The Janus Reprisal (18 page)

“I understand it’s not cholera?”

She shook her head. “No, but it may be bird flu. The initial report wasn’t conclusive, though. Doctor said maybe a variant. It
has
to be related to that refrigerator swab. There is nothing else. It’s connected. I know it.”

“I also met with Wendel,” Smith said. “She made it clear that you think there’s a mole in the CIA.”

Russell nodded. “Got to be. That proprietary system is ironclad. Whoever is messing with it has to know the codes.”

“Any ideas?”

Russell shrugged. “I haven’t been inside long enough to draw any real conclusions. Langley employs hundreds in my area alone, so finding the leak could be difficult. My thought was that Marty might be able to follow an electronic signature. Trace it back.”

“Doesn’t an internal investigation require you to tell your superiors?”

Russell shifted. “Technically, yes, but I smell a rat here and close by. Jordan only reports to a couple of people in my immediate area, and I think he was deliberately targeted so that Nolan’s house would be left vulnerable.”

Smith groaned. “You realize then that I can’t use the safe house?”

“And neither can Nolan,” Russell said.

“What about Beckmann? Can I trust him?”

Russell began to cough, a deep, barking cough. It was an ugly sound and told Smith everything he needed to know about the severity of her condition. She got hold of herself after a minute.

“He’s on loan from another department, so maybe he’s clean, but it’s safest to be careful around him until you’re sure.”

“That leaves Howell as my best chance to survive this thing. Finding him will become my first priority. I’ll get Marty to do his magic, but if he comes up empty, you could be arrested for releasing classified information, you know that, right?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. There’s a mole in my area. I can feel it.” Smith could see that she was getting agitated, and he didn’t want to upset her any further.

“I agree that something is not adding up. I’ll keep on it. Let’s see what Marty can discover. In the meantime, you just concentrate on getting better.”

She sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

When her eyes closed again, Smith rose from the bed and left the room as quietly as he had entered it.

Once he was sufficiently far from the hospital grounds, he removed the SIM card from his cell phone, put it in his pocket, and tossed the device. He headed to a drugstore, purchased a prepaid phone, and called Klein. He was inordinately relieved when the man answered on the first ring.

“I have a problem.” Smith told Klein about Russell’s concerns about a mole and Wendel’s claim that someone had tampered with the technology systems inside Langley. “Does the CIA manage the White House configuration? If so, your conversations with the president could be at risk.”

“They secure some of the information flow, of course. The president receives a daily briefing and a portion of that comes from Langley onto the White House’s data stream. It’s not inconceivable that whoever is hacking into the CIA grid could be accessing the president’s conversations as well, but I highly doubt it. We have endless redundant systems designed to thwart such an occurrence.”

“And Covert-One’s? Possible?”

“Again, anything is possible, but I doubt it. And it would be your phone at risk because, while it’s encrypted, it still uses the airwaves. They can’t be secured as readily as dedicated phone lines. I notice that your number has changed. Did you buy a prepaid?”

“Yes. I’m headed to Nolan to debrief her on the Dattar matter. As soon as I know something I’ll check in.”

“Don’t lose sight of the coolers. Unless she has vital information, debriefing her is a secondary consideration. And frankly, this new information about a mole has me convinced that Covert-One should take the lead on recovering them. Stay with it.”

“Understood.”

“But watch your back. A compromised CIA is extremely dangerous. The secrets they maintain can put this entire country at risk.”

Smith took a deep breath. “Also understood.”

M
ANHAR WOKE TO FIND HIMSELF
tied to a metal girder that supported elevated tracks above his head. The cold steel chilled him from his neck to his ankles. Plastic handcuffs encircled his wrists, which were stretched behind him around the support. Other ties bound his ankles together, while even more wrapped around his legs just above the knees. There was one around his neck that cut into his throat every time he swallowed. He looked down and saw that in addition to the ties he was bound by rope around his waist and under his armpits. He twitched to test the hold and it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere without assistance. It was night, and the only light was a weak glow from a streetlight nearly thirty feet away. The area was deserted. Piles of trash lay in heaps under the tracks along with the occasional paper napkin thrown away by someone or blown by the wind.

He saw Howell standing five feet away thumbing away on a phone. Beckmann sat on the ground with his back against the metal girder opposite Manhar’s. He smoked a cigarette, the tip glowing with each pull, and watched Manhar with a steady gaze.

“He’s awake,” Beckmann said.

Howell glanced up. “What’s your name?” Manhar spit on the ground. Howell rolled his eyes. “Spare me the theatrics. I’m English and Mr. Beckmann here is German. We don’t indulge in displays of emotion. Tell me your name or I’ll beat it out of you.” Howell shoved a toe at a metal pipe on the ground near his feet. The steel looked solid enough. Manhar decided that telling his name would be harmless.

“Manhar.”

Howell nodded. “Well, Mr. Manhar, I want to know who hired you to kill me and how you are communicating with him or her.”

Manhar snorted. That these two thought he’d simply divulge such things showed their stupidity. He spit on the ground again.

“Hmm. I thought that would be your answer. It really is quite shortsighted of you.” Howell kept tapping on the phone. “Got it,” he said to Beckmann.

Beckmann rose. “Excellent. Let’s leave this one to him.” He took another drag of the cigarette and then looked at his watch. “Don’t forget to tell him about the pipe. He may want to use it.” Manhar did his best to follow their cryptic conversation, but he had no idea what they were talking about. Howell pocketed the phone.

“We’re off. Good luck to you,” he said.

Manhar was astonished at his good fortune. They only intended to tie him to a post and leave him? He’d get free of the ropes eventually, and when he did he’d come after them. Next time he’d make them pay for humiliating him. He almost laughed out loud at the fools. Howell stepped closer and put up his phone.

“I’m taking a photo. Smile,” Howell said. Manhar looked at the back of the device and a small prickling of premonition started at the back of his neck. “I’ll send this to your colleague, Khalil, over an e-mail address that I believe he monitors. Of course I’ll also give him your location. He’ll be furious that you not only failed to kill me, but that you also managed to get yourself caught in the process. Khalil takes failure poorly, don’t you think? Knowing Khalil the way I do, I suspect he’ll be along shortly. I don’t think that you’ll enjoy these next few hours before your death.”

Manhar felt fear surge through him. He’d expected a beating or worse from these two, but nothing they could dream up could possibly match what he knew of Khalil and his torture techniques. Still, Manhar clamped his mouth shut. Perhaps he could convince Khalil that he’d kept silent. Beckmann finished the cigarette and tossed the butt into a nearby oil drum.

“He’ll start in right away. Khalil doesn’t allow failures to live long.” He looked at Manhar. “If you want to tell us now what you know, we’ll untie you. Give you a fighting chance to save yourself.” Beckmann shrugged. “I think it’s a fair deal, don’t you?”

A cool breeze blew and Manhar shivered. In that instant he decided to bargain. The idea of being tied to a post when Khalil started in on him was unimaginable.

“I don’t know anything,” Manhar blurted out. Beckmann shook his head, a sad look on his face.

“Send the e-mail,” he said to Howell.

“Wait!” Manhar said. Howell paused, his eyebrows raised. “I’m telling the truth. Khalil told me nothing. Only that he intended to kill you, Smith, and another American.”

“I’ve heard about the American. Who is it?”

Manhar shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Howell frowned. “I don’t believe you.” He looked back at his phone.

“Wait! It’s a woman. That’s all I know. But Khalil is in charge of Smith. He said he was hard to kill. I was to have you.”

Howell looked outraged. “Khalil thinks I’m easier to kill than Jon Smith? I’m appalled.”

Beckmann laughed, but suppressed it when Howell shot him a glance. “Sorry. You shouldn’t take it personally. I haven’t known Smith long but he seemed to be quite inventive in his techniques.”

Howell waved a hand. “Well, he’s overeducated so that’s to be expected.”

“Didn’t you go to Cambridge before you joined MI6?” Beckmann said.

“Yes, but I had the good sense to stop once finished. Smith just kept going.” Howell frowned and turned his attention back to Manhar. “Who’s paying Khalil?”

Manhar shook his head. He’d told these fools all that he would. “I don’t know.”

In an instant Howell had the pipe in his hand and smashed it against Manhar’s left knee. The speed of the attack and the shock of the extreme pain caused Manhar to scream. His knee felt like it was disintegrating. Manhar’s eyes filled with water, but he still saw Howell swing the pipe backward in preparation for another blow.

“Dattar! He’s the one paying.” Manhar yelled the name at the top of his lungs. “Please, let me go. If you break my legs I can’t run from Khalil.”

Howell paused. “What’s the plan?” Manhar’s nose was running and his knee was in agony. At first he didn’t understand the question.

“What do you mean?”

“You heard me. What’s Dattar’s plan?”

Manhar shook his head. “I don’t know exactly. He has some sort of weapon that he’s going to use against the US. He’s proud of it. Says it’s unbeatable.”

Howell and Beckmann exchanged a glance. Manhar was trembling in pain. He’d told all he was able to tell, and he hoped they believed him.

“A bomb?”

Manhar groaned. “That’s all I know. You said you’d let me go.”

“Is it a bomb? Answer that question and we’ll let you go.”

Manhar shook his head. “No. I don’t think it’s a bomb. It’s something else. Not a bomb.”

“When?” Beckmann said.

“What time is it?” Manhar whispered the question. Howell looked at his phone.

“Ten thirty.”

“In twenty-four hours,” Manhar said.

S
MITH DIDN’T WANT TO CALL
Marty and ask him yet again to track down Nolan, but it was the most efficient way to locate her, so he swallowed his pride and dialed.

“Let me guess, you lost her again,” Marty said. Smith felt his irritation rise, but he wasn’t sure if it was at Marty’s assumption or his own incompetence when it came to Nolan.

“How did you know?”

“She’s trading. I figured you wouldn’t let her.”

“I take it Japan opened?”

“It did. But there’s something else. She moved millions of dollars out of one account in the Cayman Islands to another, connected account in Antigua.”

“Connected? To whom?”

“It’s numbered only, so I can’t be sure. I can tell you that it’s fairly new. The first transaction was from a month ago and it came from an account of a wealthy individual in Pakistan.”

Dattar’s money, Smith thought. “Where is she?”

“Restaurant.” Marty rattled off an address close to the Redding penthouse.

“I’m there. Call me if she moves.”

The restaurant Nolan had chosen was a large eatery and marketplace that sold individual dishes, deli meats, and Italian food and was located in the Flatiron District across from Madison Square Park. He entered off Fifth Avenue and paused.

It was an ideal place for a hit.

The space was the size of a large warehouse and looked like a massive grocery store. The various locations sold produce and meat, and there were several restaurant sections. People, many of them tourists, were everywhere, and all were jostling to get near the section they desired. Smith could hear children crying, dining with their parents despite the late hour, and he cataloged the fact. An attacker could materialize out of the crowd, shoot, and disappear back into the masses of people. Smith wouldn’t be able to fire back for fear of hitting a civilian, and the presence of children made any retaliation a greater risk. He scanned the bedlam, looking for Nolan. To his right was a small coffee area that contained red bar-height tables and stools and he saw her there, sipping from a coffee cup with a wine chaser while watching her computer. She still wore the navy sweater and dark jeans. He took a quick tally of the other diners. All looked unremarkable, and he relaxed a bit. He reached the table and when he sat opposite her, Nolan flashed him a small smile, which was unexpected. She slid the wine glass toward him.

“It’s for you,” she said. “I took the liberty of ordering a heavy red. You don’t seem like a white wine type.”

“Depends on the meal. I generally drink whiskey neat, but this is fine. You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

She shrugged. “I’m not. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but I seem to be unable to shake you. How’s the arm?”

“Better. Sorry for passing out.”

She grimaced. “It was just as well. What a horrendous job. When I removed it, blood spurted from the wound. For a moment I thought the bullet was plugging an artery and I’d opened it by pulling it out.”

“If I’d been conscious, I’d have told you that it wasn’t at an artery.”

She gave him an amused look. “It was brutal. If you’d been conscious, I doubt you would have been capable of rational conversation.” He tipped his glass to acknowledge her, took a sip and then put it down.

“Remember Russell? The CIA agent you spoke with at your office?”

Nolan nodded as she took a sip of her coffee. “I do.”

“She’s in the hospital. Seriously ill. I think it has something to do with Dattar. You need to tell me everything. Now and quickly, because we have to leave. This place is a security disaster. You can start by explaining why you stole the money.”

Nolan stared into her cup. She inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“Actually, I was stealing it back. The money belonged to my family. It was the proceeds of our holdings in Dattar’s region. Five years ago he confiscated everything my family had spent years amassing, including a possible new sapphire mine, three utility stations, and a research facility. He claimed that the land and buildings were actually owned by the government, despite the fact that my family had been there for generations when the borderlands region was still considered part of India. We built the roads, train lines, utilities, you name it. Practically the entire infrastructure of the region was the result of the blood, sweat, and tears of generations of Reddings.”

Smith refrained from pointing out that the Reddings had made their fortune from the land as well. Some in the early part of the nineteenth century were considered robber barons because they had amassed vast tracts of acreage in India and Africa while crushing any competition. Even so, there was no denying that the family had worked for their wealth and developed the area around their holdings.

“When one of our scientists at the research facility went missing and his papers were stolen, I suspected Dattar or one of his henchmen was involved. Dattar was already making noises that he would confiscate the Redding facilities, and that’s when I decided to take the money.”

“What scientist? What was he working on?”

Before Nolan could respond, a man slid into the chair next to them. He looked to be in his early twenties, with a backpack hanging off one shoulder and wearing jeans and a light sweatshirt. He shrugged the strap off his shoulder, shook off the pack, and set it on the table. He pulled out a laptop computer followed by a chemistry workbook and placed both next to the pack. Duct tape held the worn textbook’s spine together, and when the man opened the book Smith could see yellow marks made by a highlighter pen. Smith relaxed a bit.

“He’d discovered a form of electrical bacteria,” Nolan said.

The coolers, Smith thought. He dredged the name of the electric bacteria from his memory.

“Shewanella MR-1?”

“So you’ve heard of it. Not surprising. I read about you online. Impressive résumé.”

“What was this scientist doing with the bacteria?”

Nolan shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. He had an idea that it could be used as both an alternative fuel source and an efficient delivery system for healthy microbes. Apparently the bacteria communicate with electrical sources and both conduct and create electricity. The utility arm of Grayson Electric was funding the research.” Nolan’s gaze hardened. “It was after the scientist’s body was found that I realized Dattar had to be stopped. I discovered that he had several aliases that he used to hide the money that he extorted from anyone doing legitimate business in the area. A big chunk of it was held by Landon Investments. I moved it out. It was income that he’d derived from Redding holdings and so rightfully ours, anyway. Without his cash he won’t be able to hire his killers.”

Smith shook his head. “You’re wrong. He’s hired one of the best to get us. I presume you had an idea that he’d come after you once you took his money?”

She nodded. “Oh yes, I knew he’d try. I scattered the money so that it would take a tremendous amount of time to collect it again. It’s not a matter of a single transaction. I was banking on that fact, and the fact that only I can access it. They need me for voice and fingerprint recognition on several of the biggest accounts.” She sighed. “You can imagine how happy I was when I heard that he’d been arrested and convicted. I was counting on his imprisonment lasting for the rest of his life. I was concerned when I’d heard that he’d escaped. I knew that he’d eventually try to access his funds, and when he found them missing, he’d come after me.”

“Why did, or should I say do, you keep running from me then? I’m on your side.”

She leveled a stare at him. “I’m not sure just what to make of you. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it. Your refusal to go to the hospital when you were shot just made me all the more suspicious, and it only got worse when you said that you had no one to call. Everyone has someone to call in their life. If they don’t, either something is seriously wrong with them or they’re lying, or both. Besides, I prefer to act alone. Especially since you told me that you’re being tracked by the same killer. It seems to me that we make it too easy for him when we’re together.”

“You’re far too confident in your own abilities to beat this thing. You may be great at financial matters, but survival against a paid assassin requires a set of skills that I doubt you’ve spent any time acquiring.”

She gave him a piercing look. “And you have? I understand that you’re military and must have received some training, but your résumé said that you specialize in infectious diseases, not in dodging killers.”

He lowered his eyes against her perceptive stare to sip his drink. When he was done, he looked up. “I need to keep moving because I have another mission to complete, and you should move, too.”

“And I’ve decided to go back to the safe house. It’s become clear to me from the attempted bombing at the hotel that I’m putting others at risk by staying outside. I was just waiting here for you to find me again so that I can get the code for that lockbox.” Smith rubbed his face with his hand. “What is it?” she said.

“You can’t go to the safe house.”

Nolan snorted. “You’ve been hounding me to go there and now, when I finally agree, you say that I can’t? Why not?”

Smith paused. He wasn’t about to tell a civilian about Russell’s concerns about a mole, but he also didn’t want Nolan to walk into a trap.

“There’s been a change of circumstances. The location and security of the safe house may have been breached.” Nolan went silent. She sipped her coffee and Smith thought he could see her brain whirring to process the information.

“So we’re on our own.”

Smith sighed. “For the most part, yes.”

“What about the third picture? The man you know?”

“His name’s Peter Howell.”

“What does Dattar have against him?”

“I’m not sure. Howell’s English, and Dattar might be lashing back at the UK for agreeing to jail him after a conviction. No other country was willing to bear the cost of imprisoning him for what most assumed would be a life sentence. England’s offer allowed the trial to go forward.” Smith sipped the wine again. “Howell’s missing. I assume he’s still alive, though. Howell’s hard to kill.” Nolan cocked her head to one side as she contemplated him.

“You’ve got some interesting friends. Especially for a man who claims to have no close personal relationships.”

Smith decided to leave that comment alone. The whole series of events had thrown the stark nature of his life into focus. Right now he preferred action to contemplation.

“We need to keep moving. We’ve been here too long. It’s not safe.”

Nolan glanced around the restaurant. “New York’s a big city. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of restaurants. Is this man so good that he can track me the way you can?”

“He may not have the precise tools that I do, but he’s been successful without them. You can bet he’s watching your home and your office.”

“How are you doing it?”

Smith shook his head. “Trade secret. We need to go.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Issuing orders?” He nearly bit his tongue. She was right. Something about her brought out the military in him. He was acting like a drill sergeant with a particularly recalcitrant recruit. And it was the exact wrong way to deal with her. He took a deep breath and went for honesty.

“Sorry. Absolutely not. I’ve learned how useless orders can be when dealing with you. It was a suggestion only.” His phone began vibrating in his pocket and he answered when he saw that it was Marty.

“Get out of there, now,” Marty said. “Someone’s accessing her tablet GPS just like I am, but they’re relaying the coordinates to an untraceable prepaid phone. And these hackers are the best.”

“Who is it?” Smith said.

“The CIA.”