“I wish. That's what we need a cowboy with a cause. Only whom do we trust?”
“I've always preferred straight thinkers to straight shooters. So think out loud. Krucevic and company were in Prague a few hours ago. Where are they headed?”
“Prague is probably a diversion,” Caroline replied, “but they'll want to stay fairly close to an urban center, in order to use our embassies for contact. Bratislava is an easy jump from Prague. So is Budapest or Vienna. Poland is the wrong direction. If they'd wanted Poland, they'd have started there from Berlin.”
“If they're operating in a linear fashion,” Dare countered. “Don't rule out Poland. These people are byzantine.”
“Serbs are Byzantine,” Caroline corrected her.
“Krucevic is a Croat. He would not consider that a compliment.”
“Caroline, I'm sending you to Berlin on the Bureau's plane.”
The younger woman stopped pacing. Dare said, “You're traveling at the request of the President.”
“I am? Gee. Maybe he'll give me one of those nifty little stickpins with the presidential seal on it.”
“Support the Bureau investigation, Carrie, in any way you can. It'll be headed up by the Berlin Legal Attache, but our station chief a fellow named Walter Aronson should be grateful to have you.”
“I know Wally.”
Of course Caroline knew Wally. He had replaced her husband in Budapest two and a half years ago.
“You're going under State cover,” Dare continued. “Ambassador Dalton has been informed you're coming. Embassy communications are down, and the staff is mainly operating out of Dalton residence. You'll make the best of it, I know.”
“I always do,” Caroline said.
“Travel Section has your itinerary and funds. You can pick them up on your way out of the building. Your dip passport is in order, I hope?”
“Last time I looked.”
Dare glanced in a file.
“And you have a back stopped identity. A Jane Hathaway, resident in London. Still clean?”
“I suppose so. I haven't used her since Nicosia.”
“Will you be carrying a personal weapon?”
“Yes.”
The DCI snapped the folder closed.
“Dare, how much time do I have?”
“The plane leaves Dulles at midnight.”
“Why Berlin? Why not Prague, since that's where the video surfaced?”
“By the time you fly into Central Europe, they'll have left Prague behind. We can't chase a moving target. But if you're on the ground in the midst of the investigation, Carrie, you may figure out where they're headed.”
“I want to go to Budapest.”
Dare went very still.
“Because it was Eric's last posting?”
“Partly.” Caroline hesitated, then shrugged. “Anything can be hidden in Budapest.”
It was not, Dare thought, the real reason. But sometimes we conceal the real reasons even from ourselves. She decided to let it go.
“We both know there are two investigations under way, Carrie, and two types of manhunt. If you can make a case for tracking 30 April in Budapest or Vienna or Krakow, then make it. But start with Berlin. It's what we're expected to do.”
“Yes.” The professionalism had descended again; nothing of Caroline's emotion was visible in her face. “I'd like to see that tape.”
“Not possible. It's a very close hold.”
“What do you really expect me to do in Berlin?”
“Whatever the situation requires, my dear. I don't expect you to single-handedly assault the strongholds of 30 April, but short of that …”
“I'm not a fool, Dare. I know very well I'm being sent out as bait”
“You're being sent at the President's request,” Dare said quietly, “and believe me, he has no thought of baiting anyone. He merely admired your competent analysis.”
“Which you very thoughtfully provided. You manipulated him into asking for me. Don't deny it. I've worked with you long enough to respect the subtlety of your mind. You think I'll draw Eric out of hiding. And then betray him for the good of Agency and country. But I can promise you, Dare, that wherever Eric is and it's not going to be Berlin he doesn't care a rat's ass about me. I've known that since this morning.”
“We know nothing whatsoever of Eries mind.” Dare's voice hardened.
“Much less his heart.” She did not bother to argue with Caroline about her motives or methods; they had both been schooled in the ways of Intelligence. To attempt to deceive each other was childish. “Even if he did give a shit about me, Dare, he'd never place me in danger by contacting me now. He'll head in the opposite direction.”
“That may be true, but we have to try.” She stood up abruptly, signaling that the interview was at an end.
“You'll report back through station channels wherever you are. Use my private slug for routing, and throw in a special channel classification. What would be appropriate? Nothing that might be confused with the Task Force.”
“Who will have access?”
“No one but me.” Caroline took a scrap of paper from Dare's desk and scrawled a word on it swiftly.
“Cutout,” Dare said.
“How appropriate.”
It was the Intelligence term for a go-between. Or a pawn. Somebody used by both sides, for reasons she was never intended to know. Dare folded the slip of paper in precise fourths, then tossed it in her burn bag. It would be incinerated that evening, along with every other compromising detail of that turbulent day.
“You can still walk away, Carrie. You could refuse to go.”
“Not if I want a future.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “I have no option but to attempt to find Eric and, through him, Mrs. Payne. But don't expect much, Dare. Eric was trained by the best.”
“And Eric trained you.” Dare reached for Caroline's hand; it was shockingly cold.
The younger woman smiled faintly.
“I'm not angry, Dare. I'm not confused. I know what I have to do. But I go with few illusions.”
“Then may I say go with God, Caroline.”
“God blew up at thirty thousand feet, Dare, somewhere over the Aegean.”
Thirteen
Dulles International Airport, 10:15 p.m.
Caroline had found it difficult to fly lately. The chartered Boeing 777 was scheduled to depart for Frankfurt at midnight. The plane normally held around two hundred and fifty people. Tonight it would carry thirty-eight, most of them employed by the FBI-forensic technicians, bomb experts, people who understood the stress patterns of explosives on metal and concrete. In counterterrorism work, it was common to find Intelligence operatives alongside Special Agents, the one adept at working the networks, the other at clamping on cuffs. Caroline was comfortable with the Bureau people she knew and with joint CIA-FBI operations. But she had never actually flown to the site of a bombing before.
The men and women sharing her airspace tonight were experts of a sort unfamiliar to her.
On the ground in Berlin, they would search for the axle of an obliterated car and hope that it bore a serial number; they would probe the crater at the Brandenburg's foot, shifting stones made ancient by blood and grief. They would sample the soil for chemical residues and put a name to the force that had shattered the Hotel Adion's
