The Geneva Strategy

  “I can hear that. It’s the guards. Move!” Smith heard Russell’s voice in his ear.

  Before Smith could speak a long, loud, and bloodcurdling scream carried to them from upstairs. The woman stopped long enough to take a breath before shrieking a second time, this one even louder and longer than the first. Smith made a mental note to tell Russell that her operative had a real gift for screaming in terror.

  “My God, are you sure that the bullet didn’t penetrate the floor and hit that woman upstairs?” Arden said, and this time she sounded rattled.

  Smith took two quick steps, raised his foot, and hammered his heel against the spot where the lock met the doorjamb. A space opened between the door and the jamb, but the lock held. He kicked it again and it sprang open. Smith took another shuffle step into the darkened room, felt along the wall, and threw a switch.

  In the glare of the overhead light he saw Dr. Laura Taylor huddled against the far wall.

  34

  Smith crossed the room and stopped next to the bed that Taylor was crouched upon.

  “We’re leaving. Can you walk?” he asked.

  Taylor scrambled across the mattress and stood up. “Get me out of here.”

  Smith waved both her and Arden to the door. The alarms still pealed and he could hear the klaxon sounds of emergency vehicles overlaying it all, growing louder. The troops were coming. He put a hand on his ear and an arm out to hold both Arden and Taylor in place.

  “Tell me what you see up there. Police? Fire?” Smith addressed his question to Arden but it was really meant for Beckmann and Russell and he hoped that they would answer as well.

  “I only saw smoke,” Arden said.

  “Both, but still a block away,” Beckmann said in response. “People pouring out of the front door. It’s chaos.”

  “Give me your best guess. Should we just mingle in the crowd?”

  “What?” Arden asked.

  “Guards at the back. I’d take the front,” Russell said.

  Smith checked out Taylor’s clothes. She wore gray sweatpants and a grimy white T-shirt. Her feet were bare. A piece of clothing was thrown over a chair in the Spartan room.

  “What’s that?” Smith asked.

  “A chador. They make me wear it whenever they move me from location to location. Do you want me to put it on?” Taylor said.

  “No. I want your face plastered on every CCTV camera in London as evidence that you were here, but to do that I need to get you clear of the building and those clothes won’t cut it.” He turned to Arden. “Can you give her your jacket?”

  Arden removed her jacket and Taylor slipped it on. It hung on the woman’s painfully slender shoulders.

  “Here, put these on. They make everything look better.” Arden slipped out of her heels and Taylor stepped into them. Smith had to agree with her, the dressy heels and the satin jacket raised the bar considerably and gave the impression that Taylor belonged at the party. Arden still wore her sheath and flashy diamond earrings and carried an evening clutch bag, so despite being barefoot she looked the part of a partygoer who had kicked off her shoes in order to run.

  “Upstairs. I’ll go first.” He looked at Taylor. “I want you to look scared and head straight for the door. Don’t stop for anything. You need to clear the exit for us to get you on a video feed that we can access. Do you understand?”

  Taylor nodded.

  “Let’s go.”

  Smith hustled up the stairs, slowing only for a moment at the top to peer around the jamb. The room was nearly empty. A flashing warning light near a fire alarm in a high corner gave a strobe light effect. He waved the women across the room, through the door, and into the hallway. Here the last group of attendees was pushing out the door. Two sentries stood outside yelling and waving at them to urge them out of the building.

  “Stay close to me. We’ll go straight out and get into my car.”

  “When you leave the front lawn and step onto the sidewalk take a sharp right toward Hyde Park. I’m there at the uppermost corner.” Smith heard Howell’s voice in his ear. They joined the back of the crowd, but Arden stepped ahead of Smith and pushed her way through. The sea of bodies parted and Smith and Taylor followed, using the crowd as cover. Five more paces and they cleared the doorway.

  “We can see you on camera now,” Beckmann said into his ear. “You’re almost home free.”

  Smith breathed a bit easier once they were outside the doors. The sentries paid them no more attention than the others and Smith, Taylor, and Arden jogged to the front gates, jostling through the center of the crowd. Smith made it to the gate and three seconds later they were out.

  “Right and up the hill toward Hyde Park,” Smith said. Arden turned and Taylor followed. Still no one paid any particular attention to them. They were half a block away when Darkanin stepped into the center of the sidewalk. His eyes locked on Taylor and then narrowed.

  “Who is that?” Smith heard Beckmann’s voice in his ear.

  “Why, Mr. Darkanin, I’m glad to see that you made it safely away,” Smith said.

  “Arden’s favorite CEO,” Beckmann said. “I don’t like the way he just showed up and I don’t like the way he looks. Stay close to her. Howell, you there?” Smith tried to concentrate on what Beckmann was saying, but Darkanin was speaking again and drew his attention.

  “What did you say?” Smith asked.

  “I asked if you require a ride or if you have your own vehicle?”

  “We’re fine, thank you. We have a car,” Arden said.

  Darkanin smiled that brittle smile of his. “I’m Berendt Darkanin,” he said to Taylor.

  “We have to leave. Now,” Smith said. He herded Taylor and Arden before him and past Darkanin. “Have a good evening,” he said to Darkanin as they passed.

  “Get to the top of the hill. Fast. Howell’s not checking in,” Beckmann said.

  35

  Howell leaned against the limousine door while he listened to the transmissions from Beckmann, Russell, and Smith. From his left came a couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk and from his right a lone man approached, striding confidently. The couple Howell noted but ignored; the man, not at all. Something about him set Howell’s antenna vibrating. He tilted his head a bit toward the man and swept his gaze over him, taking note of details and waiting for the tell. Dark-skinned, slender, in loose-fitting dark pants and a hoodie covered by an open stadium coat that would easily hide a shoulder holster, the man had all the trappings of trouble.

  Howell pushed off the car and settled his weight onto both feet, keeping balanced. One move from the man’s right hand toward the coat, or toward a waist holster, and Howell was prepared to react. The man was forty feet away and moving fast. Howell’s senses were on full alert and adrenaline was raging through him. He wore no bulletproof vest and so moved toward the front of the car, preparing to dodge behind it should the man reach for a gun.

  The more problematic issue would be if he was a knife fighter. The best were Filipino, and this man didn’t appear to be one, but that didn’t preclude him being a trained killer. A good knife fighter could travel fourteen feet in a few seconds, and align himself on Howell’s left, plunge the knife into the solar plexus or, even better, high on the upper chest, cover the hole with his left hand so that it wouldn’t spurt in an obvious show, and continue his stroll while Howell sank to the ground with none the wiser.

  Because it was London the odds of gun violence were lower than other cities, and so Howell was betting on a knife as the weapon of choice. The man was now twenty feet away and moving in. And then came the series of tells. His eyes flicked downward and then back up and he tracked Howell’s movement to the front of the car. His right hand grasped something that slid into it from the sleeve above. He’d just lowered the knife into position. Once it was there he focused on Howell. His true intent seemed obvious to Howell, though perhaps someone not as attuned to the precursor signals of violence would not have recognized the signs.


  Howell reached up and under the back of his suit and removed his own knife from its waistband holster. It was a short one, perfectly balanced with a three-inch blade. He felt the reassuring weight of the hilt in his hand and rotated his balance to the balls of his feet.

  At six feet away the man did something that surprised Howell. His wrist flicked and the knife in his hand flew toward him. Howell spun and the knife hit him in the upper shoulder, cutting through the thin suit jacket and shirt into the skin. The injury was minor, but the complete confidence displayed by the man spoke volumes about what kind of fighter Howell was facing. The attacker was on him seconds later, and Howell could see the flash of a second blade in his hand.

  Howell twisted to avoid the second stab and slashed with his own knife, slicing into the attacker’s clothing, but the layers of jacket, hoodie, and long-sleeved shirt managed to blunt the cut and Howell could tell that whatever damage he had inflicted, it was minor.

  The attacker spun on the balls of his feet, and slashed again. Howell jerked back and made his own attempt with a wide, swooping swing. The attacker dodged, pivoted, and attempted another stab, forcing Howell to retreat again, but this time Howell felt the ground give way under his right foot. He had moved too close to the curb.

  Howell stumbled backward, his body lurching and his arms wheeling as he tried to recover and keep his knife hand front and center. His Bluetooth earpiece flew out of his ear and he heard it clatter onto the asphalt. The attacker moved in, feinting and dodging as he tried to find an opening in Howell’s defense. Howell stabbed and slashed as well and he managed to back the man off one step. A minor victory, but one that Howell was happy to attain. A small part of Howell’s mind noted the other man’s complete concentration and commitment to killing him and he knew that he was in the presence of a trained assassin.

  The man slashed twice more, cutting a deep gash in Howell’s forearm and attempting an underhand cut to his liver, which Howell deflected with his own swipe. The two blades clicked together and the hilt vibrated in Howell’s hand.

  “Howell!” Howell heard Smith call his name, but he didn’t take his eyes off his attacker. The man heard it as well and there was a subtle shift in his attention. His previous all-encompassing concentration on Howell fractured and Howell could tell that he was now preparing to flee. Howell pressed his advantage, slashing back and forth with the knife, opening up a semicircle of air between them. To his left Howell saw Smith hit the top of the rise. At the same moment two men in suits and carrying briefcases came toward him.

  “Hey, what’s going on there?” one of the men yelled.

  The attacker jogged backward a couple of steps, turned, and ran, crossing the street, dodging cars and disappearing at the next intersection.

  Howell could feel the sticky blood mingled with sweat as it ran down his arm. One of the suited men moved closer and Howell carefully slid the knife back under his jacket and out of sight.

  “Are you all right?” the suited man said. Howell noted that while the man seemed to want to help, he still stayed a careful distance away.

  Howell nodded. “Yes. I am. Man wanted my wallet. Thank you for saying something. I would have had to give it up if you hadn’t.”

  The man looked pleased. “Glad to help. Crime getting out of control these days. He didn’t get you, did he?”

  Howell kept his injured forearm behind him. He could feel the blood soaking into his sleeve.

  “No. I’m fine. Thanks again.”

  The man nodded, rejoined his friend, and they walked away.

  Howell leaned against the car, pressed a hand on his forearm to stanch the bleeding, and waited for Smith to reach him.

  36

  Smith ran up to Howell and noted the other man’s pallor and the pain lines in his face.

  “You hit?” he said in a low voice.

  Howell nodded. “Knife fighter. He was trained and I was targeted. Someone knows we’re here and what we’re doing. Tell Russell and Beckmann to pack up and go. And we’ll need a cleaner in there to wipe the room down. Did you get Rendel?”

  “It was Dr. Taylor from USAMRIID.”

  Howell’s face registered surprise. “Was she on the kidnapped list?”

  Smith shook his head. “No. So we’ll have to revise our thinking on this one. It’s bigger than we thought. But right now my problem is Arden. She saw the whole thing go down and any moment both of them are going to appear. Can you sustain your cover until you get us out of here?”

  Howell swallowed. “Take these.” He shoved the keys into Smith’s hand. “I’m gone. Make up a story and use the car, but lose it as fast as you can. They must know about it.” Howell turned and walked away. Within seconds he melded into a set of Japanese tourists that crowded the sidewalk. Arden and Taylor made it to the top of the hill and Smith beeped the car open. When they reached him he opened the passenger door.

  “Get in. We need to move.”

  Taylor got into the back and Arden went around to sit shotgun. Smith edged the car into traffic and drove the perimeter of Hyde Park.

  “Where’s the driver?” Arden asked. Her voice was once again calm and composed.

  “Took off. I found the car here with the keys in the ignition.”

  Arden shot him a glance that made it clear she didn’t believe a word of it. He knew enough to stop talking. When making up a story it was best to say as little as possible, especially when in the presence of a lawyer. He glanced in the rearview mirror.

  “Dr. Taylor, are you all right?”

  Arden gave Smith a sidelong look of surprise before turning to the woman in the backseat.

  “Are you Dr. Laura Taylor of USAMRIID? Currently on medical leave?” Arden said.

  Smith kept his eyes forward. He should have known that Arden would have already memorized the list that he’d given her. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Taylor give a small nod, followed by a weak smile.

  “Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said. Her voice shook on the words.

  Arden reached over the seat. “Give me your hand,” she said. Taylor did and Arden twisted to hold it between both of hers. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

  Taylor nodded again, this time with a bit more vigor, and Arden released her.

  “What did they want from you?” Smith asked.

  “My memory drug research. They wanted me to aerosolize it. I did, hoping that it would mollify them, but when we used it on mice they acted either erratically or aggressively, or simply died. And the side effects were all over the place. Add to that the fact that most batches remained potent for only a few minutes, but a few lasted longer. They were furious and thought I was deliberately altering the chemical so that it was unusable, but you know that the memory research always was experimental. I couldn’t get them to understand that I was several years from a viable product.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Initially they told me they were with the Department of Defense working on a secret protocol in conjunction with the CIA. Later I figured out that they were lying, but by then they had me locked down.” She sighed heavily. “I’m exhausted. They wouldn’t let me sleep. I think it was part of the interrogation process. But just a few hours ago they gave me some sort of drug that knocked me out. I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open.”

  “Go ahead and lie down. We’re going to be in this car for a while,” Smith said. Taylor nodded and stretched out.

  “Are we going to the police?” Arden asked.

  Smith shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Smith stopped at a light and watched behind him. Nothing and no one seemed to be following him.

  “Smith, it’s Russell.” Russell was speaking softly but Smith could hear her just fine. He hoped that Arden couldn’t as well. As if she could read his mind Russell said, “Don’t say anything, just listen. We’re leaving and you need to get yourself to neutral territory and one without an extradition treaty. Marty interce
pted a call from the Saudi embassy and they’re scrambling to deflect blame. They have a grainy image of you, Arden, and Taylor in the lower-level hallway. It’s too bad an image to match to the photo they have of you at the entrance, but they’re trying to sharpen it so that they can use facial recognition software to identify you. I heard what Howell said and I agree that you need to dump the car at your earliest convenience. And keep Taylor and Arden with you. Don’t let Arden make any more grandstanding moves, whatever you do. Keep her close until we can figure out the next steps. I’ll be in touch, but in the meantime you’re on your own and I’m out.”

  “Did you hear me? I said why not?” Arden said again, this time more forcefully. Smith drove forward at the green and contemplated how much he would reveal. One thing he did know was that whatever he said to Arden next had to be kept in the strictest confidence.

  “You’re still my attorney, right? From that night in DC?”

  She frowned at him. “Why do I sense that a disturbing revelation is on its way?”

  “I need to be sure that what I say next will be covered by the attorney-client privilege and can’t be repeated by you.”

  A look of comprehension passed over Arden’s face. “Ah, now I understand. Yes, I’m technically still your attorney, but the subpoena to USAMRIID puts our relationship into a slightly different light. While at this point it’s not a conflict of interest for me to represent you, because I haven’t filed a case against you or USAMRIID, I’m in the process of investigating USAMRIID, so we’re skating on the edge a bit.”

  “But you haven’t filed a case yet and if you don’t find any evidence then you’ll likely never file one. So technically you can still act as my attorney and our conversation is covered by the privilege?”

  “Right, I’m still your attorney. Be careful, though. Dr. Taylor is in the backseat and anything you say in front of a third party breaks the attorney-client privilege.”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. “She’s asleep. I need some legal advice. Where can I go that’s neutral territory? One with no extradition treaties with the US. Switzerland is neutral. Will they extradite?”