Incitement (38 page)

“Negotiations are ongoing,” she told him.

“They’re insisting they’ll deal with it themselves?” he guessed.

“Yes.”

“That won’t work,” he said angrily.

“We’re hanging in there but we don’t have much bargaining power left.”

“Can’t our friend use the same threat as before?”

“They know we’ve already gotten a large part of what we wanted and I think they’ve figured out his heart isn’t really in it.”

“They’ll take too long, try to limit the damage by cutting some agreement and he’ll be gone,” Larsen said wearily.

“Probably.”

They knew a lot of influential people would be happy were Hughes to disappear, whether by his own volition or not.

He agreed to contact her later that evening and hung up.

After wiping the handset and placing it back in its wrapping, he stepped out of the car and threw it in a nearby dumpster.

The back wheel spun faster and faster, until its friction on the A-frame treadmill became a high-pitched whine drowning out the radio. The rider bent forward over the
stationary front wheel of the racing bike and pumped his legs faster, causing the bike to wobble in its cradle. He always ended his circuit by attempting to better his previous best speed. It was
difficult to continually improve but he was optimistic, having felt very good before training. He pushed himself on, ignoring the sweat running down his face and stinging his eyes. He watched the
speedometer climb upwards, the back wheel speeding along, filling the room with noise. His previous best was seventy kilometres per hour and he was at sixty-six now but feeling the strain. He
glimpsed quickly at the readout beside the speedometer and saw that his heartbeat was one-eighty a minute, far too high to sustain for long. One last push. Sixty-seven, he blinked rapidly to clear
his eyes; sixty-eight, his muscles cried out for release. Suddenly, he lost his rhythm and felt his legs being dragged around by the pedals as his speed plummeted. So close. He admitted defeat and
straightened up in the saddle, placing his hands on his hips.

Hughes unclipped his shoes from the pedals and wearily stepped down from the bike. He was annoyed at the way the workout had ended but there was always tomorrow. He turned off the radio and
opened the window wider to air the room. The rain still beat down outside, validating his purchase of the treadmill a few months before. Regardless of the weather he need never miss a workout
again. He half-heartedly stretched for a couple of minutes and went through to the shower. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the powerful jet of water, luxuriating in the simple pleasure.
He was looking forward to the day and the good news it would bring.

The final act, Rodriguez’s deposing of Madrigal, would have occurred some time the previous evening. That was it, all objectives realised.

The only small cloud on the horizon was Mesi. It had been more than two weeks since her attempted killing and there was still no trace of the DEA agent. Clarke, his resource within the Baltimore
police department, had called him the day after the ambush. He had told Hughes how the gang members whom he had recruited had been found dead. How had she managed to kill four assailants who
possessed such superior firepower? He remembered then how resilient she had proved in the earlier altercation with Abeylan and cursed himself for underestimating her. On hearing the bad news, he
had briefly worried that she would threaten his strategy, before sense prevailed. All she had was an unsubstantiated suspicion regarding Wallace, a suspicion which no one in the DEA would even
consider acting on. There had been no sign of her going back to her employers. The feelers he had put out confirmed no one had been in contact with her and they were quite happy with that state of
affairs. Cut off as she was, ignorant of all that lay beyond Wallace and his vendetta, what danger did she pose? A physical threat perhaps but that was it, she might come gunning for him when she
realised he had set her up. Hughes arranged for her apartment to be watched and an experienced security team to shadow him discreetly. As the days passed with no developments, he began to believe
that, in fear of her life, she had fled. She had been fragile enough before the ambush, so perhaps it had been the proverbial last straw? Satisfied that he was doing everything possible to tie up
the loose end, he had returned his focus to where it belonged.

Stepping out of the shower, he looked at his watch. The first item on his official schedule today was a typically boring meeting with Petersen and some of the other bureaucrats. The main item on
the agenda dealt with the cost of external consultancy; specifically the contract firm which had been called in to eliminate wasteful expenditure. They had proceeded to run up a seven-figure bill
with nothing to show for it other than proposals any clerical worker in the building could have made. He wondered yet again why he bothered to retain his position – most of his energy was
spent on other projects, projects that mattered. After a quick calculation, he decided he had enough time to check for updates.

He dressed quickly and left the house. Using a combination of taxis and Metrorail, he made his way via a roundabout route to the office he had let. Once there, he activated the speakerphone and
punched in a number derived from a formula based on a fixed prefix and the current date. He waited for the call to be relayed through multiple routers until it got a ringing tone. Once it was
answered and the current codes had been exchanged, he asked for news of recent contacts.

“A routine status report from Buenos Aires, want me to give you a summary?” his operative asked.

“No. Anything from Viper?”

“Not since we last talked. Should I initiate contact?”

He had expected to hear from Rodriguez by now, but the last thing he wanted was to feed the Mexican’s ego by running after him.

“No, leave it for now.”

He put the phone down and felt his irritation grow. Rodriguez had initially been difficult to work with. He had no understanding of procedures or schedules. Not that anything onerous was
required; the demands were consistent with his lifestyle but at critical junctures he was expected to report. Junctures like this. If he was looking for ways to exercise his newfound power by
ignoring deadlines, Hughes would have to put a quick end to it. A gentle reminder of his vulnerability was all that was required.

He exited the elevator and walked down the corridor towards his office. When he got there, he was surprised to see his secretary standing nervously outside his door.

“Morning, Margaret, everything okay?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Hughes. Mr Petersen told me to ensure that you went down to see him immediately on arrival.”

“Okay,” he replied, “let me get a cup of java and I’ll head straight down. Want anything from the coffee station?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, “but he was most insistent that I tell you to go see him before you did anything else.”

Hughes could imagine the highly-strung Petersen getting worked up over some trivial administrative matter and taking it out on Margaret. “Okay, I’ll head down now. When I come back
we’ll have that cup of coffee,” he reassured her.

When he knocked on Petersen’s door his broad smile gave no hint of his annoyance. The bureaucrat was much easier to deal with if you did not try to meet him head-on. “Edward, did I
get the meeting time wrong? I’d pencilled in eleven fifteen.”

The bookish, bespectacled Petersen stood up and walked past him to close the door, looking even more grim than usual. “Tom, I hate to have to do this. The director called me at five this
morning from London. He instructed me to tell you when you arrived that you’re to be suspended, effective immediately.” He did not meet Hughes’ gaze. “You’re to give
me your security pass. There are two agents waiting outside to escort you home. They require access to your apartment so that they can conduct a search. They’ll need your agreement unless
they secure a warrant, of course, but my recommendation would be to cooperate. You’re to volunteer any work-related material you may have there. I’m sorry.”

Hughes was rocked to his core by Petersen’s announcement. There was nothing he was working on officially that could have resulted in this. Years of practising concealment of his true
thoughts and feelings were all that prevented him betraying himself.

“What else did he say?” he asked calmly.

“Nothing, he wouldn’t talk about it. When I pressed him, he came down on me like a ton of bricks, basically instructed me to do what I was told and not ask questions.”

Petersen opened the door again, clearly eager to get it over with. Hughes handed his pass to Petersen and walked outside in a daze. He wondered if the director had learnt of the Colombian
strategy. It didn’t make sense. If he knew even part of what was involved, why was he not being detained?

Later, Hughes watched from the window as the agents drove away. There had been no danger of them finding anything incriminating in the house. He paced around his study, trying
to figure out what his next move should be. Something had been brought to the director’s attention to cause this sanction, but what? And who had been responsible? He needed to be careful of
who he asked as someone could be monitoring him. The first option was to go through his official network. He knew enough people to hope one of them would speak to him off the record. He called a
colleague whom he had helped on a number of occasions.

“Glenn, Tom here.”

“I’m sorry Tom, I can’t talk to you.”

“Come on, I’m not asking you to do anything out of line. Petersen must have gotten his wires crossed. I just want to know what this misunderstanding is all about.”

“We received a directive in the last hour stating that any interaction with you would result in a severe reprimand. I’m risking a lot just telling you that much, I’ve got to
go.”

“Glenn, come on, no one’s told me anything. I’ve just been given an inexplicable suspension. Surely, if I was in serious trouble, I wouldn’t have been left
unaccompanied.”

“Sorry, Tom, I’m hanging up now. I hope things work out.”

The line went dead. When he tried calling him back he got an engaged signal. He went through half a dozen contacts, being hung up on each time he announced himself. Okay, he thought, no other
option. Reaching for his raincoat, he headed out of the house.

He walked for half an hour, ensuring he was not being followed. A couple of times he cut through crowded eateries just to make it more difficult for any unwanted company. When
he was satisfied that he had done as much as he could, he went to a public phone in the lobby of one of the large hotels. Using his body to shield the number pad, with the same formula as he had
used earlier that morning he derived a new number and dialled it in. The call went through its long sequence of routing, seeming to take even longer than normal before connecting. He listened to it
ring, becoming more unsettled as the seconds dragged into minutes. Up to now, he had been confident that whatever the problem was it could be dealt with, but the unanswered ringing tone meant the
situation had taken on a new significance. This was part of his network; the phone should have been manned twenty-four hours a day without fail. He hung up and started walking again, thinking about
his next step. Subconsciously he performed standard anti-surveillance manoeuvres while his thoughts were concentrated on how he could find out what had happened. He bought a ticket at a Metrorail
station. On the train he forced himself to calm down and tried to think of plausible explanations for why his call had not been answered. After a few minutes he gave up; there were none.
Contingencies had been designed for every eventuality. Either the network had been breached or abandoned. He got off the train at Union Station and walked over to a row of telephones. Not bothering
with his earlier procedure, he dialled a direct number, one he had memorised a long time ago but never before had occasion to use.

“I’ve been expecting your call.”

“What’s going on, William? Has the network been shut down?”

“Yes and once we’re finished here, this number will be taken out of service too.”

“What’s happening?” he asked, his anger building.

“What do you think? You’ve been rumbled, you and the whole Colombian operation.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it? Then there’s no need to be having this conversation. Goodbye.”

“No, wait. Wait.”

“I’m waiting.”

“How?”

“Some very annoyed people, on the Hill and elsewhere, found out everything, chapter and verse.”

Hughes felt his chest constricting and struggled to breathe. The voice on the other end continued.

“If it’s any comfort to you I’m fairly optimistic the imminent purge that’s on the way won’t be fatal. It’s useful knowing where the bodies are
buried.”

“So, there’s a chance we can walk away from this?”

“No, my boy, I’m afraid you misunderstood. It will take everything we have for just a select few of us to survive. Lots of markers had to be cashed in and a lot of scrambling done.
Please understand, the reason I’m telling you this is so that you’re quite clear of the consequences if anything were to cause this considerable sacrifice to have been in
vain.”