“You know, X, what if this becomes the standard tactic?”
“What do you mean, Cap'n?”
“I mean, as quiet as these guys are getting, maybe this is the smart move…”
“Huh?” Claggett was lost.
“If you're tracking the guy, at least you always know where he is. You can even launch a SLOT buoy and call in assets to help you dispose of him. Think about it. They're getting pretty quiet. If you break off as soon as you detect the guy, what's to say you don't blunder into him again? So, instead, we track at a nice, safe distance and just keep an eye on him.”
“Uh, Captain, that's fine as far as it goes, but what if the other guy gets a sniff of us, or what if he just reverses course and boogies backwards at high speed?”
“Good point. So, we trail on his quarter instead of just off his stern… that will make an accidental closure less likely. Banging straight aft for a trailer is a logical defensive measure, but he can't go punching holes all over the ocean, can he?”
Jesus, this guy is trying to develop tactics… “Sir, let me know if you sell that one to OP-02.”
Instead of trailing dead aft, I'm going to hold off his northern quarter now. It gives us better performance off the tail anyway. It should actually be safer.'
That part of it made sense, Claggett thought. “You say so, Cap'n. Maintain fifty-K yards?”
“Yes, we still want to be a little cautious.”
The second storm, as predicted, hadn't done very much, Ghosn saw. There was a light dusting — that seemed to be the term they used — on the vehicles and parking lot. Hardly enough to bother with, it duplicated the most severe winter storm he'd ever seen in Lebanon.
“How about some breakfast?” Marvin asked. “I hate to work on an empty stomach.”
The man was remarkable, Ibrahim thought. He was completely free of jitters. Either very brave or… something else. Ghosn considered that. He'd killed the Greek policeman without a blink, had taught a brutal lesson to one of the organization's combat instructors, shown his prowess with firearms, and been completely contemptuous of danger when they'd uncovered the Israeli bomb. There was something missing in this man, he concluded. The man was fearless, and such men were not normal. It wasn't that he was able to control his fear as most soldiers learned to do. Fear simply wasn't there. Was it merely a case of trying to impress people? Or was it real? Probably real, Ghosn thought, and if it were, this man was truly mad, and therefore more dangerous than useful. It made things easier for Ghosn to think that.
The motel didn't offer room service from its small coffee shop. All three walked out into the cold to get their breakfasts. Along the way, Russell picked up a paper to read about the game.
Qati and Ghosn only needed a brief look to find one more reason to hate Americans. They ate eggs with bacon or ham, and pancakes with sausage — in all three cases, products of the most unclean of animals, the pig. Both men found the sight and smell of pork products repulsive. Marvin didn't help when he ordered some as unconsciously as he'd ordered coffee. The Commander, Ghosn noted, ordered oatmeal, and halfway through breakfast he went suddenly pale and left the table.
“What's the matter with him anyway? Sick?” Russell asked.
“Yes, Marvin, he is quite ill.” Ghosn looked at the greasy bacon on Russell's plate and knew the smell of it had set Qati's stomach off.
“I hope he's able to drive.”
“That will not be a problem.” Ghosn wondered if that were true. Of course it was, he told himself, the Commander had been through tougher times — but such bluster was for others, not for times like this. No, because there had never been such a time as this, the Commander would do what must be done. Russell paid for the breakfast with cash, leaving a large tip because the waitress looked like a Native American.
Qati was pale when they got back to the rooms, and wiping his face after a long bout of nausea.
“Can I get you something, man?” Russell asked. “Milk, something good for your stomach?”
“Not now, Marvin. Thank you.”
“You say so, man.” Russell opened his paper. There was nothing to do for the next few hours but wait. The morning line on the game, he saw, was Minnesota by six and a half. He decided that if anyone asked, he'd take the Vikings and give the points.
Special Agent Walter Hoskins, Assistant Special Agent in Charge (Corruption and Racketeering), of the Denver Field Division knew that he would miss the game despite the fact that his wife had given him a ticket for Christmas. This he had sold to the S-A-C for two hundred dollars. Hoskins had work to do. A confidential informant had scored at the annual NFL Commissioner's party last night. That party — like the ones preceding the Kentucky Derby — always attracted the rich, powerful, and important. This one had been no exception. Both U.S. Senators from Colorado and California, a gaggle of congressmen, the states' governors, and approximately three hundred others had attended. His CI had been at the table with Colorado 's governor, senators, and the congresswoman from the third district, all of whom were targets of his corruption case. Liquor had flowed, and in the vino had been the usual amount of veritas. A deal had been made last night. The dam would be built. The payoffs had been agreed upon. Even the head of the Sierra Club's local branch had been in on it. In return for a large donation from the contractor and a new park to be authorized by the governor, the environmentalists would mute their objections to the project. The sad part, Hoskins thought, was that the area really needed the water project. It would be good for everyone, including the local fishermen. What made it illegal was that bribes were being made. He would have his choice of five federal statutes to apply to the case, the nastiest of which was the RICO law, the Racketeer- Influenced and Corrupt Organization Act that had been passed over twenty years before without a thought about its possible scope of coverage. He already had one governor in a federal penitentiary, and to that he would add four more elected officials. The scandal would rip Colorado state politics asunder. The confidential informant in question was the governor's personal aide, an idealistic young woman who had decided eight months earlier that enough was enough. Women were always best for wearing a wire, especially if they had large breasts, as this one did. The mike went right in the bra, and the geometry of the location made for good sound quality. It was also a safe spot, because the governor had already sampled her charms and found them lacking. The old saw was right: hell really did have no fury like a woman scorned.
“Well?” Murray asked, annoyed to have to be in his office on another Sunday. He'd had to ride the subway in, and now that was broken down. He might be stuck all day here.
“Dan, we have enough to prosecute already, but I want to wait until the money gets passed to do the bust. My CI really delivered for us. I'm doing the transcript myself right now.”
“Can you fax it?”
“Soon as I'm done. Dan, we've got them all by the ass, all of 'em.”
“Walt, we just might put up a statue to you,” Murray said, forgetting his annoyance. Like most career cops he loathed public corruption almost as much as he loathed kidnappers.
“Dan, the transfer here is the best thing that ever happened to me.” Hoskins laughed into the phone. “Maybe I'll run for one of the vacant Senate seats.”
“ Colorado could do worse,” Dan observed. Just so you don't carry a gun anywhere, Murray thought unkindly. He knew that was unfair. Though Walt wasn't worth beans on the muscle end of the business, the other side of his assessment the previous year had also been correct: Hoskins was a brilliant investigator, a chessmaster to equal Bill Shaw, even. Walt just couldn't bring down a bust worth a damn. Well, Murray corrected himself, this one wouldn't be very hard. Politicians hid behind lawyers and press-spokesmen, not guns. “What about the U.S. Attorney?”
“He's a good, sharp kid, Dan. He's on the team. Backup from the Department of Justice won't hurt, but the fact of the matter is that this guy can do it if he has to.”
“Okay. Shoot me the transcript when it's done.” Murray switched buttons on his phone, calling Shaw's home in Chevy Chase.
“Yeah.”
“Bill, Dan here,” Murray said over the secure phone. “Hoskins scored last night. Says he's got it all on tape — all five principal subjects cut the deal over their roast beef.”
“You realize that we might have to promote the guy now?” the FBI Director noted with a chuckle.
