The Icarus Agenda: A Novel

  “I mean her marital status.”

  “Of course I remember, but Evan told you over the phone, I heard him.”

  “Tell me yourself. No mistakes can be made.”

  “All right. She divorced the banker Frazier-Pyke, and married a wealthy Californian from San Francisco named Von Lindemann.”

  “He was specific about San Francisco?”

  “Not actually. He said, ‘San Francisco or Los Angeles,’ I think. But he was very specific about California, that was the point. Her new husband was a Californian and terribly rich.”

  “And the name—try to recall precisely. You’re certain it was Von Lindemann?”

  “Well … yes. We met him in a booth at the Junkanoo and there was a steel band, but yes, that was the name. Or if it isn’t exact, it’s certainly close enough.”

  “Banco!” cried Payton. “Close enough, my dear. She married a man named Vanvlanderen, Andrew Vanvlanderen, from Palm Springs.”

  “So blame a mouth drowned in gin.”

  “We’re beyond gin, Field Agent Rashad. Andrew Vanvlanderen is one of Langford Jennings’s most distinguished contributors—read that as a mother lode for the presidential coffers.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Oh, we’re even beyond interest. Ardisolda Wojak Montreaux Frazier-Pyke Vanvlanderen, an admittedly gifted and obviously talented administrator, is currently Vice President Orson Bollinger’s chief of staff.”

  “That’s fascinating.”

  “I think the situation calls for an informal but nonetheless quite official visit from one of our Middle East specialists—you’ll be in southwest Colorado, barely an hour away. I choose you.”

  “Good God, MJ, on what basis?”

  “Threats were supposedly made against Bollinger and an FBI unit was assigned to him. They kept it quiet—too quiet in my judgment—and now the unit’s suddenly recalled, the emergency declared over.”

  “Coinciding with the attacks on Fairfax and Mesa Verde?” suggested Khalehla, sharply interrupting.

  “It sounds crazy, I know, but it’s there. Call it the twitching of an old professional’s nostrils, but I detect an odor of amateurish offal drifting out of San Diego.”

  “Implicating the Bureau?” asked Rashad, astonished.

  “No.… Using it. I’m working on an interagency interrogation. I intend to interview every member of that unit.”

  “You still haven’t answered me. What’s the reason for my going to San Diego? We’re not domestic.”

  “The same as mine for questioning the unit. With regard to those threats against Bollinger, we’re looking into the possibility of terrorist involvement. The good Lord knows that if we’re pressed to reveal tonight’s events, we have every justification.… I don’t know where it is, my dear, but somewhere in this madness there’s a connection—and a blond man with a European accent.”

  Khalehla glanced around the cabin as she spoke. The two attendants were talking quietly in their seats and Evan was staring blankly out the window. “I’ll do it, of course, but you’re not making my life any easier. It’s obvious that my boy had an affair with this Vanvlanderen woman—not that it bothers me but it bothers him.”

  “Why? That strikes me as an odd sort of morality. It was a long time ago.”

  “You’re missing the point, MJ. Sex isn’t the morality. He was conned, seduced into almost becoming an international crook, and he can’t forget it or forgive himself maybe.”

  “Then I’ll relieve your concerns for the time being. Kendrick must not be told anything about San Diego at this juncture. In his state of mind God knows what he’d do if he even had an inkling of such a connection, and we don’t need any loose cannons. Make up something about an emergency business trip and be convincing. I want you to interrogate that very odd lady from left field. I’ll prepare a scenario for you by morning.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “I trust you brought your hat-switch papers out of Cairo.”

  “Of course.”

  “You may want to use them. We’re on extremely thin ice. Incidentally, none of our people know you, nor do you know them. If I come up with something, I’ll somehow relay it through Weingrass in Colorado.… Very thin ice.”

  “Even Evan realizes that.”

  “May I ask how things are going with you two? I warn you, I’m inordinately fond of him.”

  “Let’s put it this way. We had a lovely two-bedroom suite at Cable Beach and last night I could hear him pacing the living room outside my door until all hours of the morning. I damn near walked out and ordered him inside.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because everything’s so confusing for us, so consuming for him—and now tonight, so horrible. I don’t think either of us could handle personal complications.”

  “Thank heaven we’re on scrambler. Follow your instincts, Field Agent Rashad. They’ve served us well in Special Projects.… I’ll call you in the morning with instructions. Good hunting, dear niece.”

  Khalehla returned to her seat and Evan’s anxious stare. “Other worlds go on and they’re just as deadly, I’m afraid,” she said, buckling her seat belt. “That was the station chief in Cairo. Two of our contacts disappeared in the Sidi Barrani district—it’s a Libyan connection. I told him what to look for and whom to go after.… How are you feeling?”

  “All right,” he answered, studying her face.

  “Our distinguished passengers and our not too shabby crew,” came the general’s deep loud voice over the intercom from the flight deck. “It seems we’re destined to repeat ourselves, Dr. Axelrod. Remember that ‘southern island’?” The pilot went on to explain that in order to avoid the excitement—and publicity—of an “AF bird” dropping in at the airports of Durango or Cortez, they were instructed to head directly into the one at Mesa Verde. The runway was deemed officially adequate “but our touchdown could be a mite rocky, so when I give the word, belt ’em up tight. We’re starting our descent from the satellites; arrival estimated in forty-five minutes—if I can find the damn place.… Remember, Doctor?”

  As the general had predicted with considerable understatement, the landing shook the aircraft with a series of massive vibrations, the blasting eruptions of the braking jets filling the fuselage. Outside on the ground, thanks were expressed, goodbyes said, and the brigadier delivered his special cargo to a field officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. Khalehla and Evan were ushered quickly to an armor-plated sedan flown down from Denver, their motorcycle escort an armed six-man contingent from the State Police, oblivious as to why the governor’s office had ordered them to the backcountry “millionaires’ airport” near the Mesa Verde National Park.

  “Let me get you current, Congressman,” said the CIA man, sitting, as had his colleague in the Bahamas, in the front seat beside the driver. “There are five of us here, but two will fly back to Virginia with the prisoner and the three dead bodies.… I’m spelling things out because I was told I can speak in front of the lady, that you were official, miss.”

  “Thank you for your confidence,” said the unrecognized agent for Special Projects.

  “Yes, ma’am.… We’ve contracted a half-dozen forest rangers from the park for the night, each backgrounded, each a combat veteran, to guard your house and grounds. Tomorrow a unit from Langley will arrive to take up their posts.”

  “Christ, what if there’s another Fairfax?” whispered Evan.

  Khalehla pressed her elbow into Kendrick’s side, coughing as she did so.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “A couple of points—and I don’t mind telling you that old Jewish guy should be put in someone’s hall of fame, if somebody else doesn’t put him in a padded cell—but you both have to know the facts, the cover. Weingrass worked it out before we got there—wow, he’s a pistol!”

  “Noted and accepted,” said Kendrick. “What are the facts?”

  “The nurses
know very little; they think there was only one terrorist, a hallucinating fanatic at that. The three bodies were hidden in the woods until the police left, then carried by your Mexican friend Gonzalez back to the garage without the nurses seeing him. They were on the other side of the house, on the porch with Manny—Jesus, how did he get me to call him ‘Manny’? Anyway, Gonzalez locked the doors to the garage and drove back to his restaurant. Mr. Weingrass guarantees us he’ll keep quiet.”

  “Mr. Weingrass is right,” confirmed Evan.

  “We don’t like the arrangement, but I guess you three go back a long time.”

  “We go back a long time,” said Kendrick.

  “So the Congressman shouldn’t make any references to the magnitude of the assault,” broke in Khalehla. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Everything’s containment, Mr. Kendrick, that’s the order from on-high in Langley. As far as anyone here is concerned, we’re just government personnel, no Agency, no Bureau, no identifications offered and none asked for. They’re all too frightened to look for complications, which is usually the case in these situations. A plane will fly in around three o’clock this morning. The prisoner and his dead friends will be taken back to Virginia. He will be sent to an interrogations clinic, the others to the forensic labs. Manny said—Excuse me, Mr. Weingrass said I should make all this clear to you.”

  “It’s clear.”

  “Thank you, sir. Boy, that Manny! Do you know he punched me in the stomach when I told him I was taking over. I mean, he threw a fist into my gut!”

  “Standard,” said Kendrick, peering out the tinted window at the road. They were only ten minutes from the house. From Manny.

  They embraced in the doorway, Evan holding the old man far more firmly than the other held him. Then Weingrass gently boxed Kendrick’s ears and spoke. “You never got manners from your parents? Behind you is a lady I want very much to meet.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Evan, backing away. “Manny, this is Khalehla … Khalehla Rashad.”

  Old Weingrass stepped forward, taking Khalehla’s hand in his. “We come from a troubled land, you and I. You are an Arab and I am a Jew, but there are no such distinctions in this house, no preconceptions, and I must tell you that I love you very much for giving such joy to my son.”

  “My God, you are a marvel.”

  “Yes,” agreed Manny, nodding twice.

  “I love you, too, for all that you mean to Evan.” Khalehla placed her arms around the frail architect, her face pressed against his. “I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.”

  “I sometimes have that effect on people. Also sometimes the opposite, as if their lives had taken a sudden turn for the worse.”

  “Mine hasn’t,” said Khalehla, releasing Manny but holding his shoulders. “I’ve met the legend and he turns out to be a terrific person,” she added, smiling warmly.

  “Don’t spread such disinformation, Miss Secret Agent. You’ll ruin my reputation.… To business before I bring you in to the others.” Weingrass turned in the hallway and peered around the stone archway. “Good. The girls are on the veranda giving us a few minutes to ourselves.”

  “That fellow from the CIA filled us in,” said Kendrick. “The one who came down to the airport to meet us.”

  “Oh, you mean Joe.”

  “Joe?”

  “They’re all Joe, John, Jim—you notice, no Irvings or Miltons—forget it.… Payton told me you know about the Hassans.”

  “He knows,” interrupted Khalehla, absently reaching for Evan’s hand and gripping it; the gesture was not lost on Manny and it obviously touched him. “It was horrible—”

  “It’s all horrible, my lovely child. Animals who kill their own! Kashi and Sabri, they spoke so lovingly of you, Adrienne Khalehla Rashad, and I don’t have to tell you what they thought of my son.… So we will mourn privately, each to himself and herself, remembering what they meant to us. But that must be later, not now.”

  “Manny,” broke in Kendrick. “I have to make arrangements—”

  “I’ve made them. There’ll be a private Islamic service, and their remains will be flown back to Dubai for burial in Ash Sharigah. The coffins will be sealed, of course.”

  “Mr. Weingrass—”

  “That business should have come first. If you call me ‘mister,’ I won’t love you so much.”

  “All right … Manny. MJ wasn’t clear. MJ—that’s Payton.”

  “I know, I know,” interrupted Weingrass. “I told him that if he got the phone fixed we could be more cordial, so I think he had somebody killed and now it’s working. We’re Emmanuel and Mitchell now, and he calls too much. I’m sorry, you had a question?”

  “What’s my cover here? I feel like an idiot, but I simply don’t know. The field agent in the car said I was official, but official what? Who am I to these people?”

  “Mitchell suggested that you say you’re a representative from the State Department accompanying the Congressman.”

  “State?”

  “Maybe he wants to blame somebody if things don’t work out. I understand it’s a popular pastime in Washington.”

  “No, he isn’t like that.… Oh, I do see. If I have to give instructions, I’m in a position to do it.”

  “Wouldn’t you have to show a State Department ID if someone asked for it?” said Evan.

  “Well … yes.”

  “You mean you’ve got one?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “That’s illegal—”

  “We wear different hats at different times, Evan.”

  “You also have a gun. That Paiute Indian station chief in the Bahamas told me.”

  “He shouldn’t have.”

  “You wouldn’t also happen to work for the Mossad, would you,” said Weingrass, grinning.

  “No, but you do—you have. And some of my closest friends do.”

  “You’re in good hands, bubbelah.… More business. Mitchell wants Evan to look at the merchandise here—the one in the bedroom and the bodies; they’re under sheets in the garage and they’re leaving by air express during the night.”

  “And the nurses have no idea they’re out there?” said Kendrick, his tone disbelieving.

  “Your friend Payton was adamant—‘fanatic’ is more like it. ‘Containment, containment,’ he kept saying over and over again.”

  “How are you going to get them past that group of park rangers outside?”

  “They’ve rented a van from Durango. It’ll be left at the airport, where someone will pick it up and drive it out here. Then it’ll be backed into the garage out of sight, the whole operation supervised by Payton’s men. They seem to know what they’re doing.”

  “They do,” said Khalehla softly. “Has anyone spoken to the girls about what they’re to say, or, rather, what they shouldn’t say?”

  “I did, and for once they took me seriously, but I don’t know how long it’ll last. They’re still shook up and they don’t know a quarter of what happened.”

  “I’ll get them together while you and Evan make your grisly rounds and back you up—very officially. MJ’s right. I’ll play State Department.”

  “Why?” asked Evan. “Just curious.”

  “To keep the Agency out of it. We have no jurisdiction domestically, and someone might just remember it and let her imagination run rampant. Simpler is better.”

  “Very pro,” said Weingrass approvingly. “So how do I introduce you?”

  “I’m simply a Miss Adrienne from the Department of State. Do you mind lying?”

  “Let me think,” said Manny, frowning. “I once told a lie—I believe it was in July 1937.… Let’s go.” Grabbing Evan’s arm and Khalehla’s hand, Weingrass ushered them through the stone arch into the living room, shouting to the three nurses on the enclosed porch beyond. “Herewith, my coven of uglies, is the true warlock! Pay homage to the man who pays for your sexual indulgences and your excessive cases of muscatel!”

/>   “Manny!”

  “They love me,” said Weingrass quietly, while striding across the floor. “They throw dice for my bed.”

  “For God’s sake—”

  “Be quiet, darling. He is a marvel.”

  “He broke his leg jumping out of the truck with us above the Jabal Sham,” said Kendrick, staring down at the unconscious young man strapped to the bed. “He’s only a kid.”

  “But your ID’s positive?” asked the CIA officer standing beside Emmanuel Weingrass. “He was with you in Oman, there’s no doubt about it.”

  “None at all. I’ll never forget him. There was a fire in him you’re not likely to find in many teenagers over here … except maybe in the urban rot.”

  “Let’s go out the back door and into the garage.”

  “That’s Yosef,” said Evan, closing his eyes. “His mother was a Jew—and for a few hours he was my friend. He protected me … oh, Christ.”

  “Stop it!” shouted Manny. “He came here to kill you!”

  “Of course he did. Why not? I pretended to be one of them in their goddamned holy cause.… They shaved his mother’s head, can you imagine that?”

  “He shouted that at me when he tried to kill me,” said Weingrass simply. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted to take anyone I could alive.”

  “Knowing Yosef, you didn’t have a choice.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “These other two,” interrupted the impatient CIA officer, lifting up the sheets. “Do you recognize them?”

  “Yes. They were both in the compound, but I never knew their names. The one on the right had soiled trousers; the other, long ragged hair and stared like he had some kind of messianic complex—I figured he was psychotic. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “You’ve already told us what we have to know. All these men that you’ve identified were with you in Oman.”

  “Yes, I knew each one.… They wanted their revenge, and if I were them, I’m not sure I’d feel so differently.”

  “You’re not a terrorist, Congressman.”