Payback

he would have to leave a message with an aide. But the national security adviser’s voice came right on the line.

“George Hadash.”

“George, this is Bill Rubens. The rebels in Peru have issued a threat against Lima. The military has mobilized. They’ve sent a sizable unit to the south, though their intentions there are not clear. The city itself is quiet.”

“Yes, I know. The CIA briefed me a few minutes ago.”

“Very good,” said Rubens. It was the CIA’s job, after all — but he felt as if they were interfering somehow. “Our mission is proceeding.”

“You haven’t accomplished it yet?”

The question stung Rubens, as if he had failed somehow.

“We’re moving at a prudent pace,” he said stiffly.

“I see,” said Hadash, his voice unusually cold.

Rubens wondered if he had misread his friendship with Hadash all along. Perhaps the fact that it had started as a teacher-student relationship had always colored it; maybe Hadash still thought of him as an eager but untempered young post-grad.

So be it. There was nothing he could do to change it now.

“I will keep you informed,” he told Hadash.

“Thank you.”

When he looked up, Telach was standing a few feet away, waiting to speak to him and pretending not to have overheard his conversation.

“Where are we with the mission?” he asked, eager to move on.

45

Hernes Jackson spent most of the day finding indirect ways to get information about Iron Heart. While the report didn’t mention them, Jackson guessed that there would be NSA intercepts related to the operation. His new clearance allowed him to search through files using time and location as search terms, and with a little help from an NSA librarian he managed to network considerable information about the weapons dealer who had acted as the go-between and arranged the “sale” to Brazil. Jackson’s interest in history as much as his State Department background helped him play detective; he felt as if he were reconstructing a time and place a hundred years before by bringing together information from dozens of sources, just as a good historian would do.

While the CIA’s report had made Iron Heart seem like it was a sting operation from the start, it wasn’t — the Brazilians were already involved when the CIA’s plant entered the picture. Aside from the fact that he was Russian, he wasn’t identified anywhere. This was not unusual. The agency went to great lengths to protect its foreign “assets,” and the identity of a particularly valuable one was generally so restricted that only two or three people knew who he was.

The “asset” in this case was very important and had been before Iron Heart. By cross-referencing some of the CIA people involved and looking at unrelated reports, Jackson concluded that the agent had been set up in business or at least helped by the CIA around the time of the conflict in Bosnia, possibly as part of a program to stop underground weapons sales to the government there.

Jackson was so involved in his work that by the time he broke for lunch it was after three. The small lounge room was empty, but he discovered that he could order something at a computer terminal at the side of the room. The result was like something out of the Star Trek science fiction series — within a few minutes a metal window near the terminal hissed and opened; his sandwich was packed on a tray inside.

After lunch, Jackson turned his attention to obtaining information about the military units that had backed up the finale of Iron Heart. Again, he had to work obliquely, reading between the lines and patching things together based on inferences and educated guesses. He was at a bit of a disadvantage in dealing with the Department of Defense records (accessed over a special hard-wired link to a military Web-like network called SIRNET, for “Secret Internet Protocol Router Network”), not because he was unfamiliar with the database system but because he didn’t understand half the abbreviations. And he wasn’t sure exactly what sort of protocols covered different situations. Was it normal, for example, that a U-2 spy plane had undertaken ten sorties over the crash area? And if so, why did they begin six hours after the bomb had been found?

Jackson knew several military people he could call for background, but he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to or not. Not wanting to bother Telach or Rubens too much, he did some more searches and discovered that the “package” that was deployed followed almost exactly the pattern that would be followed in the case of a “broken arrow” incident — the loss of a nuclear weapon by a U.S. asset.

Interesting, considering that the operation had begun after the warhead had been recovered at the airstrip by the CIA’s paramilitary team.

“You’re still here?” asked Marie Telach, entering the room unannounced.

“Still digging,” said Jackson, looking up.

“It’s past nine. You ought to go home.”

“I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Anything interesting?”

“I don’t know,” said Jackson. “I haven’t really figured it out yet.”

“Well, go home and get some rest. We may need you to be fresh tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning around to sign out of the system.

46

Calvina and Rosa had arranged to meet at the bus station at 10:00 p.m. Wednesday. The journey was complicated — they had to travel to Nevas, a small city far in the north of Peru northwest of Santa Cruz on the Rio Maranon. That journey alone would take two days. Once there, they would meet a person who would give them some type of exam and tell them what to do next.

Calvina’s cousin had been very vague about what the job called for; she claimed not to know the specifics. Calvina guessed that something illegal was involved. Most likely she and her cousin were to carry drugs to the United States. Calvina decided that if it was all right with Rosa, it was all right with her.

The thing that puzzled Calvina was why it would be against the law. There was no commandment against taking drugs, and none of the sins that she had been taught involved them. Drinking too much, yes — but even that wasn’t a mortal sin, as the priests would readily attest. So why would taking drugs be wrong?

She put the thought out of her mind as the bus she was supposed to take was called. Where was Rosa? There was only one bus per week to Santa Cruz, where they would take other transportation to Nevas; if they missed it, they would have to wait seven days.

Worse, if Calvina missed it, she would have no place to go. She had already left her mother a note explaining that she wouldn’t be back. To return home now…

If she didn’t leave now, she would never be able to get away. Ever.

“Calvina!”

The voice that called her was not her cousin’s, but Calvina turned anxiously, expecting to see Rosa. Instead, she saw Rosa’s friend Maria, who lived two buildings down.

“Your cousin gave me this to give to you,” said Maria, pressing an envelope into her hands. “She’s sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Maria shook her head. Instead of explaining, she turned and began walking away.

“Maria! Wait!”

The announcement that her bus was leaving in another minute stopped Calvina from following. She opened the envelope. There was money, a bus ticket, and a note.