touch her, Sam.”
The Mossad, Sam thought. Ak.a. the Institute for Intelligence and Special Tasks. Charlie was asshole buddies with them. They’d give the daughter and the grandchildren sanctuary as long as Charlie wanted.
“Do you think she’s helping him?”
“Unlikely. Charlie always made a big deal about keeping his family life and professional life separate. If anybody in the Agency tried to … well… there was this chap named Cole who asked Charlie’s wife to do a courier job. Charlie found out. Now Cole signs his name with his left hand. The right one doesn’t work very well.”
Sam drummed his fingers on his desk. “If his daughter isn’t involved, how did he get all that cash?”
“Someone the Israelis, I presume ran a wire transfer through an off shore bank. Then a courier flew up from Belize. He gave Charlie the goods as soon as he deplaned.”
Sam’s sinuses throbbed. His eyes watered with the pain. “You’re saying I have to worry about the Mossad too?”
“No, I think not. They won’t directly involve themselves. Moving money is one thing. Mounting operations inside U.S. borders is another.”
Pressing his fingers hard against his eyebrows, Sam muttered, “Great. Charlie’s talking to Israeli intelligence, and we can’t hear what he’s saying. They’ve already sent him a bucket of laundered cash probably with clean credit cards and fake ID. Next time, they’ll send him… what? That’s the question that worries me.”
Claude nodded. “The other worrisome question if you don’t mind me asking is how is the president taking this?”
“Better than expected.” Sam left it at that. No need to tell the DCI that, immediately following his morning security briefing, the man in the Oval Office had politely politeness being a hallmark of that fundamentally decent, fundamentally dim soul described the fate that awaited Sam if a certain recently stolen object was not recovered “toot sweet, Sam, very toot sweet.”
Immediately following that remarkably unpleasant conversation, Sam pale and shaking returned to his office and started working the phone.
First call: the secretaries of state and defense. Second call: the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Then calls to everyone else every federal law enforcement agency down to and including the park rangers. After that, the spook shops. There were twenty-eight, count ‘em, twenty-eight intelligence-gathering organizations tucked away in various federal agencies. Sam alerted them all, even the yahoos at the Department of Agriculture.
Next-to-last call: Max Henkes, chairman and CEO of DefCon Enterprises, the prime contractor for the Whirlwind project.
Max hadn’t been a happy camper. In fact, he was so furious he less spoke than stuttered, yada-yada, what do you expect? Sam was happy to let him get it out of his system until Maxie boy stepped over the line. “… more than tuh… tuh… ten billion dollars worth of research in the hands of the goddamned Ru-Ru-Russians!” Max howled. “And you’re re … re … responsible, you goddamned in-in-incompetent!”
Well, that was enough of that. The man had to be put in his place and that place was many, many ladder rungs below the national security advisor.
“Incompetent? Good word, Max. The way I see it, if some airhead had bothered to lock the lab door, this never would have happened. So who’s incompetent? I’ll tell you who. DefCon Enterprises is incompetent. And you, Max, are DefCon. The buck stops on your desk. If you want to look for incompetence, I suggest you look in the mirror.”
“You… you try to blame me! When your own so … so … soldiers
“
“Drop it, Max. One more word out of you and I will indict your corporate ass for criminal negligence, and you will be in a world of pain.”
Max went silent. When he spoke again, the stuttering had disappeared although not the anger. “I don’t deny we have to shoulder our share of the blame, but you
The Mossad, Sam thought. Ak.a. the Institute for Intelligence and Special Tasks. Charlie was asshole buddies with them. They’d give the daughter and the grandchildren sanctuary as long as Charlie wanted.
“Do you think she’s helping him?”
“Unlikely. Charlie always made a big deal about keeping his family life and professional life separate. If anybody in the Agency tried to … well… there was this chap named Cole who asked Charlie’s wife to do a courier job. Charlie found out. Now Cole signs his name with his left hand. The right one doesn’t work very well.”
Sam drummed his fingers on his desk. “If his daughter isn’t involved, how did he get all that cash?”
“Someone the Israelis, I presume ran a wire transfer through an off shore bank. Then a courier flew up from Belize. He gave Charlie the goods as soon as he deplaned.”
Sam’s sinuses throbbed. His eyes watered with the pain. “You’re saying I have to worry about the Mossad too?”
“No, I think not. They won’t directly involve themselves. Moving money is one thing. Mounting operations inside U.S. borders is another.”
Pressing his fingers hard against his eyebrows, Sam muttered, “Great. Charlie’s talking to Israeli intelligence, and we can’t hear what he’s saying. They’ve already sent him a bucket of laundered cash probably with clean credit cards and fake ID. Next time, they’ll send him… what? That’s the question that worries me.”
Claude nodded. “The other worrisome question if you don’t mind me asking is how is the president taking this?”
“Better than expected.” Sam left it at that. No need to tell the DCI that, immediately following his morning security briefing, the man in the Oval Office had politely politeness being a hallmark of that fundamentally decent, fundamentally dim soul described the fate that awaited Sam if a certain recently stolen object was not recovered “toot sweet, Sam, very toot sweet.”
Immediately following that remarkably unpleasant conversation, Sam pale and shaking returned to his office and started working the phone.
First call: the secretaries of state and defense. Second call: the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Then calls to everyone else every federal law enforcement agency down to and including the park rangers. After that, the spook shops. There were twenty-eight, count ‘em, twenty-eight intelligence-gathering organizations tucked away in various federal agencies. Sam alerted them all, even the yahoos at the Department of Agriculture.
Next-to-last call: Max Henkes, chairman and CEO of DefCon Enterprises, the prime contractor for the Whirlwind project.
Max hadn’t been a happy camper. In fact, he was so furious he less spoke than stuttered, yada-yada, what do you expect? Sam was happy to let him get it out of his system until Maxie boy stepped over the line. “… more than tuh… tuh… ten billion dollars worth of research in the hands of the goddamned Ru-Ru-Russians!” Max howled. “And you’re re … re … responsible, you goddamned in-in-incompetent!”
Well, that was enough of that. The man had to be put in his place and that place was many, many ladder rungs below the national security advisor.
“Incompetent? Good word, Max. The way I see it, if some airhead had bothered to lock the lab door, this never would have happened. So who’s incompetent? I’ll tell you who. DefCon Enterprises is incompetent. And you, Max, are DefCon. The buck stops on your desk. If you want to look for incompetence, I suggest you look in the mirror.”
“You… you try to blame me! When your own so … so … soldiers
“
“Drop it, Max. One more word out of you and I will indict your corporate ass for criminal negligence, and you will be in a world of pain.”
Max went silent. When he spoke again, the stuttering had disappeared although not the anger. “I don’t deny we have to shoulder our share of the blame, but you
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