The Forgotten Soldier: A Pike Logan Thriller (34 page)

67

G
uy watched the three men from the vehicle walk up the stairs to the museum, losing them from sight as they passed behind a thatch of landscaping at an outdoor café. He waited an additional ten minutes, then slipped out of his car. He hugged the stone wall, walking in front of the vehicles parked nose-in to the museum lot, using the granite as cover to stay out of sight of anyone coming down the stairs.

He glanced around as he moved, casually surveying his surroundings. He saw packs of families taking the walkway from the museum to the ruins proper, but no one in the lot. He reached the front of the Audi and slipped his hand into his pocket. He pressed the key, seeing the locks pop up.

His casual demeanor shifted as he rounded the car. He ducked low, moving swiftly, scuttling like a crab. He opened the door, sliding into the seat, his head below the dash, staring at the indicator above the console. He saw the “passenger air bag off” light flick out.

Sensor working.

He slid into the footwell, wanting to spend no more than three seconds arming his system. He rotated his head to the left and slid his hand under the seat, feeling for the loose lead. He found it and threaded it into the plastic slip-lock, snapping it closed and completing the circuit. He pressed the button on the capacitor and saw a light flash green.

The trap was set.

He rolled upright and caught movement in the side mirror. A two-car convoy pulled up behind his vehicle and stopped. He slid back into the footwell, cramped with the door barely open, carefully avoiding the seat and its pressure sensor. The cars remained still. He crawled across the center console as if he was playing a game of Twister, pulling the passenger door closed behind him. He slid into the driver’s seat, focusing on the mirror.

A small entourage arrived from the steps of the museum, walking to the vehicle. Four men spilled out, wearing black suits and sunglasses.

Protection. What the hell?

A man with a sizable gut and a thick double chin exited, and Guy recognized him.
Secretary Billings? Here? Right now?

He couldn’t believe his luck. What on earth had the gods put in his coffee to cause him to attempt a trap at the exact moment the US secretary of state paid an official visit to the Delphi ruins? He slid lower in the seat, positive that he wouldn’t be recognized by Billings, but also knowing the personal security detail would be watching every single twig blown by a breeze. No way could he exit now.

Then his world shrank even further.

While Billings was glad-handing the museum people, another person exited. A woman. Guy focused on her, and felt an electric jolt.

Carly?

From his hunched-over position, he couldn’t be sure. He slid his hand up to the controls for the mirror and began manipulating, trying to confirm.

It was her. And she would most definitely recognize him.

What the fuck is she doing here?

He crouched down, waiting on the PSD to move, feeling the seconds tick by, wondering if his targets would return to the car and find him in it. It was the most excruciating two minutes of his life.
Eventually, the entourage walked away, the Greeks looking like a school of fish circling a sinking piece of bread, all of the members fawning over the secretary of state, he in the middle and Carly off to the right flank. They went up the steps to the museum, and the two-car convoy looped around, parking about fifty meters away in a roped-off section Guy had missed before.

He slid out of the target vehicle and locked it, walking toward his own car as if he belonged, opening the door and taking his seat. He watched the entourage disappear and wondered what was going on.

68

C
arly walked up the slabs of stone in the path that wound across the mountain, climbing steadily higher, looping back and forth, the switchbacks seemingly endless, the stadium on top their ultimate goal. She was invigorated by the ruins, having had little time to sightsee since she’d come onboard with the Greek station, spending most of her days in the seedy underbelly of Athens.

The view to the south was incredible, the mountains falling away and looking remarkably like the Blue Ridge chain on the Appalachian Trail, with even some low fog to complete the image. The problems with Guy and her ongoing work had initially caused aggravation at being tasked to set up a professional meeting for Billings, but now she was glad for the mission, enjoying her short day trip.

She couldn’t say the same about her charge.

Billings was huffing like a bull in a matador contest, putting his hands on his knees at every step and pressing down as if his arms could help his legs continue, the security detail and his personal assistant walking robotically around him.

She said, “You want to take a break, sir?”

Sweat rolling down his jowls, Billings just glared at her, saving his breath for the climb. They paused at four separate points, letting the chosen tour guide spout a monologue on the various relics and structures scattered about and giving the secretary a brief respite.
Eventually, they rounded the bend leading to the stadium at the top, the crumbling structure running over a hundred meters, amazing Carly at the ability of ancient man to construct it on top of a mountain, all for panhellenic foot races lost to history.

The tour guide started her spiel, and Carly faded to the back, outside the ring of security, watching. She saw her contact standing next to a placard describing the grounds, at the head of the stadium fifty meters away. A man named Haider al-Attiya, dressed exactly like the men in Billings’s security detail.

When she’d initially been tasked the responsibility for setting up the meeting, she’d analyzed it using standard operational procedures for a personal source meet, and found one glaring problem—the overt movements of the secretary of state.

She’d debriefed Billings, keeping her thoughts to herself on his amateur attempts to slip his security earlier, endangering not only himself, but the source as well. She’d gone over his itinerary and designed a plan to incorporate the source meet under the noses of the ubiquitous Greek government officials greeting him at every turn. A way for them to ensure the final meet location was hidden, yet still blend it with Secretary Billings’s schedule.

She broke from the pack, moving toward Haider, and felt her phone vibrate. She glanced at the screen, recognizing the number for Pike Logan, and shunted it to voice mail. Now was not the time to discuss anything about Guy.

—

Having waited more than an hour, Guy was growing impatient. Whatever the Arabs were doing, it was taking forever, and the secretary of state’s arrival was complicating his plan. After successfully returning to his car, he’d kept a wary eye on the two drivers of the convoy, but both simply leaned against their car doors behind the ropes fifty meters away, clearly bored. They were far enough out that
his improvised explosive device would cause no harm, but he was worried nonetheless. With his luck, they’d pull the convoy up behind the Audi, and the secretary of state would walk by the passenger door the moment Haider sat down.

He was feeling the lack of sleep, knowing his judgment was slipping and urgently wanting to get to the endgame. Kill the targets and let him rest for a week.

He thought about the key in his hotel room. The one for the safe-deposit box. The one that would allow further exploitation of the operational cell from Qatar. And it was a cell, of that he was sure. He knew his actions would short-circuit their immediate plans, but there was probably a trove of threads inside that box, waiting to be pulled.

He couldn’t do it alone, though. After this, he’d give himself up. Hand over the key and take the punishment, hoping that the exploitation by the Taskforce would vindicate him. Even if it didn’t, he had no energy to continue. No fire left after the mission today. He wanted back into the land of the good, even if it meant living behind bars.

He began to run through his head how he’d get in touch with Pike, and the actions he’d take to turn himself in. Maybe he could go through Carly. Surely, she could work a contact through the station. Maybe get her to send a back-channel message to the director himself. He was on the Oversight Council, and from what Pike said, they were all in a panic about his actions.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him. He pulled it out, and saw it was Carly.

What the hell?

69

C
arly walked over to Haider, pretending to look at the placard. Even though she recognized him, she continued with her bona fides to give him confidence.

“They have this placard in every language but Arabic.”

He replied, “No matter. I speak English.”

She stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Carly. I’ll be handling the meeting.”

He shook it and said, “I don’t know why we’re doing all of this . . . as you would say . . . cloak-and-dagger.”

“Just a protection. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. The guide will lead the group down here soon for the tour. After, when we start back down the mountain, you blend in with the security. Don’t try to act like you know what you’re doing, just walk on the perimeter down to our vehicles. When the crowd breaks up, stay with us. You’ll load into the secretary’s car and we’ll drive to that quaint tourist town on the way back to Athens. You have a car and driver as instructed, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Have them follow. We’ll stop in the town for lunch, you can talk to the secretary, and when we leave, you stay behind. Is that clear?”

“Yes. It’s clear.”

Carly smiled and said, “Sounds complicated, but it’s just a precaution. Here they come.”

The group approached, Haider and Carly relinquishing their position next to the placard and fading to the back. The tour guide began talking again, with Secretary Billings theatrically raising his eyebrows her way. She nodded slightly, exasperated in him, wanting to say,
You do realize everyone’s looking at you, right?

Eventually, the guide wound down, the tour was over, and they began the march back to the bottom, moving more swiftly now that it was downhill and there were no more programmed stops.

—

Guy stared at the screen of his phone.
She must have seen me.
He considered not answering, but knew, if she were calling, it was to keep him in the shadows. She could have just walked right up to him if she wanted. And still might.

He answered, confused again when a man’s voice came on.

“Guy? Is that you?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Pike. Pike Logan.”

The words sent him spinning, trying to find an anchor as to what was happening. How did he have Carly’s phone?

Before he could speak, Pike said, “Sorry for the subterfuge. I had to make sure you’d answer. I had the office spoof the number.”—“Office” meaning “Taskforce,” Pike speaking around the issue on an open line.—“Look, I know you’re on the hunt, and I know where you are. I’m about ten minutes out, and I need you to back off.”

Guy looked at his watch, factoring the time. He said, “I told you on the ferry, I can’t do that. I’m almost complete here.”

“Guy, the office has agreed to let us explore. The man you’re trying to buy is not a final yet. Do you hear me? Get back on the team. If it pans out, it pans out, but we don’t decide that. We bring the evidence, and the office decides.”

So they gave Pike Alpha authority.
The words held a weight, Pike
telling him in code that he wanted Guy to join him in the exploration of evidence, but that it wasn’t up to them to decide on taking out a target. It was up to the Oversight Council. The ones who had refused before.
What if this was nothing but a ploy?

He wanted to believe. Desperately wanted to cross back over, but his brother was still in the balance. He said, “Pike, I hear you. I’m willing to talk. There’s a key in my hotel room to a safe-deposit box in Athens. I did the research and located it, but I can’t get in by myself. It’s the future of this thread. The past is the past.”

He heard relief in Pike’s voice. “So you’re standing down?”

“No. I’m sorry. That man is part of the past.”

Guy saw the entourage of the US secretary of state, the personal security detail, and the gaggle of Greek authorities, all coming down the stairs. He saw Carly in the back, walking next to a security man.

Only it wasn’t.

What the hell?

Pike’s voice became dark. “The man you’re looking at is
working
with the office. You need to stand down, now.”

So that’s what’s going on. Duplicitous bastards.

“Pike, I don’t work for them anymore, and I can’t believe you’d use a lie to get me to stop. That fucker is gone, just like my brother.”