This was not a surprise to Stansfield. He had taken a call from Rollie at home on Saturday. A few coded words were dropped into the conversation and when Stansfield arrived at the office he found a secure cable from his London station chief waiting for him. It was a request for a face-to-face meeting. The topic to be discussed was the murder of the Libyan oil minister. “I appreciate you reaching out, Rollie.”
“That’s how you and I do things. We look out for each other.” Smith drummed his fingers on the table for a moment and then said, “The Libyan oil minister, Tarek al-Magariha . . . he was on our payroll.”
Stansfield didn’t seem surprised. “I thought that’s what this might be about.”
“There’s a slight wrinkle, however. He was also on the DGSE’s payroll.”
This time Stansfield was surprised. “Who had him first?”
“They did.”
“And then you turned him.”
“Not me personally, but yes, my people did.”
Stansfield took a moment to measure what he had learned and then he asked the most obvious question. “Did the Directorate know?”
Smith shrugged. “Probably.”
“Probably is the best you can do?”
“We have nothing definitive, but Tarek’s handler said he was growing increasingly nervous. He wanted us to bring him in. He thought the Directorate had become suspicious and then he was sent abroad for this most recent trip without any security. He told his handler that they were going to kill him.”
“They?”
“I’ve been told he was more afraid of his Islamic associates than of the Directorate.”
Kennedy’s heart was beating a little fast as she thought of Rapp’s words. That it was a setup. That they had been waiting for him. “Did you say they sent him abroad without any security?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the papers said four of his bodyguards were killed.”
Smith turned his attention from Kennedy to Stansfield and gave him a hard stare.
Stansfield cleared his throat and said, “Rollie knows, Irene.”
“Rollie knows what?”
“He knows about Mitch. He knows he was there the other night.”
Kennedy didn’t move a muscle, but she felt blood rushing to her face. Before she could respond Stansfield gave an explanation of sorts.
“We have no better ally than Rollie and MI6. They have access to areas that we don’t and vice versa. I trust Rollie more than a good number of people in our building.”
Kennedy nodded. “I am in no position to judge, sir. You don’t owe me an explanation. You just caught me off- guard.”
“There is a tendency,” Smith said, “in this business to hoard information. We all know why. We don’t want certain people to get their hands on that information, but as you’re going to learn this morning, when you trust certain people, they can help fill in gaping holes that you would be incapable of filling on your own.” Smith turned to de Fleury and said, “Right, Peter?”
“That is very true.”
Keeping his eyes on Kennedy, Smith said, “Monsignor de Fleury was very active in the French Resistance during the war. He was so successful that after the war he was awarded the Legion of Honor by General Charles de Gaulle in a private ceremony. Over the ensuing decades he has helped French Intelligence and both our services when he can.”
“Don’t listen to him,” de Fleury said, “I have grown old and worthless, but there was a time when I did my part.”
“And you are still doing your part as they will soon find out.” Smith prodded him. “Tell them what you were witness to Saturday night.”
De Fleury smiled at Kennedy and said, “My church is Sacre-Coeur Basilica . . . you have heard of it?”
“Of course.”
“It is a very busy place. Lots of tourists. Lots of people coming and going. It also happens to be the perfect place to hold certain meetings for the Directorate. Such a meeting took place on Saturday night.” De Fleury reached inside his coat, fumbled for a moment, and retrieved several sheets of white paper folded once the long way. He placed the papers in front of Kennedy. “I took notes. My mind isn’t as sharp as it once was. A man named Paul Fournier who works for the Directorate set up the meeting. The other men were wicked. Or at least two of them were. I’ve been around evil before and these two men were evil. They were killers. They were Muslims and they were very rude. They complained about meeting at the church.”
Kennedy nodded.
“The third man was polite. He was dark-skinned, but his French was much better than that of the other two. His name was Max. They started talking about the murders at the hotel. Fournier said to one of the angry men . . . I can’t remember his name but it is in my notes. He said, ‘You came here to kill one man and now I have nine bodies to deal with.’ Fournier said, ‘I gave you this assassin on a silver platter and you fucked it up so badly I spent the entire day cleaning up your mess.’ ”
“You were there while they talked about this?” Kennedy asked.
