envelope has been sent to my hotel in Faro.”
“The photographs?” White felt a jolt of impossible hope, as if some wild ray of good fortune had suddenly and unbelievably shined down from above. Maybe there was a chance yet. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Wirth wasn’t the fool he thought.
“All I was told was that an envelope was being messengered to the hotel.” Wirth started for the parking lot and the black Land Cruiser. “We won’t know what’s in it until we get there.”
1:42 P.M.
75
LIVROS USADOS GRANADA. 1:47 P.M.
Stump Logan was behind the checkout counter as they came in. They were hot and sweaty and looking as if they had just walked a considerable distance in the midday heat and done so quickly.
“I wonder if we might use your office for a few minutes,” Marten said intensely, squinting a little as his eyes adjusted from the bright sun outside to the relative darkness of the store. Anne was just behind him.
“My office,” Logan said flatly, peering through his thick glasses, first at Marten, then at Anne, and then back to Marten. Marten had a large padded envelope tucked under his arm. Something he hadn’t seen on the couple’s first visit.
“Actually I think Anne would like to use the restroom first,” Marten said. “That is, if you have one.”
Logan studied him a moment longer, then looked at Anne. “All the way to the back and down a flight of stairs into the basement. It’s not much, but it works.”
“Thank you.” Anne glanced at Marten and went off in the direction the book dealer had sent her.
Logan lifted the glasses and looked at Marten intently. “You’re in trouble.”
“More than a little. I’m afraid we need your help, and badly.”
Just then a middle-aged couple came in and began to look over the books in the front of the store. “Why don’t you see to them,” Marten said quickly. “If it’s alright, I’ll wait in your office.”
Logan nodded toward the back. “You know where it is.”
“Thank you.”
Marten walked off. Other than the couple who had just entered there were no other customers. The only employee he saw was the thirty-something woman with short dark hair and a light summer dress who’d been at the checkout counter when they’d come in the first time. She was on the far side of the room with her back to him, intent on rearranging a display of books.
It had all been planned. They’d left the rented Opel in a parking area near the beach, then walked to the only refuge they knew, Logan’s bookstore. The whole way they’d looked for both the police and Conor White, who they knew had to be closing in on them in one way or another. The idea had been to get to Logan’s store as quickly as possible, then get him alone, tell him as much of the story as was necessary, and ask for his help. They were taking a chance, but there was nowhere else to go, and he’d helped before. Now they were praying he’d do it again, if for no other reason than his past relationship with Theo Haas and Father Willy. The idea of sending Anne to the restroom had come to Marten as they entered-give him a chance to work Logan singly, man on man, before she came fully into the picture. At least that was what he’d told her. What he really wanted was to find a way to be alone for a few minutes so that he could call President Harris and tell him where he was and what had happened. He hadn’t been sure how he would do it, but then the middle-aged couple had come in and the problem had been solved, at least for the moment.
Just ahead was the door to Logan’s office. Marten opened it and went in.
1:59 P.M.
8:59 A.M. IN CAMP DAVID, MARYLAND.
President Harris had been sequestered in a small study off his bedroom for the last two hours. Note pad and pencil at his sleeve, he was taking yet another maddening pass, trying to cut fat from the proposed new federal budget when the slate gray cell phone on the table next to him rang. It startled him, and for a moment he did nothing; then it rang again. Immediately he realized what it was, and picked up.
“Where are you? What happened? Are you alright?” he spat emotionally, the words run together like a jet stream of consciousness.
In ninety seconds Marten told him everything. Recovering the photographs. Striker’s massive oil find in Bioko and Moscow’s knowledge of it. That Anne was still with him. Kovalenko’s arrival with Franck and subsequent killing of him. That Franck had been working for the CIA. His own fear that a huge police dragnet would be put out for him once Franck’s body was found. Everything, that was, but the business about Kovalenko and the camera’s memory card. That was something that could wait for later.
“He’s left Iraq and is on his way to Rome and then Lisbon, where he’ll meet you,” the president said. “He’ll be at the Four Seasons Ritz, but not until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He has a dinner tomorrow night with Lisbon’s mayor. The whole thing has been played as a courtesy call on his way back to Washington. The mayor’s wife and Ryder’s support the same international charity, so it’s a logical cover. It’s a long way from Iraq to Portugal, so you should have more than enough time to get to Lisbon even if you have to slow it down. The question is, police or not, can you do it? Can you get there?”
“One has been set up for you in Lisbon, a small apartment in the old part of the city, the Bairro Alto”-Harris picked up a notebook from the table and opened it-“number seventeen Rua do Almada. Ask for a woman named Raisa Amaro. She lives in a flat on the first floor. She knows you’re coming. It’s not fancy, but it’ll do until Ryder arrives. Go there and stay there. He’ll know where you are and how to get in touch. So again, can you get there? If you don’t think so, I’ll try to arrange something else.”
“Good. Call me the minute you’re safe. I’ll take the information you gave me and work on it. If the oil field is what you say it is, the find is hugely strategic. No matter what you think of them, Striker’s done a great job of keeping it quiet. Still, the handling of the rest from here on in, your end to mine, has to be done with extreme caution. None of this can get out.”
“The Lisbon station chief already knows Ryder’s coming. But that’s all he knows. Ryder will be under the protection of the State Department’s Regional Security Office. The RSO will coordinate his movements, but they won’t know about you or Ms. Tidrow. Joe Ryder’s pretty resourceful. He’ll find a way for you to meet him alone.”
“You’re the one to thank, cousin. Take damn good care of yourself. Good luck and Godspeed.”
