Blue Warrior (18 page)

“We can attack it in two ways. First, we can tackle this from a political angle. We can look at all committee and subcommittee hearings, selecting out those focused on big-budget items like defense or regulations that affect big financial institutions.”

“I am a stranger in a strange land, but I believe there are many such committees and subcommittees in your Congress.”

“Okay, I’ll make it easy on you. The Ways and Means Committees in both the House and Senate are responsible for the tax laws. They also happen to be the most powerful and coveted of all committee appointments. Those are the two biggest fish to catch as far as lobbyists are concerned. Finance, Banking, Commerce, Energy, and Defense would be the other big ones—all of their subcommittees, too. Those committee votes are all legal documents that are in the public domain and easily pulled down. In the case of legal decisions, limit the pool to federal appellate and Supreme Court decisions. And let’s limit our search to just the last three years.”

“Just?” Ian laughed.

“The second way to attack this is to define ‘outrageous decisions’ as those that have resonated strongly with the attentive public. So we’ll conduct high-frequency word searches limited to a distinct vocabulary—words like ‘inexplicable,’ ‘indefensible,’ et cetera—and look for those on the top twenty political, financial, and military blogs, Twitter feeds, and
what have you, to see what decisions have most outraged the attentive public that uses those sites.”

“We are still dealing with tens of thousands of decisions.”

“Not really. Remember, we’re only looking for the most outrageous. The real outliers. I think we’re talking hundreds, or maybe just dozens, of such extremely controversial votes. Of course, if we don’t come up with anything, we can widen the search. Unfortunately, federal bureaucracies write thousands of administrative laws every year that are every bit as binding as any piece of congressional legislation. But let’s not go there yet.”

“Thank heavens.”

“So the idea is this. If we can find the most outrageous political decisions and then find out which person or persons most benefitted from most of those decisions, I think we’ll have a pretty good pool of suspects to look into.”

“Most benefitted?”

“Let’s quantify that, and let’s just focus on money for now. Let’s set a figure of ten million dollars. If someone didn’t profit at least ten million, don’t keep them in our pool. The kind of hostile surveillance and research operations we’re theorizing about would cost a lot of money. Anything less than ten million is chump change in Washington.”

“I should think that any politician that suddenly increased their net worth by ten million dollars in a few years would make headlines.”

“You’d be surprised. There are more millionaires in Congress than nonmillionaires these days. And some of them are worth far, far more. But I take your point. We’re probably talking about corporations, private trusts, hedge funds. But just in case a political person is behind this, we should target those financial institutions with C-level managers married to the members of committees or courts we talked about.”

“Good thing I don’t have a private life,” Ian said.

“I’m terribly sorry. I know I’m asking a lot, but whoever drove Tanner to kill himself is now out for me. And if they can take out a Supreme
Court justice and possibly a former U.S. president, I have to believe they are a threat to other members of the government, and maybe not just this government.”

“Quite right. It is an honor and a privilege to work with you on this. I really wasn’t whinging, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

They worked out the specifics in the arcane and mysterious language of computer programmers, then divided up the responsibilities. Myers would work from the safety of Pearce’s cabin and Ian would do his part from Pearce Systems headquarters, so long as Troy didn’t require his services. Myers agreed, secretly hoping that Pearce wouldn’t need Ian’s assistance, because if he did, that meant Troy was in trouble and she was in no position to do anything about it, and that infuriated her.

27

The village of Anou
Kidal Region, Northeastern Mali

7 May

I
don’t understand. Why didn’t you just haul out of here?”

“We’re out of fuel. We wouldn’t get twenty kilometers,” Mossa said.

“You should’ve thought about that before you—”

“You arrogant bastard. What do you know about our situation?” Cella’s eyes were blue coals.

“We planned on refueling here, but the Ganda Koy drained the tanks into the sand,” Mike said. “So we’re stuck.”

“With the army on the way?” Pearce said. “You guys aren’t stuck. You’re fucked.”

“Save my daughter. Please,” Cella said.

Pearce ran his fingers through his long hair, thinking. He hated being lied to. Hated being in the middle of another war on a piece of ground that wasn’t worth pissing on. Hated the whole situation. But it is what it is, he finally concluded.

“All right, fine. We’ll take the girl,” Pearce said.

Mossa nodded his thanks.

“We can crowd a dozen of your men on the plane,” he added.

“No. Our fight is here. And even if we came with you, the minute
we landed in Niger we would be arrested. Better to die as free men than live as slaves in a Nigerien salt mine.”

“Then let’s quit jawboning and roll,” Pearce said.

“Thank you,” Cella said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’ll get her now.”

Pearce tapped his comms. “Judy, we’re on the way. ETA in ten. Fire up the engines.”

—

P
earce drove and Mike stood in the pickup bed, manning the Russian PK machine gun. Early wore his
shemagh
around his face, Tuareg style,
and a pair of Ray-Bans against the choking sand billowing up around him. His personal weapon was an FN SCAR-H CQC, the short-barreled version of the 7.62mm Special Forces Automatic Rifle. Early loved it because it was short, light, deadly accurate, easy to strip and clean, and fired the same big-caliber ammo handy as the ubiquitous AK-47, so common in Africa.

Cella wedged into the passenger seat with her daughter on her lap, still groggy. The child was long but thin, with a mop of thick black hair. Cella folded her up in her arms as best as she could.

“You can keep the ransom,” Pearce said. Thirty-thousand euros was a lot of money, but it wasn’t his.

“It’s not ransom. It’s my trust fund money. My father sends it to me when there is a need among the people.”

“How is your father these days?”

She ignored the question. “Did you bring the medical supplies as well?”

“It’s all there.”

The girl moaned.

“She okay?”

Cella brushed the girl’s hair away from her face. Pearce glanced at her. She was a pretty young girl on the verge of a ferocious beauty. In a few years she’d be her mother’s twin.

“She’s waking up a little, which is good. But I don’t want her to be completely awake, at least not until you’re in the air.”

“Why not?”

“She is . . .
ostinato
. Like a mule.” Cella grinned. “Like you.”

“Me? More like you.”

The Toyota bounced along. Pearce checked the fuel gauge. Nearly empty. The Aviocar filled the windshield.

“What’s her name?”

“Dorotea, after my mother.”

“How old is she?”

Pearce thought she looked six years old, maybe seven. He wasn’t sure.

He tapped the brakes and brought the Hilux to an easy stop next to the open cargo door. The motors were loud even though the props were barely spinning. Early jumped off the back and opened Cella’s door as Pearce climbed up into the Aviocar.

Early took the girl in his big arms and easily lifted her up, even with the sling on. She was still mostly passed out, but her eyebrows knitted into a frown. He carried her to Pearce and raised her up. “Careful with this sack of potatoes.”

Pearce took her up, careful not to bang her head on the door. Cella climbed in after her. Early followed.

“Put her next to me so I can keep an eye on her,” Judy said.

Pearce carried the girl to the cockpit and set her in the copilot’s seat, then kneeled down and strapped her in. She yawned. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment. Something about them. Beautiful.

The little girl was clearly confused by her surroundings. Maybe even thought she was in a dream. She looked around. Saw Pearce’s face. She gazed at him, smiled a little, then passed back out.

“Here is how you can reach my father,” Cella said, handing Judy an envelope.

“Is he expecting her?” Judy asked.

“All her life,” Cella said. “Now he gets his wish.”

Pearce stood. “Call ahead to Bert Holliday and give him a heads-up on the new situation. She’s going to need papers at the very least. He’ll help you with the girl’s grandfather, too, I’m sure.”

“Will do, boss. Soon as I’m in the air.”

“No. Maintain radio silence until you land, then radio us a thumbs-up so we know you’re okay,” Pearce said. “Don’t forget, you’re a target with that IFF disabled.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you coming with me?” Judy asked, but she heard the resolve in his voice.

“Brother, we’re a lost cause out here,” Early said.

“Is there any other kind?” Pearce clapped Early on his good shoulder. “Besides, weren’t you the one who always used to ask me, ‘Who wants to live forever?’?”

“I was young and stupid back then.”

“Well, you’re not young anymore.”

“Troy, this is serious. There’s no reason for you to risk your life for Mossa,” Cella said. She laid her fine-boned hand on his forearm.

“I’m not risking anything for Mossa,” Pearce said. “I don’t even know who the hell he is. But I’m not leaving my friends high and dry.”

Early’s shoulder mic crackled. “We have company coming, Mr. Early.” It was Mossa, calling from the village.

Early responded. “Heading back your way now.”

“Good luck, you guys,” Judy said. She started to turn for the cockpit door, but stopped and threw her arms around Pearce’s neck. “You and Mike keep your heads down, okay?”

“You know it.”

Judy nodded and headed for the cockpit.

Mike jumped out of the cargo door and Cella scrambled out right behind him, but Pearce headed to the back of the cargo area. He fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked a hidden door in the floor plate, then snatched up two large black Pelican storage cases by the handles. It was the South African load he couldn’t drop off earlier. Nothing like real-world testing, he thought to himself. Might have to charge them extra for the service.

Pearce tossed the cases out the door and dropped to the ground. He shut the cargo door behind him as sand kicked up in their faces from the revving engines, louder by the second. Early was already back in the pickup bed and wrapping the olive-drab veil back around his face for the ride back.

“Don’t worry. Judy’s the best pilot I know,” Pearce said to Cella, shouting above the rising noise as he tossed the cases into the back of the truck.

Cella wiped her eyes with the flat of her hand and fell into the passenger seat.

Pearce yanked open the driver’s door, and then it hit him. He glanced back at the plane, gaining speed.

The girl’s eyes were blue, like clear topaz. Just like Cella’s.

Blue. Just like
his.

28

Altis Belém Hotel
Lisbon, Portugal

21 August

T
he sun warmed Pearce’s face as he savored the last sip of vintage Porto on the terrace after dinner. He normally didn’t take sweet liquor, but the waiter swore it was from the finest Port house in the country from the best grapes and choice
aguardente
. It was a nice way to watch the sunset as fingers of light glinted through the sails of the yachts anchored across the promenade. It was his first trip to Portugal, so he indulged in the local menu as was his custom. Dinner consisted of
caldo verde
soup and a plate of char-grilled sardines, fresh from the Atlantic.

The meeting with the Irishman had gone well. It would be a lucrative contract with a UN-certified NGO, a first for his company. Pearce wanted to build up the non-security side of his business, and this was the next logical step in that direction. Aerial survey work over Indonesia would be relatively easy and virtually riskless. Both the Indonesian government and UN climate-change scientists were interested in cataloguing biomass burnings and drought conditions on the island of Sumatra. It would be a five-year renewable contract, with additional drone flight training and supervisory services fees tacked on for a bonus.

“Troy?”

Pearce turned around. He couldn’t believe it. He stood.

“Cella.”

Her face broke into a brilliant smile. She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Pearce hesitated. The last time he’d seen her was six years ago in Milan, bolting angrily out the door. His joy at seeing her now overwhelmed the bitter memory. He hugged her back.

“You’re alive,” she whispered in his ear. She finally let go, and held him at arm’s length. “It’s so good to see you.” She touched the side of his face. “No beard. Good. You have such a nice face.” She squinted. “A few more scars, I see. But small.”

“Please, sit,” Pearce said, gesturing at his table.

A waiter appeared. “Vodka martini, stirred, straight up with a lime twist,” Cella ordered with a smile.

“Right away.” The waiter glanced at Pearce’s empty glass. “You, sir?”

“Make it two. And make it doubles.”

“Very good, sir.”

Cella grasped his hand. “I can’t believe you’re here. What are you doing in Lisbon?” Her large blue eyes sparkled intently. Pearce’s heart raced. She still had the same effect on him, six years later. She hadn’t aged a day. In fact, she looked more beautiful than ever. She wore a simple silk blouse, gray slacks, and flats. Stunning.

“Business. You?”

She looked him up and down. Slacks, shirt, sport coat. “Very stylish. You actually look like a businessman.” Her tone suggested conspiracy.

He laughed. “I really am a businessman.”

She frowned, incredulous. She’d only known him as a CIA operative. Thought he’d never leave the agency. “What kind of business do you do these days?”

Pearce shrugged. “Nothing interesting, I promise. But what about you? What brings you to Lisbon?”

She hesitated. The drinks arrived. They lifted glasses. The last rays of sunlight danced in the vodka.

“To . . . ?” Cella asked. It was a loaded question.

“To now.”

They touched glasses. Took sips. Cella set her glass down.

“I’m here at a UN conference for medical relief workers. I run a small women’s clinic in Libya. I was asked to speak about the role of women in the medical professions in the Middle East. And networking, of course.” She took another sip. So did Pearce.

“That’s great to hear. How long are you in Lisbon?”

“I leave tomorrow. You?”

“Same.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their martinis, watching the sailboats in their docks, bobbing in the gentle current of the Tagus River, flowing into the great Atlantic. They were both lost in memories of each other, though neither would admit it. Their glasses drained. The waiter appeared, as if on cue.

“Another round?” he asked.

Pearce looked at Cella. There was nothing holding her here, was there?

“Sure.”

“Very good, sir.” He left.

Cella’s eyes teared up. “I thought you were dead.”

“Why?”

“Because I never heard from you. No letters. No calls. I used to dream that you would come and visit me, at least.”

Pearce was confused. “I thought you made it pretty clear that you never wanted to see me again.”

Cella jerked, as if shocked by an electrical current. “Why would you say that?”

“Oh, I dunno. Telling me to go to hell seemed like a pretty good clue.” He softened his sarcasm with a smile.

She laughed. “You don’t know women, do you? Or maybe it’s just Italian women you don’t know. I was scared, that was all. Scared for you. Scared for me. What we had . . .”

She laid her hand on the table. Pearce laid his hand on hers.

“I guess I’m an idiot.”

“There’s no guessing about it.”

Pearce felt the heat on his face.

So did she.

The waiter returned five minutes later with the drinks. There was a hundred-euro note tucked under one of the empty glasses. The American and his woman were gone.

—

P
earce’s suite overlooked the Targus. The modernist design featured black woods, white marble, and gleaming fixtures. From the king-sized bed he watched a sailboat tack into the early-morning wind. Cella did, too, as Troy ran his fingers through her thick, lustrous hair. They were both naked beneath the white linens. Happy, exhausted.

They had picked up where they left off six years earlier. Incredibly, it was more intense. Years of nurtured memories had created an insatiable longing. Now they found each other again. And then there was the ticking clock. Only one night to be together. They hardly slept, stealing brief moments of rest until one of them revived, and starting all over again.

And again.

And again.

“What time is your flight?” he asked. The digital clock flashed 5:22 a.m.

“Not until ten. You?”

“Eleven thirty. We have time for coffee. I’ll order room service.”

Cella shook her head. “Not yet,” she said as she crawled on top and pulled him inside of her again.

—

T
hey lounged in reclining chairs on the south-facing balcony in sumptuous bathrobes, finishing off a pot of strong black Brazilian coffee and a tray of chocolate biscotti and fresh fruit. They both stared at the river, mesmerized by the morning sunlight dappling the water.

“Don’t leave,” Troy said.

She laughed. “You can’t be serious. Even you must be exhausted by now.”

“No. I mean,
stay
with me.”

“I can’t. I have work to do. A life to go back to. So do you.”

Pearce crossed over to her chair and sat in it. He took her by the hands. “What do you want me to say? I screwed up. Maybe I should’ve stayed with you before, but I didn’t. I thought about finding you later—like, a million times I thought about it. But the way you ended it—”

“The way I ended it? No, my love. I offered you everything. You turned me down. You ended it.”

“But you know why I had to leave.”

“Yes, I remember well. You said you had a duty. Well, now, so do I.” She sat up and kissed him on the cheek. “This time together was a wonderful gift, but it ends here. You made your choice years ago, and then I made mine.” She stood.

“Do you love someone else?”

She looked at him, puzzled, as if he’d asked her a question in Urdu. “I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. I know I sound like a silly schoolgirl, but it’s true.”

“Then why not stay with me?”

“Life is more than love, Troy. You taught me that. You made your commitments then, now I’ve made mine. I’m sorry.”

She bent over and kissed him again. They held each other’s face in their hands, kissing gently, without lust.

Gently, good-
bye.