The Protégé (28 page)

“Then what do you do?”

“If it was me, I’d buy a pharmaceutical company, then hide the nanodevils in things like nose sprays and cold medicines. Or I’d buy a food or a drink company. I’d buy something that produces things people ingest in huge quantities. Soft drinks, coffee, cookies. Anything like that.”

Gillette looked past Davis and out the office window overlooking the James River, his mind flickering back to the dinner with Allison and Jack Mitchell. Veramax’s primary products would make perfect nanodevil delivery systems.

“What does GARD want from you?” Davis asked.

“They want to use one of the companies we own to hide the project while they finish it up.”

“
One
of the companies you own?”

Gillette gave Davis a quick overview of Everest. “Unlike GARD, you’ll find Everest on the Internet,” he finished.

“I’ll take a look after you leave,” Davis said. “Have they moved the project into the cutout yet?”

Gillette had started to explain cutouts to Davis, but the doctor was already familiar with them. “Yes, into a company we own that has a division in Minneapolis. There’s a building on the division’s property that was only being used by a few people. I kicked them out and let the biochemists use it. I met with them yesterday morning.”

Davis tapped his forefinger on his lips. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “How do I fit in?”

“I need you to find out who these people are.”

“Which people?”

“The biochemists on the project,” Gillette replied.

“I thought you said you met them.”

“I did, and I can give you the names they gave me. What I need to do is make sure they are who they say they are.”

“Being careful, are you?”

“I
have
to be, Doctor.”

“You’re smart. So, what’s in it for Christian?” Davis asked quietly. “Why would you let these people use your company?”

Gillette had been anticipating this question. “Loyalty to the country. If these people are real and they’re close to cracking the code, then I feel like I need to help if they think there’s a security problem. The top executives at those financial firms who are big investors of mine would expect me to help. I’m sure some of them are already involved in the intelligence world, based on what I’ve learned in the last week or so, anyway.” False as they were, he was glad the words were rolling off his tongue so easily.

Davis nodded. “You’re in a tough position.”

“Yeah,” Gillette agreed, letting out a frustrated breath. “So will you help me, Doctor?”

Davis leaned back in his chair. “Now I know what’s in it for you. So tell me: What’s in it for me?”

WRIGHT SAT IN
a taxi in downtown Richmond, outside the Medical Center of Virginia. Same taxi he’d hailed outside Grand Central Station almost eight hours ago after watching Gillette hop into the black Escalade and tear off. Wright had been forced to offer the cabbie more and more money as the day wore on and the miles added up. By the time they reached Richmond, the negotiated fare had reached a thousand dollars and his Rolex, and the guy demanded payment.

So Wright had gone to a cash machine, withdrawn the thousand dollars, and given it to the cabbie. Now the guy was happy, smacking his lips as he devoured a messy cheese steak sub in the front as they waited for Gillette to reappear.

Wright looked down at his cell phone and Blackberry, lying on the backseat beside him. He smiled. He’d simply conducted business today from the cab, not missing a beat. The Hush-Hush deal was on track—he’d spoken to the Everest associates who were crunching the numbers several times—and he’d arranged for a meeting with the Ohio Teachers Pension. Christian would be quite satisfied—and he’d never know he’d been followed.

GILLETTE FLIPPED
through new e-mails as he headed north on I-95 toward Washington, D.C. He scrolled to the last one, shaking his head at the rush hour traffic crawling the other way. The background check on Allison’s new assistant had come up clean, the message from Derrick Walker indicated. As Allison had said, Hamid had spent the last few years at Citibank, and his references were solid.

Gillette dropped the Blackberry on the passenger seat and picked up the package the QS agent had given him, sliding the stack of photographs out of the envelope. Picture after picture of Boyd and Ganze outside the Minneapolis Beezer Johnson facility yesterday.

He gazed to the left again, at the traffic, thinking about Stiles. The memorial was tomorrow, and Stiles’s grandmother had asked him to make a speech. He’d met her several times at the hospital over the last ten months, and they’d gotten to be friends. Stiles’s grandmother had raised Quentin—his mother had died when he was young—and had been responsible for him going into the army. Stiles always claimed that she had saved him from a dead-end life.

His cell phone rang. It was Walker. “Hello.”

“Where are you?” Walker demanded angrily.

“I don’t want to say on the cell phone.”

“Look, I need to—”

“When I pull off I’ll call you from a pay phone, all right?”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Besides,” Gillette spoke up, “McGuire’s dead, remember? I’m fine.”

“Which is one of the reasons I called.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, the DNA test checked out. It was definitely McGuire’s hand his wife found.”

“Well, he was right-handed. If somehow he’s still alive, he won’t be able to shoot very well.”

“Very funny. Look, pull over right now so I can get a detail to you.”

“I’ll call you when I pull off for gas.” Gillette heard Walker curse at the other end.

“Did you get my e-mail on that guy Allison Wallace wants to bring in?” Walker asked.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Sorry it took so much longer, but we wanted to be very careful. Faraday’s nervous about him.”

“Nigel told you that?”

“Several times.”

“Jesus.” That wasn’t good. They didn’t need the ACLU coming down on them if Hamid got wind of Faraday’s suspicions. “You think the kid is okay?”

Walker was silent for a few moments.

“Derrick?”

“I don’t like his attitude. More important, there’s four months we can’t account for.”

“Four months? What do you mean?”

“The kid was at Citibank for a little over three years before Allison hired him. Before Citibank he worked at something called the Pan Arab Bank, in their New York branch here in Manhattan.”

“I thought Allison said he went to the University of Michigan.”

“He did, before Pan Arab. Anyway, he left Pan Arab in April, but he didn’t start at Citibank until the following August.”

“Did you ask him about those four months?”

“Yeah, this morning.”

“And?”

“After he got through giving me attitude, he said he had traveled around the U.S. on his own during that time, sightseeing.”

“On his own?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you ask him where he went, what he saw?”

“He wouldn’t talk about it. He hit me with the profiling thing again. And Christian?”

“What?”

“His parents still live in Iran. They work for the government.”

Gillette gritted his teeth. Maybe Faraday was right to be suspicious. His other line rang. “Let me take this call. I’ll be in touch later.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.” He switched lines. “Hello.”

“Christian, it’s Percy Lundergard from Chatham.”

“Hey, Percy.”

“I set up this town meeting we talked about. So we can get your store built.”

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow night at the high school auditorium.”

“That doesn’t leave much time to get the word out,” Gillette said. “Will we get enough people there?”

“My family’s been working this thing pretty good. There’ll be plenty of people there.”

“On a Saturday night?”

Lundergard chuckled. “Never lived in a small town, have you?”

“No.”

“It’ll be the social event of the month.”

JOE CELINO
was back in New York, back at his home in Staten Island, sitting on his veranda with Al Scarpa. They were taking in the sight of Manhattan drenched in late afternoon sunshine.

“I think you musta made a pretty good impression on David Wright,” Scarpa said. “This morning he hired a taxi at Grand Central to go all the way to Richmond, Virginia, to follow Gillette. At least that’s what Paul told me.”

“Who did Gillette see in Richmond?”

“A doctor. A brain surgeon.”

Celino looked over at Scarpa.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did we get that guy who capped Stiles for us yet?” Celino asked. “That guy who was crewing on Gillette’s boat?”

Scarpa shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“Joseph, it’s the strangest thing. Nobody’s seen him.” Scarpa shrugged. “He musta figured out he was gonna get it in the end and run.”

“We only gave him half the money, right?”

“Maybe that was enough.”

Celino grimaced. He didn’t like the sound of this. “Find the bastard,” he snarled. “I don’t care what it takes.
Find him.
”

“
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
”
Wright pounded on the Plexiglas separating the front seat from the backseat of the cab. They were slowing down, and the black Escalade was disappearing into the traffic ahead. “You can’t lose this guy.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” the cabbie yelled back. “The engine’s crapping out. I knew I shouldn’t have fucking come all the way down here.”

“Shit.” Wright grabbed his cell phone and dialed the number, but Gillette had already disappeared.

THE MEETING PLACE
was a parking garage near the Potomac River waterfront below Georgetown, on the west side of Washington. Basement level, next to the elevator banks—nine
P.M
. sharp. Gillette had been standing in the shadows beside the Escalade for half an hour. He checked his watch in the low light: It was nine-fifteen.

A white sedan made the U-turn from the level above at the far end of the garage and approached slowly, headlights on. Gillette stepped back all the way to the wall and watched the driver swing into a spot, then climb out of the car.

The man looked around as he stood up, then closed the car door and walked toward the elevators.

From a distance, he reminded Gillette of Gordon Meade, the man who had come with Allison to Everest that first morning. He was tall and thin, slightly stooped, most likely in his fifties. Gillette spotted the bottled water the man said he’d be carrying as he stopped a few feet from the elevator banks. Gillette moved out, toward the man.

They made eye contact as soon as Gillette appeared in front of the Escalade, and they stared at each other until Gillette stopped a few feet away. “Ted Casey?” Gillette asked.

Casey nodded.

“How do you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can stand out here in the open, or we can go in that SUV over there.” Gillette pointed at the Escalade.

“Yeah,” Casey agreed, eying the tinted windows, “let’s do that.”

When they were inside the SUV, Casey spoke first. “I looked at your Web site. You guys are big. Bigger than Apex.”

“Thanks to the new fund, that’s right.”

“How big is that fund?”

“Twenty billion plus,” Gillette answered.

Casey whistled. “Russell Hughes tells me you’re going to take over Apex with some of that money.”

“Yeah.”

“Will you be in charge of Apex after you buy it?” Casey asked nervously.

“Initially. After a few weeks I’m going to turn it over to one of my partners, guy named David Wright. But Wright doesn’t need to know about what Omega IT does in the Middle East. Ultimately he will, but not yet.” Casey seemed happy to hear that.

“Good. We need to keep that circle as small as possible.”

“Don’t worry. What’s going on at Omega is safe with me.” Gillette hesitated. “Are you actually in the Directorate of Operations?”

“Yup, I’m a spook.”

“How long have you been with the CIA?”

“Since I graduated from Yale thirty-five years ago. I’m a career man.”

That was good. There was a better chance Casey would be able to answer his questions. “Are you responsible for a number of cutouts, or just Omega IT?”

Casey chewed on his answer. “Not just Omega.”

“What else?”

“Can’t tell you.” Casey put the plastic water bottle in a cup holder.

He seemed to be growing more anxious by the moment, Gillette noticed.

“What did you want to ask me, Christian?” Casey asked impatiently.

“Do you know of a man named Norman Boyd?”

Casey looked over at Gillette. “Maybe. Why?”

“What do you know about him?”

Casey said nothing.

“Look,” Gillette spoke up, “I’m going to keep Omega a secret, but I need you to cooperate. I’m loyal, but it has to go both ways. If you know anything about Norman Boyd, I want to hear it.”

“How do you know Boyd?” Casey asked.

“He wants me to help him the way Russell Hughes helps you, the way you want me to help you. In fact, I think Boyd approached Russell before he approached me, and you told Russell to stay away from him. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you tell him that?”

“Boyd’s part of Defense Department intel,” Casey began. “He’s been around a long time over there. Got the ear of a lot of very important people at the Pentagon, people who want to see the DOD come out ahead of the CIA in the intelligence land grab that’s going on right now.” Casey exhaled heavily. “Maybe you’ve heard, there’s a massive power struggle going on. Iraq, 9/11, and Osama have turned everything upside down. Everything’s in chaos. No one knows who’s going to end up with what. Careers will be made
and
destroyed by this.”

“I’ve heard a little about it. But not much,” Gillette admitted.

“Well, Boyd’s a sacred cow over there at DOD. Always in charge of very
secret,
very
important
projects. He’s aggressive about grabbing everything he can for the Pentagon. We respect that at the CIA, it’s natural. But he’s a renegade. He thinks he’s outside the law, outside what’s tolerable, maybe because he’s older. But we can’t accept it.”