it.”

Their limo was held up by yet another traffic slowdown. A police cruiser was taking up a lane and officers with flashing batons were helping the traffic merge.

“It’s already seeming like such a headache,” said Clarence.

“It’ll look good on you,” said Jackson. “He’s as high-profile as you’re gonna get there.”

“I also heard he’s quite the diva.”

“Well, he’s a prince. What do you expect?”

“I half expected they’d fly him home and do the surgery in the air over the Atlantic.”

Traffic was moving once again, slowly, and the limo drove past the sprawling John F. Kennedy Center, its walls lit brilliantly in the night, the glow reflected onto the choppy, black Potomac behind it.

“We could have even showed them our facilities,” said Clarence. “I don’t know why we couldn’t just meet at the hospital.”

“You’ll see why when you get there,” said Jackson.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, all the security.”

“Well, damn,” said Clarence. “Why not just do the surgery
there
?”

“Sounds like you’d be happy with it anywhere but your hospital,” said Jackson. “What changed your mind?”

“Nothing,” Clarence mumbled.

Unlike most of the foreign embassies in Washington, Saudi Arabia had nestled theirs right in the heart of Capitol Hill. Which meant more traffic for the DARC Ops limo. And when the road curved around into a cluster of buildings near the Saudi Embassy, there was yet another delay. The front entrance to the embassy had cars lined up in queue.

“Looks like a busy night,” said Clarence.

“I don’t know,” said Jasper. “I’ve never seen it like this.”

There was an armed guard walking down the line, having brief conversations with the driver of each car. When he approached their limo, Jackson radioed to the driver to lower the privacy window so they could hear.

Only they still couldn’t really hear. The din of the engines and the horns and all the other angry drivers back on the road was making it impossible to make out the words.

Jasper, sitting on the driver’s side, rolled his window down and banged his hand on the roof until the guard slowly and carefully made his way there. On his way, he was intercepted by a rush of police officers, them telling him something before the guard started to holler to his fellow guards. The whole thing was way too chaotic.

When he finally reached the window, the guard sounded slightly frantic. “What are you here for?”

“What’s going on?” asked Jasper.

“The embassy has been closed and we’re turning everyone away.”

“Why?” asked Jackson.

“Did you have an appointment?”

“Yes, with Prince Saif and his security team.”

“
I’m
his security team,” the man said, pulling out a radio. “Hold on.” And then he started speaking into it very quickly. After a reply crackled in, he returned to the window and said, “DARC Ops?”

Jasper nodded.

“Your meeting’s been moved across the street.”

Jasper didn’t have to turn his head to know what across the street meant.

“Fucking Watergate,” Jackson grumbled. “I have the worst luck there.”

“So have a lot of other people,” Clarence drawled.

The three of them left the limo and prepared to navigate the traffic and the chaos on foot, a decision that probably saved them an hour. They were met at the front entrance of the Watergate Hotel with some spillover crowds. Gawkers, mostly, men in suits staring out across the road to the unfolding chaos. They heard murmurings of bomb threats, of it all being just a drill.

Drill or not, their meeting had been moved, as was confirmed by the receptionist.

“They’re in the Oak Room,” she said, too busy for eye contact.

“Damn it,” grunted Jackson.

Clarence shot him a quizzical look as they stepped off the elevator. “What, you’ve had bad luck in the Oak Room, too?”

“No, I forgot my tablet in the limo.”

They marched quickly down one of Watergate’s long curvilinear hallways, away from the crowds and the bomb threats. It was finally quiet enough to have a conversation without yelling, or without worry of it being overheard by the innocent-looking bellboy in the elevator.

The Oak Room’s door was shut when they approached. After Jasper’s knock it was opened by another surly looking guard. He was growing a little tired of these surly Saudi Guards. But then, as usual, Jackson knew the man. A senior guard. They’d worked with him before.

He showed them into the room, which was even quieter than the hallway. And sitting at the far end were three men in white thawbs, their faces looking quite serious. It wasn’t clear which one was the prince. Perhaps all three?

Clarence whispered into Jasper’s ear, “Which one is he?”

Jasper shrugged and then watched him ask the same to Jackson.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” one of the Saudis said, startling them out of their spot-the-prince contest. “Sorry about the . . . disturbance.”

“Don’t be,” said Jackson. “It’s not your fault there was a bomb threat. Right?”

The man gave Jackson an odd look. “What bomb?”

Someone, in Arabic, asked, “What the hell’s he talking about?”

And then, in English: “Where is Mr. West?”

“Excuse me?”

Vice President West was in charge of keeping the Saudis happy. And they were quite unhappy that he wasn’t present. Much eye rolling and gesticulating was done about it, white garments swishing about.

“I thought he would be here with you,” said Jackson.

“We thought he was with
you,
” they said all at once.

“Then I imagine he was turned away at the embassy,” said Jackson. “We almost just turned around and went home.”

They spoke in Arabic amongst themselves, the tone becoming more and more heated. Jasper picked up on their struggle to convince someone to do something. But that someone was refusing. More gesticulating, and then arms crossing.

“Can you get him?” one of the Saudis finally asked.

“Huh?” said Jackson. “You want me to . . . call his office? I have no idea how to get in touch with Mr. West.”

“Come on. You’re the cybersecurity man. Surely you can trace his whereabouts.”

Sure, because finding out the immediate whereabouts of the Vice President of the United States was simple, easy. Jasper realized belatedly that for someone with Jackson’s contacts, it probably was.

They ordered someone to bring a laptop into the room, and when it arrived, they waited for Jackson to work his magic in setting up a conference call.

“I’m sorry to ask,” broke in Clarence. “But which one of you is the prince?”

“The prince is not here. But I can speak for him. My name is Bandi.”

“So, you want to Skype with the Vice President?” asked Jackson.

“Yes,” said Bandi. “If you can secure it. Can you secure it?”

Jackson sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“We want to ask about another hospital,” said Bandi. “In Bethesda.”

“Walter Reed?” asked Clarence.

“Yes,” said Bandi. “The hospital where the president goes.”

“If you want Walter Reed, then why did you ask for me?”

Bandi scowled. “Jackson, what is this man talking about?”

“I’m from Lambert Memorial,” said Clarence. “That’s my hospital. Isn’t that where the prince is going?”

“Can you give me a second here?” Jackson, sounding clearly frustrated, was still trying to set up a web call with the Vice President.

“What’s wrong with Lambert Memorial?” Jasper asked the Saudis.

“No, no,” said Clarence. “It’s fine. If they want Walter Reed . . .”

“We want what’s best for Prince Saif,” said Bandi. “Surely you can understand.”

“That’s why we’re here,” said Jasper. “Because you want the best. Forget about the hospital. It’s our security team that’s going to get this done. It doesn’t matter where—”

“If you want the Walter Reed Medical Center, then give them a call.” Clarence’s face had turned a shade of red. “I’d just as soon be done with this whole—”

“No, they won’t take him,” said Jackson. “Not there.”

“No Walter Reed?” asked one of the Saudis with a bewildered, almost childlike expression.

“Gentlemen,” said Bandi. “This is the prince we are talking about.”

“Take him wherever you want,” said Clarence. “Jackson, I think I’ve had enough of this.”

Jasper felt Jackson’s glare upon him, and then his head nodding toward Clarence.
Help me,
he seemed to say.

“Um, Clarence,” Jasper said. “Why don’t we just relax for a minute so we can figure this all out.”

“What’s there to figure out?”

“Well, there’s been so much confusion, with the bomb threat, and—”

“What bomb threat?” asked Bandi.

“I mean . . .” Jasper looked back at Clarence, putting a hand on his shoulder, and then saying quietly, “Why don’t we just figure this out?”

“No, it’s simple. My hospital’s not good enough for the prince.” Clarence looked over to the Saudi men, cocking his head. “Right?” And then back at Jasper with, “You tell these guys to make up their mind right now.”

“Jasper,” called Jackson. “Talk to them.”

“I am.”

“In Arabic,” said Jackson. “And tell them to forget about Walter Reed.”

Jasper turned to the unhappy-looking Saudis. He smiled warmly. “Gentlemen,” he said in his best and most polite Arabic. “Lambert Memorial Hospital is the prince’s only option. It is a fine facility.”

“Our mission is to secure the best care for Prince Saif,” said Bandi. “The very best. Or else we’ve failed. It’s not good to fail Prince Saif.”

“I can assure you . . .” said Jasper, looking at Clarence, “Lambert Memorial is the best option for the prince. Right, Clarence?”

Clarence shrugged and looked down at his phone. “I hardly care at this point. Just tell them to make a decision so I can get on with my weekend.”

“Is there a problem?” asked Bandi.

“I’ve got Mr. West,” said Jackson, sounding happy to steer the conversation away from Clarence’s grumpiness. He walked toward the men, and then placed the laptop on the table so they could see the screen.

“Can you hear me?” asked Vice President West. “Can everyone hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” said Jackson. “We’re at the Watergate here with Saif’s people.”

“Is this a secure connection?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Jackson muttered.

“My apologies for not being present,” the Vice President said. “I had some pressing matters to deal with.” He looked unusually casual. Golf shirt. White hair not-so-combed to the side.

“Mr. Vice President,” said Clarence. “What the hell’s going on in the city right now?

Vice President West seemed not to have heard the question. Instead he said, “Where is Prince Saif?”

“He is . . . with us,” said Bandi. “He is resting.”

“Where?”

“With us,” Bandi said again. “Resting.”

“Does he still require medical care?”

“Yes,” said Bandi. “We are trying to arrange it.”

“And where are you taking him?”

The Saudis looked amongst each other, and then Bandi said, “Lambert Memorial Hospital.”

Jasper glanced at Clarence, who was still red-faced. He looked like he wanted to throw a chair across the room.

“And is that Mr. Mitchell I see?”

“Yes,” grumbled Clarence Mitchell.

“And you and your staff are willing to cooperate?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you need from us, Mr. Bandi?” asked the Vice President.

“Protection,” said Bandi. “Cybersecurity protection. There have been threats made against Prince Saif. And we have seen attempts. His device has been compromised, so we need help when he is at his most vulnerable.”

A man next to Bandi whispered into his ear before Bandi leaned forward, asking, “Does Lambert Memorial have cybersecurity measures?”

“Yes, we do,” said Clarance. “Your typical, everyday defenses.”

“Okay,” said the Vice President. “So that’s why we’ve hired DARC Ops. Are you okay with DARC Ops and Saudi personnel in your hospital?”

“I’m okay with DARC Ops, yes. I’m familiar with them. But the Saudis . . . I can’t have people running around with guns in the hospital. Do they intend—?”

“You’ll have to ask them personally,” said Vice President West.

Clarence turned to the Saudis. “Do you intend to have armed guards patrolling the hallways?” Then he turned to Mr. West. “I can’t have the place turn into a zoo. I just can’t. If my staff sees any kind of firearms . . .”