Carpathian (15 page)

Jack had relented as far as Sarah was concerned, but he wouldn’t give an inch as to allowing the men and women of this Group to become entangled with what he knew he had to do in regard to his sister’s mysterious killing. He wouldn’t involve them in murder, and that’s what Collins knew it would come down to. People who murdered CIA personnel rarely if ever made it to trial. This was Jack’s plan and the reason he was using the talents of Henri Farbeaux to gain access to the seedy world of double agents—if anyone knew how to catch a rat in the cupboard it was another rat who wanted the cupboard all to himself, and that was the Frenchman, Colonel Henri Farbeaux.

Collins leaned over and kissed Sarah on the forehead. He saw her hiccup and then cry for a minute and then fall back into her dreamworld. Jack knew he had almost pushed away the only woman he had ever loved. He shook his head and then slowly removed himself from the bed, trying not to awaken Sarah. He threw on a pair of white boxer shorts and then walked over to the desk. He reached down and snapped on his desk lamp and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them they fell on the file Alice had so meticulously cared for over the years. He shook his head and sat down at the desk and opened the history once more. He removed the photos stolen from the Vatican and then came to a rather lengthy report Alice had typed out on an old-fashioned typewriter. His eyes scanned the pages and then he realized he was looking at Alice’s follow-up report on the centurion who once upon a time became a Roman senator. Jack yawned and then looked the story over. As he read he became just a little more awake the further he read. After he was done he went deeper into the file. He soon came across two pieces of rotted cloth encased in plastic shielding. He picked them up and examined them. One small piece of cloth was trimmed with what used to be fringe. Jack read the small tag Alice had attached many years before.

Sample sent to me 2/6/1955—Levite cloth. Four vertical stripes on pomegranate-dyed wool, analysis indicates Middle Eastern design.

Collins retrieved the second section of cloth and brought his desk lamp down and looked the material over more closely. The designs were the same—four vertical stripes that were once red in color. The weave looked the same and the age close also. He read the tag.

Sample recovered 12/25/1967—Levite cloth. Four vertical stripes on pomegranate-dyed wool—analysis confirms Middle Eastern design style—sample recovered south of the Danube River, Romania.

Jack, instead of figuring out what it was Alice had put together, the more he read and saw, the more confused he became. What in the hell kind of trail was Alice on? Was this ancient fashion she was interested in or was it an animal that absolutely no one scientist at the Group believed in but Alice?

Collins replaced the sealed and protected cloth and then brought out something that made him lean closer to see. The photos were of two women. One was young and raven-haired, the other older—far older. The only thing written on the small tag Alice had written was a name and that wasn’t much at all. On the photo of the older woman, Jack placed her age anywhere from eighty to a hundred, was the small description:

Madam Ladveena Korvesky—Gypsy Queen—aprox. age 110 years old. Granddaughter is Leah Korvesky—heir to the Eastern European Gypsy hierarchy.

“What in the hell is this?” Jack mumbled to himself, “Gypsy Queen? What are you getting at, Alice?” Jack placed the photos back in the file and then picked up the next typewritten notes.

Sample 131-c recovered from privately owned vessel,
Golden Child
—Hong Kong–flagged yacht. Item recovered from vessel after said vessel was destroyed by sabotage the night of April 1, 1949, by Garrison Lee, General United States Army (ret).

Jack had a quick flash of memory as he rummaged through the file until he found the piece he was looking for—none other than the small chunk of rock he had examined before at the Ark—the small block of hewed stone with the petrified specimen inside. The tag read: 131-c. Collins played the stone in his hands as he thought about what was in the file—a file that made no sense as to the direction Alice Hamilton was taking with her investigation.

Collins made a decision and reached over for his phone. “Europa, Colonel Collins 5785 clearance—give me the locations on Professor Ellenshaw, Dr. Golding, and Alice Hamilton, please.”

“Professor Ellenshaw is currently in Laboratory 1344 on Level 81, Dr. Golding is currently in the Ark, and Alice Hamilton is in her personal quarters.”

“Thank you.” Jack hung up and pushed another button. “Will, gather up Alice from her quarters and Doc Ellenshaw in his lab and get them to Level 63,” he said quickly and then hung up.

He closed the file and that was when he noticed the code numbers and name Alice and Europa had given the file. It was strange he hadn’t noticed it before, which proved he was thinking of his sister’s murder too much for his duties at the Group. The code was File 890987—code name—Grimm.

“So, you’re helping Alice figure out her little problem?”

Jack felt the small arms encircle his neck and he relaxed as Sarah kissed his cheek.

“Get dressed, short stuff, and go to the Ark and drag Pete Golding out of there and get him down to Vault 22871.”

“Ordering your woman from your room at this early hour can force me to stop handing out the kind of loving you received last night for a very long time.”

Jack smiled for the first time in what seemed like months as he turned and kissed Sarah and then slapped her on her rear end. “Now get some clothes on and get Doc Golding.”

Sarah straightened and went for her jumpsuit, which was crumpled on the floor by Jack’s bed.

“What has you so worked up after the workout I gave you—I must not be that good if you have this much energy.”

“Baby, you’re that good, I would promote you to major if I could, but for right now let’s go help out a friend who everyone thinks has gone off the deep end about her wolves.”

“You believe her about her animals?” Sarah asked as she zipped up.

“Not just yet, but I think I may have found someone who changed his mind somewhere along the line that adds far more weight to her argument—someone with the credentials that not even Niles could argue with.”

“Who is that?” Sarah asked as she ran her fingers through her hair in lieu of a comb.

“Senator Garrison Lee.”

ROME, ITALY

Everett reached over and hit Ryan on the shoulder as the taxicab came to a stop just outside St. Peter’s Basilica. Ryan jumped at the sudden stop and the impact of Everett’s muscled hand. Almost two hours of postflight, refueling and then getting a private hangar at Leonardo da Vinci International, one of the world’s busiest airports, and then getting through customs, had placed an even harder burden on the naval aviator than just jet lag could produce. With Everett acting as his copilot on the nineteen-hour flight his sleep was off and on as Everett had to be checked on during his turn at the controls, even though most of the flight over the Atlantic had been flown by autopilot.

“Are we there already?” Ryan asked as he yawned and looked out the cab’s filthy window.

Everett paid the driver and then looked at Jason. “Yeah, it only took us an hour and a half through Rome’s midday traffic.” He sat back in his seat as he opened the door. “If we have trouble we may have to find a different route back to da Vinci.”

As Ryan looked at the crowds meandering through the wide walkways leading to the large square he shook his head.

“Our best bet on that occasion would be to walk out of here.”

Everett nodded that he thought Jason was right. “Well, maybe we’re just being paranoid about life in general lately. Let’s go get our boy.”

The two U.S. Navy men stepped into the thickening mass of humanity on their way to find their Goliath.

*   *   *

Mica Sorotzkin watched as the young American priest sat on the steps in front of the Basilica. His long black robe was easily played out at his sides as he opened his brown paper lunch sack. Major Sorotzkin had picked the priest up that morning as she spied him leaving his apartment on the east side of the massive property that was its own city inside of Rome—the Vatican housing area. She had been ordered to pick him up there and then again after he left work or at any time he was not in his highly classified office at the archives building.

As the major watched the young priest remove his sunglasses and wipe them on a tissue, she saw that he was actually far younger than he looked at the cybercafe the several times she had followed him there. She sat three rows of steps back from the American. She used a large carry-all and pulled out a small thermos and poured herself a cup of tea.

Mica had received a very urgent call from the general and that call now made her wonder why General Shamni had suddenly ordered constant surveillance on the priest after the hard drives taken from the cybercafe computers had been analyzed and the results sent straight to Tel Aviv. It had been at three that morning that Shamni had called personally and ordered the “eyes on” until further notice—instructions would follow.

Mica didn’t like the connotation of that last message. As she watched the young American she became worried that the general would order something other than an attempt to turn him into a working associate of Mossad.

*   *   *

The young American cleric known to his superiors at the Event Group as Goliath bit into his cheese sandwich as he watched the thousand milling tourists in the square and thought about how the day had changed not long after he had awoken.

That very morning he had received a coded message from Director Compton himself that came through his secure phone link bounced off several NSA communication satellites. He was going to be contacted at one this afternoon Rome time. He was to meet his contact at the steps of the Basilica and it would be Captain Everett himself coming in for the field evaluation. Everett had assisted in his covert training and DeSilva knew the captain well enough to know that something big was happening if they sent him all this way. He chewed on his sandwich. Behind his dark sunglasses the University of Notre Dame grad and U.S. Army second lieutenant scanned the crowd for the impressive form of the Navy SEAL, Carl Everett.

*   *   *

Major Sorotzkin flinched when her cell phone vibrated in her breast pocket. She reached into her lightweight blazer, past the Israeli-made, polymer-framed BUL Cherokee nine-millimeter in its nylon holster and retrieved the vibrating cell phone. She angrily hit the receive button.

“Yes?” she said easily into the phone as she took a sip of her lukewarm tea. She grimaced and was tempted to pour the tea onto the stone steps but held off as two highly visible Corpo della Gendarmeria walked past. The Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City State were highly trained at spotting trouble in crowded situations. She averted her sunglasses-covered eyes as the two uniformed guards walked past with just an appreciative look at the beautiful woman taking her lunch on the steps of the Basilica.

“Major,” said the familiar voice of General Shamni, “are you in visual contact with the American agent?”

“He’s about ten meters in front of me eating his lunch in the square, as he does every day the sun shines.”

“We were unsuccessful in tracking the location of his contact. We suspect it’s the American CIA or National Security Agency, or maybe even their FBI, but that has all become a moot point. The photographic material removed from the Vatican archives directly affects the security of Israel. Am I clear on this point?”

“Again, you’re not clear at all, General. I need to know certain things if I am to perform my mission correctly. How is this man a threat and what about the written report filed with the photos to this American’s contact?”

“Major, you are treading on harsh ground—ground that could collapse under you at any time if you step wrong. We suspect that his filing to his superiors can be found at Langley, Virginia, and that’s something that will have to be dealt with at another time, for now the American priest is to be brought into the Rome safe house as soon as you can safely commit to the act, and once there you and the American can be debriefed by Colonel Ben-Nevin. He will burn all evidence of this priest’s activities and that report filed with the photographs is to be burned. Are you the only person at the safe house to have read that particular report?”

“How can a report filed by a Roman officer be of any consequence to our security?” Mica knew the answer involved Operation Ramesses and she also suspected that the general knew she knew.

“Ben-Nevin will burn the documents and close the safe house down, and then your mission in Rome will be complete. If need be the American will be brought in for more detailed questioning.”

Sorotzkin could not believe what she had just heard. “Brought in?” she asked on the secure cell link through an Israeli satellite. “I have a chance to turn this man, that’s what I do. Counterintelligence, not snatching an unofficial allied agent off the street inside a friendly nation.”

“Major, that harsh ground I mentioned to you earlier is starting to cave in as you speak. The American has learned of a key piece of Project Ramesses and cannot be allowed to connect that piece with any other that may have surfaced. And we must know what else he has uncovered. And don’t even ask about the project, it’s a thousand miles above your and also my pay grade. Clear?”

Silence from Major Sorotzkin’s end.

“Colonel Ben-Nevin has been on-site for an hour and our American spy is being tracked as we speak. You will call from the safe house and let me know when Ben-Nevin starts his debrief of the American. Nothing is to happen to this boy; right now he is valuable for what he
may know
. And more to the point, Sorotzkin, there may be elements inside our own government—far more hard-line elements I may add—that want what the Ramesses project represents brought home. Get him to the safe house and the prime minister has guaranteed his safety.”

“General, I have your word no harm will come to this American operative?”

“Major, the naïveté of that question is why I think your future is destined to be outside Mossad. Maybe I was wrong for handpicking you and that a transfer back to Army Intelligence would be best for your career; they are a little more suited in playing fair with the other kids on the block. We are not. But we do not kill Americans when it is avoidable, and this is one circumstance where it is still avoidable with your cooperation.”