“You’re referring to Machado.”
“Yes. I’m sure you know about him and Noriega . . . I mean, the man was a legend. Javier Machado is one of our most decorated operatives, past or present.”
Andrews nodded slowly. “Yes, I know about Machado. I’m just saying we should have taken a harder look at Petain before taking her on. You have to admit, John, it sounds like the woman has a ton of baggage.”
“I’m not saying she doesn’t, but she’s extremely motivated. In fact, she’s in line for something big later in the year.” Harper paused, realizing it would be doubly hard to get that particular op approved, given Petain’s leading role in it, the area in which it would be conducted, and Andrew’s obvious skepticism with respect to the young operative’s state of mind. But that could all be figured out at a later date.
“Anyway,” Harper continued, “here’s the point. She’s a capable operative, but she doesn’t belong in Pakistan, and we’re still not sure why Kealey brought her along. I’m afraid we only have one recourse for the time being, and that’s to sit and wait. Eventually, he’ll have to make contact.”
“And what about the rest of the team?” Andrews demanded. He thumped a hand on his desk, a flash of the old temper coming through. “Are they just supposed to sit around and wait for him?”
“Of course not. Owen has been in constant contact for the past thirty hours. They’ve already managed to rule out two of the names on the list, and they’re moving on to the third, a veterinarian living in Faisalabad.”
“A vet?” An incredulous look crossed the DCI’s face. “You must be joking. Mengal would never entrust Fitzgerald’s life to a veterinarian. She’s too valuable to him.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have a choice. Maybe we’ve overestimated his reach . . . Perhaps his contacts aren’t as extensive as we initially thought. In any case, the vet came up as a possible candidate, so he has to be checked.”
Andrews let out a long breath through pursed lips, then leaned back in his black leather chair. “What about Kharmai?”
Harper shifted his weight in his seat, but he wasn’t stalling; he’d already thought this through. “I want her in Pakistan. At the very least, she’s an extra pair of eyes. Owen could use her in Faisalabad, at least until Kealey checks in. Then we can go from there.”
“Actually, I’d like her to stay where she is,” Andrews said, throwing Harper off track. “Something’s come up, and we can’t risk moving her until we know where it’s going.”
The deputy director straightened in his seat, suddenly alert.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?”
“I received a call from Stan Chavis late last night,” Andrews explained, referencing the president’s chief of staff. “He told me that the Spanish ambassador has requested a meeting with the president. Apparently, the investigation of the bombing in Madrid has already turned up some evidence. The CNP has recovered a handgun that was dropped at the scene, and they’ve managed to get some usable prints.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Harper said dismissively. “Naomi was the only one who handled that weapon without gloves, and they don’t have her prints on file.”
“Maybe not, but that’s not all. They’ve also managed to get their hands on a video recording, which was taken at the scene of the bombing.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Harper muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. “What kind of tape? What does it show?”
“The ambassador didn’t say. Anyway, I’d order Kealey and Petain to stay put as well, but since they can’t be found, just get word to Kharmai. Hopefully, it’s nothing, but we have to take the proper precautions.”
“I’ll let her know,” Harper said grimly. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Chavis wants us there for the meeting, which means that the president wants us there. It’s set for three this afternoon.”
“I’ll be there.”
“We’ll ride together,” Andrews said. “We need to prepare for the worst.”
“Which is?” Harper asked. He had a good idea of what “the worst”
entailed, but he wanted to hear the other man’s thoughts on the matter.
“The worst,” Andrews remarked glumly, “is that they’re holding something back to catch Brenneman on his heels. The worst is that Kealey and Petain never made it to the airport. The worst is that the Spanish have them in custody, even as we speak.”
“Christ,” Harper murmured. He hadn’t thought of that; in his mind, the worst possible scenario was that the Spanish had made a positive ID on one of the operatives who’d taken part in Madrid.
“You think that’s possible?”
Andrews shrugged. “I doubt it. I don’t think they would sit on that kind of development for twelve minutes, let alone twelve hours. At the same time, we have to be ready. They know
“Okay,” Harper said, drawing up a list in his mind of steps that had to be taken. He was already thinking about deniability. “I’ll start putting together a list of plausible scenarios and our possible response to each. We already have protocols in place, but with something of this magnitude . . .”
“I know,” Andrews said, his tone despondent. “We’ve got six dead civilians in Madrid, John, along with Kamil Ghafour, whom we just happened to inquire about a week before his death. We can’t afford to be tied to this. We’ll let the ambassador say his piece, but we need to be ready for anything.”
“It all depends on what they have. If the footage is less than conclusive, we might be able to wiggle out of it.”
“But if it
Harper nodded his understanding. Andrews didn’t have to finish his sentence, because his meaning was clear. Whatever else happened, the incident would not touch the president. Stan Chavis would make sure of that. But that was long term, and Harper pushed the thought away, choosing instead to focus on the immediate situation. The upcoming meeting would not be pretty. All hell was about to break loose regardless, but if the Spanish had incontrovertible evidence that the CIA had played a role in the Madrid bombing and the death of Kamil Ghafour, then the fallout would stain the Agency for years to come. They simply couldn’t allow the truth to come to light.
“See what you can do, John,” Andrews said. Harper took his cue and stood, just as the DCI’s phone began to ring. “Find us a way out. If one of your people was caught on video, you know what has to happen. As for the meeting with Vazquez, Diane will call you when it’s time to leave.”
Harper nodded and left the room. On his way through the anteroom, Diane Neal, the DCI’s long-standing secretary, said good-bye and lifted a hand in a little wave, but Harper was oblivious. As he walked the short distance back to his own office, his legs felt heavy, a weight settling onto his shoulders. His head was spinning with the possible consequences of what he had just heard. Although the Spanish ambassador’s precise agenda remained a mystery, Harper knew that he wouldn’t have sought the meeting with Brenneman without the express approval of his government. In other words, the Spanish government clearly had some kind of damaging evidence on its hands, and that could only mean one thing: at least one of the people involved in Madrid was facing a very long vacation in a nonextradition country, immediately preceded by complete separation from the Central Intelligence Agency.
The truth was staring him right in the face, and as much as he wanted to, Harper couldn’t ignore it. Somebody’s career was about to come to a very decisive end, and if the Agency couldn’t sidestep the Spanish government’s allegations, then Harper—along with most, if not all, of the senior staff—would be following that unfortunate person right out the door.
CHAPTER 33
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The cool, still air inside the Oval Office was laced with nervous tension, despite the warm light seeping in through the colonnade windows that overlooked the South Lawn. It might have been a perfect summer day for everyone else in Washington, Harper thought bleakly, but not for the people in the president’s inner sanctum. He could feel the tension, which was almost tangible, and he could see it in the faces of the three other men in the
