Black List (25 page)
“There’s more to this. Somebody can’t just accuse us of treason and put a hit on all of us. There has to be due process.”
“You and I both know we’ve been carrying out extrajudicial activities since the birth of this nation.”
“Against foreign enemies of the state,” said Carlton, “not American citizens.”
Banks shrugged. “A few Americans have also been helped on to their just rewards over the years.”
“True, but very, very few, and there’s always been a review process.”
“How do we know there wasn’t one this time?”
Carlton looked at him. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Not at all. I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”
“But there’s no way any panel could come to the conclusion that I, or any of the people that work for me, could even be capable of treason.”
Banks shook his head. “You really do need to be retrained. Take your emotion out of this.”
“Do you know how many of my people, exceptional people, exceptional
patriots,
were murdered?”
“Yes, I do, and I’d be angry as hell too, but I’d lock it away somewhere and save it until I figured out what the hell was going on. Because if I didn’t, it’d probably get me killed.”
The older man let his words hang in the air for a moment as he took another sip of coffee. “You’re smart, Peaches,” he finally said. “Smarter than I ever was, but you’re going to need every last ounce of cunning you can muster to get yourself out of this.
“You’ve been labeled a traitor by your own government, and based on whatever evidence they have, they found the threat so compelling that it called for your immediate termination. I don’t see how anything could ever get more serious than that. So you can be pissed off all you want
after
this thing has been laid to rest and we’ve found a way out to the other side of it.”
Slowly, Reed Carlton nodded.
“Now that we seem to know who is out to get you, we need to winnow down the how and the why,” said Banks. “If we can reverse-engineer this thing, we may be able to get you your life back.”
“It won’t bring my operators back,” Carlton replied. Though he kept checking the Net for messages on the dating sites they used for emergency messages, there hadn’t been one. He knew they were dead.
“No, it won’t bring your men back. But once we have this thing figured out, that’s when I’m going to stand back and let you take your anger out of that box. That’s when you make sure that every last person involved in this pays. I don’t care who it is, even if this goes all the way to the Oval Office itself.”
M
EXICO
H
arvath grabbed a couple hours of sleep on the couch in the staff room. At 7 a.m., Sister Marta, wearing her full habit, knocked and invited him to the cafeteria for breakfast.
“I thought you said you were informal around here?” he said as they walked.
“We are. Normally I wear a skirt and jacket of some sort. What you saw last night was Sister Marta off-duty, casual. I’m still a human being, especially after the children have gone to bed and I have things to do.”
“And now, the habit?”
“I’m driving you to the airport and then I have some other errands to run outside the city. There’ll be cartels. They’re filled with bad men, but they’re not all irreligious. Being easily recognized as a nun can be a plus, especially when on the road.”
She was indeed a smart lady.
The cafeteria, which looked like it also doubled as a classroom, was painted in bright colors. Along the walls were the letters of the alphabet with corresponding pictures—
A
for
ardilla
(squirrel),
R
for
ratón
(mouse),
J
for
jirafa
(giraffe).
“You’re lucky,” said Sister Marta as she picked up a tray and handed it to Harvath. “Today we have eggs.”
He accepted the tray and got in line behind her. The sounds of the children filled the room. Most smiled and laughed. Occasionally one or two of the younger children argued or pushed. Harvath expected a stern reprimand from Sister Marta, but none was ever needed, as invariably an older child would step in and patiently handle the situation.
“What I have found,” the nun said, “is that all children, no matter what their situation, look for love, they look for family, and they look for understanding. When they act out, they do so because they want to know that there are rules that apply to them. They understand that the rules exist because we love them.”
Their breakfast consisted of small portions of rice and beans, along with a little bit of scrambled eggs. One of the staff members offered him coffee and Harvath gladly accepted.
He and Sister Marta sat at a table of boisterous children ranging from five to eleven years old. Several were siblings, and the nun explained that it was their policy never to split children up unless they absolutely had to. When everyone was seated, they said the blessing and then began to eat. Harvath watched as one little boy monitored his younger sister, making sure she got enough to eat and even giving her some of the food from his own plate.
The children were thrilled to have an American visiting, and those who had been studying with Sister Marta tried out their English on him. Their innocent mistakes and Harvath’s attempts to reply to them in Spanish created much laughter around the table.
“You were a hit,” said Marta as they slid into her aging Volkswagen for the drive to the airport. “I guarantee you it’s all they’ll be talking about for the rest of the weekend.”
Harvath smiled thinking about the kids. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed himself like that.
“Do you have children?” she asked.
“No.”
“You’re good with them. You should think about it.”
He did think about it, or at least he used to.
“Are you married?” she continued.
“No. I’m not married.”
“Why not?”
Harvath looked at her. She reminded him of Peio. He had taken an interest in his personal life right after meeting him as well. Harvath didn’t like talking about himself. It made him uncomfortable. When the subject came up, he either ignored it, changed it, or made fun of it. All three forms of diversion had failed with Peio, and he suspected they’d have just about as much chance of succeeding with Sister Marta. “I’m not very good when it comes to relationships, Sister.”
“I find that hard to believe. You are a nice man. You’re handsome, you like children. What’s the problem?” she said, pausing. “Do you not like women?”
He laughed. “No, Sister. That’s not the problem. I like women, believe me.”
“So what is it?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Well, I do mind,” said the nun. “And if you had seen yourself with those children the way I did, you’d mind too. Is it that you have trouble establishing relationships? Is that it?”
He was convinced that somewhere in the Vatican someone was running a sales contest to get single people married. He didn’t disagree with the concept, he was just getting tired of having to defend himself. “Starting relationships isn’t my problem.”
“But
finishing
them is.”
Harvath nodded. “It takes a special type of woman to put up with my career.”
“What is it exactly that you do?”
“Let’s just say I travel a lot.”
“And the woman in your life couldn’t accompany you on these trips?”
An image of Riley Turner flashed into his mind, and he kept it there as he spoke. “That would take a
very
special woman.”
“Have you ever met such a woman?” Sister Marta asked.
“Yes, I have.”
“What happened?”
“She was killed,” he replied as the image of Riley disappeared from the forefront of his mind.
“I’m very sorry.”
“So am I,” he replied.
“At least she knew that you cared for her.”
“Actually, Sister, I’m not sure she had any idea.”
The nun turned onto a busier street, and there was a sign for the airport up ahead. “She knew, trust me.”
“How do you know?”
“It is very difficult to hide when something or someone makes us happy. Even if you had wanted to, you couldn’t have hidden how the children made you feel at breakfast.”
She was wrong, but simply by virtue of the fact that she had no idea who the man sitting in her passenger seat was. He had been trained to hide everything and to lie as if he was telling the most honest truth held in the deepest part of his soul. Had he wanted to, he could have convinced everyone, even Sister Marta herself, that he didn’t care the least bit for children.
That of course wasn’t the truth. She had caught him in a rare, unguarded moment—something he didn’t normally allow strangers to see.
“I’m not only a nun,” she continued. “I’m also a woman. Women can see many things in men that they themselves may not see or choose not to see.”
A faint smile creased his face. She was relentless. “What do you see in me then, Sister? What is it that I don’t see or don’t want to see?”
“I think you are quite complicated, but as for most men, what you want, what you truly desire, is quite simple.”
“Which is?”
“I think that—like the children God has entrusted to our orphanage—you want what all of us want. You want to be understood. You want someone to care for you and you want to have your own family.”
“I’d also like to win the lottery,” he remarked.
“Is humor something you use to avoid problems?” she asked.
It was a reflex. He didn’t even realize that he’d made the joke until the words were already out of his mouth.
“You may think it takes those kinds of odds, but it doesn’t,” Sister
Marta continued. “All it takes is faith. And the best part is that when God does bring the right person into your life, it really will feel like you’ve won the lottery.”
Harvath didn’t want to argue with her. She was a wonderful, well-intentioned woman. “I’ll tell you what, Sister. If you promise to keep praying for me, I’ll keep looking. Deal?”
“I will pray for you either way,” she stated as they arrived at the private aviation section of the airport.
The nun parked her Volkswagen and led Harvath to the terminal, where she introduced him without giving his name. The pilot didn’t seem to mind and only asked if Harvath had a passport, upon which Harvath patted his backpack and nodded. He had left the wheelie bag at the orphanage and told Sister Marta to do whatever she wanted with it. He was supposed to look like a tourist who had flown up to Texas for a day of shopping, not someone who was staying overnight.
As the pilot did his preflight check and the other passengers, most of whom seemed to be acquainted, mingled, Harvath thanked Sister Marta and told her to be careful. When he asked where he should pay for his ticket, she told him not to worry, that it had already been taken care of. He wasn’t sure if Nicholas was behind it or if the nun had paid directly out of her pocket, but either way, it was money that she could have used at the orphanage.
He tried to argue with her, but she wouldn’t have it. “Keep your heart open,” she said with a smile, changing the subject on him. “When God brings someone special into your life again, grab on with both hands and don’t let go.”
Harvath laughed. He didn’t mean to, he just did. “Thank you, Sister,” he said. “Your faith in my capabilities in that area may be a bit misplaced, but I appreciate it all the same.”
“I’m in the business of faith,” she replied as the pilot signaled that the passengers could begin boarding. “I’m blessed with a never-ending supply.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The flight was a bit choppy on the climb out of Monterrey, but once the plane had leveled off, it was smooth sailing all the way to Texas.
The Cessna Caravan aircraft landed at McAllen-Miller International
in McAllen, Texas, and taxied to the immigration terminal. The pilot chatted amiably with the personnel in the small processing area as his passengers’ passports were scanned and stamped. Once his own passport had been scanned and stamped, he led his customers back outside to the plane for the short taxi over to the general aviation area.
In front of a blue-roofed building labeled
McCreery Aviation,
he shut the plane down and the gaggle of cheerful passengers disembarked. As he had done for customs and for immigration, Harvath mixed himself into the middle of the crowd. It was amazing how many
Regios
had blond hair and either green or blue eyes. They were also a very international set, which played well for him at immigration, because two women had girlfriends visiting from Germany and another had a male friend in from Spain. Harvath’s Italian passport didn’t even draw a second look.
Waiting just beyond the McCreery building was a fleet of stretch limousines. Their drivers were holding up pieces of paper with the names
Melendez, Casas, Calleja,
and
Esquivel
written in heavy black marker.
Harvath wasn’t looking for a name, though. He was looking for a symbol: three triangles that looked like jagged mountain peaks or a row of shark’s teeth.
