The Janus Reprisal

  “Good. Where are you staying? I’ll tell Howell and Beckmann.”

  Smith turned onto the street and spotted two men leaning against a tree opposite the apartment building. “Never mind. They’re here.” He rang off and strolled up to them. Howell watched him approach, but Beckmann was intent on watching two aging men who sat next to him on wooden crates and played dominoes. He glanced up as Smith came near.

  “How did you find me?”

  “We found the cabbie that drove you here. Beckmann and I were just coming around when you and Ms. Nolan jumped into it,” Howell said.

  Smith snapped to attention. “Did anyone else see that cab drive off?”

  Howell shook his head. “No. We canvassed the area after you left. There was no one. You’re fairly safe for the moment. Happy to see that you handled the situation so well.”

  Smith grimaced. “Khalil and the CIA mole both got away.”

  “A pity,” Howell said. “But not surprising. Khalil has a way of staying alive.”

  “Come on in. I want to hear all about the guy you found.”

  He punched in the code, and both men followed him into the kitchen. Nolan was at the counter eating orange slices. A bag with the logo of a grocery chain was on the counter next to her. She was back in the jeans and navy sweater and her feet were bare. Smith made the introductions and noticed that she regarded the two men with a wary look in her eye. The men took chairs around the table, and Smith started coffee.

  Howell ran down what he and Beckmann had learned.

  “Russell seems to think the weapon may have something to do with the missing bacteria coolers,” Smith said.

  Beckmann nodded. “I agree. There’s the attack on the Grand Royal; Dattar escapes; the coolers are stolen; and now a foot soldier of Dattar’s says he’s planning an attack. It seems to be a logical conclusion.”

  “But now he has no money to launch the attack.” It was the first time Nolan had spoken.

  Howell raised an eyebrow. “Why is that? Dattar is thought to be quite wealthy.”

  “I stole it.”

  Smith watched Howell and Beckmann over the rim of his coffee cup and was pleased by their shocked reactions. They were as surprised by her announcement as he had been. Beckmann gave a soft laugh.

  “Just like my ex-wife,” he said.

  Howell shot him an amused look. “One hopes you didn’t give her all of it.”

  Beckmann just shrugged. Howell glanced back at Nolan with new respect.

  “Your audacity surprises me, but it concerns me as well. Dattar is not one to be stolen from. Also, are you quite sure that you got it all?”

  “As of two days ago I was.”

  “She can’t access the Internet. It’s how they’re tracking her,” Smith said.

  “Is there no computer here?”

  Smith pushed off the counter. “Actually, I hadn’t gotten that far when I bumped into you.”

  “There’s a Mac in the living room. It should be clean,” Nolan said.

  “Would you mind checking?” Howell said.

  “Not at all.” They followed Nolan into the living room and waited while she accessed various sites. After a moment Smith heard her suck in a breath. “Twenty million dollars was deposited in one of his Cayman accounts twenty-four hours ago. It’s a functioning account that the authorities must have overlooked.”

  “Can you find its source?”

  Nolan worked the keyboard, keeping her focus on the screen. “It came from a wire. I can’t access the routing numbers. I’m sorry.”

  “Seems as though Dattar has arranged some interim financing,” Howell said.

  Smith began to pace. “So he’s back in the game. We need to flush him out.” Smith focused on Nolan. “It has occurred to me, as well as to Russell, that dangling you and his money might encourage him to come out of hiding.”

  Nolan sat back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. To Smith’s relief she didn’t appear outraged or betrayed by his suggestion. He watched her think the proposition through. Howell raised an eyebrow at Smith but refrained from commenting, and Beckmann shifted forward in his seat. After a long pause she looked up at Smith and her usual determined expression was back.

  “Would all three of you gentlemen be present to take Dattar down once he appears?”

  “Yes,” Smith said without hesitation.

  “I’d like nothing better,” Howell replied.

  Beckmann nodded. “Of course.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Nolan said.

  35

  WENDEL DROVE INTO THE parking lot near CIA headquarters, killed the engine, and sat back with a sigh. She’d driven through the night, gone to her house for a short nap, and come straight to the office. She collected her things, along with her keycard and a briefcase, and headed inside. Marty was due to call in thirty minutes. He needed her help from within the compound in order to continue his search for the mole. Russell had given him her password and access codes, but now that the stalker had found him through that patch, he wanted hers as a new entry point. He also wanted both women’s computers turned on so that he could delve deeper.

  The building was beginning to bustle in the morning. She passed through the security checkpoints in a tired daze. She made her way to her office, keeping her face neutral for the benefit of the security cameras that lined the halls. Inside, though, she was shaking. Turning on the computer was of minor assistance, but if the agency discovered that she’d helped an outsider to breach their network, she’d be charged with aiding and abetting treason. Yet she knew that it was necessary. The delayed transmissions had nearly killed Jordan and were compromising God knows how many other missions. Her office was past Russell’s. As she got nearer to Russell’s office, she saw that the door was closed, which was odd. She was almost sure it had been open when she’d last seen it. She slowed, not sure that she wanted to confront whoever was in the office. She knocked once and opened the door.

  Steve Harcourt sat in Russell’s chair and George Cromwell sat opposite. Harcourt was typing on the computer keyboard, but paused when he saw Wendel.

  “We’ve been preparing to speak to you, Ms. Wendel,” Cromwell said. Wendel’s already sick stomach gave a wrench that made her want to bend over in pain. Instead she took a deep breath and stood straighter.

  “Why is that, sir?”

  Cromwell gave her a grave look. “Someone’s accessing the CIA database from the outside. They’re using Russell’s passcode. We’re not sure how much damage was done as yet. Luckily her computer is offline, and the IT specialist says that unless it’s open there are only a few areas that can be accessed from outside, even with the passcode. We’re monitoring the threat. Letting him use the code for the moment. Trying to trace the hacker back to the source.”

  Wendel’s mouth was dry. She managed a nod but didn’t trust herself to speak. Harcourt stood, and she looked across the desktop at him.

  “We just called the hospital and were told that she was gone. The night nurses described the woman who was with her and the sign-in sheet. Your name was on the sign-in sheet. Then we had hospital security check the security camera feed. You were seen smoking outside when Russell’s asset, Jon Smith, appeared and spoke to you, and later you were found on the parking lot security tape with Russell.”

  Wendel swallowed, which was of little use to her parched throat. Her hands were shaking, but she clasped them in front of her to control them.

  “I understood from Ms. Russell that Smith was assisting in this investigation.”

  Harcourt nodded. “She suggested that he be involved in the investigation early on and agreed to manage him. Why were you at the hospital?”

  “I was with Ms. Russell.”

  Cromwell pointed to an empty chair. “Perhaps you should tell us everything you know. In particular, we want to hear everything you know about Smith. He’s been implicated in one shooting at an office building in New York and another at an empty construction site where a body was found.?
??

  Wendel had no trouble looking shocked at this statement. She knew so little about Smith, but watching him hang from the wall of the hotel during the attack and then his instant grasp of the technology breach along with his access to a man with Marty’s talents left her with little doubt that he was capable of protecting himself. One only had to speak to the man for a few minutes to tell that his survival skills far surpassed those of most civilians. Whether or not he was truly on the right side of things was something that Wendel couldn’t know. All she had to rely on were her instincts and Russell’s confidence in him.

  “I’m sure he had nothing to do with that, sir.”

  “Just tell us what he said to you,” Harcourt’s voice was harsh.

  Wendel sank into the empty chair. Her mind raced with possible explanations for her conversation with Smith, but she decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. Russell had already coached her on what to say if Marty’s activities were discovered. She was to be forthcoming and lay it all on Russell.

  “Ms. Russell asked that I speak with him. She had concerns about the CIA.”

  Cromwell leaned forward. “What type of concerns?”

  Both men stared at her. Wendel hesitated. Even with Russell’s insistence on taking the blame, fingering Russell felt as though Wendel were throwing her under the bus. She swallowed again and then plunged on.

  “She thought there was a mole. On the inside. Feeding information to the outside.” Harcourt and Cromwell exchanged glances.

  “Did she say who?” Cromwell said.

  Wendel shook her head.

  Harcourt snorted. “Well, it’s her passcode that’s compromised. I’d say she’s the mole. And I don’t like that Smith is receiving information from her. He’s supposed to be an asset, not a confidant. What is she thinking?”

  Cromwell nodded. “So much for bringing in field officers. Clearly she’s gone rogue and he’s assisting her.” He stood. “We need to bring them both in.”

  “I suggest that we use the FBI for this one. Send out a bulletin. The New York City police are already looking to speak with him about the Landon Investments killing, but Russell managed to back them down.”

  Cromwell looked surprised. “She did? How?”

  Harcourt frowned. “I’m sorry to say that she asked me to call one of my contacts on the force and get him to sit on the Smith connection for a little while. Refocus their attention away from him. She said she needed Smith’s expertise to assist in the search for Dattar and the coolers.” Harcourt held out his hands, palms up, and a contrite look passed over his face. “I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

  Cromwell waved him off. “You acted appropriately. Nothing wrong with assisting another officer and Smith was her asset to manage. Call the FBI. Get them on it now. I want Russell found, and I want Smith dragged off the street.”

  “Unharmed?”

  Cromwell got a pensive look on his face. “Her, absolutely. Him? I’d like to bring him here and get some answers, but they should know that he’s armed and dangerous and if he puts up a fight then they should use their own judgment. If he responds with deadly force, they shouldn’t hesitate to do the same.” Wendel did her best not to gasp out loud. Harcourt reached over and shut off Russell’s computer.

  “I’ll be sure to have this office sealed and let the IT department track the hacker for a little longer before inactivating her passcode.” Cromwell walked to the open door.

  “Ms. Wendel, come with us. I’d like you to prepare a formal statement for inclusion in the file.” Cromwell stood at the door and indicated that she should precede him out. She gave one glance to the darkened computer and left.

  36

  MANHAR WATCHED DATTAR’S limousine pull into the gated drive of a house in Long Island. True to their word, Howell and Beckmann had let him go, and he had spent the first few hours holed up next to Khalil’s base camp. He’d been unable to decide what to do. To return home without having accomplished his goal meant death; that was certain. To admit failure to Khalil meant death by slow torture. He had huddled in a dark corner watching the half-finished building for any signs of his boss, and it was then that he saw Khalil’s limo pull up. He’d seen them push the woman into the construction site and later watched Smith stroll down the street and disappear inside. It was to his great dismay that he saw Khalil run away. He’d hoped that Smith would kill him.

  He’d kept his ear to the ground during the entire mission and had heard a rumor that Dattar was flying into the States to stay at the home of a Pakistani nationalist who lived in Long Island. To the neighbors, this man was a Turkish import-export entrepreneur, but he was actually an arms trader. The rumor was that Dattar was renting the house for his own use.

  Now Manhar stepped out of the bushes and ran behind the car in an awkward, limping motion due to his injured knee, and slid into the compound before the gates closed completely. The driveway was not long, perhaps fifty feet. He walked slowly toward the house, trying to stay calm as Dattar’s bodyguards climbed out from inside the limousine. Dattar himself stepped out next. Both he and the three bodyguards pulled weapons and trained them on him. He put his hands in the air.

  “I’m unarmed. I just come to give you a proposition, Mr. Dattar, on how to recoup your stolen money.”

  Dattar looked Manhar up and down. “Who are you?”

  “Manhar. Khalil’s man. He plans on double-crossing you, and I thought you should know.”

  Manhar was pleased to see the two bodyguards exchange a glance. Dattar raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. It was clear that Manhar had his attention.

  “Why should I believe you?” Dattar said.

  “I also know that he managed to let Howell slip out of his hands, and Smith nearly killed him one day ago. Smith did kill his first lieutenant.”

  “And?”

  “And I know where you can find Khalil. I know all of his safe houses. I’ll give you the information.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “Safe passage home.”

  Dattar shook his head. “Not enough. Leaving me with an address gets me nowhere, as I still have to get Khalil. And that will not be easy. You want to go home? You’ll have to assist me in catching him.”

  Manhar didn’t like this development at all. He would rather never see Khalil again. Dattar must have noted Manhar’s hesitation because he frowned.

  “You’re either in all the way or out. Make a choice. Now.” Manhar’s choices had been taken from him the minute he’d screwed up on killing Howell, this much he knew. He sighed.

  “I’m in. Tell me what it is you want me to do.”

  Dattar waved him forward. “In the house. We’ll lay it out for you.”

  Manhar followed Dattar into the spacious home and through the main entrance to a kitchen filled with dark wood cabinets, granite countertops, and a large central island. Manhar had never seen such a kitchen. It was all he could do not to stare, his mouth open. He did his best to act nonchalant and took a seat at the table while Dattar reached into the refrigerator and removed a bottle of water. Dattar poured himself a glass, but offered nothing to Manhar.

  A second, thin man entered the room and flicked a glance Manhar’s way. Dattar jerked a chin at him. “That’s Rajiid.” A third man appeared and placed a laptop computer on the island. He stared at the screen. “And that’s Nihal. My lead strategists. You will listen to them. This one,” he waved the glass in Manhar’s direction, “wishes to bring us to Khalil. He says Khalil is intent on taking my money from the American and pocketing it himself.”

  Rajiid frowned. “Is Smith dead? Khalil was to have killed him days ago. He said it would be easy.”

  Manhar shook his head. “Not only is Smith alive, but it was he who nearly killed Khalil.”

  “And the American?”

  “She’s with Smith.”

  Dattar stopped drinking in what looked to Manhar like mid-swallow. He put the glass down.

  “Smith has her? How di
d he know about her?”

  Manhar shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Dattar started to pace.

  “How he knows of her is unimportant,” Rajiid said. “What is important—”

  “What is important is that she lives long enough to tell me where the money is!” Dattar’s voice carried an intensity that made Manhar sit up straighter. Rajiid inhaled.

  “What is important is that we can still go forward with the plan,” Rajiid said. “After we do, you’ll have all the money and power you need.”

  Dattar leveled a stare at Rajiid. “No one steals from me and gets away with it. Especially not hundreds of millions whisked away while I rotted in jail.”

  “She won’t die immediately. We can begin and still have enough time to find her.”

  “And who will stay when the weapon is placed, huh? I won’t be coming back here to die from my own weapon, will you?”

  Rajiid shifted in his seat.

  “I thought not,” Dattar said. “This is why I wanted Smith dead and her captured before we began, remember? I hired the best in the business to kill him, and now I’m told that Smith not only lives, but he survived an attack.”

  “But—”

  Nihal barked a laugh. It was such a strange reaction that Manhar stared at him. Both Rajiid and Dattar looked at Nihal as well, and the fury on Dattar’s face was evident.

  “I think our troubles are over,” Nihal said. He sat back, a smirk on his face. “I have an e-mail from the American. She wants to cut a deal.”

  37

  SMITH WALKED WITH NOLAN down the street in front of the apartment and crossed Broadway. Despite the early hour, they had passed bodegas with men sitting on flimsy wooden crates drinking from bottles kept in paper bags. They continued east of Broadway and to Smith it seemed like they’d entered an entirely different neighborhood. Instead of neat but dated buildings, they saw trash strewn across the sidewalks and collected against the curb. Closed storefronts were covered by protective grates secured with padlocks. A currency exchange on the corner offered legal services upstairs that advertised divorces for $500.