Game Changer (25 page)

38

The inhabitants
of the home Eyal Regev had set up as a headquarters in Waltham—three people who
would form the nucleus of a critical joint American-Israeli operation—spent the
rest of the day and evening poring over intel and getting to know each other.
They had pizza delivered for lunch a few hours before the vid-meet and Chinese
food delivered a few hours after.

Quinn tried not
to reflect too much on the imminent death of his old life, of almost
everything, and everyone, he had known. Like a participant in a witness
protection program, he would be reborn, never able to go back, only forward.

The pain and disorientation
he would have otherwise felt was muted by the affection he quickly developed
for both of his new teammates. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken
to anyone as quickly as he had to a professor who was effortlessly able to bridge
the vast intellectual gulf between them.

And he and Eyal
Regev developed an instant rapport, unlike any he had ever experienced. After
only a few hours, Regev had become like a brother to him, although one who
seemed to be just a slightly superior version of himself in every way. They had
everything in common. They were of the same height and largely thought in the
same way, which was remarkable given the differences in their cultures and
language. But Regev seemed to be just a little sharper than Quinn, a little
more knowledgeable on a broader base of topics. His sense of humor at least as
good as Quinn’s and maybe even better. Most impressive of all, while Quinn
prided himself on his use of the language, on being articulate, Regev seemed a
little better here as well, astonishing since this was his second language.

Quinn guessed
Regev possessed elite skills, even for a Mossad agent, which made sense to him.
When choosing an agent for a mission that was extremely important, an agent who
had to pretend to be a neuroscience graduate student at Harvard, you chose the
sharpest one you had.

Quinn had
admired and respected his last boss, Cris Coffey, who would be one of the few
people from his past life he would continue to work with. But he suspected he
would soon come to admire and respect the Israeli even more.

At nine that
night a package was left at Regev’s doorstep, one containing a passport,
California driver’s license, and several credit cards, each in the name of
Kevin Moore, who bore a striking resemblance to the soon-to-be deceased Kevin
Quinn. At least they had let him keep his first name. Thank God for that.

At midnight they
checked cable news one last time before turning in. Regev only had two beds, so
Quinn took the couch while his two companions each retired to separate rooms.

They agreed to
reconvene in the family room at eight the next morning. When this time arrived,
they greeted each other but said little else as Regev immediately turned on his
television to learn if they were free to move, or would need to remain in place
a little longer.

The words
BREAKING NEWS
were splashed across the
top and bottom of the seventy-inch screen in three-dimensional red letters.

“Just to repeat
our top news story this morning,” said a woman named Ann Keeran, a striking
news anchor who could well have been a model, “the manhunt for Secret Service
Special Agent Kevin Quinn ended in the wee hours of the morning, at around two
o’clock Eastern time. FBI agents located Quinn, wanted in connection with an attempt
on President Davinroy’s life, just minutes before, on the I-75 highway in
Cincinnati, Ohio. During a high-speed chase, Quinn lost control of his car in
the Cincinnati suburb of Finneytown, crashing into a parked semi at over a
hundred miles an hour. The car erupted into flames from the force of the
collision, incinerating both it and the man inside.”

Quinn felt sick
to his stomach as the anchor threw the coverage to a reporter on the scene, in
what had already become a media circus, with images of the remains of a
collision from hell pictured behind the throng of reporters, cameramen, and
officials. Broken glass, mangled steel, and the burned-out and demolished husks
of a semi and sedan gave witness to Ann Keeran’s reporting.

“Are you okay,
Kevin?” asked Rachel.

Quinn nodded
woodenly. “Yeah. It’s just not every day that . . .” He shrugged. “You know.”

“I do,” she
replied. “It’s like reading your own obituary. But worse.”

“I have to say
that your Cris Coffey did an impressive job,” noted Regev as he continued to
watch the coverage.

“I owe him one,”
said Quinn. “I’m grateful that he didn’t have me committing suicide. Having me lighting
myself on fire after being found in an abandoned building would have been much
easier to stage. At least he let me retain
some
dignity. And it is a relief to be out from under the manhunt.”

“I’ll bet,” said
Regev. “And just to return your compliment from yesterday,” he added in
amusement, “you look good for a dead man too. And
you
didn’t even need a bulletproof vest.”
 

They continued
to watch in silence. After five minutes of further coverage on the scene, the
reporting was thrown back to Ann Keeran. “An hour ago,” she said solemnly, “the
White House issued a statement, thanking the law enforcement agencies for their
efforts in tracking down a dangerous fugitive, and expressing their sorrow at
the way this ended. President Davinroy was quoted as saying, ‘It is well known
that the actions of Special Agent Quinn were brought on by a psychotic break
with reality. While he did become a danger to himself and others, we should all
remember his long record of serving his country with honor and distinction. While
I am grateful to have this behind us, the loss of this good man is nothing
short of a tragedy.’”

“Wow,” said
Regev, lifting the remote to switch off the television. “That was . . .
thoughtful.”

Quinn nodded.
“It has Coffey’s fingerprints all over it. My guess is that he wrote it. I just
can’t believe he convinced the president to release it.”

“I can,” said
Rachel. “Davinroy’s a politician, so he didn’t do it to make
you
look good. He did it to make himself
look good. It’s a huge story, and he gets to go on record being gracious and
forgiving. Irresistible to any politician worth his salt.”

“I had no idea
you were this cynical,” said Regev with a grin. “I’m liking you more every
minute.”

Rachel smiled,
but the magnitude and sincerity of her expression was less than Quinn might
have expected. “So I guess we’re free to be on our way,” she said.

“My government
has a plane waiting for us at Logan. Have you ever been to Israel?”

“Yes,” said
Rachel. “Once. At a scientific conference.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes. I didn’t
have the chance to go to any of your resorts,” she replied, “but I was
impressed. Given the terrorism issues you hear about, I didn’t expect such
thriving cities, or that they’d be even more modern than ours.”

“We’ll make sure
to get you to the resorts at some point,” said Regev. “I think you’ll enjoy
your stay.” He smiled. “It should help that you’ll be given unlimited resources
and treated like royalty.”

Again Rachel
flashed a smile, but to Quinn’s eyes it seemed forced somehow.

Quinn was ready
to travel, the rucksack he had taken being his sole possession. He thought
about ceremonially destroying the black baseball hat he had thought would prove
so important, but decided to keep it as a reminder of the adversity he had
managed to overcome since this episode had begun.

Rachel wanted to
return to her home to pack some belongings, but both men ruled this out
immediately, and Regev promised her a fabulous shopping spree in Tel Aviv as
soon as she felt up to it after landing.

When the Israeli
left them temporarily to pack a bag, Rachel pressed a folded piece of paper
into Quinn’s hand and put a finger across her lips.
Read this in the bathroom
, she mouthed.

Quinn’s eyes
narrowed in confusion. Was this some kind of practical joke? Given all that had
happened and his assessment of Rachel Howard’s personality, he couldn’t believe
this was true.

Go!
she mouthed adamantly as he stood there, dumbfounded.

This shook Quinn
from his momentary trance and he hustled off to Regev’s bathroom as she had instructed.
He shut the door, unfolded the paper he had been given, and read.

Don’t trust Eyal. Much of what the Israelis said
during the vid-meet was a lie. We need to learn the truth, once and for all. I
didn’t want to share this with you earlier because Eyal was always close by.
Even when we were alone for a short time I couldn’t risk that we were still being
watched—maybe by his AI system, maybe by him personally. But now that you’ve
been declared dead, it’s time to make our move. When you exit the bathroom,
hold Eyal at gunpoint, and I’ll take it from there. I can tell you like him.
And while he does seem like a great guy, I’m counting on you to trust me on
this.

Quinn swallowed
hard. This was yet another twist he hadn’t seen coming. What in the world was
going on? Had Rachel lost her mind?

Maybe so, but
she was brilliant, and he had no choice but to trust her, although he couldn’t
guess why she had become so distrusting of the Israelis for all the world.

Quinn made sure
to flush the toilet and run the sink, and then returned to the living room.
Regev now held a small travel bag and had rejoined Rachel.

Taking a deep
mental breath, Quinn pulled a gun on the Israeli and pointed it at his head. “Drop
the bag, Eyal!” he demanded. “Raise your hands!”

The startled and
confused expression on Regev’s face could not have been faked. “Kevin?” he
said.

“Do it!” said
Quinn.

Regev let go of
his bag and raised his hands above his head. “Kevin, what’s all this about?”

Quinn shook his
head. “I have absolutely no idea,” he replied.

39

 
A life-sized 3-D image of the face of Daniel
Eisen hung across from Dmitri Kovonov, at a distance software indicated would
have been a comfortable degree of separation if both men were actually
together. Eisen was Kovonov’s most trusted lieutenant, a man who had proven
himself over and over again in the short time they had been working closely
together. He was bald, short, and lithe, but had the wiry strength of a rock
climber and was expert in weapons, tactics, and multiple forms of hand-to-hand
combat.

“We landed at O’Hare about an hour ago,” said Eisen in Hebrew, sounding
understandably tired, “and we’re in the hotel awaiting your instructions. I
take it you had no trouble getting the virus from Dr. Acosta?”

Kovonov displayed a wolfish grin. “No. You might even say it was a
pleasure
. She’s just attractive enough
to arouse genuine . . . interest.”

“What would you have done if not? A blue pill?”

“Yes,” said Kovonov in amusement. “Along with closing my eyes and
thinking of someone else.”

Eisen laughed.

“I want the two of you to fly to Connecticut as soon as you can,” said
Kovonov, his smile vanishing. “I’ve found a group that should be perfect for
our needs. It’s called the Danbury Evangelical Fellowship. Turns out twenty
members are on the first day of a week-long bible study retreat. They’ve
helpfully put the details online. They’re at an isolated campground inside
something called Cockaponset State Forest.”

“We’ll familiarize ourselves with the group and the retreat on the
plane,” said Eisen.

“Good. I want you to fly into Bradley International in Hartford. I’ll
arrange to have a hired gun meet you there.”

Eisen looked confused. “With all due respect, Dmitri, we can handle this
ourselves.”

“Don’t be an idiot! You’re better than that. Yes, you can handle the
operation yourselves. But where are you planning to get supplies and weaponry,
Chicago? Just put some submachine guns in a carry-on bag while you fly the
friendly skies of United fucking Airlines?”

Eisen’s face remained impassive, taking this reprimand in stride.

“The man who meets you
—
in
Hartford, Connecticut,” continued Kovonov, “will have weaponry, night-vision
equipment, electronics
—
everything
we’ll need. After he makes the transfer he’ll be out of the picture.”

“Of course,” said Eisen.

“After that get to Cockaponset Forest and make your way to where these
Danbury evangelicals are lodging. I need a full reconnaissance of physical
structures, sleeping quarters, mess hall, and the entire area. Make sure we’ll
be able to easily disrupt all cell and Internet coverage. Get a feel for
possible routines and if any of them had military training before they were, um
. . . born again.
 
Most importantly, set
up surveillance and physical obstacles so we can minimize the chances of
getting unwanted company.”

“We’ll see to it, sir.”

“Last thing, Daniel. You know the kind of impact this
virus will have on the world. There will be no going back. I just want to be
certain you’re still with me. Still willing to make such a profound, permanent
change. You aren’t going to have second thoughts about this, right?”

Eisen shook his head adamantly. “I can speak for both
of us here when I say that isn’t going to happen. We aren’t happy about certain
. . . necessities, no question. But we believe in you and what you’re trying to
do. We’re committed to your cause.”

“Good,” said Kovonov. “The achievement of our goals
will come at a great cost. But there are no cheap solutions. And if you ask me,
this is one that is long overdue.”
 

As the call ended, Kovonov’s thoughts turned back once
again to Kevin Quinn and Rachel Howard. His first pair of mercenaries had
failed to capture Quinn. The two mercenaries he had sent after this to capture
Quinn and kill the professor had turned up dead.

Quinn must have grown some balls, after all.
 

Ironically, after Quinn had eluded four seasoned
mercenaries, he had been killed running from his own people. Kovonov doubted Quinn
had suffered as much in the deadly car crash as he would have liked, but
knowing this asshole was finally dead was still immensely satisfying.

So should he send additional men after the professor? He
thought for a few minutes and came to the same conclusion he had come to
previously. It was time to let this one go. Just as he had underestimated
Quinn, he was certainly
overestimating
the danger that Professor Howard represented.

She had no idea what was really going on. He may have
studied the professor for many years, but she was totally unaware that he even existed.
This was a case of respecting someone
too
much. He had become obsessed with her genius, convinced she was the only one
clever enough to hurt him.

But he no longer had time to indulge this whim. He had
wasted too much effort on this already. He needed to let it go.

There were far more important things that now demanded
his attention.