the house before LaFoote got back.
His hesitation vanished when he peeked through the window of what looked like a study and saw that papers were scattered on the floor of LaFoote’s living room.
“I’m going inside,” Karr told Rockman. “Make sure our lookout stays awake.”
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know yet. But either the old guy is a lousy housekeeper or he’s had guests.”
Karr used his handheld computer to scan for a burglar alarm or booby trap, then opened the window and let himself in. The papers on the floor were franc notes, and there was an empty strongbox nearby.
He found LaFoote inside the bedroom, a grotesque look on his face. Even though he knew LaFoote was dead, Karr checked for a pulse. The body was on the cold side.
“Sucks,” he said aloud.
“You want Knox to come inside?” prompted the Art Room supervisor, Chris Farlekas. Farlekas had just come on to spell Telach. “Your CIA guy?”
“Better keep him where he is or I may strangle him,” said Karr, who for once in his life wasn’t kidding. He corralled his anger and began searching the house for the other CDs.
“You have somebody coming up the walk toward the front door,” warned Rockman about five minutes later.
“All right, thanks. I’ll stay out of the front rooms. Tell Knox to warn me if he goes around the side.”
Where would the old man keep the disks? As a veteran spy, he surely knew all the best hiding places — but he would also realize that all of the best spots could be found. Karr looked around the room, remembering LaFoote going through his friend’s house. The walls were all plasterboard, completely intact and the paint years old. If the disks had been hidden in the strongbox they were gone.
The doorbell rang. Karr kept looking.
“Tommy, we just checked on the license plate,” said Rockman. “That’s a relative, same name, one of the nephews or something. Knox thinks he may have a key, because he’s reaching into his pocket”
Karr looked around the room. The best place to leave CDs would be with other CDs. Since LaFoote didn’t have a computer of his own, Karr looked for a stereo. But LaFoote didn’t seem to have one of those, either. The op went back to the bedroom and bent to the mattress, sliding his hand underneath — he found a thin knife but no CDs.
LaFoote’s lifeless eyes stared at him as he walked over to the bureau.
Nothing. He went back out into the living room, checking the bookcase. Nothing.
He walked into the kitchen, opened the oven on a hunch.
“Tommy, you
The door at the front of the house opened.
The oven was empty as well. Karr turned, then saw the large brown envelope on the counter, as if waiting to be mailed. It was addressed to a Father Brossard.
“Good thinking,” said Karr, grabbing it.
“Denis?” said a male voice at the front of the house. “Denis? Qu‘est-ce-que
“Tommy!” Farlekas practically shouted.
“I’m out of here,” he said, pulling himself out the window.
52
The national security adviser rubbed his hand across his forehead, as if he were trying to manipulate some part of his brain through the skin and skull. Then he leaned across the long table in the White House situation room, his voice reverberating against the paneled walls of the nearly empty conference room.
“What do we know for sure here?” Hadash asked Rubens. “You have a lot of guesses strung together.”
“I agree,” said Rubens. “But the information is provocative. I’ m told that the stolen-car ring is run by a man named Mussa Duoar, who was born in Algeria. He’s a Muslim, and apparently not a French citizen although he’s lived in the country for at least ten years, if not more.”
“Why isn’t he a citizen?” asked President Marcke.
“I don’t know,” said Rubens. “Possibly a matter of choice. The family name seems to come up in connection with the Algerian independence movement in the nineteen-sixties, but you could probably say that about half the population.”
Marcke nodded. Though only Hadash, Rubens, Vice Admiral Brown, the President, and CIA Director Jake Namath were at the meeting, it was being held in the large room beneath the White House to facilitate easy communications with the Secretary of State, who had already left for Paris ahead of the President’s scheduled visit. The Secretary of State’s worried image filled a video screen nearby.
“The target would fit with other intercepts from the Middle East as a very high-value symbol,” said Rubens. “This would be a grand slam for them, the equivalent in France of the World Trade Center. The impact in Europe would be immense. Immeasurable. And it makes sense given Arab and Muslim reaction to France’s increased cooperation with the U.S. on security matters following their embarrassment over Iraq. They’ve been burning French flags in Egypt and Palestine for the past eight months. They’ll go crazy with this.”
“But how credible is the information?” asked Namath. “We’re always getting this sort of background chatter.”
“I think this goes beyond background chatter” said Rubens. “There are gaps, certainly, but these things don’t present themselves as complete pictures.”
“There
“Yes,” conceded Rubens. “But the time factor is critical. If we interpret the date on the site as being significant.”
“You have no idea if it has any significance at all,” said Namath. “You told us that yourself. Is it saying this is the date we will strike? Or is it saying wait until the weather turns cloudy?”
Before Rubens could rebut him, Marcke cut in.
“We have to inform the French,” said the President. “Think if the situation were reversed and this was the Statue of Liberty we were talking about — we’d want to know. Absolutely. And now. With as many details as we can provide.”
“I doubt they’ll believe us,” said Namath.
“They may or they may not,” agreed the President. “That’s their call.”
“They’ll want specifics,” said Lincoln.
“As would I,” said Marcke.
Rubens had no problem sharing the eavesdropping information they had obtained from Morocco — it didn’t involve sensitive technology, nor was the source on French soil. The information about the computers was somewhat more delicate, but the work had been done from the United States and it provided a vital clue; there was no way it could be left out.
Telling them about the chemist, however, would make it clear that the Americans were running an operation on French soil. It was one thing for everyone to know that this sort of thing went on and quite another to admit it openly.
“Telling them about the French source would add a great deal of credibility,” said the Secretary of State.
“That’s letting them in too deeply,” objected Brown. “And it may endanger our people.”
“I doubt they’ll assassinate your people,” said the President drily.
“Agreed,” said Rubens. “However, the Frenchman LaFoote believes the head of Paris security was involved.”
“Unlikely,” said Namath.
“Perhaps,” said Brown. “But if he was, our people would definitely be at risk.”
“They’re at risk now,” said Namath.
“The French don’t know about our operation,” said Rubens.
