“Something you said earlier, Bill … about the militant Islamists using this to unite Islam and launch a global jihad.”
“Yes?”
“Maybe we could defuse things by stealing a march on them — publicize this thing. If the whole world knew before it happened that they were planning this …”
“General,
Douglas merely rubbed his face.
“We
Douglas cleared his throat, then said, “The President’s secretary brought up another option.”
“What’s that?”
“We could hand the responsibility off to the Russians.”
“We may have to bring them in at some point,” Rubens said, “but—”
“Exactly. ‘But.’ They’re not going to search one of their own ships without damned good reason. Especially in light of the Tajikistan incident.”
Rubens nodded. The shoot-down of a Russian helicopter over Afghanistan territory was publicly being played as an unfortunate accident, a tragic helicopter crash on the border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. Congressman Mullins’ unthinking revelations about a U.S. intelligence operation in Tajikistan, however, had sharply chilled relations between Washington and Moscow. The Russian ambassador had already delivered a crisply worded protest to the White House about “wild west shoot-outs” in the streets of Dushanbe, this despite the fact that Tajikistan no longer was a part of Russian territory.
“Moscow denies that there are any missing tactical nukes,” Rubens said. “They have their heads planted firmly up their asses and aren’t going to extract them now.”
Douglas grunted. “The
“Yes, sir.
“Damn it, get me something harder to go on with this tidal wave thing. I can’t go to the President with a wild tale from a mass-market paperback.”
“I’ve already arranged for the Deep Black team on La Palma to do some checking, sir,” Rubens told him. “I’ve also initiated a requisition with the NRO for detailed satellite reconnaissance of La Palma.” He spread his hands. “It’s all we have going for us at the moment.”
“Then it’s going to have to do. You and your people have my authorization to do what you need to do …
15
That woman isn’t really your wife, is she?” Lia asked.
“Um, no,” Carlylse admitted. He looked embarrassed. “She’s a waitress at a restaurant in Puerto Naos. I met her a couple of days ago, and we kind of hit it off.”
“You need to get rid of her.”
“Damn, she’s been up there in my room for over an hour. She’s going to be wondering where the hell I am.”
“We think that a hooker gave Jack Pender’s room key to some JeM assassins,” she told him. “If this is the same sort of setup, someone else could be waiting for you in your room.”
“Gem? What’s gem?”
“Jaish-e-Mohammad,” she told him. “The Army of Mohammad. Thoroughly nasty characters who blow up buses filled with civilians, among other unpleasant things.”
“Shit.” He shook his head. “But Carmen is
“Sure she is. Let’s go up to your room together, and you’ll explain to her that the date is off for tonight.”
“Uh … I gave her my key.”
“I’d rather not knock. Get another key from the front desk.”
“Yeah, sure.” Carlylse seemed distracted, even a bit dazed. He wasn’t thinking straight.
On the way up to the room, Lia pulled her P226 from her pocketbook and snapped a loaded magazine into the butt. The muzzle was threaded to receive a sound suppressor, which she screwed on tightly. If this was a setup, it was possible that a couple of JeM assassins were waiting in the room for Carlylse’s return, and Lia was taking no chances. At the door to room 312, she stood with her back to the wall, the pistol in both hands, muzzle pointed at the ceiling. “Open it,” she whispered, “and then get the hell out of the way.”
Carlylse nodded and slid the keycard through the reader. The door clicked open, Carlylse stepped back, and Lia rolled around the corner and into the room.
The woman was in the king-sized bed, naked and half asleep. As Lia spun into the room, her pistol aimed two-handed at the woman, the waitress sat up and shrieked.
Lia pivoted, checking each corner of the room, but the woman had been alone. Now she was out of bed, snatching up stray items of clothing from the floor and bolting for the door, still screaming.
“Damn it, you scared the poor girl half to death!” Carlylse thought about it a moment. “You scared
“Grab your things.”
“Huh? What do you—”
“If this was a setup, she’ll be talking to the assassins as soon as she gets her clothes back on. If it wasn’t, she’ll be talking to the desk manager, and he’ll have security up here in a few minutes. Do you really want to wait here and answer their questions?”
“Um, no.” He gave her a hard look. “Look, who are you, anyway?”
“I showed you my ID.”
“I saw an ID for someone named Cathy Chung. I
“While you try to figure that out,” Lia told him, “grab your suitcase and let’s get out of here.”
“Look … did my ex send you?”
“What?”
“Did my ex-wife send you to screw up my sex life?”
“Art Room,” Lia said.
“What?” Carlylse asked, looking puzzled at the non sequitur.
“Here, Lia,” Jeff Rockman said in her ear.
“Give me some bio on this guy. Stat.”
“Coming right up, Lia.”
“Who are you talking to?” Carlylse asked, suspicious.
“My electronic backup,” she told him. “Never leave home without them.” Rockman began reading a file into her ear. Lia listened a moment, then began repeating select lines. “Okay … you’re Matthew Vincent Carlylse but you’ve gone as Vince since high school. You were born in Peoria, Illinois, on May 2, 1972. U.S. Army from 1991 to 1995. Married June Hanson in 1994, but she divorced you twelve years later after being diagnosed with schizophrenia. The voices told her you were sleeping with other women. You started writing after your discharge,
