“The very same.”
“Pretty new, isn’t he, for this critical an assignment?”
Maitland said, “He’s not only sharp, he’s fast and a genius with computers. His partner, Agent Caine, worked with him on another major case as well, recovering the Koh-i-Noor diamond when it was stolen from the Met.”
McGuiness gave him a nod and a sneer. “And what about your golden boy, Dillon Savich? The wunderkind? Why isn’t he a part of this?”
32
ROOK ON F TO E8 CHECK
Maitland didn’t tell McGuiness to go shoot herself, though he did have to take a second to clear that lovely thought from his brain. He said calmly, “Agent Savich is very aware of the situation.”
Callan said, “Bring him in, Jimmy, have him oversee the entire op. Hook him up directly with Agents Drummond and Caine, have him coordinate all of it.
“I’m not kidding, people, get me some movement on this. The president will be back in the States to give a great, triumphant announcement to the American people—assuming he gets all those disparate entities to sign an agreement—during his speech on Thursday afternoon at the Yorktown Oil Refinery. I want to be able to celebrate his success with news of the capture of this group.”
Maitland said, “Ma’am, about the speech. The FBI believe it would be wise to postpone, or change venues. The Bayway bombing—”
Callan stood, walked to the window, then turned to face them, arms crossed. “He’ll never go for it. What sort of message does it send? The president of the United States can be forced to alter his agenda by a group of terrorists?” She turned around. “Yes, I said terrorists, and that’s exactly what they are, whatever their agenda, however we may sympathize with them, whatever they said about their enemies. The bottom line is after Bayway and the wanton murder of fifteen people, they are no better than the Islamic terrorists we battle every day across the planet, day in and day out. No, it won’t happen. He will demand to make his big announcement Thursday, and we’ll do it at Yorktown, and that’s because you and your people will have solved this case. Do I make myself clear?”
There were nods, but they all knew what she was really thinking. It was no secret that Vice President Sloane was dead set against the president’s peace talks in Geneva because she saw them as pure and simple capitulation to Iran. They also knew that each of them, regardless of whether or not they agreed with the president’s agenda, took their oaths seriously. They would do all they could.
Callan looked at Trafford. “Temp, you’ve been very quiet. Do you have anything to add?”
Trafford had a low Virginia drawl that always made her think of a college boy’s fraternity and too much beer at tailgates on Saturday afternoons. “No, ma’am. The CIA will do everything we can to support the FBI’s and National Intelligence’s efforts. All our ears are to the ground, listening, probing for information.”
McGuiness rolled her eyes. Callan was hard-pressed not to grin. Truth be told, she liked getting them into the same room together to watch the cockfight, all the one-upmanship. Who knew? Maybe the competition made them sharper. She looked around the table at each of them in turn. “There’s one last thing. I’ve had word Zahir Damari is in the United States on a contract.”
This froze everyone in their seats.
“Any word on who Damari is after?” McGuiness asked.
“According to my source, the contract was taken out on me and there could be others, as yet unidentified.”
Callan wondered if she could hear a pin drop, it was so suddenly still. Then everyone talked over everyone else.
Callan held up her hand for silence, looked at Trafford and said, her voice very quiet, “Temp, would you like to explain to me exactly why you didn’t know this, since you have all your CIA ears to the ground, listening and probing? And yet you’ve not heard a single word about Damari here to assassinate me?”
He was as shocked as the rest of them, she realized, staring at him. If he hadn’t heard anything, was the threat real? Was it possible Ari was wrong?
“No,” he said slowly, “your source can’t be right. Our latest reports have Damari in Jordan. He supposedly has a villa there—at least there’s a money trail tied to the villa, though no one’s ever seen him there. We’d kill to get eyes on the man, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
Callan said, “Since he had his extensive cosmetic surgery, you haven’t gotten a look at his new face, have you?”
Maitland sat forward, his hands clasped bet
ween his knees. “Madame Vice President, the only confirmed surgery we know is cheekbone implants, though I hardly think he stopped there. Without a new front facial baseline, we can only reconstruct so far. It’s impossible to keep Damari on a watch list if no one knows what he looks like.”
“Regardless,” McGuiness said, “if your people have had such little luck tracking him down, Mr. Trafford, perhaps it’s time to hand over the duties to National Intelligence. We’ll get a bead on him, and do it fast.”
Temp didn’t say a word. Did he realize his people had fallen down on the job? It scared her that he hadn’t known about Damari for the simple reason that it could well mean there were other critical things he’d missed. She didn’t like it, and he didn’t, either, she was sure of that.
Maitland said, “If your source is solid, Madam Vice President, I can only assume it’s to do with the president’s talks. Right, Temp?”
Temp finally said, his voice hard, “I can’t explain why we hadn’t already picked up on this threat, but you know I will find out. Now, no more playing around. We all know you’re toeing the party line here for Bradley, that personally you’re against his approach, his seeming appeasement of the Iranians, but the thing is, you’re hardly the only one who disagrees with Bradley on this; there are plenty of people who don’t want to see peace in the Middle East that leaves Israel hanging out to dry.
“So why you? Who took out the contract, and on you, specifically?”