Targets of Deception (40 page)

Traiman nodded. “A fascinating substance. Unctuous, like motor oil, more toxic than sarin, with a longer effective life. Vaporize a few canisters in Grand Central Station or Times Square at rush hour and thousands upon thousands will die. Then New York will come to a standstill—even more so than after Nine Eleven. The destruction of those towers was a devastation to be sure, the deaths of two thousand people a catastrophe. But remember what happened next. In a couple of days everyone else went back to work. The tragedy lingered in the American consciousness, but the actual terror was remote to most people. My goal is to reach further, you see? Take away the hub of a city’s transportation system, what have you got? You have hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of people not willing to go to work for fear of their lives.”

Jordan shook his head slowly, the solemn look in his eyes not lost on Traiman.

“You see it, Jordan. We’ll have the same result in the BART in San Francisco, Paddington Station in London, the center of Rome. And on and on,” he said, as if the subject was beginning to bore him.

“How do you get that much VX into the country?”

Traiman smiled. “You’re always on duty, my old friend. Well,” he said with a slight shrug, “since you have very little time left, regardless of the exploits being planned out there on the water, I suppose there is no harm in sharing the cleverness of my plan with you. You are one of the few men I know who can appreciate the genius of my approach.”

Sandor responded with a grateful nod.

“You recall the explosion at the offices of the Loubar Corporation the other day?”

“Of course.”

“Such a tragedy. A nice man, Fryar, but no character. In any event, an investigation into his company had begun, all of that bureaucratic rot you and I so despise. After the explosion, which I arranged, the authorities increased their vigilance. The government demanded that all shipments from Loubar that arrived in France last week be impounded and returned to the United States. What they don’t know, however, is that these shipments, which were already at dockside in Marseilles, have now been fitted with this chemical solvent that will wreak devastation across the United States.”

“I love the French.”

“Yes,
quel dommage
. So you see, your own government is going to import the VX for me.”

“How will they get it through customs? Those shipments are going to be examined left, right, and sideways.”

“Of course they will. That is, once they’ve arrived and are taken off the container ship. But before that the barrels containing the VX will be separated and set aside, marked as lubricants. We don’t need much of it, believe me. And as you and I often told those dolts in Washington, the harbors of the United States are the most vulnerable access points in America, not the airports. We told them that for years. But does anyone listen?” Traiman stood up, a professor having concluded his lecture.

Sandor’s eyes narrowed as he carefully studied his old colleague. “So the team that was arrested a couple of days ago in Washington, they really weren’t part of it at all, were they? They were just a decoy you set up, then sold out. Am I right?”

“Bravo,” Traiman exclaimed. “And not even my hosts in Tripoli know my true intentions.”

“So where are the real hit teams?” Jordan asked. “Where are the men who are going to plant the VX?”

“You’re asking for names and addresses, I presume.”

“It would be a start.”

Traiman allowed himself a heartfelt laugh as he turned back to his man Nelson. “You see, yet another example of why I’ve always adored this man. Not only a patriot, not only brilliant, but one of the world’s great optimists. Just moments away from death, and he’s still planning to save the world. Ah, Jordan, if only you were ruled by a little more sense and a little less emotion.”

They stared at each other for a moment. “I don’t suppose there’s any sense to my mentioning the loss of innocent lives or any of that.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“It’s like you said, Vincent, I just can’t help myself.”

“Yes, I realize it’s true. It may be your epitaph.” He looked to Christine and said, “Miss Frank, I am truly sorry you have to be involved in this, but you should have chosen your friends more wisely. Now I must go. I cannot be here to see a lovely young woman and my old comrade face such grisly deaths.” He turned for the door, then looked back at Nelson. “Dombroski is below decks. He’ll be back in a moment if you need him. And Mr. Nelson, please handle this outside, where you won’t make a mess of the library.”

Traiman was almost at the door when they heard a knock. He opened it, and his lookout from the port side said, “They’ve thrown a floodlight on us, off the bow.”

“How far off are they?”

“A couple hundred yards. The cabin cruiser is off to the west, but seems to be circling towards us.”

“Prepare for an assault,” Traiman snapped. He was standing in the doorway when he turned back. “You were the most talented agent I ever had the privilege to work with, on this side or that, Jordan. Even though you’ve become a horrible nuisance, I will truly miss you.”

SIXTY-ONE

Traiman pulled the door shut behind him. Jordan could hear his voice trail off as he walked forward, barking orders to his men. Whatever the outcome of the action going on outside, Jordan knew he and Christine had little chance of surviving unless he moved now.

“You heard the man,” Nelson said. “Stand up. Nice and slow.”

Nelson was already lifting himself out of his chair when a burst of automatic weapons sounded from the front of the ship. In that instant, as Nelson’s eyes momentarily moved toward the direction of the gunfire, Jordan had his opening.

He grabbed Christine’s sleeve, dragging her to the floor as he lunged at Nelson.

Nelson tried to retain his balance as he squeezed off three rounds, all of them high. “Hold it,” he hollered, “I’ll kill—” But Jordan had already rolled into Nelson’s shins, knocking him backward onto the chair. Sandor sprung up, driving the heel of his right hand into the point of the man’s nose, breaking it with a single blow, blood covering Nelson’s mouth and chin. Nelson still clutched the automatic, but Jordan came up with his left hand, hitting Nelson under the chin, snapping his head back and sending the gun clattering to the floor.

Sandor hit him twice more, short chops to his throat that left Nelson gasping for air. The door swung open, and Jordan pushed himself backwards, falling to the floor again as the armchair flipped over with a thud. The guard from outside stepped forward, measuring his shot as Jordan rolled to his side. Christine, kneeling off to the side, grabbed a heavy ashtray and flung it towards the door. It glanced off the guard’s arm, but it was enough to give Jordan the split-second he needed to reach Nelson’s gun, turn, and fire.

Bullets flew back and forth, the guard taking cover behind the bulkhead, outside the door. Christine yelled out a warning as Nelson made an effort to get to his feet. Jordan aimed the over his shoulder and shot Nelson once in the chest, sending him reeling against the bookcase and then falling across the table. The guard sent another barrage of rounds into the library, but he was still hidden. Jordan had no clean shot at him, but neither could the guard get a line of sight inside the cabin.

Sandor motioned for Christine to stay off to the side, behind one of the chairs. He clambered behind Nelson’s body, using him for cover as he searched his pockets for another clip. A replacement magazine in hand, he fired a series of shots through the wall, then stopped and cursed under his breath as though he had emptied his clip. The guard chanced a quick peek into the room. Jordan fired two shots, but the first one was enough. It caught him in the forehead, killing him instantly.

“Get ready to go,” he called to Christine. “I just need a minute.”

“What?”

The din of gunfire at the front of the yacht had increased, which made it unlikely anyone would be checking on them. Jordan went through Nelson’s jacket and came up with another magazine. “What a boy scout,” he said as he dropped the nearly empty clip to the ground with a press of the release button and replaced it with the fresh one, then disengaged the slide lock, allowing it to ram a fresh round into the breech.

Then he went to the captain’s table and lifted the top, exposing various nautical charts, maps, and information on the tides. There was also in a translucent yellow plastic cover holding several sheets of paper. Jordan smiled.

“What are you doing?” she asked anxiously.

“Old habits die hard,” he told her. “I’ve known him a long time. He still writes everything out by hand.”

“Traiman?”

He nodded, quickly rifling through the pages before sticking them back in the folder. “Doesn’t trust computers. Doesn’t trust anyone.”

“What is it?”

“Whatever he was going to put in place tonight,” he said, holding up the file. “Looks like it’s right here.”

She watched as he rummaged through the desk, pulling out a waterproof chart cover. He placed the file inside, zipped it tight, opened his jacket, and slipped it inside.

“Jordan,” she cried, noticing the growing stain of blood on the side of his shirt.

He looked down. “No time for that now,” he said.

Panic was etched across her clear features.

“Hey, you did a pretty nifty job with that ashtray.” Then he paused. “You feel that?” Traiman was weighing anchor and starting up the engines. “They’re moving out.”

“What should we do?”

“If we don’t jump now,” he said, “we won’t have a chance later.”

“Jump? The water’s freezing. We’ll drown.”

“Maybe. But if we stay here they’ll kill us for sure. Turn around.”

She obliged and he pulled her blouse out from her slacks. Then he tore off the C-4 he had placed there.

She let out a painful yelp.

“Sorry.” He reached under her collar and took out two fuses. “I’ve got to get below decks to plant this.”

“What about me?”

“I told you. Jump in the water and head for one of those other boats at anchor. You won’t need to get all the way to shore.”

She looked up at him and said, “I’m staying.”

They went to the door, where Jordan had a quick look outside. Then he pulled the body of the guard inside, together with his Uzi submachine gun, and closed the door.

He took the automatic from the dead man, checked it, then handed it to her. “If you need to fire, just point and shoot—but not anywhere near me.”

She gave him a look, as if to say she was not totally incompetent.

“It’s not very accurate, is what I mean. Now keep low, and if I say jump, you go for a swim. Agreed?”

She nodded.

Jordan switched off the lights in the library and opened the door again. They heard action to the stern. He could feel the boat moving. They bent down and hurried along the walkway toward the bow. For the first time, the gash in his side began to ache. He couldn’t even remember being hit, what with the hand-to-hand struggle with Nelson and diving back and forth across the library. He wasn’t concerned about the pain—he was worried about becoming lightheaded from a loss of blood. He also knew that if he stayed aboard too much longer, with the yacht heading out to sea, he would not manage the swim back.

He stopped and listened at the next cabin. Hearing nothing he quickly opened the door and stepped inside. He found John Covington standing there alone. Drink in hand. Covington could do nothing to conceal his astonishment. He recovered enough to say, “Jordan, thank God it’s you. I thought you were dead.”

Sandor made a quick survey of the cabin. “Keep that pointed at the door,” he said to Christine. “Anyone walks in—anyone at all—you shoot them dead. We have no friends here. You got that?”

“Got it,” she said nervously as she clutched the submachine gun.

“What’s going on out there?” Covington asked.

“Not sure, John. At the moment I’m more interested in what’s going on in here. I mean, no guard, the door unlocked, you standing here having a polite cocktail.” Jordan’s eyes settled on the glass. “Scotch? That still your beverage of choice?”

He nodded.

“Well, why not finish your drink so you and I can go outside and have a look?”

Covington placed his glass on the bar. Sandor’s cold gaze told him everything he had to know. “You’ve been hit,” he said casually, dropping his guise as the nervous prisoner.

“You worried about me, John?”

“Not really.”

“I believe you.” He watched as Covington’s hand moved a little too close to his side. “Uh uh uh,” Jordan said. “You make another move like that and I’ll have to get nasty.”

Covington’s pressed his thin lips together and said, “So you know.”

“Oh yes. I know—that is, I knew.”

“You knew nothing.”

“I knew you sold us out. Why do you think I’m here?”

Covington said nothing.

“You gave them McHugh. That’s how Traiman’s men found Tony in Florida.”

“We didn’t count on you becoming such a problem.”

“You didn’t count on me still working for the Company,” Sandor said.

“No,” he admitted grimly, “I didn’t.”

“What about Andrioli? Was it a fair fight, or did you give it to him in the back?”

“Collateral damage.”

“Right, like my team in Bahrain. That was you and Traiman too, right?”

“Yes. And you’ll be joining them shortly.”

“Humor me, then. You came here to meet Traiman, get rid of Andrioli and me, tell the Agency that Traiman got away, and then you were going to take the information back to the States to set his Operation VX teams in motion. How am I doing?”

Covington said nothing.

“Come on, John, how long did you and Vincent think it could last?”

Covington said, “A lot longer than this.” Then he spun quickly to his left, reaching for a pistol holstered at the small of his back.

Jordan reacted instantly, lashing out a vicious backhand with the automatic he had taken from Nelson, smashing the right side of Covington’s jaw. Covington fell sideways, still trying to pull out his weapon as Jordan kicked him in the throat with the heel of his shoe.