Prometheus's Child

invaluable on the Pandora Project, hunting down an Islamic cell that spread the Marburg virus in the west. “By the way, any word on CPS?”

Breezy replied, “Last I heard, she was back at work. Don’t suppose she’s doing much rock climbing, though. Not after the exposure she had to that bug in Pakistan.”

With a skeptical glance, Bosco made a mental comparison between the bejeweled, garrulous Ms. Whitney and the athletic, attractive British immunologist. “I tell you what: this lady has a looong way to go in Doc Smith’s league.”

“Well, I don’t reckon there’s gonna be many mountains to climb or Taliban to shoot where we’re going. Besides, Whitney’s gig is language and intel, not operations.”

“Thank God!” Bosco exclaimed. “Queen Latifah meets G.I. Jane!”

Breezy nearly choked while suppressing a laugh. “Sandy Carmichael says Martha’s supposed to blend into the crowd. Like, mingle with the locals when she’s not coordinating with Steve Lee and the Chad liaison officers.”

“Major Lee is welcome to that chore. Big time.”

“Fershure, dude.”

19

N’DJAMENA, CHAD

The operator called Alexander was resigned to his loss. David Olmert clearly was not coming back. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth.

Alexander knew why.

The reason or reasons would likely remain unknown for years; perhaps forever. David had been careless, unobservant, or committed some error of tradecraft. In any case, he was gone.

At a cafe off the Place de l’Etoile, Alex slipped into a chair beside a distinguished-looking Arab gentleman. Which is to say, the well-groomed diner appeared to be an Arab. They spoke Arabic, keeping their voices beneath the background chatter.

“Etfadel echrab kahwa.” The older man poured some coffee from the pot on his table. “No word?” he asked. He sipped from his own small cup, then absentmindedly brushed his gray goatee. Anyone glancing at him would mark him for a sixtyish businessman; likely a Saudi. In truth he had been born in Jerusalem nearly seventy years ago.

Alexander shook his head. “Wala hayoh.”

Mustafah — for such was his name these days — placed his cup on the saucer. He did not wish to seem callous, but he and his accomplice both knew the lay of the land. One had to expect losses in their profession, and it did not do to take them too personally.

“Permit me to summarize,” Mustafah said. “We know that the preferred French contractor ran afoul of Groupe FGN, which eliminated the competition.”

“Of course! David and I saw it ourselves.”

“And David confirmed that the surviving members of Agents d’Alsace Incorpore’s team left for Paris the day he disappeared.”

“That was the last thing I heard from him. It would be easy to check their arrival at Orly.”

“Maalish,” Mustafah replied. “Never mind.” He toyed with his miniature cup. At length he looked at his colleague. “I have my own theory as to why Groupe FGN is behaving so brazenly. I have not heard yours.”

Alex leaned forward, moving his cup and saucer aside. “My friend, I have not been in the trade nearly as long as you, but I have learned one or two things. For example, I know the danger of drawing the obvious conclusion.”

“Which is?”

“Hurtubise and his killers want to remove any competition for the government contract to guard the uranium mine near the Libyan border.”

Mustafah’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Obviously they have done so. But to what purpose?”

“Well, apparently not just for the contract. It would be profitable, yes, but they could have underbid AAI without much difficulty.”

“Go on, Alex.”

“It seems clear that FGN has another motive. Maybe I can understand such drastic measures within the mercenary business. But taking David, who was only observing both companies, raises the stakes. I mean, it exposes Hurtubise to Israeli scrutiny. Surely he knows the risk that carries.”

“You mean retaliation.”

Alexander’s eyes glinted gunmetal gray. “I should hope so.”

Mustafah absorbed the sentiment, catalogued it, and continued. “You assume he knows that David works for us.”

The younger man rubbed a bronzed hand through his dark, curly hair. “It strains credulity that he does not. Especially after…”

“After extended interrogation.”

Alexander merely nodded. He did not trust his voice just then.

“Very well,” Mustafah concluded. “Your assessment largely matches mine. With a few exceptions.”

“Yes?”

The Middle Eastern “businessman” leaned back, folding his hands over his ample stomach. “There are always extensions and permutations, Alex. What is known in the West as unintended consequences.

“We can assume for the moment that Groupe FGN considers the risk it has brought upon itself worth the effort. The ultimate reason may be inferred, considering that uranium ore is involved. That makes Hurtubise and company exceedingly dangerous.”

“Sir, with respect. That is nothing new.”

Mustafah inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Remember, my friend. FGN now has the support of this government and likely another.”

Alex furrowed his brow. “Another?”

“Certainly. Chad has no need of uranium ore. There is no way to process it in this backward country. No, the end user is certainly a more developed nation — one hostile to Israel.”

The agent relaxed despite the implications. “Well, the list is long and undistinguished.”

“But don’t you see, Alex? It can only be a country with the ability to use uranium. That narrows your undistinguished list considerably, don’t you think?”

Alexander bit his lip. Looking over his superior’s shoulder, he said, “Two or three. Especially…”

“There is one more thing.”

“Please?”

“Whatever our opponents have in mind — they do not fear us.”

20

SSI OFFICES

Terry Keegan rapped his knuckles on Daniel Foyte’s cubicle. “You wanted to see me, Gunny?”

The erstwhile Force Recon NCO swiveled in his chair, turning away from his computer screen. The miniature office was much like its occupant: austere, uncluttered, utilitarian. The only decor was a Marine Corps logo and a poster of John Wayne as Sergeant John M. Stryker in The Sands of Iwo Jima. “Oh, yeah. Terry.” Foyte habitually referred to people by their surname. He had almost forgotten Keegan’s, though they had worked together twice.