Incitement (29 page)

“Even within that narrow definition of success, I think the Plan has been over-estimated,” Williams said. “With the benefit of hindsight, I’d say the Plan failed in
all the ways that mattered.”

“Caroline, Professor Nelson, thank you.”

Wallace bent down, cleared the dead leaves from the gravestone and positioned the flowers carefully.

Following his usual routine, he walked the short distance down the path to sit on a bench under the branches of an aged oak tree. He could still see the grave from here and liked to think they
could hear his thoughts. Recently, he had not been coming as often as he ought and he pledged to get back to regular visits.

He had felt as if a huge load had been lifted from him in the last few weeks. The violence appeared to have completely ceased after two to three months of steady decline. At the height of the
troubles, he could not turn on the news without hearing of a new episode or being presented with a disturbing feature on the social meltdown. Who would have thought he would ever welcome the day
when the news consisted solely of gloomy economic forecasts and mounting Middle-Eastern tension. Closing his eyes, he rested back on the bench and let the tension seep out.

A slight smile appeared when he thought of the latest status report from the rehabilitation clinics he had founded in Elizabeth’s memory. He had talked to the head of administration three
days earlier and the news could not have been better. The demand for new admissions to their treatment programmes had subsided and they were steadily working their way through the backlog.
Circumstances were still tough but they could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Surprisingly, despite the gruelling ordeal they had gone through, they had not lost too many permanent staff
from the six clinics.

But he could not control where his train of thought took him and yet again he began wishing the clinics could have represented the limit of his ambition. Instead he had been tempted to look for
other ways to create a legacy. There had been no word from Brewer for three months; all attempts to contact him had failed. Regardless of how much he tried to convince himself that there could be
any number of explanations, he knew the truth. Brewer had paid the price for becoming involved with his crusade. They had put a contingency plan in place if the normal channels of communication
broke down. There was an e-mail address to which he could send an SOS and, within two or three days, the message should have been picked up by Brewer. He had lost count of the messages he had
sent.

Worried by this development, he had tried to activate the protocol to arrange an impromptu meeting with Larsen. It had not taken long for it to sink in that he would not be hearing from the
mercenary either and with this awareness came a number of unpleasant insights. Larsen had been planning one last operation, for which Wallace, against his better judgement, had given him the
go-ahead. If Larsen had somehow perished in its execution then Wallace’s culpability was all the greater. If he had possessed the necessary courage at their last meeting, the mercenary might
still be alive. He had seen how driven Larsen was, how difficult it would be to pull the plug there and then, so he had convinced himself one more mission could not make a huge difference. Due to
his cowardice, Larsen had died for a cause that no one believed in any longer.

The worst part of these discoveries was what they had taught him about himself. Rather than concern for the men he had placed in harm’s way, his first reaction had been one of fear. What
if the trail led the parties responsible for their disappearance to his door? Time passed and his fear receded. It looked like the professionals he had employed had shown a loyalty he was lacking.
How else could he explain his failure to try to find more concrete evidence of what had happened to them and his willingness to leave events to run their course? His relief at being able to walk
away disgusted him. If he was honest, he suspected that, had he been told he could choose this outcome a number of months before, he would have happily settled for it. His appetite, for what he had
once felt had almost divine sanction, had waned to the point of extinction.

This is how it ends, he thought. He had sparked a wave of violence leading, one way or another, to the death of hundreds and the misery of countless more. He had caused men who had trusted him
to go to their deaths while he had remained in the background, safe from harm. He had accomplished nothing of permanence. And he was grateful to have survived. He still had wealth, reputation and
his involvement in the foundation. The latter would help him in the long run to ease whatever recriminations cropped up from time to time. On reflection, he had come out of it remarkably well.

A couple of visitors to the cemetery saw the silver-haired man sitting alone on the bench, cradling his head in his hands as he wept, and hurried along, not wishing to intrude on his grief.

First day back at the office. It had been twelve weeks since the shooting and Mesi’s shoulder still caused her a lot of discomfort. She had been given a repeat
prescription by the doctors when discharged but had thrown it out when she had noticed how much she was starting to rely on the painkillers. Without them, she had to get used to pain as a constant
until she healed fully. Her movement was still restricted and she berated herself for not being as dutiful as she might have been in doing her rehab exercises. Going back to sitting at a desk
wasn’t going to help but she couldn’t face another day at home with nothing to do.

She had watched in frustration as the investigation first failed to build on her discovery of Kates’ involvement, and then ground to a complete stop. It had started only days into her
hospital stay when they had been unable to locate Brewer. They had spent days just watching and waiting, not wanting to alert anyone to their interest, only to discover that Brewer’s
secretary had contacted the police about his absence, leading to a missing persons report being filed. Samuels’ response had been to have a team of investigators enter Spartan’s offices
with questions for senior personnel. Her impression of Samuels’ decision was that it had merely been an exercise in ass-covering. It would leave him free to say later that he had done
everything that could be expected based on such limited evidence.

As things stood now, there hadn’t been any attacks on drug-related targets for over a month and the prevalent view was that the conflict had run its course. Nice, neat and a result with
which everyone could be happy. With the decline in violence, locating Brewer or explaining his disappearance had dropped down the list of priorities.

One of her DEA colleagues, known for his cynicism, had confided in her that there was another reason why their superiors were eager to move on and forget the whole affair. The feud had brought
about a radical shift in the balance of power in Colombia’s drug scene. Not so much on the cartel side, although Madrigal’s position was known to be shaky, but in who controlled the
territories where the drugs were produced. Army forces and the right-wing paramilitaries had succeeded in driving both FARC and the ELN out of their historic strongholds. The cartel’s
difficulties had crippled the supply of funds and arms to the left-wing rebels. Without this support, their ideological rivals, unintentionally aided by Plan Coca, had been able to gain a decisive
advantage. Continuing to focus on what may have caused the feud when it was clearly dissipating might turn the media’s focus to areas best left untouched. Only a few years earlier, an
ex-informer of the DEA in Colombia had publicly made claims that he had acted as a go-between for the Administration and a high-profile death squad leader. He had alleged that the DEA was willing
to provide funding and arms to this individual if he helped them eliminate specific drug traffickers. Strong denials had been issued and a State Department investigation cleared the agents in
question but sceptics remained. Was it possible, she wondered, that the DEA was being influenced by the new ascendants in Colombia, blackmailed into letting this particular dog sleep?

Despite her frustration at their eagerness to move on at any cost, she was not as angry as she might have expected a few months before. For the first time in a long while, she was gaining some
perspective on the place her job should occupy in her life. While still undoubtedly very important, it was no longer an all-consuming obsession. It was strange that the competition for her
attention had come about because of the job itself.

Tom had become a regular visitor during her convalescence. When others’ support for her determination to pursue her investigation had first wavered and then completely disappeared, he had
remained constant. Despite his other responsibilities, he had compiled a comprehensive dossier for her, listing as much of Brewer’s career as he could disclose. It had been interesting
reading and although neither Samuels nor Marshall seemed impressed by its contents, there were a number of lines of enquiry she intended following up now that she had returned to work.

The first sign of a relationship developing between her and Tom had been a gradual change in their conversations. From where the only topic had been the investigation, they started to wander
into other areas. Initially, it would be the odd remark or observation, and then, without her noticing, Tom could visit for a couple of hours and the conflict would barely be mentioned. They
discussed anything and everything, surprised to find how similarly they saw things. With an increasing level of comfort, the discussions moved naturally to their personal lives. They spoke frankly
of their past and where they saw themselves going. Like her, he had found fulfilment elusive and believed now he might have been looking in the wrong place. She understood better now what her
ex-husband Alan had meant when he had referred to there being an impression of Tom being ill-suited to his profession. He had real issues with some of the things expected of him and told her how
frequently he had thought about quitting. She told him about switching careers to the DEA, the aspirations she had had and how a combination of circumstances, agendas and, she guessed, her own
inability to compromise, had left her in limbo. She could see a situation developing where each might provide the other with the courage to make the change they were both hinting at.

The more they had revealed to one another, the more obvious the attraction became. What others saw as shortcomings, she saw as a quiet strength and deep-rooted morality. She had been less prone
recently to get things out of perspective, which she put down to his calm spilling over into her life.

It had been so long since her last serious relationship. Between her career, friends and interests, she had considered her life set if not complete, but the change the last couple of months had
brought, from the low-point immediately after the shooting to how she felt now, was too obvious to ignore. So far, they had both concentrated primarily on friendship, avoiding mention of the
developing romance, but she was ready to take the next step, no longer fearing it would jeopardise what they already had. With that in mind, she had invited Tom over for dinner later that
evening.

She looked at her watch and decided she had better stop daydreaming if she wanted to get anything out of her first day.

Diane pushed herself back gently from the table to get the coffee and suggested he go through to the living room. She returned from the kitchen carrying the tray as the opening
strains from
La Boheme
’s fourth act began playing softly in the background. The wall light’s soft illumination combined with the music gave the room a soothing atmosphere.
Ignoring the armchair, Diane took the seat next to him on the small sofa. They sat so close to one another that their knees brushed when she faced him and poured the coffee. The slight touch sent a
thrill of anticipation through her, and the beginnings of excitement brought on by their physical proximity was palpable.

“Thank you,” she said softly, looking into his eyes.