The Shadow Protocol (18 page)

Bianca didn’t recognize him. “Who’s that?” she quietly asked Tony as the tall, thin man in an expensive suit shook hands with Morgan.

“Alan Sternberg,” he replied. Her blank look prompted him to elaborate. “The national security adviser.”

“I thought that was Harper?”

“He’s the director of national intelligence.”

“Ah, I see.” A beat. “No, I don’t. What’s the difference?”

“Political, mostly. The DNI has to be approved by Congress, so there’s always a lot of horse trading to get someone both sides agree on. The national security adviser doesn’t need approval, though. The president can appoint anyone he wants. And Sternberg just so happens to be the president’s old friend—and campaign manager.”

“So who’s the top dog?”

“In theory, Harper, as he’s got congressional authority. In practice … well, being the president’s golf buddy gives you a lot of sway.”

Another tall man entered the Bullpen. This one Bianca recognized: Harper. He seemed discomfited to find Sternberg already there, but quickly covered it and marched
over to join him and Morgan. “Do they have different agendas, then?” she asked.

Tony chuckled. “Oh yeah. Harper is from the Department of Defense, which controls the NSA, NRO, DIA, and half a dozen other three-letter intelligence acronyms. But Sternberg is ex-CIA—and the CIA
isn’t
controlled by the Pentagon. It’s probably fair to say they hate each other almost as much as al-Qaeda.”

“The CIA and the Pentagon, or Sternberg and Harper?”

“Yes to both.” A wry smile. “The Pentagon would love to take full control of the CIA—and the other independent agencies like STS, for that matter. It’s not likely to happen, though. Certainly not while Sternberg has the president’s ear.”

Harper and Sternberg concluded their chilly greetings, then had a brief exchange with Morgan before the black man turned to address his audience. “All right, everyone.” The murmur of conversation ended. “As most of you know, we discovered on the mission in Pakistan that Malik Syed had been in direct contact with one of Muqaddim al-Rais’s lieutenants. At that meeting, Syed heard that al-Rais was planning something big. He didn’t know what—he wasn’t told anything more than a code name. But after using PERSONA to obtain information from Syed, we discovered that code name: Operation Lamplighter.”

Bianca had been groggy from her early wake-up call, but the name of Muqaddim al-Rais caught her full attention. She didn’t need to be a spy to know the name of the world’s most wanted terrorist. Any residual sleepiness was now gone. She listened intently as Morgan continued.

“We passed that code name to other agencies in the USIC to see if anything came up. Last night, something did. NSA got an ECHELON hit on Operation Lamplighter from this man.” He indicated a grainy photo, blown up to fill a block of the screens behind him. “His
name is Ruslan Pavelovich Zykov. He’s a Russian arms dealer.”

Bianca stared at the image. It had been taken using a telephoto lens, looking down from on high at the subject as he climbed into the back of an SUV. The group of beefy men shielding him suggested that he preferred to be in public view as little as possible. He appeared to be in his forties, with bristling black hair and a broad, pugnacious face, a chunky gold necklace around his neck.

“The code name came up in a phone conversation between Zykov and a man called Hadrami, whom we strongly believe has a direct connection to al-Rais,” said Tony, moving to stand beside Morgan. “The full transcript is in your file packets, but to summarize: Zykov is acting as a middleman between Hadrami’s client—presumably al-Rais—and an unknown party, who has possession of something vital to Operation Lamplighter. Whatever it is, a price has been agreed to buy it. Seven million US dollars.”

That produced a stir around the room. “So it’s more than a crate of RPGs, then,” said Holly Jo.

“It looks that way,” Morgan replied. “For that kind of money, we’re talking high-end anti-aircraft systems, NBC materials, armored vehicles or gunships—the works.”

“NBC?” Bianca whispered to Levon, whose workstation she was standing beside.

“Nuclear, Biological, Chemical,” he told her. “Germ warfare, dirty bombs … nasty stuff.”

“Oh. Great.” She felt a sudden chill.

“Whatever it is,” Morgan went on, “if al-Rais wants it, it’s not to make the world a better place. Now, other agencies will be working on this from their own angles, but since it was STS that learned about Lamplighter in the first place, we’re being given the chance to follow up on it and prove the Persona Project’s worth.” He looked over at Harper and Sternberg, who were standing with their respective aides between them like human barricades.
“So, as of now, our mission is: Find out what Operation Lamplighter is, and stop it. Start thinking, people.”

“Snatch team,” said Baxter, who was standing near the front of the audience. “We go in and grab Zykov like we did Syed.”

“If it were that easy, you’d already be on a plane to do it,” said Morgan, shaking his head. “Zykov isn’t a small-timer like Toradze. He’s … connected. He’s former FSB and still has close links to the Russian secret service—and also the Russian government. At very high levels. As you can see from the photo, he’s also paranoid enough to have constant protection from bodyguards, most of whom are also former FSB. His dacha outside Moscow is like a fortress. Grabbing him by force would be tough—and if anything went wrong, it would cause a serious diplomatic incident between Russia and the US.”

Sternberg spoke. Even though his voice was quiet and calm, it dominated everyone’s attention. “The president has made it clear that this cannot be allowed to happen. Any operation in Russia will be under condition of maximum deniability.”

“Sounds like we’re being disavowed,” Kyle muttered to Levon.

Levon nodded. “Your mission, which you don’t have a choice about accepting …”

“There may be a way to catch him outside Russia, though,” Tony told the room. “According to his file, he’s a serious gambler. He’s often dropped half a million dollars or more on poker games. And usually won.”

Kyle whistled appreciatively. “Dude’s a real player.”

“NSA also went through all Zykov’s other communications and found that two days from now, he’s going to be in Macao. There’s a regular high-stakes VIP game at the Imperial Casino there—quarter of a million dollars minimum buy-in. And he’s buying in. That’s where he’ll be vulnerable. Macao is Chinese territory, and he won’t be able to call on the kind of backup he can in Russia.”

Sternberg cleared his throat. “Deniability of operations
extends to China just as much as to Russia. The State Department is not willing to jeopardize the current round of trade talks.”

“For God’s sake, Alan,” growled Harper. “How the hell are we supposed to operate if State keeps sticking its nose in? We’re at the sharp end here.”

“I’m aware of that, Gordon, but State had to patch up the tears the sharp end made in our relationship with the Pakistanis after the last STS mission. They don’t want to have to do it again with Russia or China. And that’s direct from the president. State’s still in shock after Sandra Easton’s assassination—and the international situation is already tense enough without American agents causing a diplomatic incident.”

Morgan was unhappy with the development, but had no choice but to take it on board. “So, we need a deniable plan, then. Suggestions?”

Levon raised a hand. “Are we talking a straightforward grab, like Mr. Baxter wants, or do we need this guy to stay oblivious?”

“The latter would be better,” said Morgan. “If Zykov’s contacts realize we got to him, they might go underground, and take Lamplighter with them. If al-Rais is willing to pay seven million dollars for it, he’ll be able to find another middleman to replace Zykov. And we might not know who that middleman is until it’s too late.”

Bianca hesitated before speaking, feeling extremely self-conscious and out of place. “Ah … what else do you know about this Zykov?” All eyes turned to her. “You said he was paranoid—was that based on any specific assessment, or just because he’s got six guys with no necks surrounding him?”

Kiddrick was about twelve feet from her, but his mutter of “So now we’re listening to the hired help?” was perfectly audible. Others also voiced similar feelings, though more quietly.

Tony stared them down. “Dr. Childs makes a good point. He is paranoid, yes—because people really
are
out
to get him. He has friends in high places, but he’s also made a lot of enemies. His file—and criminal record—says he’s prone to violence. He’s even attacked close friends because they did something to make him mad.”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Bianca said sarcastically. “But could you use that against him? Do something that makes him mad enough to drop his guard?”

“Something like taking him for a quarter million dollars at poker?” Everyone looked around as Adam spoke. He was standing unobtrusively at the edge of the group.

Tony grinned. “Something like that, yes. If we use the persona of a world-class card sharp …”

“I’m sure we’ve got someone suitable,” said Morgan. “All right! We know the person, we know the place. What we need now is a plan. Get on it. I want first proposals by eleven
AM
, and we’ll take things from there.”

The assembly broke up, everyone dispersing with purpose. As Morgan departed with Harper and Sternberg, Tony came over to Bianca. “Good call.”

She felt a little embarrassed at the praise. “It was fairly obvious—someone else would have said it if I hadn’t.”

“But you said it first. Looks like Roger was right—you really are the perfect choice to take his place.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But thanks for backing me up.”

“No problem.” He smiled at her, then addressed his colleagues. “Okay, I want everyone to divide up into working groups. We need as much information as we can find on Zykov, Hadrami, known associates, and the Imperial Casino in Macao, plus any local assets we might have. We have forty-eight hours to work out how to crack this guy, and seventeen of them will be taken up by flying there. So get those brains started, people!”

For the second time in four days, Bianca found herself aboard a private jet.

This aircraft was considerably larger than the one that had brought her to Washington; she didn’t know the type, but she had been aboard similarly sized airliners on
regular commercial flights. It seemed excessive, since the team going to Macao comprised only thirteen people including herself, but she assumed that STS had simply requisitioned the first available US government jet.

It gave her room to stretch out, though. A general plan had been worked out in Washington, and was now being fine-tuned en route, Levon and others offering contributions from the other end of a satellite link with the Bullpen. Tactics were not her concern, however, so she was taking a break from the discussion in the VIP section at the front of the cabin.

She looked out of a porthole. Nothing was visible beyond except blue, the empty sky and the Pacific mirror images against the pale line of the horizon. A shift of focus, and she caught her own reflection in the window. “What the hell am I doing here?” she whispered.

It was not the first time recently that she had asked herself the question.

Someone opened the dividing curtain. She looked around. “Hey,” said Tony, coming to her seat.

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Work, I’m afraid. We have a plan. We’re about to present it to Martin.”

Bianca stood and followed him out. Most of the team were seated at a large table, others overflowing onto the rows of standard aircraft seats behind it. There was a space at the table for her. She took it, then looked up at the screen on the bulkhead.

It was divided into three windows, the faces of Morgan, Levon, and Kiddrick occupying them. Morgan finished talking to someone off camera and tapped a button to unmute his microphone. “Okay. Let’s have it.”

Tony took his own seat between Bianca and Adam. “Right. We know that Zykov is staying in one of the Imperial’s penthouses, and Levon got the plans from the French firm of architects who designed the place.”

Levon beamed on his screen. “Right down to the position of the last faucet. There might be a lot of security in
the casino, but there was hardly any on the architects’ servers!”

“The penthouses have private elevator access and twenty-four-hour concierges, as well as full CCTV coverage of the hallways outside,” Tony went on. “The chances of entering unseen that way are almost zero. We thought about getting into his penthouse from the roof, but it’d be tricky—especially for Dr. Childs.”

Bianca blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Wherever we grab Zykov, you need to be there, remember?” said Tony. “You have to administer the drugs. And we figured that you probably wouldn’t want to climb along the edge of a fiftieth-story rooftop.”

“While carrying about twenty pounds of PERSONA gear,” Kiddrick added with sardonic pleasure.

“So the penthouse was out. But,” Tony said, nodding at Baxter, “John came up with an alternative that we think will work.”

“It follows on from what Dr. Childs suggested,” Baxter began. “We make Zykov mad as hell by having Adam clean him out, and get in his face about it. Really gloat, maybe even drop a hint that he was cheating.”

“Which he will be, of course,” said Holly Jo. “Every edge we can give Adam, he’ll have.”

“Even Zykov won’t be dumb enough to do anything in the casino itself—there are cameras covering every square inch, and probably a couple hundred security guards. If he gets arrested, he won’t be able to complete the deal with al-Rais. But if we can get him
outside
the casino …”

“That gives us freer rein to operate,” finished Morgan, nodding. “What are you thinking?”

Tony took over the explanation once more. “The Imperial is brand new; it only opened this year. It’s in a part of Macao called Cotai, which is reclaimed land between two of the other islands. The whole area is still being developed—right now, some parts of it are actually empty. Our thinking is that if we can get Zykov riled enough to
follow Adam out of the casino to somewhere with nobody around, we can catch him there.”