The Janus Reprisal

  “They’ve had me on a saline drip. Nothing else.”

  Wendel looked at her watch. “Wait here.” She went to the doorway and peered around the corner. She spun and came back to Russell. “It’s clear.” Russell wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t think the elevators are safe. They all open onto the main floor facing a security station on the lower level.”

  “There’s a stairwell to the left. I’m not sure where it leads,” Russell said. Wendel only nodded and helped Russell to stand. Her legs held and they started toward the door, moving in tandem. Russell leaned on Wendel, taking advantage of her strength. She didn’t want to waste all her energy walking on her own when she knew a long series of stairs still lay ahead of her. The only sound in the empty hall was the murmuring of a television, volume set low, somewhere to her right. To her left an overhead sign glowed red with the word “stairs.” Russell turned that way and was glad to feel the adrenaline begin to percolate in her system. It gave her a boost. They hit the door and pushed it open.

  The interior stairwell consisted of metal and cement. The door closed and Russell saw the number four painted in navy block lettering on the back. The idea of walking down four flights made Russell want to groan, but she shoved the thought aside. She was about to start down when she heard a scrape from somewhere below. Wendel must have heard it too, because Russell felt the woman’s muscles freeze. Russell jerked her head toward the door. Wendel nodded, and they reversed. Russell opened the door with a gentle push and they were back through it and once again in the ICU hallway.

  “Elevator to second floor. Stairs from there,” Russell said in a whisper. Wendel didn’t reply but started to the elevator bank. Russell pushed faster. Once inside the lift she leaned against the wall while it lowered to the second floor.

  “If there’s a nurse let me take the lead,” Russell said. She waved Wendel off in favor of walking on her own. The doors whisked open and they stepped into a hall that matched the one they’d just left. Rooms stretched on either side and a nurse stood behind a tall counter operating a copy machine. She glanced up, took in Wendel and gave a slight frown when she looked at Russell.

  “May I help you?” she said.

  Russell nodded. “I’m a patient. I have a friend who wants to see Susan.” Russell indicated Wendel. “But she leaves for Europe tomorrow early and this is our only chance. It’s just down the hall, room 234. Do you mind?”

  The nurse looked about to protest. “Mr. Skorich? He’s asleep.”

  “I’ll just have a quick look. I promise to leave if he’s asleep,” Wendel said. A phone on a nearby desk rang. Hallelujah, Russell thought.

  “Please be quick about it,” the nurse said. “The time for visitors is long past.” She turned her attention to the phone. Russell did her best to stand straight and tall as she walked down the hall. Her eyes locked on the sign for the stairs and she focused on reaching them. Wendel stayed close and pushed open the door, holding it for Russell. The minute they were through Russell wrapped her arm around Wendel’s shoulder.

  “Go,” she said.

  They started down, moving fast. Their feet rang on the metal stairs and the sound echoed through the stairwell. Within seconds they heard another set of footsteps running down the stairs from above.

  “Faster,” Russell said. She was sweating and she began to get dizzy. “Do you have a weapon?”

  “A knife. At my calf.” Not the worst weapon, and it had the advantage of silence, but if whoever was lurking in the stairwell was CIA, he’d likely have a gun with a suppressor. A quiet and efficient weapon. They reached the bottom and pushed through the door to the parking garage. A sedan that Russell recognized as a company car sat parked in a handicapped spot.

  “It’s mine. Let’s go,” Wendel said. Russell got up and staggered a bit toward the driver’s side, but she made it there without passing out. She glanced at the parking garage exit. So far, no one burst through. Hauling open the car’s heavy door was about as much as Russell could manage.

  “There are guns are in the trunk,” Wendel said.

  “Excellent. Run. Get out of here. Go back to DC. I’ll handle this and will call you. I don’t want you involved in this any more than necessary.”

  Wendel nodded and sprinted away. Russell fell into the seat and slammed the door behind her. She drove out of the parking garage and onto the street, where she accelerated at every opportunity, all the while watching the sideview mirror. While it appeared as though no one was tailing her, she wasn’t reassured. She picked up her phone and stared at it, wondering if she should risk using it. After a moment she decided that she needed Klein’s help badly enough to give it a try. Russell powered it up and dialed Klein. The Covert-One director answered on the first ring.

  “We’ve got a mole in the CIA,” Russell said.

  “A situation that appears to be depressingly familiar, Ms. Russell.”

  “Whoever it is, they’re after Smith and Nolan and transmitting their location to an unknown assailant. Dattar is in this up to his eyeballs, I can just feel it. And you can bet that he has those coolers. Smith was right.”

  “That’s a lot of speculation. But if even a portion is correct, the CIA can’t be allowed to take the lead on the search for them. The mole could undermine each move.”

  “What if they’re here? On US soil? The CIA has no jurisdiction over the investigation then. It has to go to the Department of Homeland Security and FBI. CIA, and its mole, won’t know about it.”

  “You’ve been overseas for a while. The DHS and FBI are now supposed to receive and exchange intelligence with the CIA when it’s required to assist in a national matter.”

  “Okay, and then the NYPD is out as well. Since 9/11, the NYPD has deployed an intelligence-gathering unit. Its head is a CIA officer on loan named Harcourt. I presume he’ll be kept in the loop with the other agencies.”

  “Are you telling me that the CIA and NYPD are acting in concert on US soil?”

  “I am,” Russell said.

  “That’s perilously close to domestic spying, which is illegal,” Klein said.

  “And Covert-One? What are the rules between that organization and the others?”

  Klein paused. Russell waited.

  “Covert-One is autonomous.” Klein’s comment supported what Russell had thought since learning of Covert-One. The idea that Klein headed a covert operation completely free of organizational requirements and reporting duties was astonishing. However, it was just what Russell wanted to hear because she needed to operate free of the CIA.

  “I want to bring in Beckmann,” she said.

  “No others.”

  “Hear me out. With Beckmann, Howell, and Smith all bases are covered. I know about the inner workings of the CIA, Smith knows about bacteria, Howell knows about staying alive.”

  “And this Beckmann?”

  “Beckmann knows how to skirt the edges and get results.”

  Klein was quiet on the other end of the line, and Russell bit her tongue while she allowed him to ponder her request.

  “I haven’t met this Beckmann, but Smith has. If he agrees, then Beckmann can be brought in. If not, he can’t.”

  Russell breathed a sigh of relief. She was halfway home with her plan.

  “I’ll be sure to keep Smith informed. If he says no, then Beckmann’s out, no questions asked.” She took a deep breath. “I was hoping for one more favor.”

  “What do you need?”

  “A steady stream of information from the DHS and the FBI in real time, not in weekly reports. Whatever they know I want access to.”

  “Easy enough.”

  Russell raised her eyebrows. The DHS and the FBI both weren’t exactly forthcoming with the CIA despite their public claims of cooperation. The disconnects between the two agencies were legendary. That Klein could wrap up the disparate reports was a huge advantage to Covert-One.

  “Just how connected is Covert-One? What you’re able to accomplish is astonishing.”
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  “Do you need anything else?” Klein neatly dodged the question.

  “To find Smith. Do you know where he is?”

  “He’s gone dark. I have little doubt that he is alive, however. A recent police transmission indicated that they had discovered one man dead in a building near the High Line. It wasn’t Smith.”

  Russell didn’t bother to ask why Klein was focusing on one dead person in one particular building in New York City. She assumed that he had his reasons.

  “And Nolan?”

  “Presumably with Smith.”

  “And not dead.”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s ominous.”

  “She’s at most risk. A civilian with the bad judgment to have stolen from Dattar. Her continued existence is not assured.”

  Russell started coughing. She knew that once she started, it would be almost impossible to stop. She gagged and choked while Klein listened on the other end of the phone.

  “Are you all right?” Klein said.

  “I think whatever is in those coolers was used on me.”

  “How contagious is it?”

  “Apparently no one’s entirely sure. It doesn’t seem to be easily transmitted between people, but they don’t know how it’s contracted. I need a place to rest and I want to speak to a scientist named Ohnara again. He said he’d be here, in New York, for a conference. In Midtown. Which reminds me, I need one more thing. Ohnara’s a colleague of Smith’s who checked into a suspicious swab on my refrigerator. I think he needs to run further tests.”

  “I presume they will be costly?”

  “Perhaps. The paperwork I’ll need to fill out at the CIA would take several days and possibly tip off our mole. I was hoping you could speed things through for me. I guess I don’t need to say that I have a vested interest in this. I’m told my chances of beating this thing aren’t great.”

  “I’ll authorize it as quickly as possible. Are you armed?”

  “I have some CIA-issued weapons,” Russell said. “Why?”

  “Something tells me you’re going to need them.”

  34

  DATTAR STEPPED ONTO A Gulfstream jet bound for New York’s JFK and settled in the first seat. Flush with Amir’s cash and supplied with a new passport and identity, he now knew that he would have to oversee the return of his money and the release of the weapon himself. Depending on intermediaries never worked. He felt the plane begin to bump along the runway and the video about flight security began to play. His in-flight phone rang.

  “You lied to me,” Khalil said.

  Dattar sat up. “What are you talking about?”

  “You have no money. The woman took it all.”

  Dattar’s mind raced. “You’re wrong. I have money. Other money. You think she got it all? She did not.”

  “Then pay me. Now. And the fee just went up because of your lies. I want double.”

  “Absolutely not. You haven’t accomplished anything that I hired you to do. Smith is alive and I presume Howell is as well.”

  “You either pay me double, or I’ll have her transfer it all to me.”

  Dattar’s rage exploded and he stood.

  “That money is mine!”

  “Double. Now.”

  Dattar began to pace. Rajiid watched him from a neighboring seat and Dattar thought he saw something close to derision in his eyes. All these problems were chipping away at Rajiid’s respect. Dattar took a deep breath to calm himself. He needed to appear as though he was in control, and pacing and screaming would not do.

  “Is she in your control?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Put her on the phone.”

  “Not until you pay me.”

  What a lying bastard, Dattar thought. He didn’t have her.

  “I don’t pay you until you prove you have her. Put her next to you and call me from the computer. Turn on the webcam. When I see her, I’ll transfer half the money.”

  “I do nothing until the money is transferred.”

  “It seems that we’re at an impasse.”

  Khalil hung up.

  Dattar sat back down. He needed to move quickly. If Khalil had discovered Dattar’s secret, others might have as well. He stared out the window. The airplane couldn’t move fast enough.

  Smith woke when a bar of sunlight shot through the white wooden shutters on the bedroom window. Nolan slept next to him on her side. He slid off the bed and padded into the bathroom. A quick look in the mirror gave him some hope. The haggard look he’d been sporting had eased a bit, though the bandages on his arm and the morning beard made him appear disreputable. He noticed that the gauze was stained a reddish brown color from dried blood, so at least he wasn’t actively bleeding anymore. He switched on the shower and stepped under the warm water, relishing it. He wet the gauze in order to be sure that it wouldn’t stick to the wound and then unwound it in the shower. He took care to cleanse the wound gently. When he was finished, he used his teeth to hold one end of a clean piece of gauze while he rewrapped the wound. He tied a decent knot on the field dressing, wrapped a towel around his middle, and headed to the kitchen.

  The house was well provisioned with shelf-stable food and drinks. Smith was interested to see that the pantry contained UHT boxed milk, the type normally found in Europe that could be stored indefinitely without refrigeration. It gave Smith a small clue about the nationality of the house’s owner.

  He placed a coffee pod in a maker and checked in three cabinets until he found cups. He placed one under the spout and pressed the start button. From upstairs he heard the sound of a bath being drawn. While the coffee cup filled, Smith rooted around in the kitchen drawers, looking for a telephone book in order to find a big box store where he could purchase a prepaid phone. His search turned up nothing. Apparently phone books were too low tech for the house’s owner. He heard footsteps and Nolan walked into the kitchen.

  She wore oversized men’s gray sweatpants topped with a large white undershirt, also a man’s. She smiled at him and Smith was glad to see that it was one of her first real smiles, not a half effort. He smiled back. She walked over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

  “Nice outfit,” she said.

  “It never occurred to me that there would be clothes available for our use. Those look like they’d fit me a whole lot better than you. Want to switch?”

  “Sure. There are some other choices up there, but most look too small for you. First, though, that coffee smells delicious.”

  He pulled out a kitchen chair for her. “I’ll make you some. Take a seat.”

  She settled into the chair, pulled her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Smith noticed that the position had the advantage of keeping the most injured part of her back from touching the furniture. The coffee cup filled and he placed it in front of her. “Milk or sugar?”

  She shook her head and took a sip. She eyed his bandage. “A new dressing? Looks a little rough. Want me to fix it?”

  He nodded. “I needed a shower and I didn’t want to wake you.” She began to rise and he waved her back into her seat. “Doesn’t have to be now. Finish your drink.” He opened the pantry door. “This place is well stocked. What kind of person needs a house like this and accepts kilodollars for payment?”

  Nolan’s eyes held a knowing look. “People like us.”

  Smith held his cup up in a toast. “Touché.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee and placed the cup in the sink. “I’m headed out in search of a prepaid phone.”

  She nodded. “I’ll let you wear these clothes. I threw ours in the washing machine and now they’re drying. By the time you get back they’ll be clean. Although that shirt of yours will still have a tear in the sleeve.”

  “As long as it’s not covered with blood, I’ll be happy.”

  Twenty minutes later Smith was in the sweats and T-shirt, which on him were slightly too small, and walking to an electronics store that Nolan had suggested. He purchased the phone and fired it up wi
th a charged battery that the clerk had offered. He dialed Klein.

  “Glad to hear that you’re alive,” Klein said. “Ms. Russell left the hospital and is working on the bacteria angle.”

  “Left the hospital? So she’s recovered?”

  “Apparently enough to leave. She’s concerned about the CIA mole finding her and is keeping on the move.”

  “Did they type the virus that she had?”

  “It was a variant of avian flu. Nonmutant.”

  Smith heaved a sigh of relief. “So not the strain we’re searching for. Still bad, but it sounds as though she’s recovering.”

  “She seems as convinced as you are that Dattar is behind everything.”

  “I heard from Howell. He confirmed it. Told me about some sort of weapon.”

  “I think it’s in the coolers,” Klein said.

  “I have to agree. But how in the hell are we going to find them?”

  “I thought you were intending to use Nolan as bait,” Klein said. Smith had not been thrilled with the idea when he’d had it, but now he found that he detested it.

  “Initially I thought we could contain the risk, but after last night’s near fiasco, I’m reconsidering it. I almost didn’t get to her in time. She nearly got killed.”

  “It may be our only option.” Klein’s voice was calm. Smith didn’t reply. He was nearing the building and slowed. “She’s always at risk of being killed until Dattar gets his money back or is neutralized,” Klein continued. “She’s got to know that and just might be willing to assist. Why don’t you tell her what you’re thinking? Give her a chance to make the decision?”

  “She’s a civilian. She doesn’t understand the risk and is not trained to protect herself.”

  “She put some of this in motion when she stole the money. She may be at risk, but she seems perfectly capable of understanding the danger we’re facing. I’d like you to explain it to her.” Smith didn’t reply. “You seem to have changed your mind on this tactic. Is there something I’m missing here? Something you’re not telling me?”

  “No. I’ll address it with her.”