“Or Bahrain still is?”
“That is far too close to home.” He didn’t have to explain. Many Saudis drove there in their chauffeured cars to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, but too many of them might recognize his voice, if not his new face. The Saudi royal family wanted him as dead as the Americans did. Indeed, they’d set up viewing stands in Chop Chop Square in Riyadh for the infidels to see his last minutes with their mini-cams and other recording systems. There were many prices on his head… And the American one was not nearly the highest. “Come. Let us find you a proper bed.”
And Hadi followed him through the kitchen and into the house, thence left toward the bedroom wing.
“You are secure here?” Hadi asked.
“Yes, but in a few minutes I can be away. It is not perfect, but it is the best a man can arrange.”
“Do you test your escape route?”
“Weekly.”
“So it is for me in Italy.”
“Rest!” the Emir said, opening the door to the bedroom. “Do you require anything?”
Hadi shook his head. “I could eat, but I need sleep. I will see you in the morning.”
“Good night, my friend.” A shake of the shoulder, and the Emir closed the door. The man had flown almost six thousand miles. He’d earned the right to be exhausted.
51
BELL AND GRANGER were waiting in Hendley’s office when Jack and Clark walked in. “Washed out in Chicago,” Clark told them, falling into a swivel chair. “He flew as far as Las Vegas. After that, who can say? McCarran has flights to everywhere. Maybe L.A., San Francisco, hell, back to the East Coast, maybe.”
“His traveling name?” Bell asked.
“Joel Klein. Jewish, would you believe? Makes sense, I suppose. I suppose we can surf the computers to see if he booked a flight on from there, but who’s to say he doesn’t have numerous other identities?”
“Already being checked,” Granger assured him. “No hits yet. I’m fresh out of ideas.”
“If I had to bet, I’d say he’s bedded down somewhere, maybe scheduled to continue his travel regimen tomorrow. Not enough manpower, Rick. We need more bodies and more eyes to do this.”
“We got what we got,” Bell said.
“Yeah.”
“There is another possibility,” Jack said. “What if Las Vegas was his destination? Then what?”
“Damned scary thought,” Granger replied. “It means we’ve got an operational URC cell here.”
Tell us about Peshawar,” Hendley said a few minutes later.
Clark dug into his carry-on and laid Masood’s drive on the desk. He gave the
“For now we will.” Hendley nodded to Bell. “Rick, can you get that down to Gavin? Have him send up the contents asap?” To Clark: “You want to call Mary Pat?”
“Already did. She’s on her way.”
Hendley picked up the phone and called the lobby. “Ernie, Gerry here. Got a visitor coming. Mary Pat Foley. Right, thanks.”
Mary Pat appeared in Hendley’s doorway forty minutes later. “Nice digs,” she said. “Looks like I’m in the wrong business.” She walked across the carpet and shook Hendley’s hand. “Good to see you again, Gerry.”
“You too, Mary Pat. This is Rick Bell and Sam Granger. And I think you know Jack Ryan.” More handshakes, and a surprised look from Mary Pat. “Keeping up the family legacy?” she asked Jack.
“It’s early days yet, ma’am.”
“Mary Pat.”
Hendley said, “Have a seat.” She took the chair next to Clark. “You look tired, John.”
“I always look this way. It’s the lighting.”
“Let’s get on the same page,” Hendley said.
Clark gave Mary Pat the same recap. When he was done, she let out a low whistle. “A mover. That tells us something. You don’t need somebody like Masood unless you’re leaving the region.”
Granger said, “We should have the hard drive contents shortly.”
“It’s not going to tell us where he is,” Mary Pat predicted. “The Emir’s too slippery for that. Probably used more than one mover. Used them to hopscotch himself somewhere he could drop off the radar. Best we’re going to get is close.”
“Which is a damned sight closer than we are now,” Rick Bell observed.
While Biery and his geeks dug into Masood’s drive and Clark and Chavez caught a power nap on the break-room couches, Jack turned his attention to the flash drive Ding had taken off one of the Tripoli tangos. Having determined that it contained stego-encoded images, he and Biery had decided to try a brute-force algorithm crack, with a free steak dinner for whoever got there first. Busy as he was with Masood’s drive, Jack felt confident in his head start.
After two hours of crunching, one of the algorithms struck gold and an image began depixelating on his screen. It was a large file, almost six megabytes, so the decoding would take a few minutes. He picked up the phone and called Granger. Two minutes later Jack had an audience of eight standing over his shoulder, watching the monitor as the photo resolved.
“What the hell is that?” Brian asked, leaning in.
The photo was blurred and desaturated of color. Jack imported it into Photoshop and washed the file through some filters, working the contrast and brightness until the image came clear.
There was ten seconds of silence.
The 8?10 image was done in 1940s pinup style: a dark-haired woman in a white cotton peasant skirt, sitting on a bale of hay, her legs crossed demurely. She was naked from the waist up, her impossibly massive breasts drooping to her thighs.
“Tits,” Sam Granger said. “My God, Jack, you’ve discovered tits.”
“Oh, shit,” Jack muttered.
Everyone burst out laughing.
Dominic said, “Jack, you little pervert… I had no idea.”
Then Brian: “So, Jack, exactly how much ‘depixelation’ do you do in your spare time?”
More laughter.
“Very funny.” Jack groaned.
Once the laughter died down, Hendley said, “Okay, let’s break it up and let Mr. Hefner carry on. Nice work, Jack.”
At four o’ clock, Jack woke up Clark and Chavez. “Show-time, guys. Conference room in five minutes.”
They showed up in four minutes, both armed with an extra-large cup of coffee. Everyone else was already seated: Hendley, Granger, Bell, Rounds, Dominic, and Mary Pat. Clark and Chavez took their seats. Rounds took the lead. He looked up from the summary Biery had sent up a few minutes earlier.
“A lot of this is nuts-and-bolts stuff that may help us down the road. The big-picture items are three. He picked up the remote and aimed it at the forty-two-inch wide-screen TV. The frontspiece of a passport appeared on the screen. “That’s what our guy looked like at some point in the last six to nine months.”
