tens of thousands of people per month. He makes contact with someone on the other side, and they get him the rest of the way without going through the usual immigration-control procedures. It's easy—hell, the Agency does it all the time. If we had a name we could see if he was out of the country at the right time. That would be a start— but we don't have a name to check.'
'We don't have anything!' Ryan snapped.
'Sure we do. We have all that' — he waved at the documents on Ryan's desk—'and lots more where that came from. Somewhere in there is the answer.'
'You really believe that?'
'Every time we crack one of these things, we find that all the information was under our nose for months. The oversight committees in Congress always hammer us on that. Sitting in that pile right now. Jack, is a crucial lead. That's almost a statistical certainty. But you probably have two or three hundred such reports sitting there, and only one matters.'
'I didn't expect miracles, but I did expect to make some progress,' Jack said quietly, the magnitude of the problem finally sinking in.
'You did. You saw something that no one else did. You may have found Francoise Theroux. And now if a French agent sees something that might be useful to us, maybe they'll pass it along. You didn't know this, but the intel business is like the old barter economy. We give them, and then they give us, or we'll never give to them again. If this pans out, they'll owe us big-time. They really want that gal. She popped a close friend of their President, and he took it personally.
'Anyway, you get a well-done from the Admiral and the DGSE. The boss says you should take it a little easier, by the way.'
'I'll take it easy when I find the bastards,' Ryan replied.
'Sometimes you have to back off. You look like hell. You're tired. Fatigue makes for errors. We don't like errors. No more late hours, Jack, that comes from Greer, too. You're out of here by six.' Cantor left, denying Jack a chance to object.
Ryan turned back toward his desk, but stared at the wall for several minutes. Cantor was right. He was working so late that half the time he couldn't drive up to Baltimore to see how his daughter was doing. Jack rationalized that his wife was with her every day, frequently spending the night at Hopkins to be close to their daughter.
'Hello, Alex,' Miller said as he entered the car.
'How was the trip?' He still had his beard, Dobbens saw. Well, nobody had gotten much of a look at him. This time he'd flown to Mexico, driven across the border, then taken a domestic flight into D.C., where Alex had met him.
'Your border security over here's a bloody joke.'
'Would it make you happy if they changed it?' Alex inquired. 'Let's talk business.' The abruptness of his tone surprised Miller.
'You haven't paid me for the last one yet, boy.'
Miller handed over a passbook. 'Numbered account, Bahamian bank. I believe you'll find the amount correct.'
Alex pocketed the book. 'That's more like it. Okay, we have another job. I hope you don't expect to go with it as fast as before.'
'We have several months to plan it,' Miller replied.
'I'm listening.' Alex sat through ten minutes of information.
'Are you out of your fucking mind?' Dobbens asked when he was finished.
'How hard would it be to gather the information we need?'
'That's not the problem, Sean. The problem is getting your people in and out. No way I could handle that.'
'That is my concern.'
'Bullshit! If my people are involved, it's my concern, too. If that Clark turkey broke to the cops, it would have burned a safe-house—and me!'
'But he didn't break, did he? That's why we chose him.'
'Look, what you do with your people, I don't give a rat's ass. What happens to my people, I do. That last little game we played for you was bush league, Sean.'
Miller figured out what 'bush league' meant from context. 'The operation was politically sound, and you know it. Perhaps you've forgotten that the objective is always political. Politically, the operation was a complete success.'
'I don't need you to tell me that!' Alex snapped back in his best intimidating tone. Miller was a proud little twerp, but Alex figured he could pinch his head off with one good squeeze. 'You lost a troop because you were playing this personal, not professional—and I know what you're thinking. It was our first big play, right? Well, son, I think we proved that we got our shit together, didn't we? And I warned you up front that your man was too exposed. If you'd listened to me, you wouldn't have a man on the inside. I know your background is pretty impressive, but this is my turf, and I know it.'
Miller knew that he had to accept that. He kept his face impassive. 'Alex, if we were in any way displeased, we would not have come back to you. Yes, you do have your shit together,'
'Sure, for the right price. You want us in the op?'
'We don't know yet,' Miller replied honestly.
'If you want us in, I'm part of the planning. Number one, I want to know how you get in and out. I might have to go with you. If you shitcan my advice this time, I walk and I take my people with me.'
'It's a little early to be certain, but what we hope to arrange is really quite simple…'
'You think you can set that up?' For the first time since he'd arrived, Sean had Alex nodding approval. 'Slick. I'll give you that. It's slick. Now let's talk price.'
Sean wrote a figure on a piece of paper and handed it to Alex. 'Fair enough?' People interested in money were easy to impress.
'I sure would like an account at
'If this operation comes off, you will.'
'You mean that?'
Miller nodded emphatically. 'Direct access. Training facilities, help with travel documents, the lot. Your skill in helping us last time attracted attention. Our friends like the idea of an active revolutionary cell in America.'
'End of the week good enough?'
'Can you do it that fast without attracting attention?'
'Let me worry about that,' Alex replied with a smile.
'Anything new on your end?' Owens asked.