Morgan opened it and carefully spilled its contents on the table: an ID, presumably fake, some money, and credit cards.
Something caught Alex’s eye. “Hold on.” She reached out and took something from the wallet—a golden rectangle about the size of a business card. She held it up, and it gleamed in the light of the airplane cabin.
“That’s real gold leaf.” That was Lily, looking up from her book. “I know gold when I see it.”
“Looks like there’s something on it. It’s really hard to see, hold on.” Alex ran her fingers over the surface and tilted it to catch the angle of the light just right. “Looks like some kind of symbol.”
“Let me see,” Lily said, reaching out for it. She examined it, tilting it against the light as Alex had done. “Yes, there’s definitely something there. I need paper,” she said. “A notepad, anything.”
Alex looked around and settled for the nearest thing—a barf bag in the pocket next to her seat. She handed it to Lily, who made a quick sketch and held up the paper. “Anyone recognize this?”
“You’re not very good at drawing,” Alex said. “Hold on.”
Using the card as a reference, she made a closer approximation of the design on the card—a broken circle, with a sort of pinched triangle in the middle. “Is this a bit closer?”
“Yes, looks more like it,” Lily said. “But I don’t recognize it.”
“Hold it up to the camera,” Shepard said. Alex held up the card and the design. “Nothing I know of, but I’ll see what I can find.”
“The circle reminds me a bit of the Ouroboros,” Peter Conley said. “The snake that eats its own tail.”
“Morgan.” It was Bloch. “I need to talk to you privately.”
Bishop, in the back, snickered like Morgan was a schoolkid being called to the principal’s office.
Morgan took the computer and brought it into one of the tiny cabins near the cockpit. “I’m sorry, but saving Lily was the right call,” he said. “We’ll get Lukacs soon enough—”
“That’s not what this is about, Morgan. We can get into the details in the full debrief, and we’ll go into the specifics of that decision. But it was our decision, ultimately, and I take responsibility for it. But that’s not what this is about. I’m pulling you off Lukacs.”
“What? Why? We were close, Bloch. Closest than anyone’s been in a long time.”
“I know. But I have another mission for you—one that only you can perform.”
“What—” Half the screen was occupied by a familiar face, one he did not expect.
“General James Collins,” Bloch said. “I understand you knew him back in your days at the CIA.”
“I worked under him,” said Morgan. “I did several black ops under his command in Africa.”
“What can you tell me about him?” she asked.
“Currently under investigation by a Senate committee for misconduct in Iraq. It’s bullshit. He’s a good man. Real American. Best boss I ever had.”
“Maybe not so good,” said Bloch. “A cache of Tomahawk missiles went missing from a silo last week. Disappeared into thin air. And eleven soldiers dead, killed by whoever took them. The Pentagon’s covering, calling it a training accident.” She held up both hands and made air quotes. “But DIA says it had to have been an inside job.”
“And they’re trying to pin it on him?”
“His codes were used to access the base and deactivate the security systems. He had access to blueprints and schematics of the base, as well as details of its contents. The evidence doesn’t look good.”
“What does he say?” Morgan asked.
“That he had nothing to do with it. That he doesn’t know how his codes came to be in the possession of whoever orchestrated the heist.”
“And you want me to see if that’s true?”
“That’s the gist of it, yes,” Bloch said.
“What makes you think he’ll open up to me? We haven’t seen each other in years.”
“You received a voice mail today.” A recorded voice played over the speakers.
“Dan, it’s Jim Collins. Something’s happening. I need your help. There’s no one else I can trust.”
“You’re listening to my voice mails now?”
“Of course,” Bloch responded without a hint of humor. “But we’re monitoring Collins. We couldn’t be coy about this. It’s too urgent. We need to find those missiles, Morgan.”
“I get the picture.”
“We need you to get him to talk,” she said. “You know how this goes. Use your relationship with him.”
“And then stab him in the back?”
“If he’s a traitor, yes. If not, get him to help you find the missiles. The truth is what we want.”
Morgan was again amazed by the cold-blooded practicality of the woman. He also realized that was maybe what he liked about her the most. “That hasn’t always been my experience,” he reminded her. “Sometimes, what you higher-ups want is a fall guy.”
Bloch sat back, and her lips got very thin and straight indeed. “This is Zeta, Agent Morgan,” she said carefully. “I am Zeta. If you think that is true, or even possibly true of me, I’m sure the classic car dealerships of the world would welcome a salesman of your caliber back into the fold. Don’t put your personal relationships ahead of your objectivity or the nation’s security. You’re a better agent than that.”
“When the chips are down, I hope that’s more than just talk, Bloch.”
“If you have to hope, then you don’t know Zeta at all.” She restored the placid authority to her expression. “You in, or can you give me a solid lead on a Porsche 916?”
Morgan almost grinned. “Yeah, I get it. You need me to save the day. Must be Tuesday.”
Chapter Six
Lily gave her name at the lobby of the San Francisco St. Regis. Bright sunlight streamed in from Third Street through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and fell on the interior’s mild modern decor.
“Everything looks good with your reservation. Your car is also ready.”
“Car?”
“Let me see here. Yes, that’s right. We have a car
