Patriot Games

they've found nothing but old bloody books. Same story at his flat.' Owens stood and spoke in a voice full of perverse wonder. 'An electrician… Months of work, gone because he yanks the wrong wire.'

'He'll turn up. He could not have had a great deal of cash. He must use his credit card.'

'He's out of the country already. Don't say he isn't. If he's clever enough for what we know he's done—'

'Yes.' Ashley nodded reluctant agreement. 'One doesn't always win, James.'

'It is so nice to hear that!' Owens snapped out his reply. 'These bastards have outguessed us every step of the way. The Commissioner is going to ask me how it is that we couldn't get our thumbs out in time, and there is no answer to that question.'

'So what's the next step, then?'

'At least we know what he looks like. We… we share what we know with the Americans, all of it. I have a meeting scheduled with Murray this evening. He's hinted that they have something operating that he's not able to talk about, doubtless some sort of CIA op.'

'Agreed. Is it here or there?'

'There.' Owens paused. 'I am getting sick of this place.'

'Commander, you should measure your successes against your failures,' Ashley said. 'You're the best man we've had in this office in some years.'

Owens only grunted at that remark. He knew it was true. Under his leadership, C-13 had scored major coups against the Provisionals. But in this job, as in so many others, the question one's superiors always asked was, What have you accomplished today? Yesterday was ancient history.

'Watkins' suspected contact has flown,' he announced three hours later.

'What happened?' Murray closed his eyes halfway through the explanation and shook his head sadly. 'We had the same sort of thing happen to us,' he said after Owens finished. 'A renegade CIA officer. We were watching his place, and let things settle into a comfortable routine, and then—zip! He snookered the surveillance team. He turned up in Moscow a week later. It happens, Jimmy.'

'Not to me,' Owens almost snarled. 'Not until now, that is.'

'What's he look like?' Owens handed a collection of photographs across the desk. Murray flipped through them. 'Mousy little bastard, isn't he? Almost bald.' The FBI man considered this for a moment, then lifted his phone and punched in four numbers. 'Fred? Dan. You want to come down to my office for a minute?'

The man arrived a minute later. Murray didn't identify him as a member of the CIA and Owens didn't ask. He didn't have to. He'd given over two copies of each photo.

Fred—one of the men from 'down the hall' — took his photos and looked at them. 'Who's he supposed to be?'

Owens explained briefly, ending, 'He's probably out of the country by now.'

'Well, if he turns up in any of our nets, we'll let you know,' Fred promised, and left.

'Do you know what they're up to?' Owens asked Murray.

'No. I know something is happening. The Bureau and the Agency have a joint task force set up, but it's compartmented, and I don't need to know all of it yet.'

'Did your chaps have a part in the raid on Action-Directe?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Murray said piously. How the hell did you hear about that, Jimmy?

'I thought as much,' Owens replied. Bloody security! 'Dan, we are concerned here with the personal safety of—'

Murray held his hands up like a man at bay. 'I know, I know. And you're right, too. We ought to cut your people in on this. I'll call the Director myself.'

The phone rang. It was for Owens.

'Yes?' The Commander of C-13 listened for a minute before hanging up. 'Thank you.' A sigh. 'Dan, he's definitely on the continent. He used a credit card to purchase a railway ticket. Dunkerque to Paris, three hours ago.'

'Have the French pick him up?'

'Too late. The train arrived twenty minutes ago. He's completely gone now. Besides, we have nothing to arrest him for, do we?'

'And Watkins has been warned off.'

'Unless that was a genuinely wrong number, which I rather doubt, but try to prove that in a court of law!'

'Yeah.' Judges didn't understand any instinct but their own.

'And don't tell me that you can't win them all! That's what they pay me to do.' Owens looked down at the rug, then back up. 'Please excuse me for that.'

'Aah!' Murray waved it off. 'You've had bad days before. So have I. It's part of the business we're in. What we both need at a time like this is a beer. Come on downstairs, and I'll treat you to a burger.'

'When will you call your Director?'

'It's lunchtime over there. He always has a meeting going over lunch. We'll let it wait a few hours.'

Ryan had lunch with Cantor that day in the CIA cafeteria. It could have been the eating place in any other government building. The food was just as unexciting. Ryan decided to try the lasagna, but Marty stuck with fruit salad and cake. It seemed an odd diet until Jack watched him take a tablet before eating. He washed it down with milk.

'Ulcers, Marty?'

'What makes you say that?'

'I'm married to a doc, remember? You just took a Tagamet. That's for ulcers.'

'This place gets to you after a while,' Cantor explained. 'My stomach started acting up last year and didn't get any better. Everyone in my family comes down with it sooner or later. Bad genes, I guess. The medication helps some, but the doctor says that I need a less stressful environment.' A snort.

'You do work long hours,' Ryan observed.

'Anyway, my wife got offered a teaching position at the University of Texas—she's a mathematician. And to sweeten the deal they offered me a place in the Political Science Department. The pay's better than it is here, too. I've been here twelve years,' he said quietly. 'Long time.'

'So what do you feel bad about? Teaching's great. I love it, and you'll be good at it. You'll even have a good football team to watch.'

'Yeah, well, she's already down there, and I leave in a few weeks. I'm going to miss this place.'

'You'll get over it. Imagine being able to walk into a building without getting permission from a computer. Hey, I walked away from my first job.'

'But this one's important.' Cantor drank his milk and looked across the table. 'What are you going to do?'

'Ask me after the baby is born.' Ryan didn't want to dwell on this question.

'The Agency needs people like you, Jack. You've got a feel for things. You don't think and act like a bureaucrat. You say what you think. Not everyone in this building does that, and that's why the Admiral likes you.'

'Hell, I haven't talked to him since—'

'He knows what you're doing.' Cantor smiled.

'Oh.' Ryan understood. 'So that's it.'

'That's right. The old man really wants you, Jack. You still don't know how important that photo you tripped over was, do you?'

'All I did was show it to you, Marty,' Ryan protested. 'You're the one who really made the connection.'

'You did exactly the right thing, exactly what an analyst is supposed to do. There was more brains in that than you know. You have a gift for this sort of work. If you can't see it, I can.' Cantor examined the lasagna and winced. How could anybody eat that greasy poison? 'Two years from now you'll be ready for my job.'

'One bridge at a time, Marty.' They let it go at that.

An hour later Ryan was back in his office. Cantor came in.

'Another pep talk?' Jack smiled. Full-court press time…

'We have a picture of a suspected ULA member and it's only a week old. We got it in from London a couple of hours ago.'