The Machiavelli Covenant (46 page)

If they were not legitimate CIA, or if they were part of some special covert branch of it, or even some special operations military force working at the order of the
vice president and the others, his task would not be just difficult, it would be about as suicidal as you could get.

Whoever they were, his plan had to be simple, and it was: watch them land, follow them to their destination, then wait and watch. It was when they brought the president out and neared the helicopter his work would begin. With the Audi positioned nearby, his move would have to be ultrafast and utterly decisive. Under other circumstances a specific protocol would be in place. He would call a trusted CIA supervisor and say he needed the name of the POC (point of contact) on this operation. Getting it, he would call out the man's name, flash his Secret Service credentials and say he was the special agent in charge and was taking custody of POTUS himself.

But this was not "other circumstances." He was the last man between the president and his life or death. He would have only one move and that would come in the final seconds, when he stepped from the crowd, held up his Secret Service credentials and yelled who he was, telling the ops forcefully there was just-received information of an imminent threat to their operation and that he was relieving them of their mission. Then he would take POTUS into custody and head for the Audi. All the while hoping to hell the president would read the play as fast as it happened, trust him, and order the ops aside. Surprise, timing, execution, and sheer luck would be everything. The margin for error was zero.

The sudden chirp of his cell phone broke his train of thought. He picked it off his belt and looked at the originating number. It was Bill Strait. It meant the Secret Service helo in Barcelona was readying for a wheels-up
to Montserrat, and Strait was wondering where the hell he was.

Suddenly it occurred to him that Strait had told him the CIA helo would have wheels down at Monsterrat at 1515, while the Secret Service helo wouldn't be ready for wheels-up in Barcelona for the trip to Montserrat until 1520. He hadn't thought about it at the time but why that long a delay? Did someone want to make certain the CIA got to the monastery before the Secret Service did? If so, who had arranged it? Someone at the embassy in Madrid or Bill Strait?

"Roger, Bill," Hap said as he clicked on.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Why did it take us so long to get the helo ready?"

"They were out at Barcelona Airport refueling. They'd just touched down when I alerted them. Why?"

"You alerted them, not the chief of staff?"

"Yes, me. Hap, for chrissake we're ready to go. Where are you?"

"Go without me."

"What?"

"I'm tied up on something else. I'll check in later. Go without me. That's an order."

With that Hap clicked off. "Damn it," he breathed. Was the refueling just bad timing or something else? Could he trust his deputy or couldn't he?

•
3:15 P.M.

A thundering, thudding roar was followed by a storm of flying dust and debris as the helicopter touched down on the helipad exactly on schedule. Immediately the pilot cut the engines, the doors opened and four men in
dark glasses and wearing suit coats climbed out. They ducked the still-churning rotor blades and moved off fast toward the steps leading to the basilica.

"Here we go," Hap Daniels said to himself, "here we go."

•
3:22 P.M.

The ops moved quickly through the crowd in front of the basilica, then, like a wave, turned down a walkway and disappeared from sight.

Hap dodged around a group of schoolchildren walking in line toward the basilica, trying to keep up. A moment later he was on the walkway the ops had taken. Tourists were everywhere. He swore under his breath and kept moving, his eyes searching the walkway ahead, afraid he had lingered too far behind. Ten paces more and saw them turn down another walkway. He pushed around two chattering women and followed, his eyes on the apparent leader. He was thirty at most and very fit with dark, short-cropped hair and a particularly broad nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. Just then they reached a convergence of walkways and Broad Nose stopped to get his bearings. In seconds he'd made a decision and led the ops down another walkway, one with red and white votive candles lining its far wall.

Hap stayed back as much as he dared, following as they took another turn and then another, then disappeared around a corner. Eight seconds later he rounded the
same corner and pulled up. They had stopped at a heavy wooden door set into a stone archway. Broad Nose slid open a wood panel next to it, revealing an electronic keypad. Hap saw him punch in four numbers, then slide the panel closed and turn the iron knob on the door. It opened and they entered quickly, shutting the door behind them.

•
3:26 P.M.

Where they were going inside, or how long it would take them to find the president, Hap couldn't know. He wished to hell he had Bill Strait and the rest of his Secret Service team there; wished too that he could have contacted one of the CIA supervisors so he could know just who these ops were. Even then he would have been unsure if he could trust either of them. It was a situation he hated but there it was. Suddenly it occurred to him that the ops might bring the president out another exit, one somewhere else in the complex. It made him think that his best plan would be to go back and position himself near the helipad, make his move as they rushed the president toward the helicopter.

He was turning, starting to head back, when he saw a familiar figure suddenly step from the shadows on the far side of the walkway and go up to the door. He stopped abruptly and watched the man slide the panel open and punch four numbers into the keypad as if he knew the code perfectly. Immediately afterward he slid the panel closed and reached for the doorknob.

"What the hell?" Hap breathed. The man was the motorcycle rider. Clearly he wasn't an op or anything like it, more like a messenger sent to pick something up. If the ops did bring the president out this way and at the same
time his motorcycle man went in, anything could happen, and the president would be directly in harm's way.

Hap moved just as the man pushed the door open. A heartbeat later he shoved a 9mm Sig Sauer automatic pistol behind the man's ear.

"Freeze, right there!"

A gasp went out of him and he stopped right where he was. In a split second Hap pulled him from the doorway and shoved him back into the shadows where he'd been hiding.

"Who the hell are you?" Miguel Balius stared him in the eye.

•
3:32 P.M.

It's not who I am," Hap breathed, "it's who you are, where the hell you were going."

"I'm supposed to meet my cousins," Miguel said carefully, all too aware that this was the man whose parking space he had stolen.

"Cousins?"

"Take it easy. It was only a parking space."

"What's in there?" Hap nodded toward the door to Foxx's office.

"I don't know."

"You're going inside to meet your cousins but you don't know what's there."

"I've never been here before."

"No?"

"No," Miguel held his ground.

Hap glanced back at the open door. So far nothing had happened, at least from what he could tell from there. He looked back to Miguel. "I've never been here before either. Let's find out what's there together."

•
3:34 P.M.

They came through the door slowly and into dim light. Miguel first as a shield, with Hap's Sig Sauer tight against his ear. There was one large room with tall chairs along one wall, a massive bookcase against the other, and a large wooden desk at the end of it. Just beyond it, and to the right, a closed ornate wooden door was set into an arched nave. That was all, no ops, no sign of them, only silence.

"Where does that door go?"

"I told you before, I don't know."

"Suppose we find out," Hap started him down the room toward the door.

"Who are you?" Miguel asked carefully as they went. Clearly the issue was not about the parking space, that had been a coincidence. This man was a professional, an American. But who was he working for? Foxx? The four men he had seen enter? Or was he one of the pursuers the "cousins" were avoiding? Or was he doing something else entirely?

Hap didn't answer, instead he pulled his eyes from the door they were approaching to glance behind them. It was an instant Miguel might have used to throw him to the floor and run. But he hadn't come here to run away, even under this circumstance. He was here for his "cousins." He'd been waiting at the bottom of the hill for
more than three hours without a word from them and anxiety had roiled in his gut. He was certain the reason he hadn't heard was because they were in trouble. It was why he had abandoned the limousine and borrowed the motorcycle from an uncle who lived in the nearby town of El Borràs, then raced it up to the monastery as he had and into the parking space ahead of this American. Why he had gone to the restaurant and learned from the head-waiter that the men he described as his "cousins" had met with Merriman Foxx in the private dining room and that afterward the three had left together, going in the direction of the office Foxx was known to keep there. He was in that office now because of his "cousins." Whoever this man here was, gun or no gun, he would be damned if he was going to let him harm either of them.

"Hold it," Hap suddenly stopped them where they were and listened. There was nothing, not a sound. Something was wrong. Four special ops guys had come in. The only exit other than the front was that far door, and they had to have gone through it. If they had the president and were coming back out that same way, at least one of them should have been posted at it.

It was then Hap realized he'd made an awful mistake. The ops did have another way out and were taking it. "Christ!" he said, twisting away from Miguel, starting for the front door. In that same second a dull reverberation shook the entire building as if it were an earthquake. Hap and Miguel were knocked to the floor. An avalanche of books thundered from the massive bookcase. Choking dust and debris rained down from the ceiling.

Hap was up in an instant, unsure what had happened, trying to regain control, his 9mm Sig Sauer swinging toward Miguel.

"No! No! Don't!" Miguel yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

Just then the door at the far end of the room wrenched open and the ops came through it on the run. Broad Nose first, a second op with buzz-cut red hair and jack-etless was right behind him. Both had machine pistols in their hands. On their heels came the last two ops. They had a man by the arms between them, his feet dragging on the floor. Red Hair's missing jacket was thrown over his head to keep him from being recognized.

"Special Agent Daniels, United States Secret Service!" Hap yelled, his Secret Service ID held high in his left hand, the 9mm Sig Sauer lowered to his right side. "You're relieved of mission. I'm taking the president into custody."

"No can do," Broad Nose said with no emotion at all.

"Repeat. You are relieved of the mission," Hap showed the Sig Sauer. "Don't make it hard."

"Won't." Broad Nose and Red Hair swung their machine pistols at the same time. Hap twisted away, hitting the floor as a barrage of gunfire chewed up the wall where he had been. The other ops rushed for the door. Miguel lunged for his jacket-covered "cousin" as they went past.

Surprised by Miguel's sudden move, the ops twisted away. As they did the jacket came off and their charge was clearly seen, his body limp, his head slumped over. It wasn't the president. It was Merriman Foxx.

Now Broad Nose was at the door. "Get him out!" he shouted at the ops, then squeezed off a burst at Miguel as he dove behind the wooden desk. At the same time Red Hair swung his machine pistol at Hap. It was too late, Hap was firing from the floor.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Hap could see his slugs explode Red Hair's right arm. The gunman screamed, and Broad Nose dragged him through the front door, squeezing off a burst at Hap as he did. The others followed in a rush, throwing the jacket awkwardly back over Foxx's head, dragging him with them. As they went out Broad Nose stepped back into the doorway and sprayed the room with a final burst, making sure the men inside weren't coming after them.

Hap was on the floor but didn't know why. He had a vague memory of the motorcycle man bending over him, checking his carotid artery and shoving a handkerchief or some kind of material up under his shirt, pressing it tight against his left shoulder. Then he'd turned abruptly and left. After that things started to fade and he nearly blacked out, or maybe he had blacked out. What brought him back was the sound of emergency sirens outside and the ringing of his cell phone, which he could see clearly lying on the floor nearby alongside the Sig Sauer automatic. Slowly he moved to touch the Steyr TMP machine pistol dropped down from a sling over his shoulder that had been there all along but that he'd never had the chance to use. It was then the motorcycle man came back.

"Come on," he said, "your left shoulder, you took a bullet, maybe two. The police and fire brigade are coming. Get your feet under you."