The Lance (The PROJECT: Book Two) (21 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

It was breaking dawn outside. Streaks of vermillion and gold and yellow illuminated a shotgun sky filled with rows of puffy gray clouds. Stephanie sat in the Director's chair. It was strange to see anyone else sitting there. Harker's silver pen lay silent on the desk. Nick half expected Stephanie to pick it up.

"Elizabeth is out of surgery," Stephanie said. "The bullet bounced off the orbital ridge above her left eye and lodged alongside the skull. She was lucky it was only a .22. If the shooter had used something bigger it would have blown the top of her head off. They got the bullet out and she's in an induced coma while they wait and see if there's going to be any further insult to the brain—hemorrhaging, fluid build up. It's too soon to evaluate her neural functioning, if she's lost any capacity. The doctors are hopeful."

"What about the son of a bitch who shot her?" Ronnie kneaded his knuckles.

"No information yet. No ID. He was dressed in clothes of European manufacture. We're running his picture and prints through Interpol and everyone else. If he's ever been picked up, we'll find out who he was."

"She got off three shots after taking a bullet in her head?" It was Lamont.

Stephanie nodded. Lamont let out a sigh.

"I want to tell you about a dream I had," Nick said, "and a conversation with Herzog in Israel."

When he was done, everyone was silent.

"It feels like everything is coming to a head," he said, "but I'm damned if I know what it is. The thing outside my building—they must have wanted Selena and me alive, at least until I started shooting. Then, going after the Director like that. They're trying to stop us and they've turned up the pressure. It must be something set to happen soon."

Stephanie shifted in Harker's chair.

"We'll continue as planned. Get into Greenwood's house and see if we can find anything linking him to this conspiracy." She turned to Ronnie. "Are we set with the logistics?"

"We are. I got us a phone truck, uniforms, tools, all that stuff, plus some nifty little bugs we can scatter around. We'll be able to hear everything that happens in there after that."

"I pulled up Greenwood's schedule. He's in meetings all day. His wife is back in his home state. The maids don't come today and it's the gardener's day off. If you go in this morning it should be fine."

Stephanie picked up the pen, quickly set it down. She was showing the stress. "What I can't figure out is how these people know so much. We stopped Dysart. That should have been enough. It's like they know everything we're thinking about."

She turned to Nick. "I notified the President about the attack. He wants you at the White House this morning. It looks like a photo op to give you a medal for your actions in Jerusalem. It's a cover for a private meeting."

"What time?"

"At ten. You go in the front way, where the press can see you. The ceremony is in the Rose Garden. After the award, he'll invite you inside for a private chat. No one will think anything of it." She looked around. "Any other thoughts? No? Then we'll meet after Selena and Lamont get back from Greenwood's."

Stephanie stood up and Harker's wheeled executive chair slipped out from under her. She grabbed for the desk and her hand sent the picture of the Twin Towers skittering lengthwise along the polished surface. It flew off the desk and landed at Nick's feet. He reached down and picked it up.

A tiny, black rectangle was stuck on the bottom of the picture frame. Carter swore to himself. He held up his hand at the others, touched his lips and held the picture high where they could see it, pointed at the bug.

He said, "We've got a long day ahead of us. Anyone up for breakfast?  I'm buying."

"I'll go with you," said Selena. "Come on guys. Let's all go."

Nick set the picture back on the desk. They left the room. No one said anything in the elevator or out in the parking lot. They drove to a restaurant down the road. The place was slow. They took a corner table where they could see the entrance.

The waitress brought the order. Nick mashed toast into his eggs and thought about the listening device on that picture.

"No wonder they know what we're thinking. They've heard every word, all along."

"The sweeps didn't pick it up," said Stephanie. "It's got to be something new. High tech. How did they get it past all the security?"

"We'll find out." He put more sugar in his coffee.

"Whoever is listening knows we're going after Greenwood." Ronnie talked between bites. "If he's part of this, he's going to try and stop us. What if we found something in his house that could pin him down? He couldn't risk that."

Everyone nodded. The team was on the same page. Nick looked at Selena and she smiled at him, just a little.

"If Greenwood is dirty," Lamont said, "he'll be waiting for us. He's got no reason to think we'd be looking for an ambush. If I were him, I'd have people waiting outside and inside. We should be able to spot them outside. Then we'd know he's part of this for sure."

Ronnie munched on a piece of bacon. "That would tell us he's one of the bad guys, It wouldn't get us inside his house."

"How about this," Nick said. "If he wants to play rough, he's got to do it out of sight, inside the house. You go out there like we planned. You check things out. You spot someone, plant a bug in his phone box outside, but don't go inside. Then drive away. He thinks you did what you came to do. Then we come back when he's not expecting us."

"That could work." Stephanie pushed her half eaten eggs aside. She made up her mind. "Lamont and Selena, you go as planned. We'll leave the bug in place in Elizabeth's office. We've got an advantage, now. They don't know that we know they're listening"

Carter looked at his watch. "I have to get ready to meet Rice. Steph, as soon as I'm out of there
I'll call you."

"Elizabeth briefed the President on those emails we found on Dysart's computer. What I don't know is how he thinks it should be handled. Find out, Nick."

CHAPTER
FIFTY-EIGHT

Nick stood next to the President in the Rose Garden. Rice made the requisite remarks about service and duty and presented him with a boxed medal. The cameras flashed. It was a relief when they went inside to the Oval Office.

Rice took a seat behind his desk and motioned Nick to a chair. They were alone except for a Secret Service agent standing by one of the curved doors set into the wall.

"How do you like the limelight, Nick? You don't mind if I call you Nick, do you?"

"Of course not, sir. I don't like cameras much, to tell the truth. Don't you get tired of it?"

"It goes with the territory. Don't be surprised if someone wants you to run for Congress. You've got name recognition, now."

"I'd make a lousy politician, Mr. President."

He laughed. "Yes, you would. You're too willing to say what's on your mind. Even when you don't, your face gives you away. Don't get into any poker games, Nick."

Rice turned serious. "I was sorry to hear about Director Harker.  How would you feel about taking over for her?"

It took a moment to absorb that. "Sir, I'm no administrator. And as you pointed out, I wouldn't make a very good politician. A lot of what she does is political. I'd screw it up."

Rice picked up a letter opener, set it down. "What is your evaluation of Harker's deputy?"

"She's very competent. She's fully capable of running things and she knows everything that's going on. She and the Director have been an excellent team. We're all comfortable with her in charge."

"Hmmm. Then for now we'll leave things as they are."

Nick briefed him on Greenwood. He relayed Steph's question about how to handle the implications of Dysart's emails to the conspirators. He could see Rice thinking about what he was going to say next.

"This situation will tear the country apart if it becomes public. It was bad enough about Dysart, but the rest of it…" His voice trailed off. His eyes had a glint in them. Nick had seen it before, in the eyes of men getting ready to go into combat, an inward look of calculation, determination and something else.

"When I think of what this country has given these men," Rice said, "the honor and position—to have them throw it in our faces because of some rabid Nazi philosophy of hatred makes me want to puke. You have to get me proof, Carter. Proof. I can't move against them without it."

"Yes, sir."

Rice stood up and Nick rose. The President walked over to the windows
and looked out into the Rose Garden. He had his hands clasped behind his back. The knuckles were white and his voice was tight, controlled.

"I thought I'd have an eight year run here. Time enough to do some good, get the country back on track, wind down the war. If this becomes public, I'm finished. My VP is a Nazi. No one can spin that away."

Rice was speaking to the window. Nick couldn't see his face.

As if it were an afterthought, he said, "If General Dysart had been taken alive and tried, it would have been a bad day for our country."

"Yes, sir, it would have been." The message was clear. The President didn't want these men to come to trial. But he hadn't said the words out loud.

"Meanwhile, I still don't have what I need to show it wasn't a Jewish group that bombed the Mosque."

Rice turned back to face him. "I must have something, or I will not be able to stop what is happening over there. It may be too late, anyway, but I've got to try. I've spoken with the Presidents of China and Russia. They're willing to work with me to try and broker a solution, but without a clear trail of evidence showing the Israelis weren't behind it, there's not much any of us can do that will make a difference. This bomb has ignited hatreds that have festered for a thousand years."

"I understand, sir. I'll do my best."

Rice reached across the desk and shook his hand. "I know you will. I'm counting on it."

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

The dreary façade of the Jaffa Road Royal Arms in Tel Aviv would never find its way into the tourist brochures. A large, faded sign in Hebrew and English on the front of the building advertised "Furnished Rooms/Apartments To Let".

Ari wondered how he'd let himself be persuaded by Nick's phone call to mount this operation. He was beginning to think it was a good thing he had. Earlier his agents had checked out the building. A conversation with the manager and a look at the tenant list and Ari called in his teams.

The entire block was due to be leveled as part of a comprehensive program of urban renewal. Rents were cheap. All of the units except one in the Jaffa Arms were occupied by pensioners and older people down on their luck. Most had lived here for years. The one exception was a one bedroom unit rented only two months before by a middle-aged tourist couple from America. In this building, that rental stood out like a neon sign. The manager hadn't seen the tenants for a week. He did remember that several packages had arrived by private courier ten days before.

The street was sealed off. Anyone looking would see only the road barriers and work crews common when the utility company was digging something up.

Ari followed his six man team up the stairs. Outside the building, men watched the fire exits and escapes. The elevator was out of commission. The only way out from the upper floors was down these stairs he was now climbing.

The hall corridor on the fourth floor smelled of stale cabbage and cigarette smoke. Flickering fluorescent lights did nothing for the scuffed linoleum on the floor. Cracked and peeling yellow paint covered the ceiling and walls. The door to 416 was painted dull green. Ari put his ear against the wood. There was no sound from inside the apartment.

The lead man inserted a key the manager had given them. The key would not turn. The lock was shiny and looked new. Perhaps the tenants replaced it, Ari thought. Perhaps there was something in there they didn't want anyone to see.

One of the men held a ram ready. Ari nodded and the ram slammed into the door, splintering the lock and frame. The men boiled into the apartment, guns ready, and spread into the rooms, calling out.

"Clear."

"Clear."

The apartment was empty. The curtains were drawn. Ari pulled them back in a cloud of dust to let in some light.

A large, shiny metal case with reinforced corners and a black plastic carrying handle sat on a chipped brown table in the kitchen. Ari bent close and listened. He could hear nothing. He was tempted to open the case but he knew better. Maybe it was a travel case. Maybe not.

"Call the bomb squad. Clear the building
and get out of here."

Three hours later, he gave Nick a call.

"Shalom, Nick."

"Shalom, Ari. What did you find?"

"Your line is secure?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"My friend, please do not hesitate to call me again if you have one of your dreams."

"Come on, Ari, what did you find?"

"A nuclear warhead rigged to an electronic timer and set to detonate on the coming Sabbath."

Nick couldn't think of what to say. Ari continued.

"The warhead is of Russian manufacture. The container and detonator materials are Iranian. There's quite a debate going on right now about that. There's a lot of pressure on the acting prime minister. You can imagine what the hardliners want to do about this."

Nick found his voice. "Nuke Iran back into the stone age?"

"Exactly. There is going to be real trouble no matter what. If that warhead had gone off, a large part of Israel would have been gone in a mushroom cloud. We are a small country, Nick. With the fallout and aftermath one nuclear explosion could wipe us out."

"What if it's not Iran? What if it's these Nazis we're after? They want Israel destroyed. This could be misdirection, like the Mosque explosion. Hell, the whole world would get involved if nukes go off in the Middle East. Pakistan has the bomb. We'd never get the genie back in the bottle."

"It's not my call, Nick. All I can do is keep feeding information to the powers that be. What is happening on your end?"

"We have a suspicion about who's at the head of this organization but we don't have proof yet. We've mounted an operation to find out. Rice is behind us, all the way. I have to tell him what you've found."

"Mmm. What do you think your President will do?"

"I don't know, but I trust him. He doesn't want this to escalate. He's got Russia and China backing him up."

"You didn't get this information from me."

"Of course not. But this isn't a time to keep secrets, is it?"

"No. There's too much at stake. Too many mistakes get made because governments keep secrets. Soldiers know that, I've never understood why politicians don't. Let's not give them the option."

"You're a good friend, Ari."

"I do this for Israel, Nick. But I would be pleased to see you again when this is over. In friendship."

Ari ended the call and thought about the conversation. Some might condemn him for passing information to the Americans. It might ruin him if it came out, but Ari knew he had not betrayed his country. Politics and country were not the same thing.