Authors: Robert Ludlum
“That’s really underground,” said Weingrass, nodding, impressed.
“It has to be. Evan’s got to disappear while stories are planted that he was seen in Hawaii and is supposedly holed up at an estate on Maui. Graphics is working up some photos showing him over there and they’ll hit the newspapers.”
“Mitchell’s imagination is improving.”
“There’s none better, Manny.”
“Maybe he should run the Agency.”
“No, he hates administrative work and he’s a terrible politician. If he doesn’t like someone or something, everybody knows it. He’s better off where he is.”
The sound of the front door opening and closing had an immediate effect on Weingrass. “
Oy!
” he cried, shoving his cigarette into the startled Khalehla’s mouth and blowing away the smoke above him, waving his hands to move the incriminating evidence toward Rashad. “Naughty
shiksa
!” he whispered. “Smoking in my presence!”
“
Impossible
,” said Khalehla softly, removing the cigarette and crushing it in an ashtray as Kendrick walked through the living room and onto the porch.
“She’d
never
smoke that close to you,” admonished Evan, dressed in a blue sweat suit, perspiration rolling down his face.
“Now you’ve got the ears of a Doberman?”
“And you’ve got the brains of a hooked snapper.”
“Very smart fish.”
“Sorry,” said Rashad calmly. “He can be terribly demanding.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What did I just say?” shouted Weingrass. “He says that all the time. It’s the sign of a highly developed, misplaced superiority complex and very irritating to really superior intellects.… Have a good workout, dummy?”
Kendrick smiled and walked to the bar, where there was a pitcher of orange juice. “I’m up to thirty minutes, heavy pace,” he answered, pouring himself a glass of juice.
“That’s very nice if you’re a cowboy’s quarter horse on a roundup.”
“He says things like that all the time,” protested Kendrick. “It’s aggravating.”
“Tell me about it,” Khalehla replied, drinking her coffee.
“Any calls?” asked Evan.
“It’s barely past seven, darling.”
“Not in Zurich. It’s past one in the afternoon over there. I was talking to them before I went out.”
“Talking to whom?” asked Rashad.
“Mainly to the director of the Gemeinschaft Bank. Mitch scared his bladder dry with the information we have and he’s trying to cooperate.… Wait a minute. Did anyone check the telex in the study?”
“No, but I heard the damn thing clacking away about twenty minutes ago,” said Weingrass.
Kendrick put down his glass and walked rapidly out of the porch and across the living room to a door beyond the stone hallway. Khalehla and Manny watched him, then looked at each and shrugged. Within moments the Congressman returned, gripping a telex sheet in his hand, his expression conveying his excitement. “They
did
it!” he exclaimed.
“Who did what?” asked Weingrass.
“The bank. You remember the fifty-million line of credit Grinell and his consortium of thieves in California set up for my buy-out?”
“My
God
,” exclaimed Khalehla. “They couldn’t have left it
standing
!”
“Of course not. It was canceled the moment Grinell got off the island.”
“
So?
” said Manny.
“In this age of complicated telecommunications, computer errors crop up now and then and a beaut was just made. There’s no record of the cancellation having been received. The credit’s
on;
only, it’s been transferred to a sister bank in Bern with a new, coded account number. It’s all there.”
“They’ll never pay!” Weingrass was emphatic.
“It’ll be charged against their reserves, which are ten times fifty million.”
“They’ll
fight
it, Evan,” insisted Khalehla, as emphatic as the old man.
“And parade themselves in the Swiss courts? Somehow I doubt it.”
The Cobra helicopter without markings stuttered across the desert at an altitude of less than five hundred feet. Evan and Khalehla, exhausted from nearly twenty-six hours in the air and racing to covert connections on the ground, sat next to each other, Rashad’s head on Kendrick’s shoulder, his own slumped down into his chest; both were asleep. A man in belted khaki
coveralls with no insignia walked out of the flight deck and down the fuselage. He shook Evan’s arm in the dim light.
“We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, sir.”
“Oh?” Kendrick snapped up his head, blinking his eyes and opening them wide to rid them of sleep. “Thanks. I’ll wake my friend here; they always do things before arriving anywhere, don’t they?”
“Not this ‘they,’ ” said Khalehla out loud without moving. “I sleep to the very last minute.”
“Well, forgive me, but I don’t. I can’t. Necessity calls.”
“Men,” remarked the agent from Cairo, removing her head from his shoulder and shifting to the other side of the seat and into the bulkhead. “No control,” she added, her eyes still closed.
“We’ll keep you posted,” said the Air Force flight officer, laughing quietly and returning to the deck.
Sixteen minutes passed and the pilot spoke over the intercom. “Flare spotted directly ahead. Buckle up for touchdown, please.” The helicopter decelerated and hovered over the ground, where the headlights of two automobiles facing each other had replaced the flare. Slowly, the chopper was lowered into its threshold. “Depart the aircraft as quickly as possible, please,” continued the pilot. “We have to get out of here
fast
, if you catch my drift.”
No sooner had they stepped down the metal ladder to the ground than the Cobra, its rotors thundering, rose in the night sky; it turned, stuttering in the desert moonlight, kicking up what sand there was, and headed north, accelerating rapidly, the noise receding in the darkness above. Walking into the beams of a car’s headlights was the young sultan of Oman. He was in slacks, an open white shirt replacing the New England Patriots jersey he had worn that first night he had met with Evan in the desert sixteen months ago.
“Let me talk first, okay?” he said as Kendrick and Rashad approached.
“Okay,” replied Kendrick.
“First reactions can be not too smart, agreed?”
“Agreed,” agreed Evan.
“But I’m supposed to be smart, right?”
“Right.”
“Still, consistency is the product of small minds, isn’t that so?”
“Within reasonable boundaries.”
“Don’t qualify.”
“Don’t you play lawyer. The only bar you ever passed was with Manny in Los Angeles.”
“Why, that hypocritical Israeli nut—”
“At least you didn’t say Jew.”
“I wouldn’t. I don’t like the sound of it any more than I like the sound of ‘dirty Arab.’ … Anyway, Manny and I didn’t pass too many bars in L.A. that we didn’t go into.”
“What’s your point, Ahmat?”
The young ruler breathed deeply and spoke quickly. “I know the whole story now and I feel like a damned idiot.”
“The
whole
story?”
“Everything. That Inver Brass crowd, Bollinger’s munitions bandits, that bastard Hamendi, who my royal Saudi brothers in Riyadh should have executed the moment they caught him … the whole ball of wax. And I should have known you wouldn’t do what I thought you did. ‘Commando Kendrick’ versus the rotten Arab isn’t you, it never
was
you.… I’m sorry, Evan.” Ahmat walked forward and embraced the congressman from Colorado’s Ninth District.
“You’re going to make me cry,” said Khalehla, smiling at the sight in front of her.
“
You
, you Cairo tigress!” cried the sultan, releasing Kendrick and taking Rashad in his arms. “We had a girl, you know. Half American, half Omani. Sound familiar?”
“I know. I wasn’t permitted to contact you—”
“We understood.”
“But I was so touched. Her name’s Khalehla.”
“If it weren’t for you, Khalehla One, there’d be no Khalehla Two.… Come on, let’s go.” As they started for Ahmat’s limousine the sultan turned to Evan. “You look pretty fit for a guy who’s been through so much.”
“I heal rapidly for an old man,” said Kendrick. “Tell me something, Ahmat. Who told you the whole story, the whole ‘ball of wax’?”
“A man named Payton, Mitchell Payton, CIA. Your President Jennings phoned me and said I was to expect a call from this Payton and would I please accept it, it was urgent. Hey, that Jennings is one charming character, isn’t he?… Although I’m not sure he knew everything that Payton told me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know, it was just a feeling.” The young sultan stood by the car door and looked at Evan. “If you can pull this off,
my friend, you’ll do more for the Middle East and us on the Gulf than all the diplomats in ten United Nations.”
“We’re going to pull it off. But only with your help.”
“You’ve got it.”
Ben-Ami and code Blue walked down the narrow street into the Al Kabir bazaar looking for the outdoor café that served evening coffee. They were dressed in neat dark business suits, as befitted their Bahrainian visas, which stated that they were executives with the Bank of England in Manamah. They saw the sidewalk café, threaded their way through the crowds and the stalls, and sat at the empty table nearest the street as instructed. Three minutes later a tall man in white robes and Arab headdress joined them.
“Have you ordered coffee?” asked Kendrick.
“Nobody’s come around,” replied Ben-Ami. “It’s a busy night. How are you, Congressman?”
“Let’s try ‘Evan,’ or better yet, ‘Amal.’ I’m here, which in a way answers your question.”
“And Weingrass?”
“Not very well, I’m afraid.… Hello, Blue?”
“Hello,” said the young man, staring at Kendrick.
“You look very businesslike, very unmilitary in those clothes. I’m not sure I’d recognize you if I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“I’m not military any longer. I had to leave the Brigade.”
“It’ll miss you.”
“I miss it, but my wounds didn’t heal properly—various tendons, they tell me. Azra was a good fighter, a good commando.”
“Still the hatred?”
“There’s no hatred in my voice. Anger, of course, over many things, but not hatred for the man I had to kill.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I work for the government.”
“He works for us,” interrupted Ben-Ami. “For the Mossad.”
“Speaking of which, Ahmat apologizes for not having you to the palace—”
“Is he
crazy
? All he needs is members of the Mossad in his house. It wouldn’t do us much good if anyone found out, either.”
“How much did Manny tell you?”
“With his big mouth, what didn’t he tell me? He also called
after you left the States with more information that Blue was able to use.”
“How, Blue?… Incidentally, do you have another name?”
“With respect, sir, not for an American. In consideration of us both.”
“All right, I accept that. What did Weingrass say that you could use, and how?”
The young man leaned over the table; all their heads were closer. “He gave us the figure of fifty million—”
“A
brilliant
manipulation!” broke in Ben-Ami. “And I don’t believe for a minute that it was Manny’s idea.”
“What …? Well, it could have been. Actually, the bank had no choice. Washington leaned hard on it. What about the fifty million?”
“South Yemen,” answered Blue.
“I don’t understand.”
“Fifty million is a very large amount,” said the former leader of the Masada Brigade, “but there are larger amounts, especially in the cumulative sense. Iran, Iraq, et cetera. So we must match the people with purse. Therefore, South Yemen. It is terrorist and poor, but its distant, almost inaccessible location, sandwiched between the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea, makes it strategically important to other terrorist organizations supported by far wealthier sources. They constantly seek out land, secret training grounds to develop their forces and spread their poison. The Baaka is constantly infiltrated, and no one cares to deal with Qaddafi. He’s mad and can’t be trusted and any week may be overthrown.”
“I should tell you,” interrupted Ben-Ami again,” “that Blue has emerged as one of our more knowledgeable experts on counterterrorism.”
“I’m beginning to see that. Go on, young man.”
“You are not so much older than me.”
“Try twenty years, or close to it. Go ahead.”
“Your idea, as I understand it, is to have air shipments of munitions from Hamendi’s suppliers all over Europe and America pass through Masqat, where supposedly corrupted officials close their eyes and let them fly on to Lebanon and the Baaka Valley. Correct?”
“Yes, and as each cargo plane comes in the damage is done by the sultan’s guards posing as Palestinians checking the supplies for which they’ve paid Hamendi while the crews are in quarantine. Each plane holds, say, sixty to seventy crates, which
will be pried open by teams of ten men per plane and saturated with corroding acid. The process won’t take more than fifteen to twenty minutes an aircraft; the timing’s acceptable and we’re in total control. The Masqat garrison will cordon off the area and no one but our people will be allowed inside.”
“Commendable,” said Blue, “but I suggest that the process would also be too rushed and too risk-prone. Pilots object to leaving their planes in this part of the world, and the crews, by and large hoodlums with strong backs and no minds, will cause trouble when pushed around by strangers; they smell officialdom, believe me.… Instead, why not convince the most prominent leaders in the Baaka Valley to go to South Yemen with their veteran troops. Call it a new provisional movement financed by the enemies of Israel, of which there are quite a few around. Tell them there is an initial fifty million in arms and equipment for advanced training as well as for sending their assault forces up to Gaza and the Golan Heights—more to be supplied as needed. It will be irresistible to those maniacs.… And instead of many air-cargo shipments, one
ship
, loaded out of Bahrain, rounding the Gulf here, and proceeding south along the coast on its way to the port of Nishtun in South Yemen.”