agencies that should be sharing information but don’t or won’t. The new intelligence hierarchy may be a good idea, but it needs time to mature…”
“Time we don’t have.” Carmichael completed Derringer’s thought.
“Correct. Therefore, we need to rely on our own resources as well as whatever the agencies send us.” Derringer looked at Wolf. “Joe, maybe we need to call in O’Connor. What do you think?”
“Well, he’s certainly well placed. But Mike, you know that…”
“Yeah. I know.” There were ironic grins and a few chuckles around the table. Ryan O’Connor had entered the State Department in the Carter administration and fervently clung to that naive world-view, despite decades of evidence to the contrary. But he was SSI’s point of contact at State, and that situation would not change.
Derringer sought the silver lining in the diplomatic cloud. “One thing about this case: it’s largely apolitical. No human rights abuses or questionable governments to muddy the waters.” He nodded at Wolf. “Okay, give him a call. But only tell him as little as necessary. What we want from him is back-channel contact with the Mexican government, especially their transportation and public health people. Emphasize the medical aspects, and get gruesome if you have to.”
Wolf scribbled himself a note, smiling all the while.
Sandy Carmichael raised her pencil. “Sir, speaking of the medical aspects, who do we have for bioterror advice now that Padgett-Smith’s sidelined?”
“Gosh, that’s a good question, Sandy.” Derringer had not thought about the stricken immunologist lately. “I don’t have anybody in mind except Phil Catterly. He’s professionally qualified, but he’s no field operative. However, since he’s already read in on the Marburg threat, I’d say he’s our man. I’ll phone him today.”
Wolf looked up from his notepad. “That still leaves us to find enough operators.” He turned to Omar Mohammed, who had sat quietly through the meeting thus far. It was obvious that he was still tired.
Taking the cue, Mohammed sat upright. “Frank and Steve’s teams are inbound. We got them out of Pakistan as fast as possible, but they’re going to be tired and jetlagged. Most of the shooters are looking forward to some down time; they figure they’ve accomplished their mission.”
Derringer asked, “Any Spanish speakers among them?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I should know, but I don’t. I’m sorry, Admiral. I’ll have to check the computer files.”
“Well, we can’t assemble another team and bring it up to speed in less than a week. Looks as if we’re forced to recycle the Pakistan crew.”
Wolf leaned forward. “Uh, technically, none of them are required to conduct more work. Their contracts were written for the overseas job, though I can check with Corin for specifics. But I’m sure I’m right.” He spread his hands. “We might not have enough guys to field a useful team.”
Derringer finally sat down. He wanted to rub his temples but he suppressed the urge. Image counted for a lot at such times. Instead, he cleared his throat. “All right, looks as if I’ll be working the phones tonight.” He punched his right fist into his left palm. “Damn! I wish we had in-flight communication with our bird. I floated a SatCom proposal to the board last year but they thought it was a nice-to-have rather than necessary. Now we’ll have to spring this news on the boys when they land.”
Sandy Carmichael ignored what could not be helped and focused on upcoming contingencies. She flipped through her briefing book but did not find what she sought. “Sir, what can our people expect in Mexico? I don’t see that data here.”
“There wasn’t time to include that in the packet but the research department has some basics.” He nodded to Sharon Carper, who knew her way around the internet as few people did.
“I focused on likely Muslim contacts in the country, but there’s not much evidence,” she began. “Mexico has a very small Muslim population — probably under two thousand or so. Apparently most are converts to the Muribatun movement.”
“Anything else?” Carmichael asked.
“Well, there are relatively few embassies in Mexico, and the only Islamic country there is Malaysia.”
Wolf felt the information was of marginal utility. “It doesn’t take many operatives to handle two people. Hell, they don’t even have to be Muslim. In fact, I’d bet the contacts are local smugglers.”
Carper added, “It’d make sense for them to proceed via Mexico City. It’s the third largest metro area in the world: eighteen to twenty million. They could hole up there for quite a while without being noticed.”
“Yes, they could,” Carmichael responded. “But they’ll want to get to the border as soon as possible.”
Joe Wolf was tired and irritable, yet he wanted to get to work. “Well, that’s right. After all, the clock’s running.” He stood up.
Derringer rapped his pen on the table. “Meeting adjourned. Until after dinner.”
It had been a long, tiring trip. Neither young man was accustomed to air travel — let alone from Pakistan to Morocco to Brazil and Ecuador. Dealing with strangers who could only converse in the infidel language was a constant strain, but at least the current handlers were members of The Faith; new friends who managed some Arabic in addition to English.
The elder host called himself Aamir: a handsome trader in his thirties, He did not explain his connection to Doctor Ali’s organization, nor did Sial or Ahmed inquire. He did, however, express concern for Ahmed’s health. It was apparent that the youngster had not endured the charter flight very well from Quito to Chiapas. The dawn landing at an outlying dirt field had been exciting enough — the pilot nearly clipped the treetops before flaring and dropping the twin-engine turboprop onto the packed earth — but now the couriers were within range of their target. Officially, they ceased to exist in Quito, where their forged passports ended the paper trail.
Now the travelers had only a vague idea of their location: somewhere in southeastern Mexico, with the Pacific to the south and Guatemala to the east.
Aamir showed the travelers to their room in his house. They took in the whitewashed walls, rugs on the floor, and two inviting beds. “It is still twenty-five hundred kilometers to the border,” their host explained. “You will rest here tomorrow and fly by private plane to Sonora the next day. I shall explain the procedures after prayers and dinner.”
“Hey, lookit. There’s the admiral.”
Breezy’s observation turned heads in the leased hangar. Hidden from outside view, the operators were beginning to unload critical gear from the 727 when Derringer stepped into the access door with Omar Mohammed. Some of the door kickers had never met the firm’s founder and CEO, who warmly greeted Terry Keegan. Then Derringer motioned for the men to gather around him.
Frank Leopole stepped inside the circle and approached his employer. “You didn’t need to pay us a visit, sir. We know how busy you are, but the guys sure appreciate it.”
“Thank you, Frank. But I’m not here just to say welcome home.” He turned his head, searching the recesses of the building. “I don’t see any Charter people. Are we alone?”
“Ah, yessir.” Leopole knew the admiral’s intent. SSI shared the hangar with Charter International Airways; otherwise the rent would be prohibitive. The firm’s initials were a perennial cause of mirth.
“Good. What I have to say is close hold.”
Steve Lee turned to his team. “Hey! Listen up!” A tentative silence fell upon the operators. A few looked around, and Lee read the signs.
Derringer began. “Guys, welcome back. It’s really good to see you again. I wish I could treat all of you to an extended vacation, especially after you did such a fine job. But the fact is: Pandora is not over.”
The operators exchanged querulous glances. Some expressed concern; a few betrayed dismay.
“This is close hold,” Derringer continued. “Even though you broke up the Marburg cell, the doctor sent two more suiciders our way. They left just hours before you took down the farmhouse.”
Leopole waved down the rising voices. Derringer gestured to Mohammed. It was a calculated move: the training officer had bonded with the shooters over the previous weeks. Many of the men felt closer to the naturalized Iranian than to the retired admiral who wrote the checks.
Mohammed stepped two paces forward. “Gentlemen, we’re asking you to go one more round. The intelligence is firm: our two suspects did get away and flew to South America. We are convinced that they will enter this country via Mexico.”
