phone numbers and a cell phone, plus your ID call sign, are also in the briefcase. And Harford wants you to contact him ASAP.” Hegarty went silent for a moment, content to drive as dusk turned into night. He glanced at Wolff before speaking again.
“Personally, Wolff, I don’t like this deal. Bringing a nuclear weapon onto American soil is too damn risky. I haven’t liked it since Harford put me on to it when you went missing, and I told him so. I’ve got plenty of other things to do to keep these rovers scouring the country, so I’d just as soon that you take Bright Point back under your control. I’ve got two men who will meet you at the Spokane airport when you arrive about midnight.”
“Weapons?” Wolff asked.
“They’ll have them for you in Spokane. There’s a pistol in the glove box in case we run into trouble, but you’re going to be boarding your flight shortly, so there are no weapons in your briefcase.”
Wolff stared at Hegarty for a moment, took the pistol out of the glove box, checked the magazine and load, replaced it, and then leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes and going silent.
Chapter 37
Lambert-St. Louis International Airport
St. Louis, Missouri
July
At eight A.M. the following morning, presenting a Virginia driver’s license identifying him as Clark Westinghouse, Wolff cleared security at Lambert-St. Louis International airport after arriving in the Marriott shuttle from downtown St. Louis. His luggage consisted of a single wheeled carry-on bag procured from a twenty-four hour Walmart, complete with essential toiletries and a few items of cheap clothing.
The gray Taurus Devlin Hegarty had driven in Springfield was parked on a side street in East St. Louis, Illinois, just across the Mississippi River from the city, with both front tires flat to discourage instant theft. Devlin Hegarty remained with the Taurus, folded double into the trunk, his brain two ounces heavier.
Wolff responded to the call for American flight 581, non-stop for Los Angeles, connecting to Aero Mexicana for Cabo San Lucas. Just before boarding, he sent a short text message to John Harford.
Bright point on horizon
When he stepped off the plane in Los Angeles, he received an equally terse answer.
Meet PSC conference August to select horizon
Departing the American Airlines terminal, Wolff discarded the cell phone in a communal trash bin, shedding himself of all electronic ties to Harford or SI.
Eisenhower Executive Office Building
Office of Information amp; Public Relations
Department of Homeland Security
Washington, D.C.
July
Carlos Castro sat to the right of the end seat as the rest of the Trojan team filed into the room, taking seats around the long, rectangular table. It was the same table where the full team had met the night the roving band of shooters had started their terrorist attack and they had listened to the recorded message from World Jihad. It was three days since Jean Wolff had given them the slip in Illinois. The entire team had a dejected appearance.
General Pug Connor entered the room and took his seat at the end of the table. “The president’s not a happy man. And neither am I.” Everyone remained silent. “Where did he go, Carlos?”
“St. Louis, as best we can tell. We’ve tracked all eight limo drivers, interviewed them and showed them pictures. Two drivers ID’d Wolff, so one of them is mistaken. Or both of them are. One says he took his passenger to just outside Chicago. The other took his to Springfield, Illinois. They both transferred to another vehicle. It was the same story for all eight limos. Drive for six or eight hours, then change vehicles. But we’ve narrowed it down. The police found a body in the trunk of a Ford Taurus in East St. Louis, Missouri, yesterday morning. They caught two local kids trying to steal accessories off the car and found the body in the search. They identified his prints as belonging to a naturalized citizen, Devlin Hegarty.”
“Hegarty?” Pug repeated.
“One and the same,” Carlos replied. “SI’s field man and the head of the pilot program for Domestic Tranquility. Two bullets to the head. I’d say Wolff was beginning to cover his tracks.”
“Or starting his revenge on Harford and SI.”
“That too,” Carlos said. “No further trace. I’d speculate he took a flight from St. Louis. No leads so far. Maybe we should go have a talk with Harford.”
Pug was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “Don’t want to alert him that we know anything. What are you hearing from your contacts among Harford’s troops?”
“Harry?” Carlos said, turning toward one of the Trojan team members, a Delta operative on assignment to Trojan.
“I know a retired E-8 who works with SI, supervising the crew in Oklahoma and northern Texas. He knows Hegarty,” Harry responded. “He said Hegarty’s been out of the country for about a week. Rumor says he was in Holland.”
“Any knowledge of what he was doing?” Pug asked.
“No, sir,” Harry responded. “He hasn’t seen him for about ten days.”
“And if the police are right, he won’t see him again, either,” Carlos said. “I still think we could put the screws to Harford, General. We’re going to have to call him out sooner or later.”
“Right, but not now. I want to find Wolff first.”
“But if you’re right about Wolff believing Harford flipped him in East Timor, he might find Harford before we can talk with him. We won’t get anything out of him then.”
“Concentrate on finding Wolff. And one more thing. Have one of the team track down the ownership linkage for Strategic Initiatives. I want to know who the major share holders are. Especially any of our elected congressmen or politicians.”
“Are you thinking-” Carlos started.
“I’m thinking that someone has a broader interest in Domestic Tranquility than meets the eye. I’m thinking that just in case Wolff does find Harford, we need to know who that someone is. Give our friend Senator Culpepper a call and you can meet with him to see what he knows,” Pug said. “I’ll check with Senator McKenzie. The rest of you pull out all the stops. Use every resource you’ve got. Find Wolff. Any questions?”
Chapter 38
Conquistador Resort amp; Casino
Las Vegas, Nevada
August
The second week in August, with the sun dropping behind the scrub-covered hills west of Las Vegas, a sleek Gulfstream 650 completed its flight, having originated in Los Cabos, Mexico. The private jet glided on final approach toward the Henderson Executive Airport, ten minutes south of the well-known strip. Besides the two pilots and one cabin attendant, each of whom were of Mexican origin, only one passenger was on board-a French citizen traveling under the name of Philippe Auclair. Immediately the aircraft shut down engines, a solid white limousine pulled alongside and the passenger disembarked, entering the vehicle. The flight crew proceeded to the operations building, where the pilot filed a flight plan for 9:00 A.M. the following morning, non-stop to Santiago, Chile.
Following three weeks in the luxurious accommodations of the five-star Pueblo Bonito Sunset Beach resort in Cabo San Lucas with its award-winning cuisine, Jean Wolff had erased most of the unpleasant memories of six months’ incarceration in the Thomson Federal Correctional Facility. Newly refurbished with a European wardrobe, obtained during a four-day side trip to Paris, Wolff, AKA Philippe Auclair, emerged from his limousine with a far
