The Washington Stratagem (25 page)

“That’s about the sum of it. He is very good.”

“Evidently. I have Jones’s telephone. It was encrypted, but a friend of mine managed to get in.”

“And?”

Yael moved closer to Braithwaite and spoke in a low whisper for some time. By the time she had finished, the Englishman’s face was no longer ruddy. He had turned pale.

Two hundred and fifty miles to the south, in a field in West Virginia, Clarence Clairborne stood to one side and watched Menachem Stein raise his shotgun to his shoulder. He pointed it to the sky, swiveled on the ball of his right foot, and swiftly pulled the trigger twice. The shots thundered across the field and the duck flew sideways. It tried in vain to correct itself, hung suspended in midair for a second, then nose-dived.

Stein cracked back the barrel as the vizsla sprinted across the field to his kill. The two empty shells popped out and fell to the ground. Stein strode forward, loaded, lifted his gun again, and fired. This time the duck spun around and plummeted straight down. The vizsla was beside itself with excitement, running back and forth between the two dead birds.

Clairborne whistled. “Nice shooting, Menachem,” he said, pronouncing the last syllable with a “ch,” as in “chew.”

The vizsla, sleek muscles rippling under its luminous brown coat, raced back with the first duck hanging from its mouth. The dog dropped it at Stein’s feet, bolted for the second duck, sprinted back, placed it next to the first one, sat still, and stared at Stein adoringly.

Stein crouched down on his knees, patting the dog. Clairborne watched, feeling absurdly jealous. The vizsla, a pedigree that he had imported from Hungary, had cost him $3,000. Highly intelligent and loyal, vizslas were bred to serve generations of the now almost-vanished Magyar aristocracy. Clairborne had owned the dog for six months. It had shown no interest in him, was willful, disobedient, and would only eat T-bone steaks from Clairborne’s own supply.

“Thank you, Clarence. Actually, it’s Mena-
chem
, with a ‘ch’ like ‘Loch,’” said Stein. Clairborne flushed red. He knew that; he knew almost everything he needed to know about Menachem Stein. Samantha had prepared an extensive dossier, which even included the correct pronunciation of his name. And he still got it wrong.

“Here, Barack, come here, boy,” Clairborne called. Stein bent down and patted the vizsla on his side.

The vizsla ignored Clairborne, rolled on the ground, and let Stein scratch its stomach. Clairborne damped down his rising sense of irritation. The two men were shooting on Clairborne’s private estate, five hundred acres of prime farmland and forest, with a twelve-room hunting lodge at the north end. This was his land, as far as he could see, rich loamy fields that stretched almost to the horizon. The air was fresh and clean, the ground firm underfoot, although the sky was overcast. So why was he nervous? The contract was signed. The plan was worked out to the finest detail. All the pieces were in place.

But there were two large hogs snorting their way across his lawn. The first was the article in that day’s
New York Times
. He had read it so many times he had memorized the crucial first paragraphs.

UNITED NATIONS TO USE PRIVATE SECURITY FIRM AT ISTANBUL SUMMIT

Decision Sets Precedent, Seen as Blow to President Freshwater

By SAMI BOUSTANI

UNITED NATIONS—The United Nations has signed a $250 million contract with the Prometheus Group, a controversial lobbying firm, to provide security for an upcoming summit in Istanbul, according to an internal UN e-mail.

The rewarding of the Prometheus contract is a setback for President Renee Freshwater, who is a strong opponent of outsourcing military and intelligence duties to the private sector. Although she retains public support on this issue, her attempts to rein in private contractors have been sabotaged by rare bipartisan efforts in Congress. The Prometheus Group will have no role in protecting President Freshwater while she is in Istanbul, said a White House spokesman.

Prometheus, one of the most powerful lobbying and asset-management firms in Washington, DC, has extensive ties to the military and intelligence services and has recently set up a new corporate security division. Under the terms of the agreement, outlined in an e-mail obtained by the
New York Times
, Prometheus will provide high-level security at the summit next week, for all UN officials and several national leaders, in conjunction with the Turkish security services. The negotiations for the contract, which took place over four months, were carried out by Caroline Masters, the deputy secretary-general. Ms. Masters, an American diplomat who was formerly stationed in Berlin, was appointed acting secretary-general on Wednesday after Secretary-General Fareed Hussein went on sick leave. UN officials say he is suffering from fainting attacks.

The Prometheus Group contract will likely prove highly controversial, said Keir Rogerson, a former British diplomat who now runs Diplomacy Unbound, a research organization based in New York, and who is known for his wide range of contacts. “Masters is really pushing her own agenda here. President Freshwater is opposed, but her administration is being outmaneuvered by vested interests in DC. She is increasingly seen as a one-term wonder. The State Department and the Pentagon are going their own way. They want this deal with Prometheus and they are using Masters to force this through.”

Caroline Masters, the deputy secretary-general, is known to be an enthusiastic advocate of expanding the role of the private sector in UN operations. Ms. Masters authored an influential memo calling for greater cooperation with industry while posted in Berlin, where she also served a three-month placement at the headquarters of the KZX Corporation, which is one of Germany’s largest firms.

The rest of the article went over the plans for the summit, its agenda, and its historical significance. Clairborne did not care about that. But he did care that he had no idea how the hell Sami Boustani had obtained his e-mail correspondence with Caroline Masters. Ms.—as she insisted on calling herself—Masters had called to apologize that morning, promising a thorough investigation into the breach of confidentiality.

The other problem, and a much bigger one, was the girl. Jones had fucked up. Yet part of him was almost pleased. She was a feisty one, sitting in his office, those green eyes staring at him as she explained what he would be doing next. She reminded him of his wife, before the, the… accident. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had told him what to do, not since the army, apart from Menachem Stein. She was attractive too. Kind of skinny for his taste. But nothing that couldn’t be fixed with some good home cooking.
What am I thinking?
he suddenly asked himself. Must be last night’s bourbon. He had drunk more than half a bottle. Clairborne breathed deeply to try and clear his head. He watched the vizsla follow Stein across the field. Fuck the stupid mutt. He would have it put down as soon as Stein was gone. He might even do the job himself. The Israeli was his guest. It was time he took control.

Clairborne strode toward Stein, his shotgun cradled in his hand, a cartridge ready in each barrel. He quickly looked around as he moved forward. Stein had come alone. There was no one else here.
Do a Cheney
, said a voice in his head.
You are on home territory. The cops are in your pocket. This is how you take control. Just do it
. The former vice president’s shooting of his companion had been an accident. Clairborne could easily claim the same. All he needed to do was pretend to trip or stumble, and in the process pull the trigger. Even if he didn’t kill the Israeli, he might take him down a peg or two. And he doubted very much that Mena-
chem
Stein would want to bring the attention of the authorities to any kind of incident, especially one involving guns.

Stein turned around to face him, holding his gun with his finger on the trigger, as if reading Clairborne’s mind. The Israeli smiled, and Clairborne was amazed to see that this time the smile actually reached his eyes.

Stein bent down. “Go, Barack, go to your master.”

The dog trotted off to Clairborne and stood in front of him, ready to receive instructions. Clairborne felt ridiculously pleased at the dog’s obedience. Until he affectionately rubbed the dog’s back. The vizsla stared at him with a cool curiosity, but otherwise did not respond.

Just as Stein was about to walk off in pursuit of more ducks, Clairborne called him back. “Mena-
chem
!” he shouted, rasping the last syllable so hard it sounded like he was coughing. “There is one more thing.”

“What?”

Clairborne handed a sheet of paper to Stein. It showed a photograph, taken from an angle, of another photograph lying on a table. Clairborne watched Stein carefully as he looked at the printout. Beneath his bluff exterior, Clairborne was also an astute people watcher. His good ol’ boy act was a useful camouflage for a subtle intelligence and instinct that had more than once saved his life.

“You know her?” asked Clairborne.

“I know who she is,” said Stein carefully.

Clairborne saw something briefly pass across Stein’s face, and then vanish. “So do I. Ms. Azoulay came to see me earlier this week, on behalf of Fareed Hussein. She was trying to blackmail me into closing our connection with Tehran.” He half-smiled at the memory.

Stein turned to Clairborne, fully alert. “Hussein is finished. How much does she know?”

“Enough to cause us a barrel load of trouble. They have copies of bank transfers from Omega, through Bank Bernard et Fils, to Nuristan Holdings.”

Stein frowned. “First the
New York Times
story, now this. How the hell did she get them? You have a leak, Clarence.”

Clairborne walked ahead, watching the sky and measuring the distance to a flock of ducks heading toward him. He rested his gun on his shoulder as he spoke. Thunder sounded in the distance and the clouds were turning dark and gray. “Menachem, I can guarantee you that if there is a leak, it’s not from here. The only person here that has a copy of that correspondence is me, and I ain’t telling. Maybe BBF is. What if Azoulay or someone else in the UN leaks the bank transfer to the press?”

Stein loaded again. “Don’t worry about the media. We will stonewall. Claim it’s a forgery. Anyone can manufacture a fake bank statement. We’ll throw up a shitstorm about Fareed Hussein to distract attention. Our friends in Congress will launch a campaign to cut off America’s contribution to the UN.”

Clairborne fired. The ducks scattered and flew on, unharmed. Stein swiveled and fired. This time a duck suddenly flew leftward, wheeling around in ever-smaller circles, then plunged to the ground. Clairborne looked around for Barack. The dog was trotting alongside Stein. The Israeli patted its haunch, and it finally ran off to fetch Stein’s duck.

Stein continued. “The campaign will continue until the UN apologizes for disseminating a forged document. The real question is what she knows about Istanbul.”

Clairborne shook his head and walked forward, together with Stein. “Nothing. How can she? No printed copies exist. I’m not even sure that I know what I should. I don’t like working like this. I like paper. Something I can read and hold in my hand.”

“Like the BBF bank statement?” Stein snapped back.

“Bank statements can be locked away. Or destroyed if need be. But at least they exist.”

“The Washington Stratagem also exists. But in hundreds of tiny parts, each encrypted and uploaded to a network of servers across the Internet. The people who need to can put the pieces together. They do not include Yael Azoulay,” said Stein. The implication, that nor did they include Clarence Clairborne, was clear.

“We tried to take care of her.”

Stein stopped. “
You
—did—what?
” His voice was cold as he turned to stare at Clairborne.

Clairborne looked puzzled. “What’s the problem? She was in the way. I put Cyrus Jones on it. He was raring to go. But he fucked up.”

Stein’s face darkened. “The terms are clear: any terminations have to be authorized by me. It’s bad enough that there is now a murder inquiry into the death of Colin Duncan.”

A flock of ducks approached. Clairborne raised his gun again and sighted on the birds.

Stein stood to the side, his hand resting on the barrel of Clairborne’s gun. “Wait. Kill Yael Azoulay and you will have the media crawling all over the case. Eventually they will make the connection. She came to see you in your office.” He pressed down on the barrel and slowly lowered Clairborne’s weapon until it pointed at the ground. “Someone will get hold of the bank transfer and put two and two together.”

Clairborne was incredulous. Now he was really ready to do a Cheney. Stein had actually prevented him from taking a shot. With his own gun. On his own land. Who was this guy? The last Clairborne knew, Menachem Stein had barely escaped an Interpol warrant after the coltan scandal. The whole thing had been reported in the
New York Times
. Clairborne was amazed that Stein was still walking around a free man. Just under a year ago, two of Stein’s most senior lieutenants had been arrested in Congo for distributing arms to Hutu militants so they could launch a rerun of the 1994 genocide.

But Efrat Global Solutions was going from strength to strength. The firm was now the largest private military contractor in the world, with a fancy new headquarters in Washington, DC, five minutes’ walk from Capitol Hill. Despite the Israeli connection, it had just landed a huge contract to train the army and new paramilitary police force of the Gulf Emirates, who were all terrified of their neighbor Iran—even more so now the rapprochement between the United States and Iran was flourishing.

Clairborne looked at Menachem Stein, about to tell him just what he thought of a guest who prevents his host from shooting his own ducks, when something in the man’s face stopped him. His eyes, one brown and one blue, were like marbles.

“She did a great job for us in Istanbul. It was a textbook-perfect false-flag operation,” said Stein. “She had no idea she was working for us. We got everything we wanted. Gul is out of the way. The Taliban are happy. The peace deal with the Americans will hold. The country will be stable and the opium will be harvested. Which means KZX is happy. We need that, because your guys and mine will be guarding those opium fields. But Afghanistan is a sideshow now. We need a new field of operations.” Stein looked at his watch. “Which we will have, in less than a fortnight.”