Cobalt (13 page)

     ‘They’re not going to dump the deceased in the ocean, are they?’ he asked.

     ‘No. The Venetian’s bury their dead in crypts on an island further away from the main land. Due to the high water table that runs in and around the city they have adopted the practice over many centuries. Their cemeteries are very similar to Lafayette in New Orleans. It’s the same principle, except that when they are buried in New Orleans they float to the surface, when they are buried here, they float home.’ They watched as the funeral party continued down the canal and out of view. Turning back to face the front of the ferry Madeline saw the white and blue edging tiles of St Mark’s square come into view.   

It was about two, fifteen when they landed at St Marks. Madeline looked around. The raised walkways were out, and the plaza was flooded. Spring in Venice, she mused. Rick and Madeline made their way along the narrow platforms, weaving in and out of the thousands of people who were also trying to move along them. Madeline stopped Rick at the top of a marble bridge. Gesturing to the two buildings, either side, and the small, marble walkway that joined them, Madeline told him that they were the Dogue's palace, the Prison and the connecting walkway was the bridge of sighs. She would have told him the reason the bridge was called that was because as a condemned man was escorted from the courts, located in the palace, to the prison, the bridge was the last opportunity to see a glimpse of the city, and the sun. It was said that at this moment the condemned would let out a sign, audible to those walking through St Mark’s square. The momentum of the crowd  forced them towards the centre of the square, before she had a chance to expand on its name. As they passed the entrance to St Marks cathedral, Rick noticed that it too, was filled with water. He looked at Madeline.

      ‘Venice floods at the change of season.’ she stated as if reading his mind.

            Continuing along the platforms to the edge of the square, Madeline and Rick came across the street that led to their hotel. It was out of water. They stepped off the platforms and made their way down the grey cobbled street, looking into the windows of the shops they passed. While many of the shops sold tourist souvenirs, they came across jewellery, Venetian glassware and clothing retailers. As they rounded another corner they came face to face with an ornament store. In the windows hung masks of different sizes and colours. All were highly decorated and all were very expensive. Feathers, rhinestones, lace, leather and sequins adorned these masks. Rick looked at them, trying to imagine where such an elaborate creation could be worn.

     ‘Mardi Gras?’ he questioned.

      ‘Carnivale’ Madeline stated, as she moved past the shop window.

     ‘What?’ Rick caught up to her and grabbing her arm, brought her to a stop.

     ‘Carnivale. It’s Venice’s major festival. New Orleans has Mardi Gras. Mexico has the ‘Day of the Dead.’ Siena has the Palio horse race. Milan has its fashion shows and Venice has Carnivale. It’s a festival the Italians participate in to mark the beginning of lent. A period of partying, revelry and mayhem before a month of fasting and religious ceremony. It’s been practiced for centuries. It’s marked by masquerade balls and street carnivals. It’s a huge draw card for tourists now.’

     ‘Right. Of course. Carnivale. I knew that. I was just checking to see if you did your background research. Efficient as ever, Madeline.’ Rick muttered as they then continued towards the hotel.  

            The two of them booked into the Venice branch of the Ritz hotel, under their mission alias, Mr and Mrs Glazer. After examining the room, from top to bottom - taking in the Venetian views out the windows of their fifth floor apartment, to Rick dropping on to the bed, groaning and punching the pillow - they set about re-constructing their communications equipment, once more. Madeline then phoned Marcus.

     ‘Marcus, Madeline....Yes were here in Venice... No, No trouble getting here. The helicopter ride was just lovely...’ She smiled at Rick who pulled a face, as he remembered all too well his reaction to the 'lovely' chopper ride. ‘Well?... Ah, we'll need confirmation, but we'll begin initial surveillance tonight. There's a cafe across the plaza from it... Yes, that's the plan, to stay as inconspicuous as possible... Look, Teslovich knew we were coming, in Florence. He wasn’t one bit surprised when Rick and I forced our way into his office. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t already know that we’re in Venice. At least if he doesn’t, he will shortly. I think you’ve got a leak working with you, on this. Be careful. I don’t think you should call me again. I’ll call you, Marcus. Goodbye.’ She put down the phone and returned her attention to Rick, who was still trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed. She moved across the room, to sit beside him, on the double, black wrought iron  bed, covered with a gold, silk embroidered spread. ‘Have you got a formal, black suit in your bag? I've seen the grey and the navy, but tonight just calls for something black.’ she said.

     ‘Only if you've got a dress in that bag of yours. Short, black. I'm not wearing my good suit, if you're not going to wear a dress. I'd like to see you out of a suit, Madeline.’ he teased.

     ‘You've seen me out of a suit. Completely out of my suit.’ She smiled.

     ‘You know what I mean.’ He laughed pulling her towards him. ‘So, what's that plan?’

     ‘Marcus thinks they've found the Venice hideout, but he's doing another systems check. I told him we'd stake out the proposed location tonight. That seems like the most logical time Teslovich will attempt to make contact.’ She looked at him, and raised one eyebrow. ‘You know what?’

     ‘What?’ he questioned.

     ‘I don't' think our terrorists have any Cobalt Blue. I think it's a decoy. For what, I'm not sure, but I'm willing to stake my reputation that Kellerin hasn't got any.’ She stood as she spoke, and began to pace the room.

     ‘What makes you say that?’ Rick queried, completely intrigued by the way her mind worked. He sat up and faced her.

She returned his gaze. ‘Well, think about it. To do what Kellerin is threatening, to poison Washington DC's water supply, they need an awfully huge amount of the stuff. One ounce to ten litres I believe, and on the scale of a city, it means hundreds of kilos. There is only a limited amount of Cobalt Blue, even on the black market. It's doable, but highly unlikely!’ She turned to look out on the windows. ‘If only I knew what Kellerin was really up to. That's why I need Teslovich!’

CHAPTER 17

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ Marcus bellowed as he entered the communications division of the CIA. ‘It has been brought to my attention, that we possibly have a traitor in the midst of our agent network. Someone conspiring with the very terrorists we are endeavouring to  track down and apprehend. In accordance with procedure I have determined the leak, via wiretap.’ Holding a portable cassette player in one hand, Marcus stood in the centre of the room and pressed play. A voice slowly crackled through the speakers. Speaking in Russian the voice identified itself as the traitor by addressing the receiver by Teslovich, the name of the terrorist Madeline and Rick were tracking across Europe. As the call ended Marcus approached the cubicle of one of the CIA most respectable communication’s technicians, Agent Peter Stolts. Stolts had been a member of the CIA for the past thirty years. Other than Marcus, he was the longest serving member of the staff, and he was one of Marcus’ closest acquaintances. It was hard for Marcus to believe that Stolts was the leak, but evidence never lied, as far as he was concerned, and his other logical theory was that Stolts had served in the CIA for the primary reason of being the inside man. Marcus spoke as he crossed the room.

‘The line used for this phone call originated in booth number thirty-two. Agent Stolts personal account number was also issued prior to the call. There is no doubt that he is our leak.’ As Marcus reached the booth, Stolts stood, in anticipation.

      ‘Mr. Director, you can’t believe that I would do something like this. I have been here almost as long as you. This has something to do with the fact that I’m the only black man in the room, doesn’t it?’

    ‘This has nothing to do with colour and everything to do with evidence. Your phone line, your PIN number. Everything tends to name you as our key subject. I’m sorry Stolts, I didn’t want to believe that you could be responsible for this, but the evidence has left me no choice.’ Marcus motioned to the two agents behind him. ‘Take him into custody.’ Murmurs erupted from around the room. There was not one agent in the room that believed Director Shaw had arrested the right man. Nearly every one of them had worked with the fifty-five year old man, at least once in their service at the agency. Finally one of the older operatives spoke up.

      ‘Sir, can I ask you, how did you know whose phone to tap?’ Agent Diana Spender questioned as she stood up, straightening her dark, grey jacket.

     ‘I didn’t know, so I tapped them all.’ Marcus responded as he strode from the room.

     ‘What right do you have to undermine the credibility of your staff?’ Diana continued.

     ‘I am the Director of the CIA. I can do whatever the hell I feel like. Especially when it concerns my staff, and the outcome of an investigation. That will be all. Get back to work.’ Marcus stated as he closed the door behind him. Diana took her seat once more, and stared blankly round the room, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Her expression was mirrored by the other twenty agents that still worked in the communications division.    

CHAPTER 18

As William walked back towards the Oval Office, he heard his wife’s voice coming from one of the other offices that lined the hallway. William determined it was coming from the Red Room, an office designed solely for the purpose of allowing the First Lady a private place to meet with guests. Gillian’s pet project had been that of finding ways to raise funds for the construction of shelters and schools for under-privileged children, so he assumed she was in one of her meetings with prospective donors. He decided to liven the meeting up, with his presence, he was running ahead of schedule and had five minutes of unaccounted for time. He never ran ahead of schedule. Without bothering to knock, William opened the large oak door, and entered the room. His wife sat at the head of the table, graciously answering the questions being thrown at her by the woman seated in the chair opposite. On the far side of the room stood one man, a camera and tripod. It was not often that William saw his wife participate in interviews, she was an extremely private person, in his mind, and the sight of her sitting, relaxed, joking with some reporter, over coffee, shocked him.

Gillian’s eyes caught a movement at the back of the room. She looked directly at the reporter and said, ‘Speak of the devil. Miss Patterson, I’d like to introduce you to my husband.’ Gillian gestured to the back of the room, where William, conscious of the camera focus, froze in his retreat from the room - like a frightened deer - and then turned to face his wife. Mischief shone in Gillian’s eyes. It was not often that she caught her husband spying on her, but when she did, she liked to make the most of it, and the interview Megan Mullin, her chief of staff and William’s press secretary, Connie Concannon had scheduled with ‘Entertainment Tonight’ provided her with the perfect opportunity to mess with him on national television, on her terms.

      ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Patterson. What horrible stories has my wife been telling you, about me?’ William said as he crossed the room to stand behind Gillian’s chair. As he reached the table, he kissed her on the cheek, and rested his hands on her shoulders, caressing her neck ever so slightly. ‘I promise you none of its true.’

      ‘I assure you nothing bad has been said, Mr. President. We have been discussing the Gala ball being held next month, in the East Room. I understand it is going to be the most spectacular ever.’ The reporter stated, the smile plastered to her face.

     ‘Oh, the Gala Ball. Yes, it is going to be wonderful. I think Gillian has already begun working on the decorations. I’m really looking forward to it, the food, the dancing, the guests. After the work that goes on here, it will be nice to relax for a few hours. I look forward to being able to spend time with Gillian socially. Well, semi-socially any way, after all it is a function of office.’ he replied, smiling while he glanced quickly at his watch. ‘Well if you’ll both excuse me, I have a meeting with Ted Randal, in about two minutes. I can’t be late. Well, actually I can be, I’m the President. I can do whatever I want. A perk of the office. There are so few. But I shouldn’t be…’