The slim, nearly six-foot-tall, forty-two-year-old Thomas was assistant director of public information at the embassy. What the title of ADPI really meant was that Thomas was a spy: a diplomatic private investigator was how he viewed the acronym. The Russians knew that, of course, which was the reason one or two Russian agents always shadowed Thomas in public. He was certain that someone in Baku would be waiting to tail him as well. Technically, of course, the KGB was finished. But the personnel and the infrastructure of the intelligence operation were still very much in place and very much in use as the Federal Security Service and other 'services.'
Thomas was dressed in a three-piece gray winter suit that would keep him warm in the heavy cold that always rolled in from the Bay of Baku. Thomas knew he would need more than that--strong Georgian coffee or even stronger Russian cognac--to warm him after the reception he expected to receive at the embassy. Unfortunately, keeping secrets from your own people was part of the spy business, too. Hopefully, they would vent a little, Thomas would act contrite, and everyone could move on.
Thomas was met by a staff car from the embassy. He didn't rush tossing his single bag in the trunk. He didn't want any Russian or Azerbaijani agents thinking he was in a hurry. He paused to pop a sucker into his mouth, stretched, then climbed into the car. Be boring. That was the key when you thought you were being watched. Then, if you had to speed up suddenly, chances were good you might surprise and lose whoever was trailing you.
It was a thirty-minute drive from Baku International Airport to the bay-side region that housed the embassies and the city's commercial district. Thomas never got to spend more than a day or two at a time here, though that was something he still meant to do. He had been to the local bazaars, to the Fire Worshipper's Temple, to the State Museum of Carpets--a museum with a name like that demanded to be seen--and to the most famous local landmark, the Maiden Tower. Located in the old Inner City on the bay and at least two thousand years old, the eight-story tower was built by a young girl who either wanted to lock herself inside or throw herself into the sea--no one knew for certain which version was true. Thomas knew how she felt.
Thomas was taken to see Deputy Ambassador Williamson, who had returned from dinner and was sitting behind her desk, waiting for him. They shook hands and exchanged a few banal words. Then she picked up a pen and noted the time on a legal pad. Moore and Battat came to her office moments later. The agent's neck was mottled black and gunmetal gray. In addition to the bruises, he looked exhausted.
Thomas offered Battat his hand.
'Are you all right?'
'A little banged up,' Battat said.
'I'm sorry about all this, Pat.'
Thomas made a face.
'Nothing's guaranteed, David.
Let's see how we can fix it.'
Thomas looked at Moore, who was standing beside Battat. The men had met several times at various Asian embassy conferences and functions. Moore was a good man, what they called a twenty-four seven--an agent who lived and ate his work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Right now, Moore was making no attempt to conceal his dark, unforgiving mood.
Thomas extended his hand. Moore accepted it.
'How have you been?' Thomas asked.
'That isn't important,' Moore said.
'I'm not happy now. There was no reason for this to go down the way it did.'
'Mr. Moore, you're correct,' Thomas said as he released his hand.
'In retrospect, we should have done this all differently. The question is, how do we fix it now?'
Moore sneered.
'You don't get off that easily,' he said.
'Your team mounted a small operation here and didn't tell us. Your man says you were worried about security risks and other factors. What do you think, Mr. Thomas--that the Azerbaijani are wet-wired into the system? That we can't conduct a surveillance without them finding out?'
Thomas walked to an armchair across from Williamson.
'Mr. Moore, Ms. Williamson, we had a short time to make a quick decision. We made a bad one, a wrong one. The question is, what do we do now? If the Harpooner is here, can we find him and stop him from getting away?'
'How do we bail you out, you mean?' Moore asked.
'If you like,' Thomas conceded. Anything to get this out of reverse and moving ahead.
Moore relaxed.
'It isn't going to be easy,' he said.
'We've found no trace of the boat Mr. Battat says he saw, and we have a man watching the airport. No one who fits the description of the Harpooner has left today.'
'What about working backward?' Thomas said.
'Why would the Harpooner be in Baku?'
'There are any number of targets a terrorist for hire could hit,' Moore said.
'Or he may just have been passing through on his way to another republic or to the Middle East. You know these people. They rarely take a direct route anywhere.'
'If Baku was just a layover, the Harpooner is probably long gone,' Thomas said.
