"You are one unholy grunt, Johnny."
"I know," said the master sergeant, pouring two drinks at the bar and looking at Meyers. "We go back a long time, Michael. Its been a good life, give or take a couple of interludes in gookville."
"Its going to get even better," added the general, sitting down in an easy chair, his feet on a ha.s.sock. "Were on our way back to where we should be."
"Is that what tonight was all about?"
"You better believe it," answered Meyers reflectively, quietly, staring at a wall. "The Ingersols, both of them, were greaseball shyster cowards. They connect with that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Hawthorne-either one of them-its bad news, the worst."
"Hawthorne ...? Hes the fall guy you wanted, the one with the old man? Dont tell me if you dont want to. Im not curious, I just follow the leader."
"Ed White told me he was with him outside. White wanted to know if I knew anything about a State Department investigation of his partner. It was a smoke screen. Hawthornes in another ballpark. Bad news."
"There isnt any news now, M.M. Theyre both history." The phone rang, diverting the master sergeant named Johnny from the drinks to the telephone. "General Meyerss residence," he said. "Yes, sir!" he exclaimed several seconds later, turning his head quickly to the general, his expression one of astonishment. "The chairman is in the shower, Mr. Secretary, but Ill have him return your call the moment hes out." The master sergeant picked up a pencil and wrote on a notepad. "Yes, sir, Ive got it. h.e.l.l get back to you in a few minutes." The middle-aged noncom hung up the phone, his eyes still on the general; he swallowed as he spoke. "It was the secretary of state! They must have found the bodies.... Christ, and you wanted to stick around longer!"
"Youre sure you werent recognized outside the place?"
"No way! Im too good, and you know it. How many times did I do this kind of thing to the yellow crud snitches in Hon Chow? Nine kills and not a spit leading to me."
"I believe you. What did Palisser say?"
"Only that something terrible happened and they-he said "they-needed your help.... I dont want anything to do with this, Max. I dont want to drive you, I dont want to be seen with you, not tonight!"
"Youve got a point. Call your relief, Everett, from the car, tell him to get into a dark suit, and go over and pick him up. On the way back, fill him in on everything you did inside the house, including everyone you remember seeing, especially nodding at."
"Im on my way," said Johnny, bringing Meyers his drink and heading for the door. "Dont take too long calling Palisser. Hes really uptight."
"You forget, Sergeant, youve got lousy handwriting. Ill have to decipher it."
"For Christs sake, Michael, h.e.l.l call you back and it wont look good!"
"No sweat. Your sevens look like twos, and your threes look like eights-"
"a.s.shole! You could ask we!"
"Not likely-and this part is true. I sent you out on an errand in the event the secretarys conversation should be confidential. No one who isnt cleared from on high can be privy to any information concerning a certain b.l.o.o.d.y girl."
"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"
"See what I mean? Get going, Johnny." The aide shook his head and left, muttering vulgarities.
Maximum Mike Meyers sipped his Canadian rye whiskey, his eyes on the bar telephone, thinking. Bruce Palisser was smart, brave in war, and probably the most honest man in the administration, as the media frequently suggested. He called the shots as he saw them, frequently at the expense of fellow Cabinet officials, and amid rumors-always gracefully denied-that he had admonished the President over certain issues. He was this administrations George Shultz, as the press often suggested, and a man like that did not play the Washington games, it was not in him. So if he called asking for help, he wanted it; he was too honest to fake the request. Meyers did not basically like the secretary of state-he had little use for academicians in government; they were p.r.o.ne to endlessly debate too many sides of an issue without a firm commitment to one-but he respected the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
The general got up slowly, his left hand propelling the weight of his body from the arm of the leather chair and, reaching down for his drink, he walked over to the bar. He placed the gla.s.s down on the black marble surface and turned his wrist to check the time. Seven minutes had pa.s.sed since Johnny had left; he picked up the phone and pressed the numbers clearly written on the notepad by his aide.
"This is Palisser," said the secretary of state on the line.
"Bruce, forgive me," apologized Meyers firmly. "The sergeants a worthy adjutant, but his handwritings lousy. I called three other numbers until I deciphered this one. I sent him out before I started, of course, and were phone secure."
"I was about to call you back, Michael. Something terrible has happened-terrible and grotesque, but may very well be tied in with the Bajaratt woman."
"My G.o.d, what is it?"
"You were at the Ingersols tonight, is that right?"
"Yes, my office agreed that I should show up. David was a friend to the Pentagon; we frequently called on him for pro bono advice in our dealings with the defense contractors."
"That may have been misguided, but youd have no way of knowing it."
"I dont follow you."
"Youve kept up with the Little Girl Blood progress reports, havent you?"
"Naturally."
"Then youre aware of the fact that its been determined she has an organization behind her-loose or tight, we have no idea-but there are influential people working on her behalf."
"Its a given," said the general, smiling grimly for the benefit of no one but himself. "She couldnt have eluded all the dragnets if she didnt."
"A new development came today. It hasnt been sufficiently doc.u.mented to be circulated, but its legitimate. Tonight proves it."
"Proves what?"
"Ingersol was part of the Bajaratt group."
"David?" exclaimed Meyers in mock astonishment. "Thats the last thing on earth I ever expected to hear."
"Theres more. So was his father, the former justice of the Court."
"Thats very hard to believe. Whos advanced this?"
"Commander Hawthorne put it together."
"Who?... Oh, the retired N.I. deep cover recruited by the Brits, I remember now."
"Hes lucky to be alive. He was at the Ingersols too."
"Alive ...?" Startled, Meyers quickly recovered. "What happened?"
"He was out in the garden, behind the pool, talking to the old man and learning a number of shocking details about both father and son. Apparently, they were followed, and someone shot Richard Ingersol in the head, killing him instantly. Before Hawthorne could adjust, that same someone a.s.saulted him, rendering him unconscious and leaving the murder weapon in his hand."
"This is incredible!" said the general in a harsh monotone.
"Incidentally, a CIA salvage unit was sent out to remove the body, taking it through the adjacent woods. Mrs. Ingersol and her son were told that the old man was tired of the whole affair and was driven to a hotel."
"Did they buy it?"
"The son did. He said if he had known, he would have joined his grandfather. Since this is tied to Little Girl Blood, weve got to keep it quiet and figure out what to say later."
"I agree, but Jesus, Bruce, I didnt hear any gunfire and Id recognize it a half mile away!"
"You wouldnt have. The commander has the weapon, its a .357 Magnum with a silencer. He regained consciousness before anything was discovered-thorns from a rosebush awakening him, he says-and got out of there.... Here, let me put him on the phone, he wants to talk to you."
Before the startled chairman of the Joint Chiefs could a.s.similate the news, Hawthorne was on the line.
"General Meyers?"
"Yes ...?"
"By the way, sir, Im an enormous admirer of yours."
"Thank you."
"Weve got to talk right away, sir, and not on the phone. Weve got to go over everything you and I witnessed tonight, every person you saw or spoke to, because I didnt know anybody. I know only this, General. Someone who was there is working for Bajaratt!"
"Where do you want to meet?"
"I can come to your place."
"Ill be waiting, Commander." General Michael Meyers hung up the phone, briefly staring at the stump of flesh that protruded from his shoulder. He had not come this far to be stopped by a turncoat sailor.
31.
MOSSAD HEADQUARTERS, TEL AVIV.
The shirt-sleeved Colonel Daniel Abrams of the ant.i.terrorist unit a.s.signed to the Bajaratt enterprise sat at the head of the conference table. On his right was a woman in her late thirties with sharp features, her skin tanned by the Israeli sun, her dark hair swept back and woven into a bun at the nape of her neck. On his left was a boyish-looking man with thinning blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a reconstructed nose that had been smashed during his capture by the Hezbollah Party of G.o.d in south Lebanon. They were, respectively, a major and a captain in the Mossad, both experienced in undercover operations.
"Our man Yakov was outflanked by Bajaratt," said the colonel. "He found her in the El Al terminal at Dulles Airport, but she reversed the trap. She nearly created a riot by screaming that he was a disguised Palestinian terrorist and got away. Yakov was d.a.m.ned near killed by enraged travelers, mostly American, until our people listened to him and pulled out his papers."
"He never should have approached her alone," said the woman major. "She couldnt help but recognize him; he had cultivated her in the Bar-Shoen kibbutz. She had an immediate advantage."
"Or it could have been the other way around," suggested the young captain. "Yakov never knew she was Bajaratt when she was at the kibbutz. We established that later, after Ashkelon, from our agents in the Baaka. He was simply suspicious; he speculated that she might be someone, or something, else."
"She certainly turned out to be," said Abrams. "Why did Yakov let her go?"
"He didnt. He took her out a few times, very unofficial, very low key, to see if he could learn more about her. She must have had her own ideas, and learned more about him than he did about her. One morning she didnt show up for the kibbutz breakfast; shed disappeared."
"Then it was stupid of him to be in the vicinity by himself, much less confront her alone."
"Look, Major," said the captain, "would you rather have had a circle of agents closing in on her, no doubt resulting in indiscriminate gunfire, perhaps killing a number of people, mostly Americans? We decided to send him and let him act alone because he might recognize her despite her well-known talents for disguise. In addition, Yakov changed his own appearance; his black hair was made blonder than mine, whats left of it, and his eyebrows were bleached, shaped far differently from their natural curve. It wasnt perfect, only surgery could do that, but it was sufficient for even short distances."
"Men glance at a face, then study the body. Women appraise a body, then study the face."
"Please," interrupted Colonel Abrams, "lets not descend into s.e.xist psychospeculation."
"Its proven, sir," insisted the major.
"Im sure it is, but something else came out of this misadventure and we must determine how to use it.... We broke the Palestinian we had in custody, the singer of songs that so entertained our ever-alert officers, the idiots. A guard reported an attempted bribe to free him, so we moved our prisoner to the Negev and sent the guard to another outfit."
"I thought Bajaratts Ashkelons had sworn to be tortured to death before revealing anything," said the female officer scornfully. "So much for Arab courage."
"Thats a stupid remark, Major," rebuked the colonel. "In all likelihood, no amount of torture-which we do not employ in the accepted sense-would have produced a thing. When will we learn that these people are as committed as we are? Only when we accept that will there be peace. We used chemicals."
"I stand corrected, Colonel Abrams. What did we learn?"
"We walked him through Bajaratts various phone calls from the United States, probing each for a word, a name, a phrase-anything that might lead to something. About two hours ago we found it." The Mossad officer took a notebook from his shirt pocket and opened it. "Here are the words. "-an American senator ... strategy successful ... hes come through for us ... name is Nesbitt. "
"Who?"
"A senator from the state of Michigan named Nesbitt. Hes the key. Well forward it to Washington, of course, but not by the usual channels. To be frank, I dont trust the traffic; too many things have gone wrong."
"We would have caught her by now," agreed the boyish-looking Mossad officer. "Its ridiculous."
"Arrogance doesnt become us, Captain. Were not there, and shes an accomplished adversary. Shes also as dedicated as anyone Ive ever studied. It all goes back to her childhood, and perhaps thats the only way her fanaticism can be explained."
"The channel you wish to use, sir?" The female major was impatient.
"You two," replied the colonel. "Were flying you over tonight; youll be there in the morning, Washington time. Youre to go directly to Secretary of State Palisser, no one else-youll be cleared for an immediate audience."
"Why him?" the captain half protested. "Id think youd choose an intelligence branch or the Secret Service."
"I know Palisser. I trust him. I dont really think I know anybody else I can trust. That sounds paranoid, I guess."
"Yes, it does, sir," said the major.
"So be it," said the colonel.
Bajaratt stood by the airport hotels thick window that muted the sounds of the arriving and departing jets. The early sun was breaking through the mists, announcing the most important day of her life. The exhilaration she felt was not unlike the excitement she had experienced spreading through her so many years before when she led a Spanish soldier into the forest, a long-bladed knife strapped to her thigh under her dress. The similarity was there, for the brutish army pig was her first kill and filled her with purpose, but today was far beyond that childs raw emotions. Today was the triumph of the woman, a thinking adult who had outthought the Praetorian guard of the most powerful nation on earth. She would go down in history, for she would change history, her life at last justified. Muerte a toda autoridad!
The child that was smiled up at her, at the giant who was the woman, and in that smile was love and grat.i.tude, vengeance for all that had been done to both of them. We walk together, my young self, into the bloodred glory of revenge. Be not afraid, my child who was me. You werent afraid then, be not afraid now. Death is a peaceful sleep, and perhaps the cruelest thing for us would be to survive. But if we do, you angry youngster, keep the fire in your eyes, the fury in your breast.
"Signora!" exclaimed Nicolo from the bed. "What time is it?"
"Too early for you to be awake," replied the Baj. "Your Angel hasnt even boarded her plane in California."
"At least its morning," said the dock boy, yawning audibly and stretching. "I kept waking up, hoping to see sunlight."