Tom Clancy Under Fire (12 page)

Her cell phone vibrated in her hand. The screen read:
OFF BUS. COMING YOUR WAY.

To Yegor she asked, “Where does the path come out?”

“Ahead on the right. Almost there.”

Yegor followed the road as it curved toward the tree-lined exit of the path. He pulled up to the curb and put the van in park.

Helen’s phone vibrated again:
I see you. Twenty seconds
.

She turned in her seat. “Roma, get in the back and be ready to open the doors.”

He didn’t reply.

“Roma!”

“I heard you.”

“Ready, Yegor?”

“Yes.”

Helen glanced out her side window and saw a figure emerging from the path; ten feet behind her, the silhouette of Olik. Helen waited until Amy was twenty feet from the van, then opened her door and climbed out.

“Excuse me, miss, I’m looking for Chancellors Court.”

Amy, her arms full of books clutched to her chest, stopped.

This was the right girl, Helen realized with relief.

“Oh, you’ve found it,” Amy said.

“Where? Can you show me?”

Amy walked to the rear of the van and stopped at the bumper. Helen followed. Amy pointed toward Chancellors’ lighted entrance. “Right there—”

Yegor came around the other side of the van and strode toward Amy, hood in hand.

“Hey, what are you—”

Amy dropped her books and started fumbling in her purse.

Helen pushed her forward as Yegor stuffed a balled-up sock into her mouth and slipped the hood over her head. Amy started wriggling. Helen knocked on the van’s rear doors. They swung open; crouched inside, Roma reached for Amy, who began kicking and screaming through the gag. Olik appeared beside Helen and together the four of them began wrestling the girl into the van. She was surprisingly strong. Helen felt one of Amy’s arms break free, then felt a blow to the side of her head. “Get her in, get her in,” Helen called.

“Hey, stop!” A voice shouted. “Amy!”

Helen heard footsteps pounding on the pavement behind Yegor, and over his shoulder she saw a man charging toward them. “Behind you, Yegor!” Helen rasped.

He turned, but not quickly enough. The man, now running at full speed, tackled Yegor and together they fell in a heap on the pavement.

“Olik, help him,” Helen said, as she bodily shoved Amy into the van. Roma grabbed her by the neck and dragged her the rest of the way. “Bitch!” he rasped.

“Don’t hurt her,” Helen told him.

Behind her, Helen heard a thump, then a grunt, then another thump. She turned. Yegor was pinned beneath the inert figure of the man.

Helen made a split-second decision: “Take him, put him inside.”

Olik rolled the man off Yegor and together the three of them lifted him up, manhandled him over the bumper, and rolled him inside. Helen slammed the doors shut.

“Get in,” Helen told Olik and Yegor.

She took a moment to look around. She saw no one, but several previously dark windows above the Chancellors Court lobby were lit; in one of them, a curtain slid open.

Helen walked to the passenger door and climbed in.

“Drive.”

Tehran

J
ACK AWOKE
to his sat phone buzzing on the night table beside the bed. He rolled over and checked the screen: Raymond Wellesley.

“Good morning, Raymond.”

“My apologies for waking you so early, Jack.”

“No problem. What can I do for you? I haven’t heard anything from Seth.”

“Nor us, sadly. Might you have time to meet this morning? Come by the apartment and I’ll have a hearty English breakfast for you.”

Wellesley was back to jovial British bobby. Did Wellesley’s use of “I’ll” mean Spellman wouldn’t be joining them? He hadn’t been at their last meeting, either. Did that mean something?

Jack had no intention of stepping onto Wellesley and Spellman’s turf. “I’m pressed for time today. Why don’t we meet at my hotel, around ten, in the lobby.” Though Jack hadn’t been back to the Parsian since the day of his kidnapping, he hoped they didn’t know that.

“Very good,” said Wellesley. “See you then.”

•   •   •

DESPITE HER PROTESTS,
Jack managed to persuade Ysabel to stay at the apartment and do some research. Ervaz had chosen the ground for their meeting, Nemin, so Jack wanted to know as much about the place as possible. Plus, he didn’t want to run the risk of having Wellesley or his people spot Ysabel.

Jack’s cab dropped him at the Parsian’s lobby at nine-thirty. He went to the front desk, asked if he had either any messages or visitors. He’d had neither. As it had the first time he’d seen it, Jack found the hotel’s lobby mildly astonishing, a gallery of khaki and ecru, from the tiled floors, to the row of columns running down the center, to the circular, lighted tray ceilings above. Seating areas with burgundy and brown wingback chairs bracketed by potted palms were strategically placed throughout the space.

Jack took the elevator up to his room, slid the key card, and stood at the threshold.
You’re getting paranoid, Jack.
Then again, after the last few days, the feeling was forgivable. He walked in, closed the door behind him. Aside from signs the maid had come in to clean, nothing appeared disturbed. His briefcase, which contained Tehran sightseeing brochures, nonconfidential Hendley documents, and Jack’s passport, looked untouched as well.

Jack pocketed his passport, but left the briefcase, then went back down to the lobby. He took a chair in a seating area facing the door. Wellesley arrived in a black Khodro Samand, Tehran’s version of a hired Lincoln Town Car, got out, and walked into the lobby.

“Jack, there you are,” Wellesley said, walking over, his hand extended.

Jack shook it. “Thanks for meeting me here. No Matt?”

“He’s otherwise engaged.”

Jack led Wellesley to the Parseh, the hotel’s twenty-four-hour café. The hostess gave them a booth in the back. A waitress promptly brought a carafe of coffee for Jack and a pot of tea for Wellesley, then took their orders. When she left, Jack said, “What can I do for you, Raymond?”

“You’re not ones for small talk, you Americans.”

“Sorry. I’ve got a busy day in front of me.”

“Very well. I’ll come to the point. A man was murdered outside Seth Gregory’s condominium the night before last.”

The statement took Jack by surprise; without missing a beat, he let the emotion show on his face, then replied, “Tell me it wasn’t Seth.”

“Jack, please, let’s not do this. You know as well as I do it wasn’t Seth. You were there. You saw the man die. Had I not put one of my men there, you would be in the city morgue alongside him. Tell me why you went to the park.”

“I got a text message from Seth saying he wanted to meet me. When I got there, it was this other man. He told me he was going to take me to Seth. We started across the street, then . . . You know the rest. Who was he?”

Wellesley shrugged, then asked, “Tell me this: Did he have an American accent?”

“Yes. Who sent him?” Jack asked.

“It’s very complicated.”

“Spellman?”

“Jack, please, I can’t answer that question.”

“Then tell me how you knew to send someone to Pardis,” said Jack.

“You’re in over your head, Jack. I told you once and now I’m telling you again: Leave it be. Go home.”

“You know I can’t do that. Tell me how you knew to send someone to Pardis,” he repeated.

“I had you followed.”

He said, “You had me followed, or you and Spellman had me followed?”

Wellesley hesitated, then said, “The former. As I said, it’s very—”

“Complicated. I know.”

“I can’t make you stay out of this, Jack, and I can’t force you to go home. Instead, do me a favor, if you would: Keep me informed. Night before last didn’t have to happen. You could have easily died on that street. If that had happened your father would have been looking for someone’s head on a pike—mine, specifically—and he’d damn well get it.”

“You’re telling me to leave it to the professionals?”

“That’s my strong recommendation.”

•   •   •

WHEN JACK WALKED
into Ysabel’s apartment, she called from the seating area, “The police called. They found my Range Rover. You didn’t tell me you were going to torch it, Jack.”

“Sorry.”

She shrugged. “Insurance will cover it.”

Jack sat down on the couch and recounted for her the meeting with Wellesley. She said, “How much of that do you believe? Could they have been following us?”

“I don’t think so, but it’s possible. But if they’ve known all along what we’ve been up to, why didn’t they roll us up?”

“Either way, I think we can safely assume one or the other lured you to the condo.”

“Or both. Spellman and Wellesley could still be working together, and Wellesley’s just playing mind games. Hell, for all we know, Balaclava’s murder could have been designed to scare us off.”

“It’s a very cold thing to kill one of your own men.”

“Or an ally’s man,” Jack added. “I think last night was proof of that.”

Ysabel let out an exasperated sigh, leaned her head back, and wriggled her fingers through her hair. “This is enough to give me a migraine.”

“Me, too. Let’s break it down. Come on.”

They walked to the dining room table and sat down.

Jack said, “Okay, this is what we know, or can reasonably assume.”

He started writing on the notepad:

—Seth missing.

—Wellesley/Spellman claim Seth’s CIA and he’s stolen operational funds and gone to ground.

—Seth kept bolt-hole apartment unknown to Wellesley/Spellman.

—Seth kept safe in bolt-hole apartment.

—Balaclava/Weaver kidnappers. Have American accents.

—Balaclava/Weaver tried to break into Seth’s safe.

—Contents of safe important to Seth. Document in Cyrillic.

—Balaclava and Weaver used Yazdani van for kidnapping.

—Yazdani linked to Hamrah Engineering.

—Seth’s agent, Ervaz, is Farid Rasulov, Archivan branch, Hamrah Engineering.

—Balaclava/Weaver took Jack’s phone. Used it to pose as Seth and lure Jack to Pardis Condos.

—Balaclava killed outside Pardis condo. Attempt on Jack’s life.

—Wellesley implied he’s Jack’s guardian angel, implied Spellman untrustworthy.

—Ervaz/Rasulov behind Jack’s kidnapping.

Jack stopped writing and studied the points. He frowned and shook his head.

“What?” Ysabel asked.

“I don’t know. I’m missing something. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It will come to you. But Jack, let’s make sure we don’t gloss over the last one. Tomorrow night, the man we’re meeting in the middle of nowhere is behind your kidnapping.”

•   •   •

HOPING WELLESLEY
would assume he was neither stupid enough nor bold enough to go back to the Pardis condo, Jack did just that. After walking a surveillance circuit through Mellat Park and then the side streets bordering the condo, he walked into the lobby, used the key Ysabel had given him to open the inner door, then took the elevator up to Seth’s floor, where he got off and walked down the hall. He felt the reassuring heft of the nine-millimeter in his jacket pocket. So far, his experiences at Seth’s two residences had been bad, one ambush/kidnapping and one sniper attack. He hoped the third time would be the charm.

He put on his gloves, then slid the key into the lock, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. He drew the nine-millimeter, then went from room to room, clearing each in turn, before returning to the front room.

This apartment was the exact opposite of Seth’s bolt-hole, lavishly furnished with thick carpet, leather couches and chairs, Persian tapestries, and a gourmet kitchen in stainless steel.

Jack caught a whiff of something in the air.
Copper,
he thought. He knew the odor. He felt a hollowness fill his belly.
God, no,
he thought.
Bathroom tubs,
he thought. He hadn’t checked the—

He strode down the hall to the guest bathroom, then jerked back the shower curtain. The tub was empty. He headed for Seth’s master-suite tub and swept open its curtain, the rings rattling on the bar above.

He found himself staring into a pair of milky eyes.

Floating in the half-full bathtub was the body of David Weaver. There was a ragged, golfball-sized hole three inches above his left eyebrow. Someone had put a bullet in the back of his head.

Who?
The body showed little sign of decay; Jack guessed he’d died around the same time as Balaclava. The two men that had kidnapped him from Seth’s bolt-hole were now dead. Wellesley had taken credit for killing the sniper. Did he mean Weaver?

There was virtually no blood in the tub’s water, and Jack saw no signs of blood anywhere else in the apartment, and with a head wound like Weaver’s, the place would’ve been a slaughterhouse. That left one possibility.

Jack left the apartment, walked the four flights to the top floor, and wandered around for a few minutes before finding the roof’s access door. Jack opened it and stepped outside.

With his feet crunching on the gravel, he crossed the roof to the southwest corner and looked over the edge. He had a direct line of sight around the edge of the nearest tree, then down onto Rajaei Boulevard, where Balaclava had gone down. Jack raised his arms to simulate holding a rifle, his far index finger as the barrel. He nodded. This was the spot.