“Didn’t go home,” was the succinct reply. “We got this about four hours ago.”
Lay accepted the thick folder, taking a seat behind his desk. “What is it?”
“A report from Dr. Maria Schuyler, over at Bethesda.”
“She’s running their bio-weapons research department, right?” Lay asked, his brow furrowing. “What does she want with us?”
“If you will recall, boss, we had the boys at Intel send over those pictures of the cadaver from the field team. It would appear as though that fell within her purview.”
“The pictures were scrubbed of background data, I trust?”
“Of course, sir. We got another memo from her at 0400, demanding to know where they were taken.”
“Great,” Lay murmured. He was suffering from the beginnings of a headache, and from the looks of the day, it was only going to get worse. “And we replied?”
“We haven’t. I figured you’d better take a look at her data before formulating a response.”
The DCIA opened the folder with a half-hearted gesture. “What did she conclude?”
“That’s something I think you should read for yourself, sir.”
By the time he had finished fifteen minutes later, the blood had largely drained from Lay’s face. His fingers trembled as he tucked the last sheet back into the folder. Outside the window, the rain continued to fall unabated.
“Did you have the Intelligence Directorate run her figures?”
The analyst nodded wordlessly.
Lay pursed his lips together, still staring out the window. “Dear God, they’ve opened Pandora’s grave…”
That the aforementioned luggage consisted of a teddy bear for a child he didn’t have, Swiss chocolates for a wife he had never seen, and paperwork for a company he had never worked for was largely extraneous. The average businessman would raise Cain over losing them, and so that was the part he had been assigned to play.
It was Hamid’s voice. “Hey, Todd! You just make it in, bro?”
“Yeah, I’m still at the airport. The turkeys over here lost my luggage.”
“Well, hurry on down just as soon as you can. Grandma’s put on the roast in celebration of your return.”
The rest of the team had left the terminal without drawing untoward attention to themselves. Time to exit, stage right.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a uniformed man headed toward him, a suitcase in one hand and an oversized, stupid-looking stuffed bear in the other.
“Here you go, Mr. Winters. Somehow they got sent to the opposite end of the terminal by mistake.”
Harry snarled something appropriately ungracious under his breath and stalked off, the very picture of a weary, haggard businessman just off the red-eye, balancing the bear and suitcase with practiced clumsiness.
It was raining outside, a slow miserable drizzle as he wound his way toward the Agency car. Harry slid inside, tossing the bear carelessly onto the seat between himself and Davood. Hamid glanced back from the driver’s seat, a grin splitting his face. “Why if it isn’t Goldilocks and the baby bear!”
Harry leaned back against the seat of the car and shot a murderous look at his friend. “Just shut up and drive.”
As they pulled onto Dulles Airport Road, another car, nearly obscured by the rain, swung out to follow them…
Shoham turned away from the monitor with a look of sadness in his eyes. “He’s not eating.”
The general’s words had been a statement, rather than a question, but his aide answered anyway. “No, sir.”
“What are we getting from Langley?” Shoham asked, glancing back over his shoulder at the image of Moshe Tal on monitor.
“Officially or unofficially?”
“Unofficially, of course,” the Mossad chief clarified, irritation creeping into his tones. “What are our sources telling us?”
“Virtually nothing, sir.”
“And what do you mean by virtually?”
“If the Americans rescued the other hostages, they’re keeping it a very tight secret. We were, however, able to confirm that they had an NCS strike team deployed during the operational window.”
“Any details?”
“None, except that briefs were sent to General Westheimer with instructions to cooperate fully with the Clandestine Service.”
Five minutes had passed since Hamid had first noticed the car in back of them, and now Harry was sure of it. They were being followed.
He ran his thumb down the screen of his TACSAT. “Hamid, there’s a gas station 1.5 miles ahead. I want you to pull in there. I’m gonna call Langley and have them run this guy’s tags.”
“Roger that.”
Harry exited from the mapscreen and dialed a number from memory. “Good morning, Hannah,” he said when the encryption sequence finished. “I need you to run a number for me. Yes, it’s got Virginia tags. I’m looking at a brown Ford Taurus, license number: Echo-Yankee-Golf-three-seven-niner. Yes, I know it will take a couple minutes, just do it as fast as you can. Yes, I’ll wait.”
The car slowed, turning off into a small Mobil gas station on the side of the highway. “Hamid,” Harry instructed, covering the phone with his hand. “I want you to go into the store and buy some gas, a couple bagels and a coffee.”
“I’m fresh out of cash, boss,” the agent grinned. “Loan me a twenty?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Makes that forty you owe me,” he said, placing a bill in Hamid’s outstretched hand.
“Don’t worry-it’s deductible,” was the Parthian shot as Hamid pushed the door open, exiting into the drizzle.
“Yes, Hannah, you’ve got it?” Harry asked, realizing his phone had come alive again. He listened patiently for a moment. “Thank you, that’s what I figured.”
