“I don’t understand.”
“Thanks. I’m a little old for Mickey Mouse.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised at how much fun it can be. It’s very relaxing.”
“Thanks. I am taking some time off,” Dean told him. “Friend of mine has a hunting lodge up near the Delaware, couple of hours north of Philadelphia. I’m heading there.”
“Excellent,” said Montblanc. “Very good. Of course, you do have to check in with me every twenty-four hours. There’s a number to call, and we need to be able—”
“Yeah, I know the drill. Don’t worry. I have a cell phone. Listen, there’s something you ought to know. I’m quitting.”
“Quitting?”
“Desk Three was supposed to be a temporary assignment. I have other things I have to do.”
“Wait a second, Charlie. Charles — you can’t just quit. That’s not the way it works.”
“I’m not walking right out. I know I have to go through discharge or whatever the procedure is. I just want you to know, I’m giving notice.”
“No, you don’t want to do that.”
“I don’t?”
“Charlie—”
“I’ll be back in a week. We can talk about it then, but my mind’s made up.”
Dean started to leave.
“Is it hunting season?” said Montblanc, his voice wrought with frustration and confusion.
“Depends on what you’re hunting.”
109
The container was one of two dozen carried on the ship. They all looked exactly alike, and at first Babin was worried that the paperwork had been filled out incorrectly and that he had been led to the wrong truck. But his fear vanished when he opened the back and peered in. The crate, its freight labeled as cast-iron bathtubs, sat near the front, secured to its tiedowns.
He nodded to the yardman, who closed the rear of the container up. Babin crutched over to the waiting tractor.
“It’s all right,” he told the driver. “We’ll meet at the park as I told you.”
“My pay.”
“I’ll pay you the money I promised then,” said Babin.
The Mexican was a scoundrel; he’d been promised twice the going daily rate to take the truck north to the U.S. and then had the gall to ask for a “tip” because the cargo container had to be picked up. Babin worried that the idiot would take off with the bomb, but there was no way he could climb into the cab.
Tucume had said very little since Ecuador. Even the girl was more talkative, telling them about her dream to make money in America and then return to buy a restaurant. Babin had considered telling her how things
“Don’t let him get too far ahead,” Babin told the general when he got back to the car they’d bought for cash at a small gas station not far from the airport. The truck was just turning around and heading for the exit.
“I don’t trust him,” said Tucume. He used English so the girl couldn’t understand. “We should get rid of him.”
Surprised, Babin asked the general if he was prepared for such a thing.
“We can’t trust him,” replied Tucume. “So we had best deal with him sooner instead of later.”
“Good. Yes.”
“The road would be the best place to dispose of him,” said Tucume. “A stop.”
“Yes. After we make the switch.”
110
Though Rubens had spoken to George Hadash several times since the national security adviser had returned to Washington late Monday, the circumstances were never right for the kind of personal discussion he wanted to have with him. Nor did he think speaking to Hadash by telephone was the right way to handle what he wanted to say.
A full briefing for the National Security Council was arranged for Wednesday evening at seven; Rubens knew from past experience that Hadash’s ever efficient secretary would block off the last hour before the meeting to make sure he would get there on time. He also knew that Hadash typically skipped dinner when an evening session was planned — not out of design, but because he inevitably got caught up in last-minute details for the meeting. So Rubens decided to stop by Hadash’s office a little past six, gambling that he would manage to get a few minutes alone with his one-time college mentor.
“Have you had dinner, George?” asked Rubens, walking in on him.
“I was going to have something sent up.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“No. Please. I’m just looking over some of the most recent updates.”
Rubens went to use the secretary’s phone to order Hadash’s normal dinner: a roast beef on rye, heavy on the mustard. He got a club sandwich for himself.
“Anything new in the past two hours?” asked Hadash.
“No,” said Rubens. Even so, he began cataloging some of the rumors that had fizzled and a few relatively insignificant details gleaned from intercepts of Peruvian army units. He realized he was going on a bit too long, but had trouble stopping himself.
“How smooth do you think the transition will be between the present government and Aznar?” asked Hadash when Rubens finished.
“Aznar has appointed a former air force general as his top military adviser. That’s being taken as a sign that he wants status quo with the military.”
“Do
“I have no evidence one way or the other. It’s too soon after the election. He did make a point of going to our embassy and talking to the ambassador. That I suppose is a good sign. He thanked us.”
“We’ll see what that translates into in a few months,” said Hadash. “The CIA is starting to believe that the general staff may be hiding Tucume, or at least dragging their feet on finding him. The feeling might be that there’s no reason to disgrace him further.”
“Just speculation,” said Rubens. “Everything we’ve seen indicates the generals are serious about finding him. They haven’t been looking for Babin — Sholk — the Russian arms dealer. They issued a bulletin, but they’ve left his search to the police and intelligence people, and they really haven’t done much.”
Hadash grimaced. At first, Rubens thought it was in reaction to what he had said, but then he realized it was something else.
“Are you all right, George?”
“Yes,” said the national security adviser, though he obviously wasn’t.
Rubens watched as Hadash put his hands over his eyes, squeezing his head.
“I’ve been getting migraines,” Hadash said. “Terrible.”
“Is that why you’re resigning?” The words came out in a blurt, but at least they were out.
“I have a tumor, George.”
“A tumor?”
“It’s operable. That’s a start. Not a death sentence.”
“But—”
