— What I meant is that one name is as good as another, Bourne said,
— especially in our line of work.
Hererra shivered. -Christ, it‘s getting cold.
He stood up. The shadows had grown long during their talk. Only one sliver of sunlight remained on the top of the west-facing wall, while day turned into fugitive night.
— Let‘s rejoin the lady businessman, shall we, and find out how badly she wants my Goya.
M. Errol Danziger, the NSA‘s current deputy director of signals intelligence for analysis and production, was watching three monitors at once, reading real-time progress reports from Iran, Egypt, and Sudan, and taking notes. He was also periodically speaking into the microphone of an electronic headpiece, using terse signals-speak he himself had devised, even though he was speaking on an NSA-approved encrypted line.
His Signals Sit Room was where Secretary of Defense Bud Halliday found Danziger analyzing and coordinating intel, and directing the far-flung elements of this blackest of black-ops missions. To those who worked most closely with him, he was known, ironically, as the Arab, because of the unceasing missions he‘d successfully run against Muslim extremists of all sects.
No one else was in the room, just the two men. Danziger glanced up briefly, gave his boss a deferential nod before returning to his work. Halliday sat down. He didn‘t mind the curt treatment that in anyone else would warrant a severe dressing-down. Danziger was special, deserving of special treatment. In fact, this manifestation of intense concentration was a sign that all was well.
— Give me your nibble, Triton, Danziger said into the mike.
— High and tight. Bardem is on the money.
Triton was Noah Perlis‘s ops designation, the secretary knew. The software program Bardem, which analyzed the changing field situation in real time, was his responsibility.
— Let‘s get started on the Final Four, the Arab said.
Halliday‘s heart skipped a beat. They were close to the finish line now, nearing the biggest power coup any American official had ever managed. Damping down his excitement, he said, — I trust you‘ll be finished with this session soon.
— That all depends, Danziger replied.
Halliday moved closer. -Make it happen. We‘re going to see the president in just under three hours.
Danziger‘s attention shifted from his screens and he said, — Triton, five, into the mike before he flipped a switch, temporarily muting the connection. -You met with the president?
Halliday nodded. -I brought your name up and he‘s interested.
— Interested enough to meet with me, but it‘s not yet a done deal.
The defense secretary smiled. -Not to worry. He‘s not going to choose either of the candidates from inside CI.
The Arab nodded; he knew better than to question his boss‘s legendary influence. -We have a bit of a situation developing in Egypt.
Halliday hunched forward. -How so?
— Soraya Moore, whom we both know, and Amun Chalthoum, the head of the Egyptian intelligence service, have been snooping around the farm.
— What have they found?
— The original team was on vacation when their orders were transmitted. Apparently they were pissed off enough about their leave being cut short that their destination was overheard.
Halliday scowled. -Are you saying that Moore and Chalthoum are aware that the team was headed for Khartoum?
Danziger nodded. -This problem has to be nipped in the bud; there‘s only one solution.
Halliday was taken aback. -What? Our own men?
— They violated security protocol.
The secretary shook his head. -But still-
— Containment, Bud. Containment while it‘s still possible. The Arab leaned forward and patted his boss on the knee. -Just think of it as another regrettable case of friendly fire.
Halliday sat back, scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. -It‘s a good thing humans have an infinite capacity for rationalization.
About to swivel back to his screens, Danziger said, — Bud, this is my mission. I devised Pinprick, I designed it down to the last detail. But you approved it. Now, I know for a fact you‘re not about to let four disgruntled sons-of- bitches put our heads in the crosshairs, are you?
20
DON FERNANDO HERERRA paused at the French doors, lifted a finger, and his eyes engaged Bourne‘s. - Before we go inside, I must make one thing clear. In Colombia, I have taken part in the wars between the military and the indigenous guerrillas, the struggle between fascism and socialism. Both are weak and flawed because they seek only control over others.
The blue shadows of Seville lent him a keen and hungry look. He was like a wolf that has sighted the face of
