The Hadrian Memorandum Part 41

"Go on."

"Earlier, I got a text message from Loyal Truex at Hadrian. I didn't tell you because we were on the run and there was no reason. But you should know. Sy Wirth is dead. They found his body floating in the Tagus River, downstream, where it meets the Atlantic."

"So he was here."

"Apparently."

"And with Conor White."

"Probably."

"White kill him?"

"I don't think he slipped and fell. Put the pieces together. Sy made a stupid deal with the CIA to protect the Bioko field. Then he and Loyal brought in White and created SimCo. Things were fine until the pictures showed up. Then everything started to come apart. At some point Sy probably pushed too hard like he always did and stepped all over Conor in the process."

"And that jeopardized the whole operation, and White, maybe at the Agency's request, got rid of him."

"I don't know. I doubt if we'll ever know. What's clear is that they-Conor, Loyal, Sy, and the Agency-wanted to recover the pictures from the beginning. Now, they want more."

"What does that mean?"

"I knew when I hacked in and found the memorandum that at some point they would learn about it. Not who did it, or from where, but that the site had been accessed and on what day and at what time. They know that on that day and at that time I was at the Hotel Lisboa Chiado, where the rooms have Internet access. They may not know I made a copy but will a.s.sume I'd tell you and Ryder what I found.

"The pictures were bad enough because they implicate Striker in the war. The memorandum implicates, even criminalizes, the CIA. And not just the Agency but the deputy director personally. Conor White has enough to lose as it is. Now he has this. If he is Agency, or even if he's not, he's got to protect it. He can't go down as the soldier who was supposed to guard something as ma.s.sive as the Bioko field but lost it and at the same time disgraced the CIA.

"If he was fired up before, it's double that now. He'll come after us with everything he has, and there are few better than he is. He knows what he's doing and how to do it, and he has his people with him. There may well be others, too, like those doing surveillance outside Raisa's building. High or low, Conor pays people well. But bottom line, he's the one running things. And if he is CIA, they're letting him do whatever he wants because it benefits them most of all. What he wants is us dead and every piece of evidence we have recovered and destroyed. He can, and probably will, be very, very violent and won't shy away from any means necessary to achieve his ends. That's his training and the reason for all those medals. If he learns where we are he'll kill everyone in this hospital if has to just to get to us. I-"

Suddenly there was a noise at the door. Immediately Marten's hand went to the Glock in his waistband. Then the door opened and a man in a tan business suit and carrying a briefcase entered.

"Please don't, Mr. Marten." He turned the briefcase toward him. "It's not necessary. I'm Special Agent Birns, Congressman Ryder's RSO detail, half of it anyway." He glanced at Anne and then around the room, then stepped back. "It's alright, Congressman."

A half second later Joe Ryder walked into the room; his look-alike, Tim Grant, followed him.

11:00 A.M.

109.

AVENIDA DAS FORcAS ARMADAS. SAME TIME.

Jeremy Moyer had spent the moments since he'd given Carlos Branco the green light to back up Conor White at the hospital taking a roundabout return drive to the emba.s.sy, trying to think of the best way to respond to the disaster that was only moments from making world headlines. At the same time, he had to find a reasonable excuse for pulling the remaining RSO detail out of the Ritz so that their ongoing presence wouldn't raise questions later, especially in the follow-up investigation by the FBI or the State Department of Congressman Ryder's killing. He mulled over a number of possibilities, then settled on the simplest: call Debra Wynn, chief of RSO/Lisbon, and tell her that a member of Congressman Ryder's personal RSO detail-Special Agent Birns, he distinctly remembered the name from State Department paperwork alerting him to Ryder's visit-had phoned him a short time ago to say the congressman had abruptly changed his plans and was on his way to the airport, preparing to leave Lisbon immediately. That had been the entire message. Whether Ryder had informed the amba.s.sador or not, he didn't know. Nor did he know why Birns had called him instead of her. At any rate, would she please pull her people out of the Ritz and rea.s.sign them.

Which was precisely what he did, calling her as he approached the emba.s.sy, explaining it all and closing with "If there was a sudden security threat, he didn't mention it. My office has received nothing to raise the alert level any higher than it already was for his visit. Maybe it's political. Maybe it has to do with Ryder's commission. Maybe he's going back to Iraq. I don't know. It's one of those things. Maybe one day we'll find out."

With that he clicked off, took a deep breath, and tried not to think of what was about to happen.

HOSPITAL DA UNIVERSIDADE. 11:08 A.M.

Special agents Grant and Birns stood guard in the hallway outside the examination room while Joe Ryder, Marten, and Anne went over Father w.i.l.l.y Dorhn's Bioko photographs one by one. Ryder had already been told about the CIA briefing video and seen the 35 mm negatives of the memorandum. Since the doc.u.ment pages were too small to read without magnification, he could only listen to Anne's detailed explanation of what was on them and accept her a.s.surance that once full-sized prints were made everything would quite legible. In his mind there was no doubt of the veracity of what she was saying. Her tone of voice, her facial expression, the way she held herself, the involuntary clenching and unclenching of her hands told him, as much as the doc.u.ment itself, the personal hurt she was going through in revealing it. Not to mention the legal jeopardy she was putting herself in; she had, after all, stolen a top secret government doc.u.ment, and she sat on the board of directors of what very likely would become a federally indicted company, with its leaders quite possibly brought before an international court charged with crimes against humanity.

The photographs were self-explanatory, as was Marten's description of other photos on the camera's memory card that had been lost to the Russian agent Kovalenko. Those showing Conor White with the Chilean war criminal Mariano had been of particular interest, especially when tied to the CIA briefing video that he knew could be subpoenaed. That Kovalenko had killed the German policeman, Franck, and taken the memory card posed another concern because it raised the specter of Russian political interference in Equatorial Guinea, even high-stakes blackmail if Moscow threatened to make the photographs public.

Marten had still not told anyone but President Harris that the real memory card was in his possession and that the one he'd given to Kovalenko was harmless. They were far from being out of the woods yet, and he wasn't about to give up the last piece of evidence when it was neither safe nor necessary. To that end he would keep custody of it until they were out of the country and the other evidence was secure and protected. Even then there was only one person he would give it to, the president himself.

11:10 A.M.

There was a knock on the door, it opened, and Birns stepped into the room. Mario Gama was with him.

"There is a man wearing the white jacket of Raisa Amaro's laundry in the reception room," Mario said. "He told the receptionist he was to ask for Ms. Tidrow or Mr. Marten and tell them he has a truck waiting. She referred him to me."

"He asked for us by name?" Marten said flatly.

"Yes, sir."

"He was to have waited until we came out. I'm not sure he even knew our names."

"Maybe he did know and simply forgot his instructions. He came in to make sure nothing went wrong."

"Maybe." Marten looked at his watch. "He's early. He was to have been here at eleven fifteen."

"Doesn't matter," Ryder said. "Put the photographs back together. Let's get out of here."

Anne felt her danger antenna come up. She looked at Marten.

He was already moving, nodding to Agent Grant in the hallway and closing the door. Now he looked to Gama. "Do you know the laundry's telephone number?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you please call and ask for Raisa. When you get her, hand the phone to me."

Mario's eyes darted cautiously around the room. Then he lifted a BlackBerry from his pocket and punched in a number. They could hear it ring through; then someone picked up and a male voice answered in Portuguese.

"Yes."

"Raisa Amaro, please."

There was a pause and then, "Who's calling, please?" "Who's calling, please?"

Gama looked to Marten and covered the mouthpiece. "He wants to know who's calling."

"Tell him a personal friend."

Gama nodded and did as Marten asked.

"Just a minute."

Twenty seconds pa.s.sed, then thirty. Gama looked to the others and shrugged. "He must have gone to get her."

Marten and Anne exchanged glances. Marten looked back to Gama. "Where is the laundry truck parked? Which door did the man come in through?"

"The front door. His truck is parked in front."

Marten felt the hairs stand up on his neck. Immediately he turned to Gama. "Click off."

He did, and Marten asked him another question. "Can you find out if an ambulance was called to the laundry in the last half hour?"

Concern spread over Gama's face. "Yes, sir."

"Please do it."

"Yes, sir." The security director said, with a nod, then turned away, punched a number into his BlackBerry, and waited.

Marten looked to the others. "Ten to one it was the police who answered the phone. If so, they were tracing the call. That was the reason for the delay. It also means that White found out about Raisa, learned where she worked, and went there. The driver out front is one of his men."

"Thank you," Gama said in Portuguese and then clicked off the phone, his expression grim. "Emergency medical vehicles were called there by the police. Four people were found shot to death. Three men and a woman."

"Raisa," Anne mouthed.

Marten looked at her and nodded faintly, then turned back to Gama. "What did you tell the driver when he asked about us?"

"That I didn't know anything and would see what I could find out. For some reason he didn't look like a laundry worker."

Immediately Marten's eyes went to Ryder. "I presume your men brought friends along."

"They're armed, if that's what you're asking."

Again Marten looked at Gama. "There are security cameras covering the front and rear entries. I saw them when I came in. Are there more?"

"Yes."

"Where are the monitors?"

"In the Security Center. Down the hall the way we came in, just before you reach the lobby."

"Please take me there."

Gama hesitated, unsure of what was going on and more than a little concerned that the dead woman at the laundry was Raisa. Marten read his unease.

"I don't know how much Raisa told you, but the man you know as Mr. Ferguson"-he nodded at Ryder-"is United States Congressman Joseph Ryder, in Lisbon on a highly cla.s.sified operation. The men with him are United States government security officers. There are people trying to find us and do us harm. It's why Raisa called you to help. She knew you could be trusted. Please, take me to your office right away. The guy out front starts to wonder where you are, he's going to come looking, and he won't be alone."

11:14 A.M.

110.

11:16 A.M.

Conor White had no misgivings about the information Raisa Amaro had given him before she died. Terror had been in her eyes and soul, the same as it had been with the Spanish doctor and her students when his interrogation had suddenly turned from severe to murderous. People in that state didn't lie unless they were martyrs, and Raiso Amaro cared too much about the lives of her workers to be a martyr. Once she realized what was happening and would continue to happen, she would have done everything she could to save the last of them. As she had proven.

From the backseat of the Mercedes he could see the A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa laundry truck parked outside the hospital's front door a half block away. Red-and-white stanchions set in square concrete blocks kept the area clear of parked cars. The only vehicle there now was the truck, pulled in tight against the stanchions, its tail-lights blinking, signaling a business pickup or delivery. laundry truck parked outside the hospital's front door a half block away. Red-and-white stanchions set in square concrete blocks kept the area clear of parked cars. The only vehicle there now was the truck, pulled in tight against the stanchions, its tail-lights blinking, signaling a business pickup or delivery.

His appraisal of the situation as they were leaving the laundry for the hospital had been quick. There was no doubt Marten and Anne had known they were being watched and had escaped Raisa Amaro's apartment building via some kind of interior pa.s.sageway and after that in a simple electrician's truck, in all probability with Raisa's help. If she had done it once, why not twice, using the same type of everyday transportation to get them from the hospital to wherever they were going next, either to meet Ryder, or to the airport and Ryder's plane in the event the hospital was the meeting place for all three.

Every hospital needed clean laundry. Some had their own in-house laundries; others used an outside service. Either way, a laundry truck would not draw attention and made an ideal escape vehicle, and the one parked in the loading bay at Raisa's laundry was large enough to accommodate Anne, Marten, and Ryder as well as his two RSO bodyguards. White knew his thinking might be pure conjecture, but he'd had enough experience with covert operations to know that such a scenario was more than possible, maybe even likely. What he had to do was look at it from Anne and Marten's point of view-desperate fugitives who had escaped capture and thought they were free of surveillance-then take the necessary steps to make their thinking work to his advantage.

Marten had seen him and Patrice in the Hotel Lisboa Chiado the night before. It was probable he'd also seen Irish Jack waiting outside in the BMW, so they would need an unknown face to drive the truck. Moses, the Algerian driver and gunman Branco had supplied with the Mercedes, was quickly recruited. Provided with a crisp white A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa delivery jacket and a team radio unit, with its tiny earphone and microphone hidden in the jacket's sleeve, he was to drive the truck to the hospital entrance, then go in unarmed and ask for Anne or Marten as if he knew what was going on and was a strategic member of their team. What happened next would tell volumes. Either he would be turned away, with some staff member informing him there was no record of anyone under those names having been admitted to the facility, or he'd be taken to them, at which time he would make radio confirmation. If they were lucky they might even find Ryder and his RSO detail with them. If indeed all five were there and expecting him, Moses could then walk them out of the hospital and into the truck. Afterward he would take them to a deserted construction site off Avenida Infante Dom Henrique on the waterfront that Branco had pinpointed. Alternatively, if Anne and Marten were alone, he would drive them to wherever they were to meet Ryder, and they would close the trap there as originally planned. Lastly, if Moses was turned away, they would simply wait and watch until Anne and Marten arrived. Or, if they were there, attempted to leave.

Branco and four of his former Portuguese army commandos were already in place, waiting in dark-colored sedans, a Peugeot and an Alfa Romeo, at either end of the alley behind the hospital. Each man was acutely aware of the less-than-hour-old death of their group member sent to tail Marten and Anne by motorcycle. Each had been warned, too, of Marten's deadly marksmans.h.i.+p in the shooting of the two others of their circle who had gone after him in the blue Jaguar the night before. That they had no idea who he really was, or what his training had been, wouldn't matter; their blood was up for a proper response, and they were more than eager for it to begin.

For his part, he, Patrice, and Irish Jack would stay were they were, parked at the curb fifty yards up from the hospital entrance, weapons and black balaclavas at hand, ready to play the game as it unfolded.

No matter what happened, or where, the end would be the same. The five targets would be quickly cut off and isolated from the public. He, Patrice, and Irish Jack would do the work. Branco and his team would back them up. It would take thirty seconds, no more. As quickly, Branco's people would fade into the city, and they would be on their way to the airport and the Falcon 50, safe with the knowledge that there were probably no more than a handful of policemen anywhere on the planet who would stop a highly polished black Mercedes with UN plates and three well-dressed gentlemen inside, no matter how fast they were going.

That was Plan A.

Alternatively, if something happened and Moses was exposed and/or he came out empty-handed, they would immediately s.h.i.+ft to the uglier but still very effective Plan B. Call in Branco's men, pull on the balaclavas, then go into the hospital, lock it down, and begin a forced search of their own. The hospital was small, and they'd done such things successfully before. In Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq.

"What's taking Moses so f.u.c.king long?" Irish Jack squirmed uncomfortably behind the wheel. "If they're there, he would know it. If they aren't, he should have reported it by now."

Patrice raised a pair of binoculars and studied the building's front entrance.

"Give the man time, Jack," White said quietly. "Give the man time."

Irish Jack turned to look over his shoulder. "Colonel, my b.a.l.l.s tell me he's taking too f.u.c.king long."

"I never distrust a man's b.a.l.l.s, Jack. Let's find out." White lifted his arm, pressed the KEY TO TALK b.u.t.ton on the microphone inside his coat sleeve, and spoke into it. "3-3, this is Control. Do you have a rabbit for us? Copy."

11:18 A.M.

111.

11:19 A.M.

Marten, Mario Gama, and Special Agent Grant stood inside a darkened inner chamber of the hospital's Security Center studying a bank of monitor screens tied to security cameras throughout the building.

"There." Gama indicated one of the screens as a man in a starched white laundryman's jacket stepped into view near the front entrance. "He's the one who asked for you."

They could see Moses standing in a shaft of daylight just back from the door, a hand to his ear, seemingly intent on something.

"He's plugged into a radio unit. Someone's talking to him," Grant said quietly.

They could see Moses nod, then lift his left arm to his mouth and apparently say something. He waited, then nodded slightly. A second later he turned and walked out of view. Another monitor picked him up as he approached the front reception desk to speak with a hospital employee behind it.

"Whoever he was talking to wants to know what's taking so long, and he's trying to find out," Grant continued.