Agent of Influence: A Thriller (23 page)

He tilted his water bottle towards the ceiling of the jet and took a long drink from it so as to avoid her angry stare. “I’m sorry. It’s just a crazy story. Not exactly something we would suggest to the trainees, huh?” He chuckled, and re-crossed his legs. Every time he thought she could not surprise him she came up with something new. “Anyway, try to get some sleep, Anna. I want you fresh when we get to the safe house. Have you slept at all over the last few days?”

“A few hours.” She stretched out on the couch against the side of the plane and was soundly sleeping within a minute. Malcolm covered her with a blanket.

Chapter 26

Solomon stalked into the chaos of Aman’s penthouse suite and scanned the room for his boss. The room was abuzz with the constant chatter of campaign volunteers mingled with full time employees all talking on cell phones, shuffling paper, and moving about as they boxed things up. The month of planning in
Las Vegas for the incoming administration was abruptly coming to an end. The campaign manager wanted everyone back in Washington D.C. within the next few days. Why they were leaving a week early, no one knew, but the typical rumors were circulating.  The employee gossip continued as they put together reams of policy papers, suggestions for the few remaining cabinet posts, and everything from the first executive orders he would be signing to potential judges to fill vacancies that were upcoming in the courts. 

Solomon ignored the young college students who seemed to constantly be cutting across his path. He meticulously searched the suite, peering into every room as he looked for Aman. The constant noise was irritating. These kids are all a bunch of idiots, he thought to himself. They were all foolish idealists, and young enough to believe that the administration they had fought to get elected was going to change the world. If he were not so annoyed with his boss at the current moment he would have laughed at their naivety. In six months most of them would either be fired or quietly told their services were no longer needed. 

He was about to dial his cell phone and curse Aman when the old Egyptian appeared from the cavernous closet just off the master bedroom. He acknowledged Solomon with a brief glance while he handed a stack of ruffled papers to a girl who could not have been older than nineteen, whispering instructions to her and sending her on her way. He motioned for Solomon to follow him into the closet, closing and locking the door behind them. It was a closet in name only. Over a thousand square feet, it was larger than many of the homes that were sprouting up around the city of Las Vegas every few days like the weed that you can never quite kill. Empty boxes were strewn around the floor, and a few expensive suits were still on hangers scattered throughout several different areas of the closet. Sensing Solomon’s unease, Aman spoke first.

“The room
is soundproof. Nothing to worry about. All of them are too focused on the next great President heading to the White House anyways,” he said as he dismissively motioned to the door and the volunteers behind it.

Solom
on’s icy stare centered on Aman, “I’ve been told not to worry about other things that happened recently. It nearly got me killed. I hope you have a good reason why I should not kill you right now.”

“I think we are past the point in our relationship, Solomon, where we need to make childish threats to one anothe
r. The specter of death doesn’t scare me. Besides, if you kill me Zach will soon have every resource in the world at his disposal to hunt you down. You would never get a chance to enjoy that little retirement pension you have been squirreling away for yourself in the Cayman Islands.” Aman watched the muted reaction. Solomon hid his emotions well. This was the first time Aman acknowledged that he was aware of his offshore accounts stashed in the Cayman Islands abroad.

Solomon ignored the comment and made a mental note to move the money again as soon as he had the opportunity.  “Enough with the games, Aman. I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into. This is clearly more than just one of Zach’s
little trysts. I’m not aware of too many strippers who could kill a former member of the German Stasi and two professional killers. If you want this job finished I’m going to need the full story along with some additional assurances. This was supposed to be a simple job of catching some whore on the run, not tracking down what is clearly some type of covert agent,” Solomon finished.

             
“You suspected this from the beginning, Solomon. I don’t know why you act surprised when your original assessment is proven true. I went by what Zach told me. Clearly he has been duped. I warned him to stop hanging around the strip clubs in this city, but he refused to listen to me. Any guesses on who she’s working for?” Aman asked. Although he already had the choices narrowed, he wanted to hear what Solomon’s first reaction would be.

“Don’t give me that shit, Aman. I have no doubt you have a good idea who it is. And if you want this job finished you are going to tell me.” Solomon was tired of fooling around, and he was not going to get into a political war. He had intentionally avoided dealing with Zach over past last few years unless he had to.

              Aman’s shoulders hunched and he stared at the floor of the closest as he told Solomon the half-truth he devised earlier in the day. “It appears Zach is still under the careful watch of the current administration. The FBI came to us a few months earlier and performed some standard interviews. This is normal practice. All prospective presidential candidates have background checks performed. It’s just common sense. I was told that the investigation was wrapped up though. It appears President Gray has taken it upon himself to continue with his own personal vendetta, I mean investigation,” he said with a half smirk as he raised his head to make eye contact with Solomon.

“Why would they do that?” Solomon eyed him skeptically. “Did they find something during the original background check that made them nervous?”

              “Of course not. Zach is a model citizen, aside from his inability to keep his pants on in front of the ladies. But that is common. I don’t know too many politicians who don’t have that problem. Even the little goofy ones can get it on demand. Besides, you have seen the current Gestapo we have running this country. They have invaded a country, pillaged it, and are now leaving it to rot. President Gray understands one way: war. We have provided an alternative. That is why Zach was elected. He will bring real peace to that war-ravaged region. His mixed blood will allow him to be the first honest broker, and will help the Palestinians get their state and the Jews keep theirs, assuming they agree to work within our framework.”

“Why would Gray want to destroy such a noble venture?” Solomon asked with a hint of sarcasm.            

“Mr. Gray is trying to ruin Zach’s reputation before he even takes the oath. Zach is not even Muslim. He’s a Christian with family ties to the Muslim community, and he is the first real threat to the war machine of this country. That is why Mr. Gray’s spy must be caught. She will no doubt try to get her pictures published somewhere. We have shown this country a better way. Zach just needs the opportunity.” Aman’s whole body stiffened as he finished his impassioned speech. There was enough truth sprinkled throughout the falsehoods to make his passion honest.

Solomon listened intently. It made some sense. He did not care as long as Aman agreed to pay his new fee. “Now I understand why you did not want to involve the Secret Service just yet. If the wrong person found out about the woman Mr. Gray himself could become aware of the situation,” Solomon added.

              “Exactly.” Aman grinned, knowing the Frenchmen would take the bait. “So, will you go to Washington D.C. and finish the job?” Aman asked.

Solomon’s face remained stoic. He was hoping for the offer, but he did not want to seem too eager. “Two million dollars is the fee. Apparently you know the account number to deposit it in.”

              “Half now, and the rest once you complete the task,” Aman responded.

“Of course. But where do I begin?
I need a starting point if I’m going to catch her.”

“I have learned one thing. It appears she may be an employee of the CIA. When you were on your way back here I called one of our low-level informants in
Reno. He has a minor job at the airport. It appears an unscheduled flight from D.C. arrived in Reno in the early morning hours. I had him throw around some money to the air traffic controllers. It turns out it was a CIA plane. And not just any plane, one of the director’s planes. An unscheduled flight to Reno in the middle of the night by either the CIA Director or someone close to him? I don’t have to be in the spy business to solve this little mystery,” Aman said.

             
“I take it you’re not planning on keeping this informant around after this?” Solomon laughed.

“Who knows? We certainly have enough dirt on him to keep him in line. That is the beauty of running a business in this state. Everyone is either up to their eyeballs in debt because of their gambling addiction or they cannot keep their hands off the whores. And then the really easy ones to control have both addictions.”

              “Can you have Zach arrange a meeting with the CIA Director? He may be able to find out the name of the woman. That would certainly make my task easier,” Solomon asked.

“I’m
working on obtaining more information.  I will leave it at that. As soon as I have something useful I will pass it on to you. We were planning on sending over some of Zach’s closest advisors to CIA and FBI this week anyway. Let them get the lay of the land and introduce themselves to some of the men they will be working with on a regular basis. Zach did not make any friends with either the FBI or CIA during the campaign. It is time to pretend to mend some fences, and hopefully gather some useful information for you at the same time.”             

             
“Good. I will get to D.C. my own way. I will contact you once I am there and let you know how you can reach me.”

“Agreed. You know which phone to use.” Aman opened the closet door and motioned for Solomon to follow him out. If all goes as planned I will never s
ee you again, Aman thought. “I wish you good luck.” Aman offered his hand to the Frenchman in grudging respect. He knew Solomon’s skills had made his own job much simpler over the last several years.

             
“Never seeing you again will still be too soon,” Solomon replied, reading Aman’s thoughts. He had no desire to be in this man’s control any longer. He questioned whether he should take this final job, but the money was too much to resist. He would finish the task and disappear into the Caribbean. Maybe he would even return to France. He had enough information about the incoming President of the United States to be useful to his former bosses at the DGSE.

Chapter 27

Washington D.C.
 

              Sarah Steele strode confidently into Brown’s restaurant at 920 15St NW, jostling her way past a small line of people begging the hostess for a table. The Washington D.C. landmark served up Southern style food on white tablecloths. The gold tables and gold walls gave it the sophisticated feel that was necessary to keep the D.C. clientele happy.  The early evening crowd included the typical movers and shakers of both political parties who routinely filed in each night to be wined and dined by the latest lobbying group vying for their attention. 

The hostess immediately recognized Sarah and motioned for her to follow. Ms. Steele brushed past the line of people, ignoring the angry looks as the hostess navigated between packed tables until coming to a stop in the corner next to the bar. Sitting alone at the corner table was the old man who had urgently asked to meet her here.  Heads looked up from various tables and then quickly diverted their eyes back to their martinis before Ms. Steele, a head reporter for the Post, could acknowledge their presence. Sarah Steele was by no means what most men would consider a particularly attractive woman. She was short, plump and Ivy League educated. This was a bad combination for a town full of Ivy League educated politicians who all thought they were the saviors of the country, and thus entitled to ignore nosy reporters.

The crowd turned their attention away from her because she was one of the most aggressive reporters in town, and one that did not take any bullshit. Educated at Yale, she was a tried and true New England liberal who believed her party was selling itself out to its moderate wing. Both sides of the political aisle feared and respected her at the same time. Unlike most reporters in town she did not try to slip her beliefs into her articles. She bludgeoned the reader with them, and the reader knew what they were in for when they read her column.

Her opposition enjoyed talking to her more than her own party because they knew they were going to disagree, and were happy to get a piece published showing them fighting the media about which they constantly whined. It was those in her own party who actually feared her the most. She did not write “puff pieces,” and had no problem calling out politicians on issues where they would prefer to take a “nuanced” approach. The man she was meeting tonight was going to provide her with some useful information about the outgoing administration. It was already two months after the election, but she was still riding a wave of excitement after Allan Gray was voted out of office. Another term and she was convinced the whole world would be engulfed in a war. Now there was a chance for real peace, and if she could put the final nail in Mr. Gray’s administration she would be happy to oblige.

              “Cosmopolitan,” she commanded to the approaching waitress. They were in the back corner of the restaurant, and her dinner companion was hidden by the shadows. “Why are we sitting all the way back here? I want these vultures to know I’m in their midst.”

“Be quiet, Sarah. If it
was up to me we would not even be meeting,” Yohan Rosenbaum’s velvet voice spoke in a hushed tone. Always the polite gentleman, he could never tell anyone to shut up. The Jewish senator from New York eyed the reporter over his horn-rimmed glasses. He was not much taller than Sarah, and the crumpled conservative blue suit he wore was now wrinkled from a long day of work. Tired and ready to go home, he wanted this to be short and sweet so he could get some sleep. In his early days in the Senate eight thirty in the evening would have been the beginning of a long night. Now five years away from turning eighty he just wanted to go home to the wife who still loved him, despite the numerous times he had been unfaithful to her.

She never gave up on the marriage, and he rewarded her by not straying during the last fifteen years. Whether he was just tired of getting laid or felt guilty about it, he was not sure, but it brought them closer together, and for that he was truly grateful. Hell, compared to most of the people in this town he felt like a saint, but he knew he was only fooling himself.  He sipped his dirty martini and watched as the waitress quickly reappeared and set Sarah’s cosmopolitan on the table. She ordered one of the few vegetarian dishes on the menu, while he opted for the gumbo.  The waitress disappeared amongst the growing crowd. Sarah immediately started the meeting, her short temper not wasting any time in rearing its ugly head.

              “Thanks for sitting so close to the bar.” She tipped her glass in a sarcastic manner. “I understand you have some new stuff for me. It better be good. I already got him out of office.” She took a careful taste of her drink and put it down approvingly.

Yohan’s wrinkled face broke into a delicate smile. “Why does every reporter in this city think they are the most influential one?”

“Because I am,” she shot back.

             
“The press always complains about how egotistical and cocky we are over on the Hill, and then I have to sit here and listen to this.” Yohan was always amused by her antics. This was not the first time he had been asked to pass on information to her, and he always found the encounters enlightening.

“Hey, I’m just keeping up with the Jones’s, honey,” Sarah replied. She adjusted her glasses and glanced back towards the rest of the tables. She did not like having her back to all the other powerful patrons.  “Can we change seats?” She asked in a suddenly submissive tone.

              “No. Don’t worry. This won’t take long. I need to head home as soon as we eat.” Yohan knew she was uncomfortable, and he preferred to keep her that way.

“Let’s have it then. You’re
the one who called me out here at the last second.”

             
“Yes, yes. Do you think you could get it published tomorrow?” Yohan asked.

“I will have to get it to my editor quickly, but at the current rate this conversation is going
I would say no. Of course, it’s also going to have to be worthy information for a rush printing job.”

             
“What would you think if the current administration had launched an investigation into the background of Zachariah Hardin, and that investigation was still continuing as we speak?” Yohan knew her answer, but wanted to get her worked up first.

             
Sarah eyed him suspiciously. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. That ass has done nothing but crap on the Constitution ever since he came into office. He has used a national tragedy as an excuse to trample as many rights as possible. He’s done nothing but piss off every country that used to be our friend, and don’t even get me started on Iraq.” She stopped, realizing the immature ranting for what it was. “But, for me to go to press with such an extreme accusation you better have some proof.” She took another diminutive sip of her cosmo, and straightened out the crumpled napkin underneath it. She gingerly sprinkled some salt on the napkin, an old trick she picked up from her Ivy League days that prevented it from sticking to the glass.

             
“I can’t give you a name, but my source tells me that someone very close to the President overheard a discussion between the FBI Director and the President. They are obviously trying to keep the investigation quiet. Apparently only a handful of people know about it.”

“When you say someone close to the President, who are you talking about? A cabinet member? Secretary? Wife?” She watched him carefully. There are certain things you can just toss into the paper, then watch how everyone reacts. This was not one of them. The journalist in her told her she needed more information, and she knew she had to be careful. She could smell blood in the water, but she had no plans to jump in blindly and find the pool already drained. A false accusation such as this could end her career prematurely, and right when things were taking a turn for the better.

              “I was not told,” Yohan admitted.

“That’s all? Come on, Yohan. If I go to press with this and Mr. Gray sends his Gestapo after me, are you going to bail me out? I doubt it.”

Yohan frowned at the comment.  He lost several family members in Nazi Germany, and did not take kindly to flippant jokes.

             
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Sarah replied sincerely. “But I’m going to need something else.”

“Apology accepted. My own people are not free
from mistakes. That is why I’m here. This incoming President will be the first ever to have a real opportunity to forge a lasting peace. That is why you must trust me. He must remain anonymous.  I can tell you he was in the room for the conversation. The person who told me to pass it on would not lie about this.”

She followed his eyes, trying to discern if this could somehow be a trap
              “Why give me this story?”

“Now you suddenly have modes
ty? Give me a break, Sarah. I’m getting old, but not naïve. Everyone in this restaurant probably knows you, or at least your reputation.  They may not like you, but they respect you. You’re not a phony, and you have a very large readership. Some in this town will curse you for dancing on a man’s political grave, but it will generate a buzz. Besides, it is true. I’ve seen the proof myself.” The last sentence was a lie, and he fidgeted slightly in his chair when he said it. However, he was told to do whatever it took to make sure she bit on the idea. The information was true, but like so many other things in this world, what was left out was just as important as what he told her.

             
The waitress appeared with two steaming plates of food before hustling off to get two more drinks. Sarah ate in silence while he fed her the basics about the investigation. Her mind raced, thinking of potential pitfalls, but the same thought continued to come back to her every time. She could play an instrumental part in changing an area of the world that appeared beyond help. It was an opportunity to not just be famous in her own lifetime, but for many years to come. The romanticism of the concept proved too much, even for a cynic like Sarah.

“Alright,
Yohan. I’ll run it by my editor.” After fifteen more minutes she set her fork down and pushed the empty plate to the side. She gulped the last of her drink, dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and abruptly stood up to leave.

             
His scrawny arm reached out with surprising quickness and grabbed her wrist. “Remember, no names, including mine. You mention no one by name except the current President and his FBI Director. If my source does not like your column he can make life very uncomfortable for you.”