Father Night, page 30
* * *
“I SUPPOSE you’ve used face recognition programs,” Caro said.
Paull nodded. “We have. Trouble is, we’re going off a drawing of Ax. Without a photo, the programs are notoriously unreliable, so basically we haven’t been able to get off square one in identifying him.”
Jack moved closer to Caro. “Caro, I’m going to recite a children’s rhyme to you. ‘Ashur has a little horse, / Her mane as bright as gold. / And everywhere that Ashur went / The horse was sure to go.’ Does that sound familiar?”
“In what way? I’ve never heard it before.”
“If the Syrian is Ashur, then I think you’re the horse with the mane as bright as gold.”
Caro shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Werner Ax was so desperate to decipher the meaning to the rhyme that he devised a plan to capture me. He knew quite a bit about me, especially my ability to solve seemingly unsolvable puzzles. I want to know why he was so desperate.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know how can I help you.”
“I think you know something—something you came across when you were working for the Syrian.”
“But I don’t—”
“You said you were in charge of laundering the Syrian’s money through a maze of international banks.”
“That’s right.”
“How much would you estimate the Syrian is worth?”
“I don’t have to estimate, I know,” Caro said. “It’s over fifteen billion dollars.”
Alli gasped.
Jack nodded. “I think Werner Ax is after the Syrian’s money.”
“That’s crazy. How could he—?”
“You tell me. You’re the horse with the mane of gold. I’m betting you know how to access the account.”
“But that’s just it,” Caro said. “I don’t.”
“You set the mechanisms in place. You must know—”
“‘And everywhere that Ashur went / The horse was sure to go,’” Caro sang to herself to the tune of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! The electronic key to withdrawing the money is always with Ashur, but in case he was killed or incapacitated I created a backup.”
“What is it?”
“A medallion. I had it made with a secret compartment, and then gave it to Taroq as a present. He’s the Syrian’s chief bodyguard. He wears it night and day on a chain around his neck. He never takes it off, but he has no idea what’s inside it.”
“If you created the electronic key, you must know it yourself,” Alli said.
Caro smiled. “If only. The electronic key is a tiny instrument with a readout. Every three minutes the array of fifteen numbers changes randomly.”
The door opened and Nona came in, one hand on Vera Bard’s shoulder. Alli rose and ran to Vera, the two young women embracing, murmuring to each other. Then they both came across the room.
“We’re all happy to see you,” Jack said. He gave a quick glance in Nona’s direction. Her face was drawn and pinched. He could see that she had been crying.
“Vera has something important to tell you.” Nona’s voice was all business.
Vera looked from Jack to Dennis Paull and back again. “After Chris Fraine shot his brother, he went over to him and knelt down. It seemed to me that he wanted, or maybe needed, to talk to Alan before he died.”
“Could you hear the conversation?” Jack asked.
Vera nodded. “It wasn’t much of one. Alan couldn’t really talk. But Chris said, ‘You can’t say I didn’t warn you. I wanted you with me, to carry out what Vater Nacht planned for us. I went against the program and he never forgave me. Bad genes reversed by whatever inferned methods he used. I’d kill him if I could, but I can’t. His training is at least that strong inside me. I killed you. I don’t know why. I saw you and felt a compulsion. I couldn’t help myself.’”
Apart from the soft hum of the computers, the room was enveloped in complete silence.
At last, Jack turned to Vera. “Chris said ‘Vater Nacht’? You’re sure?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“‘Father Night.’ Could he have been referring to Ax?” Paull said. “If he is German it would be odd to choose Waxman as his legend’s name.”
“Depends on his ego,” Alli said.
Jack nodded. “She’s right. Even the cleverest of criminals often can’t give up every single part of them.” He gestured to Caro. “Let’s start with the sketch, then add Werner, and the notion that he might be a German national.”
“It’ll take a moment to access all the relevant databases and cross-reference them.”
As her fingers danced over the keys, they all waited breathlessly. Alli, noticing that Vera and Caro were avoiding each other, turned to her friend and roommate. “What’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing.” But a flicker of fear crossed Vera’s face before winking out.
Caro, seeing the expressions on both their faces, found the hint of a smile creeping into her lips. Then she turned back to the computer.
“I’ve found something,” she said. “It may be nothing, but…” She pressed a key on the laptop and a photo appeared on the large monitor. “A man similar in build and face shape passed through immigration at Dulles forty minutes ago. You can see that his nose is different than in the photo, and his eyes are dark, not gray.”
“Then it’s not him.” Alli moved closer to the monitor. “And yet—”
“Yes,” Caro said. “There’s something familiar about him.”
Jack used the laptop keyboard to merge the sketch with the photo.
“I can’t tell for sure,” Alli said to Jack. “Can you?”
Jack dispensed with the sketch, concentrated on the photo, bringing it in for a close-up. “There we go.” He pointed. “See this hairline shadow here? He’s used a false nose.” He moved closer still on the eyes. “And there’s a tiny corona of light along the left side of his irises.”
“Yep. Colored contacts.”
“What’s the name he’s traveling under?” Jack asked.
Caro squinted at the screen. “Werner von Verschuer.”
Jack heard a bell tolling in the back of his mind. Why? Did that name mean something to him? He couldn’t bring it into the light of his conscious mind.
“And you’re right,” Caro continued. “This legend has him as a German national.”
Paull opened his cell. “I’m calling airport security. We got him.”
“Don’t bother.” Caro swiveled the laptop back to face her. “His flight’s already left.”
“Destination?” Jack said.
“Rome.”
“What’s he going to do there?”
Caro shook her head. “I’ve no idea.”
“Damnit!” Paull opened his phone. “Let’s pick General Tarasov up, at least.” He began to bark orders into his mobile.
The idea of flights caused something to click in Jack’s mind. “Caro, you said the Acacia team was flown out of the Horn of Africa by local transport. Do you have a company name?”
“Just a moment.” Caro screened through page after page. Yeah. Mirage AirTransport.”
“See if you can find out who owns Mirage.”
Caro nodded.
Paull had just completed his call when his mobile buzzed. He listened for a moment, then looked at Jack. “We’re needed elsewhere.”
Out in the hushed corridor, Paull said, “Carson’s about to go into surgery. He’s down the hall. We should take a look-see.”
As they went, Paull opened his mobile. “I’ll alert the authorities at Fiumicino. As soon as the plane lands, Ax or whoever the hell he is now will be picked up and extradited back here.”
“Hold on,” Jack said as they reached the doorway to Carson’s prep room. “I think we should do nothing but follow him.”
“Are you kidding?”
Jack tapped the side of his head. “I think Ax is going to meet his partners. We find him, we find them. I’ll use your plane, and we’ll track him through your contacts at Fiumicino and the FAA. Whatever planes he takes, the pilots will have to file flight plans. As long as we don’t lose Ax, we’ll be fine.”
Paull nodded. “All right.” He was getting used to following Jack’s intuition, though he was never quite comfortable with it. “My plane is fueled and ready to go. You can leave now.”
They were about to enter the room when they saw Alli striding down the hall toward them.
Her face was flushed. “I know you’re going after Ax, Jack.”
“And, of course, you want to go,” Paull said.
“Is that right?” Jack said.
“No, I’m needed here to protect Caroline. The Syrian isn’t going to let her go quietly.”
Paull gestured. “This place is crawling with Secret Service agents.”
At that moment, she moved so that, inadvertently, she had a line of sight into the room. “Is that my uncle?”
“He’s had a heart attack,” Paull said. “He’s about to have emergency bypass surgery.”
The two men followed Alli into the room where Henry Holt Carson lay. A pair of surgical nurses were monitoring his vitals while the anesthesiologist administered a Valium drip. Carson’s skin was ashen and slack.
Paull bent over, peering down at him. “Too late to wish him good luck.”
Alli approached the bed with some hesitation. “He looks old.”
“He is old,” Paull said.
“No, I mean really old, as if his body has collapsed in on itself.” Alli stepped closer. “It’s weird to see him like this, drained of all his energy and power. It’s like a dream I’ve had about him.”
Jack, standing behind her, put his hands on her shoulders. “Wish fulfillment.”
Alli nodded. “You could say that.”
He turned her around to face him. “I’m glad you’ve made the decision to stay. You’re the one I trust.”
Carson was wheeled out by his retinue of hospital personnel.
“Alli,” Paull said, “these agents don’t know Caro or Henry. You do. That’s crucial now.”
Alli looked at him critically.
Paull laughed. “My days of underestimating you are gone, trust me.”
“Alli,” Jack said, “before I go, I just wanted to know … is everything okay between you and Vera?”
“Yeah, sure, why d’you ask?”
But Jack saw the sorrow in her eyes, and she knew he did. Their deep understanding of each other was revealed in that one glance. Jack knew something was wrong, but he also knew her too well to push her. She would tell him if and when she was comfortable enough.
Still, he said, “Walk with me.”
“We’ll be in constant touch.” Paull followed them out the door. “I’ll be going back to the office, the better to monitor the intel coming in.” He tilted his head toward Alli. “Another reason you need to be here as my eyes and ears.”
Neither Jack nor Alli said a word in the elevator, on the way down. As they crossed the lobby, he said, “Caroline may be jealous of your relationship with Vera.”
“Why should she care?” But Alli started to mull this idea over in her head.
“I don’t know, but she does.”
As usual, Jack was on to something important, she thought, even without having full knowledge of the situation.
“Maybe if you talk to her, you’ll find out.”
They had reached the front doors. The twilight had gathered like the shadowed strands of a spider web.
“I don’t know which I hate most,” Alli said, eyeing the street, “your leaving or my staying.”
Jack smiled, signaling Paull’s car. The driver started the engine.
“Jack…”
He turned back to her, his smile fading.
She shook her head. “Nothing. Just get Ax, or whoever he is.”
“Don’t worry.”
She stood on her tiptoes, gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. Careful of that shoulder.”
He ducked into the car, the door slammed shut, and it nosed down the driveway. Alli, her heart aching for so many different reasons, watched until the car vanished into traffic. Then she turned and, taking a deep breath, went back inside to begin the task Jack had set for her.
* * *
“I WANT double what we originally agreed upon.”
“I can do that,” Annika said, “but you’ll have to work for it.”
Radomil grinned. “I’ve never run from work. Unlike my brother, I prefer to earn my keep.”
They were sitting at a black lacquer table in a nook of the bar to one side of the ornate hotel lobby. Lamps spread golden dollars of light across the deep-red carpet. The long polished teak bar gleamed, and glasses and bottles twinkled like stars in the night sky. Radiohead was playing softly from well-concealed speakers in the low-ceilinged room’s four corners. The windowless space felt warm and sheltered. Voices murmured like the wind in the willows.
Annika turned her vodka rocks around and around, making interlocking rings of moisture on the table. “You won’t like what I’m about to ask you to do.”
“I don’t have to like it,” he said, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I just have to do it.”
“Just so.” Annika nodded. “I want you to take me to where the Syrian is.”
Radomil reared back in his barrel chair. “You’re not serious.”
“On the contrary. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“But why the hell would you want that?”
“He and my grandfather are partners.”
“Then you should know where he is.”
“I trust the Syrian,” Annika said, by way of an answer. “It’s Ax I’m concerned with.”
“I don’t want any part of Werner Ax.”
“Neither do I, but we all need to play the hand we’re dealt.”
Radomil’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”
She sipped her drink. “I want you to understand that you work for me now,” she said. “No one else.”
Radomil nodded.
“I also want you to know that if you cross me—”
“What? You’ll kill me?”
“No,” Annika said. “I’ll do much worse than that.”
The look in her eye caused Radomil’s laugh to die stillborn. He swallowed. “All right. I get it. You’re the boss now.”
“Yeah, well, I have to wonder whether that means anything to you.”
A wry smile cracked open his dour expression. “Not much, to be honest.”
“Then you have some serious learning to do.”
“They say change is extremely difficult to handle, especially for a man.”
“Are you up for the challenge?”
“I’m up for the money,” Radomil said.
“That isn’t enough.” Annika pushed a thick packet across the table, but did not take her hand off it. “Not for me, at least.”
He spread his hands. “What would you have me say?”
“That’s entirely up to you.” She tapped the packet of money. “Everything is different now. Either you understand that, or you don’t. The money is irrelevant.”
Radomil seemed to roll her words over in his mind. At length, he nodded. “You’re talking again about an act of faith.”
Annika nodded. “Start small, Radomil.” She took her hand off the packet. “Don’t look inside. Trust that I won’t cheat you.”
Radomil took possession of the packet. For a moment, his fingers twitched, as if of their own accord they wanted to open it. Then he looked up at her. “The Syrian is here in Rome.”
“What the hell is he up to?”
“Something. I don’t know.”
“I have to find out. I don’t know where he is, and it’s obvious you do. I want you to take me to him.”
“Are you serious?”
She stared at him, silent, enigmatic as a sphinx.
Radomil grunted in surrender. “I get you there, I light the way for you to see him.” He blew air out through his lips, shook his head, then glanced at his watch. “Okay. If you’re serious, we’d better get started. There isn’t much time.”
Annika’s arm froze with her vodka halfway to her lips. “Until what?”
“I told you I don’t know. But he’s been planning something—something very complex, very big, very dangerous.”
“Can you make an educated guess?”
“With the Syrian, who the fuck knows?” Radomil stood and pushed his chair aside. “Maybe light the sky on fire, maybe burn cities down, maybe World War Three.”
TWENTY-THREE
FOR HENRY Holt Carson, the world kept flickering like a firefly at the periphery of his vision. All else was darkness—and the pressure of colossal pain pressing down on him, as if trying to flatten him entirely.
There was a moment when he thought he saw Dennis Paull’s face, heard Paull’s voice echoing, “Get him to the eighth floor,” as if from the other end of a house with many rooms through which it was impossible for Carson to negotiate.
Darkness.
Finally, only the pain remained, making him want to scream, never stop screaming.
Then the abyss.
* * *
HE AWOKE, or rather his eyes opened, gluey, his vision blurred. He stared up at a white ceiling. He heard the suck and sigh of machines, and knew he was in a hospital. What had happened to him? The last he remembered …
“Mr. Carson. Mr. Carson, can you hear me?”
His eyes, adjusting, fell upon a face.
“My name is Dr. Delany. I’m the surgeon who operated on you. You had a myocardial infarction, Mr. Carson. In layman’s terms, a heart attack. You’ve had a double bypass, but you’re going to be fine. Do you understand?”
Carson nodded. His tongue felt swollen, glued to the roof of his mouth, and his throat was raw, as if he had been screaming for hours.
Dr. Delany smiled. “You’re in Bethesda Naval Hospital.”
His head turned and Carson sensed he was speaking to someone else in the room.
