All the Old Knives by Olen Steinhauer Page B

out the room, waiting for his return. Ernst announces this with the intonation of a high priest, as if it were something he had predicted from the outset. Sensing his self-satisfaction, Henry says, “They can sit there as long as they want. Ilyas isn’t coming back.”
    â€œAnd you know this how, Henry?”
    My lover gives him a thin smile, stands up, and begins to walk to the door. “Because Ilyas’s not an idiot, Ernst.”
    Once we’ve been dismissed after a half hour of fruitless talk, I look around the office for Henry. I’m told he stepped out, and though I consider it, I decide against calling. If he wants to be alone, that’s his prerogative. I’ll have ample opportunity to nag when we’re cohabitating.
    An hour later, he still hasn’t returned, and Leslie drops by to call me back to Vick’s. There’s been a fourth message from Ahmed Najjar. It’s ten thirty.
    Scratch attack plan. They have a camera on the undercarriage. I don’t know how, but it is clear they know what they’re doing. Very serious. I suggest we give them what they ask for, or everyone will end up dead.
    We puzzle over this. Vick says, “How the hell did they get a camera on the outside of the plane?” But we’re laymen. It’s like asking a sous chef to explain quantum mechanics.
    Yet we try. Ernst points to Amman airport security. “I’ve been suspicious of them for a while. All it takes is a baggage loader to attach a camera to the hull. Operates remotely.”
    â€œBut has anyone seen this thing?” Bill asks. “The Austrians and the TV stations have had cameras on the plane all day long—and no one noticed anything out of the ordinary?”
    Leslie has come prepared, and she’s attaching a laptop to the flat-screen in Vick’s cabinet. Together we go over footage from throughout the day. Most of it’s from ORF, but about five minutes are hi-res shots the Austrians have shared with all the concerned embassies. The quality is amazing, but I get the feeling we don’t even know what we’re looking for.
    Unhelpfully, Owen says, “Just because we don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
    â€œHave we shared this last message with the Austrians?” I ask.
    Vick shakes his head no.
    â€œThen I think we’d better let them check on it. They’re in a better position than we are.”
    My suggestion provokes a moment of hesitation. Not silence, but something tenser, and Ernst looks at Vick, who looks at Bill. Bill turns to me and, in a voice that suggests he’s telling me of a loved one’s passing, explains. “The Austrians don’t know about Ahmed. We’re trying to keep it quiet.”
    I feel a little stupid but recover as best I can. “Well, maybe it’s time to start sharing with them. If we want to get any of those people out alive.”
    â€œThe voice of cooperation,” Vick says, smiling. “We’re just not sure we can trust the Interior Ministry, Cee. We didn’t vet those people.”
    I stare at Vick, then at Ernst. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. I know what I’m thinking; I’m thinking that Agency paranoia has just driven us off a cliff. I take a breath, wondering how to make the obvious clear to them, but then Bill comes to my aid. “She’s right,” he says. “We’ve taken this as far as we can on our own. If we don’t start trusting the Austrians this operation’s going to be stillborn.”
    Vick rocks his head from side to side and scans the room, avoiding my eyes. “Opinions?”
    Owen shrugs, then nods. Leslie just blinks rapidly. Ernst shakes his head slowly, but it’s not a dismissal, for he sighs aloud and says, “Agreed.”
    Vick tugs at his lower lip, thinking a moment. “Ernst, make it so.”
    Ernst gives me a look,