The Hadrian Memorandum Part 32

"Jesus Christ!" Marten blurted and went after her.

84.

He came out into the hallway on the run expecting to hear the whir of the elevator. He didn't. It was silent. Then he heard sounds in the stairwell beside it. Abruptly he looked over the side. She was already two flights down and moving fast.

He took the stairs two at a time. Down three flights, then four. He caught up to her on the ground floor in the entryway near Raisa's apartment just as she reached the front door. He grabbed her and pulled her back.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

"Going out." She wrenched free of his grip.

"To where?"

"To think. To be alone."

"You can do that in the apartment. Go in the bedroom. Shut the door. I won't bother you."

She said nothing, just stood there staring at him, breathing heavily. He saw fire and fear and uncertainty in her eyes. At the same time, there was a deep, almost animal-like resolve. She was going to do whatever it was she had set out for, and he knew keeping her from it would be next to impossible. Still, he had to try. He couldn't have her going out in the streets, not now. Not after Franck's body had been found.

"Want to talk about it?" he said quietly.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Give me a chance."

Her eyes fixed on his. All the emotions were still there. "I have something to do. Please don't interfere."

"You get caught by the police, we're both done. Joe Ryder won't try to help. He wouldn't dare even acknowledge us. If Conor White and his friends get you, you won't live an hour."

"Then I better not get caught," she said coldly. In an instant she was past him and out the door and into what was now twilight. Marten watched her cross quickly into the park and then she was gone, swallowed up in the shadows.

"Quarrels and misunderstandings." A familiar voice rang out from behind him. Startled, he whirled around.

Raisa stood in the doorway of her apartment, her arms folded over her chest. The navy suit was gone. In its place she wore a rose-colored silk robe and red slippers that nearly matched her hair. "The thing I warned you about a short while ago. At some point she'll come back. And when she does, she'll want to f.u.c.k you. You can be sure of it."

Marten c.o.c.ked his head. "What did you say?"

"You heard me, my love."

Of course he had, but it surprised him nonetheless. What she had said and the way she'd said it-easily and without embarra.s.sment-as if she were one of those people who just knew things. Suddenly he saw her not so much as the provider of a safe house, or the professional madam she'd turned out to be, but rather some kind of diminutive French-born earth mother. One who might or might not be more than a little crazy but who understood life and human behavior in ways others might not and wasn't above verbalizing it.

"I saw her face," Raisa continued, "her eyes, her demeanor. Something troubles her a great deal. It's why she left, to try and resolve it. When she does, or even if she fails, she will come back completely drained by whatever has happened and be looking for a release of the most profound kind. In my experience nothing does that better than a good f.u.c.k, especially when it's done with someone you like and trust." Raisa Amaro smiled tenderly. "Be gentle with her. But not too gentle. For a little while at least she will want to forget everything. Good night, Mr. Marten."

With that she gathered her robe, went back into her apartment, and closed the door.

Marten stood frozen. Whatever Raisa said about Anne coming back and what would happen when she did hadn't fully registered. Nor had whatever reason had caused her to leave. What overrode everything was the danger out there on the street. He d.a.m.ned himself for having let her go. Instinct told him to go after her right then. Find her quickly. Fight with her if he had to but bring her back before the police or Conor White and his people found her. The trouble was, if he rushed out after her he would have to guess where she'd gone and in doing so would have no choice but to ask strangers if they'd seen her. Something that multiplied the risk to himself a hundredfold. It was a gamble he didn't dare take. Joe Ryder was counting on him to deliver the photographs; so was the president.

He went to the door and looked out toward the park. The evening lights had come on, and he could see a few people still mingling there. Anne was not among them. He watched for a moment longer, then finally turned and went back up the stairs to the apartment.

9:18 P.M.

85.

FOUR SEASONS HOTEL RITZ, THE RITZ BAR. 9:20 P.M.

Sy Wirth sat alone finis.h.i.+ng his second Johnnie Walker Blue over ice. An attractive woman in a green dress walked up to the bar, ordered a Black Russian, and smiled seductively at him. He didn't respond. Instead he signed his tab, then got up and made his way through the bustling lounge area toward the elevators in the lobby. It was nearly nine thirty at night local time, almost three thirty in the afternoon in Houston.

9:24 P.M.

The elevator door opened; Wirth stepped out and walked down the hallway toward his tenth-floor room. His electronic key unlocked the door, and he went in. A hallway light was on. So was one on the nightstand beside the bed. The maid had turned down the sheets. A writing desk was in front of a large sliding gla.s.s door that opened onto an outdoor terrace overlooking the dark expanse of Eduardo VII Park.

He sat down at the desk and turned on the lamp, then slid the two BlackBerrys from his jacket pocket, put the one with the blue tape aside, and picked up the other. A deep breath and he punched in a number in England that automatically forwarded the call to Striker general counsel Arnold Moss's personal BlackBerry in Houston. It rang three times before Moss picked up.

"I thought I'd be hearing from you," Moss said immediately. Moss said immediately.

"Where are you?"

"In the office, where else?"

"You alone?"

"Yes."

Wirth ran a hand through his hair. "Truex has gotten Was.h.i.+ngton involved. I'm in Lisbon. So is Conor White. Anne and this Nicholas Marten are either on their way or have already arrived. They're going to meet with Joe Ryder somewhere here tomorrow. Most probably to give him the photographs and have Anne tell him what she knows about our operations. White's already got an Agency freelancer on board to help stop them."

"Carlos Branco."

"How the h.e.l.l do you know that?" Wirth was startled. "Truex tell you?"

"Newhan Black."

"Black called you?"

"He wants us out, Sy. He didn't want to talk to you. Thought I should deliver the news. It only happened a little while ago. It's why I didn't call. I wanted to think."

"Stop thinking." Wirth shoved back from the desk and stood up. "This is what we're going to do."

"You didn't tell me the Russians were in this."

"They aren't anymore."

"How the h.e.l.l did they get involved in the-"

"I tried an end run. It didn't work." Wirth crossed the room, reached the far side, then turned back. He was angry. At the world. "Not everything pans out, Arnie. In the end you hope you come out a step ahead of even."

"Sy, leave it alone. We've got to cut our losses while we can. Close the whole operation down. Get out of Equatorial Guinea."

"What's the matter?" Wirth's anger flared. "The game gets a little rough and you suddenly start whimpering? Whose side are you on, theirs or ours? I told you a long time ago I wasn't going to lose the Bioko field. I haven't changed my mind."

"Jesus, Sy. The whole thing's crumbling. The walls are coming down. Black's given us the opportunity to walk away. He'll protect us. We have to do just that."

"Arnie, listen to me." Wirth was emphatic. "We're going to execute what you and I discussed in Houston. Joe Ryder's due here in the morning. I'm staying at the same hotel he is and am going to request a meeting with him. Just the two of us. He'll see me if for no other reason than the Iraq situation. I plan to tell him exactly what he's going to find when he gets the photos, then turn it right back on Truex. Tell Ryder it was all his game, his and Conor White's, one we knew nothing about. We had no idea that they were helping to arm the revolution until we heard about the photographs.

"Their plan all along seems to have been to covertly expand their influence in West Africa by using us as cover while they backed Abba and his people, giving them whatever they needed to overthrow Tiombe. Something they were certain Abba could do if he had the weapons. Then suddenly the photos came into play and a whole new enterprise presented itself, one worth hundreds of millions if not billions."

Again Wirth crossed the room. "All they had to do was get hold of the pictures and exploit them. Play Striker as the bad guy who ordered it done. Make it look as if we had backed the overthrow of the country for our own benefit. If they did it right, the exposure would kill Striker publicly and politically, and we'd have to pull out, forfeiting our leases." He walked across the room once more and then again.

"In the chaos afterward, Truex would convince Abba that he had no experience finding and extracting oil. With Abba's blessing, he would resurrect the leases in Hadrian's name with the promise that he'd find someone who did have that experience, first and foremost the Russians, who'd been hovering there the whole time. Then he'd sell the leases to them for an enormous fee and leave, staying lily-white in the process.

"The trouble was, they didn't have the photos but they knew who did, and they came to Lisbon to get them at any cost whatsoever. They hired a freelancer named Carlos Branco to take care of Anne and Marten and recover them when they went to meet with Ryder, kill Ryder, too, if necessary. I found out what was going on and confronted White and tried to stop him. He refused and threatened to kill me if I said anything or got in the way. That was when I knew I had to go to Ryder myself. He doesn't have to know anything about Black or the Agency. They'd deny it anyway if it came up."

"Sy, you're out of your mind. Don't touch it! Stay the h.e.l.l away from Joe Ryder!" Moss warned in alarm and anger. Moss warned in alarm and anger. "Black's given us the green light to leave cleanly and quietly. He'll let SimCo, even Hadrian, take the fall, and then plug in another U.S. oil company to pick up the pieces. He's not stupid, he won't lose the Bioko field, it's too d.a.m.n important. So forget Joe Ryder and get the h.e.l.l out of there. Now. Tonight. Walk away from it. Just walk away." "Black's given us the green light to leave cleanly and quietly. He'll let SimCo, even Hadrian, take the fall, and then plug in another U.S. oil company to pick up the pieces. He's not stupid, he won't lose the Bioko field, it's too d.a.m.n important. So forget Joe Ryder and get the h.e.l.l out of there. Now. Tonight. Walk away from it. Just walk away."

"Arnie." Wirth kept pacing, not even aware of it. In his mind he was in Houston and face-to-face with his general counsel, a man he saw now as little more than an employee. "I run Striker Oil, not you. I'm the one who brought the company to where it is. I'm the one who decided to take the chance and explore Equatorial Guinea and then negotiated the long-term leases with Tiombe's people. I'm also the same f.u.c.king guy who told you from the start he was not going to lose the Bioko field. Not to the Agency, the Russians, or anybody else. Newhan Black doesn't want to talk to me, then f.u.c.k him. You call him and tell him just what I've told you and what I'm going to tell Joe Ryder.

"You're right when you say Black's not stupid and the find is far too strategic for him to risk. Still, he can't chance having the photos get out, so he'll let Branco, White, and his men get rid of Anne and Marten, then take the pictures and fade into the woodwork. Not long afterward, somebody they all know and trust will show up and they'll disappear. Just like that. White, his gunmen, Branco, and the photos. That same day or maybe the next, Truex will go down, an accident of some kind, and the Bioko field will remain the legal property of the AG Striker Company. Much easier for the Agency that way. After all, we're the oil company with the long-term leases. The others were just hired gunmen. Hired gunmen are dispensable. Long-term leases for an ocean of oil are not."

"Sy, you're crazy to think you can pull this off! You're playing with fire."

"I am the fire, Arnie. I'll call you after I meet with Joe Ryder."

9:46 P.M.

86.

9:52 P.M.

The rain was everything. Off-and-on showers had been forecast for the next few days and were expected to begin after midnight. But just after dark a storm front moved in and a steady rain began to fall. To Marten it was serendipitous, and he used it as an excuse to go out after Anne.

He'd found an umbrella stand in a cubbyhole near the apartment's front door with three large umbrellas tucked into it. Several hats and caps had been in a nearby closet. As with almost everything else, and in a most thorough way, Raisa Amaro had provided her guests with solid protection against nature. Now, with the Glock automatic in his waistband and using the night and weather to help veil his movements, he ventured out.

Umbrella held overhead, jacket collar turned up, a bucket hat borrowed from the closet pulled over his ears and several-day growth of beard adding to his prayer that neither a pa.s.sing police patrol nor White's people, however many of them there might be, would recognize him, at least initially, he let Raisa's front door close behind him, then crossed Rua do Almada and went into the now deserted park.

________.

Six minutes later he crossed Rua da Flores, leaving the Bairro Alto district and entering the Chiado section, backtracking the way he and Anne had come. It was the only thing he could do considering that neither of them had been in Lisbon before today. His guess was that she had to have seen something in pa.s.sing that caught her eye, a place she felt she could retreat to later. For what purpose he had no idea whatsoever.

Her fear of the CIA seemed to be at the core of everything. But what she thought she could do about it somewhere out here on a rainy Sunday night in a city she barely knew mystified him. Yet whatever she was so intent on doing was, as he'd told her, beside the point if she ended up in the custody of the police or dead at the hands of Conor White. Still, concerned about her as he was and as angry with her as he'd been, at another time and place he might have let it ride, have let her take her chances and get whatever it was out of her system while he stayed in the apartment riding herd on the photographs and keeping out of sight himself. But he no longer had that luxury. Not now, not after President Harris had so compellingly stirred the pot.

Twenty minutes earlier, and still in the apartment, he'd used his dark blue throwaway cell phone to call Harris-at Camp David or the White House or wherever he was-on his own throwaway cell. There had been no answer. He'd tried again to no avail. Then, seconds later, the apartment's phone had rung. It startled him and he hesitated. Finally he picked up, sure it was either Anne or Joe Ryder.

"It's me," an unfamiliar voice said. an unfamiliar voice said.

"Who is me?" he said warily.

"Cousin Jack. I was in a meeting when you called. I'm in another room using a laptop with a special voice-filtering IP service that's very difficult to intercept."

Marten relaxed. "You wanted me to let you know when we got here. I was waiting for Ryder's call. I thought maybe this was it." He made no mention of Anne, just let the president a.s.sume she was there with him.

"He's still in Rome. You may not hear from him until tomorrow morning." Immediately the president's demeanor became more serious. Immediately the president's demeanor became more serious. "The Portuguese police have found the body of the German policeman, Emil Franck." "The Portuguese police have found the body of the German policeman, Emil Franck."

"I know."

"I asked for a detailed report on it. He was shot once in the back of the head. Then his body was put into a car and driven to a beach somewhere near Portimo where the car was set on fire. No mention was made of this Russian, Kovalenko, you talked about."

"I wouldn't think so. He's very good at what he does."

"When you called from the bookshop you told me Moscow knew about the Bioko field. If they already knew, why was he with the German?"

"The photographs. Franck was coming after them for the CIA. The Russians knew about them, but they didn't know where they were. They hoped he would lead them to the prize. Franck was a double agent. He had no choice but to let Kovalenko come along."

Marten heard the president hesitate, as if he'd suddenly had an even more troubling thought. "The photographs. You do have them." "The photographs. You do have them."

"Yes. He let me keep them, probably hoping the police would find me and think they were the reason I murdered Theo Haas."