No one had heard of the Bishop before a year ago, when he burst onto the scene with a bombing at an oil depot in France, no deaths, and that was a surprise, but the CIA was on it immediately. He had no face, no name, except the Bishop, and she’d been sent to Ireland because he was a known associate of Ian McGuire’s. And then came the chatter about his advanced nanochip gold-coin bombs, undetectable to the normal scans and powerful in their destructive capabilities. The CIA wanted the coins, wanted them badly, and they wanted the recipe, if possible.
And she’d had a chance to get close to him.
Ian had permission to invite her to a meeting, eyes shining with excitement. Again, the proud papa. “The Bishop’s comin’, Van, at last you’ll get to meet him. I’ll tell you, I’ve been singing your praises to him for long enough. He’s your kind of bloke, so smart it’s scary, and he knows how to hate. And who to hate, for that matter. And I know he needs a good bomb maker, and you’re the best. Throw you a brick of Semtex and you could blow up the moon, that’s what I told him.”
Vanessa wondered why he needed a bomb maker if he’d created the ultimate tiny undetectable bomb, but since she wasn’t supposed to know about the coins, she couldn’t ask Ian. She supposed the Bishop hadn’t perfected them yet.
Vanessa felt a spike of pain deep inside her chest. She heard the beeping, but the pain began to ease, then it drifted away, and her brain could wander back again.
Ian and the Bishop shared the same single, overarching desire—getting rid of the followers of radical Islam swarming all over Europe and the UK, before their terrorists killed everyone in their quest to destroy the Western devils, and the Bishop determined the best way to do this was to destroy oil refineries to make their owners stop buying Middle East oil.
She saw Ian chucking her under the chin, felt the affection he had for her. “The Bishop believes it’s time to mete out justice at home. His home, your home. So what do you think? You want to see the Bishop? Perhaps throw in your lot with him, head to America? That’s where what we do will really count. I’m in, Van, how about you?”
Vanessa felt wetness on her cheek. She realized it was tears. Tears for Ian, shot down simply because he’d tried to protect her.
She also realized she couldn’t die.
40
KNIGHT TAKES D4 CHECK
Criminal Apprehension Unit
Hoover Building
Maitland found Savich and Sherlock together in Savich’s office. Like every other agent in the FBI, they were talking about the Bayway explosion and COE.
“No, don’t get up, you two,” he said, and closed the door, knowing that everyone in the CAU was staring, wondering if there’d been a break, what was happening.
Maitland pulled up a chair. “I just came back from a meeting with McGuiness of National Intelligence; Templeton Trafford, CIA; and the vice president.” And he told them what had happened.
When he finished, he sat back, shaking his head. “We all know everyone wants to protect his own turf, but I tell you, where McGuiness would spew it all out if she thought it would make her look good, and take full credit for knowing it, Temp Trafford has more secrets than the Sphinx. I’ll bet under that titanium vest of his lies answers to most of our questions, and he ain’t about to share, no matter what he says, no matter how critical the situation.
“The only thing I’m positive about is that Trafford didn’t know about Damari, and the threat of assassination of Callan Sloane and possibly others, but COE—you bet. And how, I wonder?”
Sherlock said, “The CIA always has a reason. But finding out what it is?”
Maitland said, “Trafford isn’t about to let anyone stick their nose under his tent.”
Sherlock said, “All of us understand the tremendous pressure the CIA is under to protect the U.S. from any foreign threat, but Trafford—why doesn’t he realize it’s time for him to cough up everything he knows? I mean, lives are on the line here, and everyone knows Bayway signaled that COE is stepping up their game, that another probably larger refinery has already been targeted.”
“You’d think.” Maitland sighed. “Why I’m really here, Savich, is to assign you to work with Drummond and Caine, coordinate on this end, since all the push is coming from the vice president and she’s laid this in our laps. Starting now. I’ll barbecue you the best corn on the cob if you bring COE in and stop Damari. Oh, yes, I’ve cleared this with Milo in New York. He’s on board.” He rose. “Mossad believes it’s Iran and Hezbollah behind the contract on the vice president. We need to stop them.”
When Maitland disappeared from Savich’s office, Sherlock grinned at him, punched his arm. “For you, Big Dog, it’s obviously only a small assignment. Why, you can whip out the answers in a matter of minutes.”
As for Savich, he felt pleased at the huge vote of confidence and worried he couldn’t pull it together and the vice president could be shot. No, not going to happen. Who had hired Damari wasn’t his concern, Damari was. So first things first.
Sherlock rose. “You know what I’d like to do? Wrap my hands around Trafford’s throat and shake him until he gives up everything he knows. And you and Nicholas and Mike are supposed to uncover everything in one day?”
“Looks like it.” Savich laughed, picked up his cell to call Nicholas to give him the good news that he was now coordinating his investigation, whatever that really meant, in addition to his own boss, Zachery.
Savich’s cell blasted out Blondie’s “Call Me.” Speak of the devil. “Nicholas, I was about to call you. There’s a lot—”
Nicholas overrode him. “Listen, this is crucial, Savich. We think we’ve found the last knowns of COE. We have a witness who claims there was a group of four people staying in an apartment in Brooklyn. Last night, the place burned down. Here’s the kicker—one of the men staying at the apartment looked Middle Eastern. Which leads to the question—if this guy really is Middle Eastern, then what the bloody hell is he doing hooked up with a bunch of fanatical terrorist haters who want the West to stop importing oil from terrorist countries, which includes just about all of them?
“Our witness said when the original group returned late last night—we’re assuming from the Bayway bombing—the Middle Eastern man wasn’t with them. Like I said, we need to find out who he is. We’ve got a sketch artist working with the witness, and—”
“Nicholas, stop a moment. Send me the sketch when it’s finished and I’ll see if I can’t find out who this guy is. Now, are you and Mike familiar with Zahir Damari?”