The Scorpio Illusion (64 page)

“I remind you,” interrupted the Baj. “The Scorpios have served me well, and by doing so have served the Baaka through me.”

“Ordered to do so by the all-powerful Van Nostrand. He can cut off their funds with a telephone call, to say nothing of revealing their crimes—past and present—to the authorities. Do you think they give a damn about us, about the things we hold so dear? If you do, you’re not the woman I was led to believe you are.”

“Van Nostrand has retired. He’s somewhere in Europe, or he is dead. He’s no longer Scorpio One.”

“… Palm Beach’s trouble with the telephone codes,” said the diminutive, catlike Arab, barely audible. “That’s astonishing news—are you sure?”

“Whether he’s alive or dead, I can’t be certain. Another survived, a former intelligence officer named Hawthorne, who I thought had been taken into custody; he hadn’t. But Nils Van Nostrand is gone; he told me himself he was going to disappear.”

“Not only astonishing, but extremely disturbing. As
long as Van Nostrand was in place, we could monitor him; we had people at his estate, at the gate, informers loyal to us.… Who are you dealing with now? You must tell me!”

“I don’t know—”

“The White House, Amaya!”

“I’m not lying to you. You say you have the codes, dial them yourself. Whoever answers certainly will not volunteer his identity.”

“You’re right, of course—”

“I
can
tell you that the Scorpio I last spoke with is a man so privileged as to be given the most secret information. He had details about the government’s progress in its search for me; they were accurate details. He called it the inner circle.”

“The inner circle …?” The Palestinian beauty frowned, producing few lines on her dark, classic features. “The inner circle,” she repeated as she walked across the immense room in thought, her small, lacquer-tipped fingers brought to her dainty chin. “If it’s the senator we’re looking for, there’s only one committee that’s accorded such classified information. Senate Intelligence. Of course, it’s so natural, so brilliantly simple! Since the scandals of Watergate and Iran-contra, every agency in Washington makes sure it reports the details of its covert operations to Senate Intelligence. They can’t afford not to; none cares to be left facing accusations of illegality in front of the entire Congress.… You see, dear Amaya, already you’ve been of
immense
help.”

“Further, he is a man who kills, at least that’s what he told me. He said he killed a man named Stevens, the head of naval intelligence, because this Stevens had come close to finding me. For that I owe him.”

“You owe him nothing! He was following orders, that’s all he was doing.… Whether he told you the truth, or lied to you so you would be beholden to him, is immaterial. There’s only one man in the Senate who would speak in such crude, bravado terms, and we’ve
studied them all.… Seebank, the intolerable, ill-tempered General Seebank. Thank you, Baj.”

“If it is he, I should also tell you I gave him a test of his commitment to me. As you may know, in certain military situations where it’s imperative to eliminate an obstacle, even a command post, a man is chosen to walk into a compound, knowing he will not walk out. It is in his footwear.”

“The Allah Boot,” the Palestinian said. “Explosives packed into the sole and the heel, set off by kicking the toe into a solid object. Death to the wearer and everyone in the vicinity.”

“Yes, I even provided him with a blueprint.” The Baj nodded slowly. “If he sends back the authentic article, I will know I can trust him. If not, I will break off all communication. Should he be true, I shall use him … and you will have your Scorpio.”

“Is there no end to your skills, Amaya?”

“
Muerte a toda autoridad
, that’s all you have to know.”

28

S
enator Paul Seebank walked down the country road on the outskirts of Rockville, Maryland, the afternoon dark, the sky heavy with clouds. He carried a flashlight which he continuously, nervously snapped on and off. His brush-cut gray hair was covered by a walking cap, his chiseled features concealed by the upturned lapels of a lightweight summer raincoat. In truth, the lean, tough, former Brigadier General See-bank, now the lean, tough, outspoken Senator Seebank, was in panic, close to losing his equilibrium. He could not stop the trembling in his hands, or halt the progressively obvious tic that drew down his lower right lip in short, abrupt spasms.

He had to keep his thoughts focused; he could not lose control. Yet he could not contain his dread at becoming Scorpio One.

The madness had started eight years before on this very road—where it led to a dilapidated shell of a long-deserted barn in the long-abandoned fields of a long-forgotten farm, now merely the unused, infertile acres of some estate, more interested in gardens than in crops.

It had been initiated by a frighteningly obtuse telephone call on his private office line, the sacrosanct line of a newly elected senator that rang only at his desk, a standard privilege for family and very close friends. However, the caller had not been a member of his family or a friend at all; he was a stranger who introduced himself as Neptune.

“We watched your campaign for the Senate with great interest, General.”

“Who the hell are you and how did you get this number?”

“That’s irrelevant, our business is not. I suggest we meet as soon as possible, for my superiors are most anxious that we make contact.”

“And I suggest you pound sand!”

“Then I must further suggest that you examine the basis, the essence, of your campaign for your office. The heroic prisoner of war in Vietnam who kept his men together under intolerable conditions through sheer leadership and his own personal courage. We have friends in Hanoi, Senator. Need I say more?”

“What the
hell
…?”

“There’s an old barn on a road outside the town of Rockville—”

Goddamn it! What did they know?

Seebank had gone to that barn on that road eight years earlier, as he was going to it now because of another phone call from another stranger. But eight years ago, under the glow of an old lantern, in the presence of the shadowed, elegant Neptune, he had read the affidavits of the commandants of the five prison camps in which he and his men had been interned.

“
Colonel Seebank was most cooperative and frequently dined with us
…”

“
The colonel would describe for us the escape procedures his other officers created
…”

“
A number of times we pretended to subject him to physical abuse while he screamed in earshot of his comrades
…”

“
We used a mild acid to discolor his flesh—usually while he was quite happily drunk—and sent him back later to his quarters in torn clothing
…”

“
He was cooperative, but we did not admire him
…”

Everything was there. Brigadier General Paul Seebank was no hero. He was something else.

And he was valuable to the Providers, so valuable, he was given an elite position: Scorpio Four. All future elections were guaranteed, for no opponent could ever match his political war chest. He had won his second term by burying the contender in an avalanche of money, The senator, a military expert, had merely to steer defense contracts to the coffers of those selected by the Providers.

The old barn was in sight, a ramshackle silhouette against the gray sky, on the rise of a hill of wild grass. Seebank left the road and climbed toward the rendezvous, the beam of his flashlight now steady. Six minutes later he reached the broken-down doors, half doors, slats really, and called out, “I’m here. Where are you?”

His answer was the brief illumination of a second flashlight. “Come inside,” said the voice in the darkness. “It’s a pleasure to meet my superior officer—in a different army, of course.… Turn off your light.”

Seebank did so. “Did we serve together? Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met personally. You might, however, remember a unit number and a rank, even a barracks location—the ‘south compound.’ ”

“A prisoner, you were a prisoner! We were prisoners together!”

“It was a long time ago, Senator,” interrupted the unseen figure. “Or do you prefer General?”

“I prefer to know why you called me and why you chose this place.”

“Isn’t this where you were recruited? This very barn?
I
was. I merely thought it would convey how very urgent the emergency is.”

“Recruited …? You? Then you are—”

“Of course I am. Why else would you be here? Let me introduce myself, General. I am Scorpio Five, the last of the elite Scorpions, the remaining twenty every bit as vital but without our authority.”

“I can’t say I’m not relieved.” Seebank’s hands were
still trembling, the tic in his lower lip now constant. “Of course, this location had an immediate impact on me. Frankly, I thought I’d be meeting with one of our … our—”

“Say it, Senator, one of our Providers, right?”

“Yes … a Provider.”

“In light of the extraordinary events of the past two days, I’m surprised that you haven’t—also somewhat relieved.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, according to the telephone codes, Scorpio Four is now, for all intents and purposes, Scorpio
One
, isn’t that so?”

“Yes, yes, I suppose it is.” Seebank’s tic accelerated.

“Do you know why?”

“No, not actually.” The senator clasped his hands around the extinguished flashlight to control the trembling.

“No, you probably wouldn’t. You don’t have access to the information. Fortunately, I do, and I’ve acted upon it.”

“You’re talking in circles, soldier. I don’t like that!”

“What you
like
doesn’t matter. Scorpios Two and Three were taken out. They chickened; they couldn’t live with the current scenario, so Little Girl Blood had them eliminated, and that’s good enough for me.”

“I don’t understand. Who the hell is Little Girl Blood?”

“I wondered if you knew; you don’t. You work for the Providers in a different area, very profitable but very different, and this isn’t your thing. Considering what you are—what we
know
you are—you couldn’t hack it. It’s called no guts. You’re a fraud, Scorpio Four, and I was told years ago to watch you.… Now you’re a liability.”

“How dare you!” roared the panicked Seebank. “You are my subordinate!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t wait for that to change—couldn’t
wait for the electronics to untangle the signals and replace you. If you could call your wife right now, she’d tell you that a telephone serviceman came to your house at eight-ten this morning, twelve minutes after you left for your Senate office. He did his work on the phone in your den.… You see, we’re too close, General, too close to putting this country back where it belongs. We’ve been stripped bare, our military budgets cut disastrously across the board, our personnel decimated, our armed might reduced to chickenshit. There are twenty thousand nuclear warheads all over Europe and Asia pointed at us and we pretend they don’t exist!… Well, that’ll change when Little Girl Blood carries out her operation. We’ll be in charge again, the nation ours to govern the way it should be governed! The country will be paralyzed, and, naturally, as always, it will turn to us for guidance and protection.”

“I’m not against you, soldier,” the trembling senator managed to say. “Those could be my very words; surely you must know that.”

“Hell, General, I certainly do, but they’re only words. You’re all words, no action. Your cowardice is a deficiency we can’t afford. You couldn’t hack it.”

“Hack
what
?”

“The killing of the President. How does that grab you?”

“My God, you’re
insane
!” whispered Paul Seebank, his hands suddenly steady, his tic diminished in sheer terror. “I can’t believe what you’re
saying
. Who are you?”

“Yes, I guess it’s time.” From behind the brick wall a one-armed figure, his right sleeve folded into his shoulder, emerged. “Do you recognize me, General?”

Seebank stared, uncomprehending, at a face he knew all too well. “
You
…?”