The Icarus Agenda (83 page)

“Stop where you are!” she commanded. “If you know anything about me, you know my next shot will go right into your forehead.”

“You are the Rashad woman,” said the blond man, his speech accented, his voice strained.

“I don’t know who you are, but I know
what
you are. Scumrotten, that’s what you are! Evan was right. All these months, all the stories about him, the congressional committees, the coverage over the world. It was to set him up for a Palestinian kill! It was as simple as
that
!”

“No, you are wrong,
wrong
,” protested the European as the alarm bell outside kept up its abrasive ringing. “And you must not stop me now! A terrible thing is about to happen and I’ve been in touch with your people in Washington.”

“
Who
? Who in Washington?”

“We don’t give names—”

“Bullshit!”

“
Please
, Miss Rashad! A man is getting
away
.”

“Not you, Blondie—”

Where the blows came from and how they were delivered with such speed Khalehla would never know. For an instant there had been a blurring motion on her left, then a surging hand, as fast as any human hand she had ever seen, stung her right arm, followed by a counterclockwise twist of her right wrist, wrenching the weapon away. Where she might have expected her wrist to be broken it merely burned, as if briefly scalded by a splash of boiling water. The European stood in front of her holding the gun. “I did not mean to harm you,” he said.

“You’re very good, Scum-rotten, I’ll give you that.”

“We are not enemies, Miss Rashad.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.” The elevator telephone rang from the box below the panel, its bell echoing off the four walls of the small enclosure. “You’re not getting out of here,” added Khalehla.

“
Wait
,” said the blond man as the ringing persisted. “You saw Mrs. Vanvlanderen.”

“She told you that. So what?”

“She couldn’t have,” broke in the European. “I’ve never met her but I
have
taped her. She had visitors later. They talked about you—she and two other men, one named Grinell.”

“I never heard of him.”

“They’re both traitors, enemies of your government, of your country, to be precise, as your country was conceived.” The telephone kept up its insistent ringing.

“Fast words, Mr. No Name.”

“No more
words
!” cried the blond man, reaching under his jacket and withdrawing a thin large black automatic. He flipped both weapons around, gripping the barrels, the handles extended toward Khalehla. “Here. Take them. Give me a
chance
, Miss Rashad!”

Astonished, Khalehla held the guns and looked into the eyes of the European. She had seen that plea in too many eyes before. It was not the look of a man afraid to die for a cause, but furious about the prospect of not living to pursue it. “All right,” she said slowly. “I may or I may not. Turn
around
, your arms against the wall! Farther back, your weight on your hands!” The telephone was now a steady, deafening ring as the field officer from Cairo expertly ran her fingers over the body of the blond man, concentrating on the armpits, the indented shell of his waist, and his ankles. There were no weapons on him. “Stay there,” she ordered as she reached down and pulled out the telephone from the box. “We couldn’t open the panel for the phone!” she exclaimed.

“Our engineer is on his way, madam. He was on his dinner break but we’ve just located him. We apologize profusely. However, our indicators show no fire or—”

“I think we’re the ones to apologize,” interrupted Khalehla. “It was all a mistake—my mistake. I pushed the wrong button. If you’ll just tell me how to make it work again, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh? Yes, yes, of course,” said the male voice, suppressing his irritation. “In the telephone box there’s a switch.…”

The lobby doors opened and the European immediately spoke to the formally dressed manager, who was waiting for them. “There is a business associate I was to meet here quite some time ago. I’m afraid I overslept—a long, trying flight from Paris. His name is Grinell, have you seen him?”

“Mr. Grinell and the distraught Mrs. Vanvlanderen left a few minutes ago with their guests, sir. I assume it was a memorial service for her husband, a fine, fine gentleman.”

“Yes, he, too, was an associate. We were to be at the service but we never got the address. Do you know it?”

“Oh, no, sir.”

“Would
anybody
? Would the doorman have heard any instructions to a taxi?”

“Mr. Grinell has his own limousine—limousines, actually.”

“Let’s go,” said Khalehla quietly, taking the blond man’s arm. “You’re becoming a little obvious,” she continued as they walked toward the front entrance.

“I may have failed, which is far more important.”

“What’s your name?”

“Milos. Just call me Milos.”

“I want more than that. I’ve got the fire, remember?”

“If we can reach an acceptable accommodation, I’ll tell you more.”

“You’re going to tell me one
hell
of a lot more, Mr. Milos, and there won’t be any more of those fast maneuvers of yours. Your gun is in my purse, and mine is under my coat aimed at your chest.”

“What do we do now, Miss Supposedly Retired Central Intelligence Officer from Egypt?”

“We eat, you nosy bastard. I’m starved, but I’ll pick up every morsel of food with my left hand. If you make a wrong move across the table, you’ll never be able to have children, and not just because you’re dead. Am I clear?”

“You must be very good.”

“Good enough, Mr. Milos, good enough. I’m half Arab and don’t you forget it.”

They sat across from each other in a large circular booth selected by Khalehla in an Italian restaurant two blocks north of the hotel. Varak had detailed everything he had heard over the earphones from the Vanvlanderen suite. “I was shocked. I never thought for an instant that Andrew Vanvlanderen would act unilaterally.”

“You mean without his wife putting ‘a bullet in his head’ and calling one of the others to ‘deep-six’ him in Mexico?”

“Exactly. She would have done it, you know. He was stupid.”

“I disagree, he was very bright, considering his purpose. Everything that was done to and for Evan Kendrick led to a logical
jaremat tháar
, Arabic for a vengeance kill. You provided that, Mr. Milos, starting with the first moment you met Frank Swann at the State Department.”

“Never with that intention, I assure you. I never thought it was remotely possible.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was wrong.”

“Let’s go back to that first moment—in fact, let’s go back over the whole damn thing!”

“There’s nothing to go back over. I’ve said nothing of substance.”

“But we know far more than you think. We just had to unravel the string, as my superior put it … A reluctant freshman congressman is manipulated onto important congressional committees, positions that others would sell their daughters for. Then because of mysteriously absentee chairmen, he’s on national television, which leads to more exposure, topped by the explosive, worldwide story about his covert actions in Oman, and ending up with the President awarding him the highest medal a civilian can get. The agenda is pretty clear, isn’t it?”

“It was organized quite well, in my opinion.”

“And now there’s about to be launched a national campaign to place him on the party ticket, in effect making him the next Vice President of the United States.”

“You know about that?”

“Yes, and it’s hardly a spontaneous act on the part of the body politic.”

“I trust it will appear so.”

“Where are you
coming
from?” asked Khalehla, leaning over, picking at her veal dish with the left hand, her right out of sight under the table.

“I must tell you, Miss Rashad, that it pains me to watch you eating so awkwardly. I’m not a threat to you and I won’t run.”

“How can I be sure of either? That you’re not a threat and that you won’t run?”

“Because in certain areas our interests are the same, and I am willing to work with you on a limited basis.”

“My God, what arrogance! Would Your Eminence be so kind
as to describe these areas and the limits of your generous assistance?”

“Certainly. To begin with, the safety of the Secretary of State and exposing those who would have him killed as well as knowing why, although I think we can assume the reason. Then the capture of the terrorists who attacked Congressman Kendrick’s houses with considerable loss of life, and confirming the Vanvlanderen connection—”

“
You
know about Fairfax and Mesa Verde?” Varak nodded. “The blackout’s total.”

“Which brings us to the limits of my participation. I must remain far in the background and will not discuss my activities except in the most general terms. I will, however, if it’s necessary, refer you by code name to certain individuals in the government who will attest to my dependability in security matters here and abroad.”

“You don’t think much of yourself, do you?”

Milos smiled cautiously. “I really don’t have an opinion. However, I come from a country whose government was stolen from the people, and made up my mind years ago what I would do with my life. I have confidence in the methods I’ve developed. If that’s arrogance, so be it, and I apologize, but I don’t think of it that way.”

Khalehla slowly pulled her right hand out from under the table and with her left picked up the purse at her side. She shoved her automatic into it and leaned back, shaking her hand to restore circulation. “I think we can dispense with the hardware, and you’re right, it’s terribly awkward trying to cut meat with a left-handed fork while your other wrist is paralyzed.”

“I was going to suggest that you order something simpler, perhaps an antipasto, or a dish you might eat with your fingers, but I didn’t feel it was my place.”

“Do I detect a sense of humor behind that severe expression?”

“An attempt, perhaps, but I don’t feel very humorous at the moment. I won’t until I know the Secretary of State has arrived safely on Cyprus.”

“You alerted the proper people; there’s nothing more you can do. They’ll take care of him.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Then to business, Mr. Milos,” said Khalehla, returning to her meal, again slowly, her eyes on Varak. “Why Kendrick? Why did you do it? Above all,
how
did you do it? You tapped into sources that were supposedly untappable! You went in
where no one should be able to go and ripped out secrets, stole a theft-proof file. Whoever gave you those should be taken out and put in the field so he’d know what it’s like to have no protection, to be naked without weapons in the dark streets of a hostile city.”

“Whatever assistance was given to me was rendered by a source who trusted me, who knew where I was coming from, as you phrased it.”

“But
why
?”

“I’ll give you a limited response, Miss Rashad, and speak only in general terms.”

“Hooray for you. So give.”

“This country imperatively needs changes in an administration that will undoubtedly be reelected.”

“Who says so other than the voters?”

“Off limits, except again, in general terms … although I shouldn’t have to use even them. You’ve seen for yourself.”

Khalehla put down her fork and looked at the European. “San Diego? Vanvlanderen? Grinell?”

“San Diego, Vanvlanderen and Grinell,” repeated the Czech quietly. “To clarify further: monies obviously sent through Zurich and Beirut to the Baaka Valley for the purpose of eliminating a political contender—namely, Congressman Kendrick. And now an apparent attempt to stop a brilliant Secretary of State from attending a disarmament conference whose purpose is to reduce the proliferation—the production—of space and nuclear weapons.”

“San Diego,” said Khalehla, leaving her food on the plate. “Orson Bollinger?”

“An enigma,” replied Varak. “What does he know? What doesn’t he know? Regardless, he’s the rallying point, the funnel into an unbeatable administration. He has to be replaced, thus eliminating the people around him who order him to march to their drums.”

“But why Evan
Kendrick
?”

“Because he is now an unbeatable contender.”

“He’ll never accept it; he’ll tell you to go to hell. You don’t know him, I
do
.”

“A man doesn’t necessarily want to do what he must do, Miss Rashad. But he will do it if the reasons are made clear to him why he should.”

“You think that’s
enough
?”

“I don’t know Mr. Kendrick personally, of course, but I
don’t think there’s another human being I’ve studied so closely. He’s a remarkable man, yet so realistically modest about his achievements. He made a great deal of money out of an exploding Middle East economy, then walked away from millions more because he was morally offended and emotionally distraught. He then entered the political arena for no other reason than to replace a—what did you call me?—a scum-rotten, who was lining his pockets in Colorado. Finally, he went to Oman knowing he might not come back, for he believed he could help in a crisis. That’s not a man you take lightly. He may but you don’t.”

“Oh, good Lord,” said Khalehla. “I’m hearing a variation of my own words.”

“In support of his political advancement?”

“No, to explain why he wasn’t a liar. But I should tell you there’s another reason why he went back to Oman. It falls under the not too benevolent heading of a kill. He was convinced he knew who was behind the terrorists in Masqat: the same monster who’d been responsible for killing all seventy-eight people who made up the Kendrick Group, including wives and children. He was right; the man was executed according to Arabic law.”

“That’s hardly a negative, Miss Rashad.”

“No, it isn’t, but it somewhat alters the circumstances.”

“I’d prefer to think it adds a dimension of properly sought justice, which further confirms our choice of him.”

“
Our
?”

“Off limits.”

“I repeat, he’ll turn it down.”