Quest for Honor (19 page)

“Something about this isn’t quite right,” he said. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, though.”

“I know what you mean,” his partner said. “Let’s talk it over in the debrief when we get back.”

Eisner turned back to his waiting men and ordered them back to their vehicles, back to their headquarters. The mission would be analyzed, mistakes would be pointed out, improvements suggested. He would write a report, and they would go back to training for the next one, because there would surely be a next one. But as he discussed it with Rosenberg on the way, they agreed on their perceptions of the mission. It didn’t seem to them that the enemy had planned this very well. Their security had been sloppy. They had not brought any explosives, and although it was not easy for them to bring those kinds of things into Israel anymore, Eisner knew it could be done. It was virtually a suicide mission, and while that was common, he knew that Hamas and Hezbollah weren’t normally this careless. It was almost as if the mission had been designed to fail.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Wisconsin

J
im was zipping
his overnight bag shut when the house phone rang. His first thought was that it was Gina, but he didn’t think he’d given her the house number. Maybe Annie. The call last night hadn’t gone well. He probably should’ve told her in person, had considered it, but he just didn’t want to face her. She’d asked him if there was someone else, and he said yes, he’d met someone. What the hell, it wasn’t as if he and Annie had any kind of understanding about being exclusive. He’d brought it up once, a couple months ago, and she’d said no, she wasn’t ready yet. And now she was upset?

He looked around his bedroom. Everything was in place, neat and orderly, just like the rest of the house. He’d spent two hours cleaning that morning, after getting in an early workout at the gym. There was no way he would leave the house in any kind of disorder, even though nobody else would see it. It just wasn’t his way, wasn’t the warrior way. Discipline and order, that was what had gotten him through Suzy’s death, had sustained him for these past few years, what would save him from going crazy, or at the least getting old and fat and sloppy. Well, he’d get old anyway, but—

The phone kept ringing. He reached for the bedside extension, cursing himself for not carrying that same discipline into his love life. Why should dealing with women be any different? He vowed then and there that from now on, it would be. He pushed the green TALK button as he brought the phone up to his ear, but he stopped halfway. The screen said UNKNOWN CALLER. Damn, he should’ve checked it first, let the machine take it. Probably another telemarketer.

“Hello?”

“Is this James Hayes?” A woman’s voice, mature, all business, unfamiliar.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Hayes, my name is Denise Allenson. I work for the Federal government, and I’d like to meet with you about a rather urgent matter.”

A chill ran up Jim’s spine. What the hell could this be? His mind raced. Were his taxes paid? Yes, of course they were, he’d sent in his return six months ago and already had his refund. Then another quick thought: had something else happened to Mark? “Is this about my brother?” he asked, dreading the answer. No, they’d tell him in person, wouldn’t they? Maybe not, maybe they didn’t do that for brothers, just wives or parents, maybe—

“Your brother? No, it’s not,” the woman said. “It is a matter of national security.”

“So you’re not from the IRS?”

The reply came with a hint of humor. “No, I’m with a different government agency. We would prefer to meet with you in person, Mr. Hayes.”

“’We?’” He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more apprehensive.

“My associate and I. When can we meet? We’re on the road right now, about an hour away. I apologize for the rush, but I tried calling you earlier and left a message.”

Damn, he hadn’t checked the answering machine when he got home. He checked his watch. Nearly one. He’d intended to have a late lunch here and then hit the road for Marshfield, three and a half hours away. Somewhere in the back of his mind an alarm bell was ringing. “An hour from now works for me.”

“Good. Can you suggest a place with some degree of privacy where we can sit down together?”

Jim glanced out the window. It was a warm late-summer day, clear skies, giving him an idea. “There’s a park, the town square. I’ll meet you next to the statue of Rufus King.”

“Describe the statue, please.”

“Well, it’s a general on horseback, pointing a sword. It’s the only statue in the park, so it’s easy to find.”

“I see,” she said, and was there another hint of amusement? “We should be there by two o’clock.”

“How will I recognize you?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find you.”

“Pretty little town,” Keith Graham said as they rolled down Main Street. “Nice lakes in this area. Came up here fishing with my dad a few times when I was a kid.”

Denise wasn’t really interested in the FBI agent’s opinion of Cedar Lake or much of anything else. They had a job to do and the sooner they found this Hayes fellow and brought him in, the sooner she could get back to Langley. She hadn’t said a dozen words to Graham on the two-hour drive from O’Hare, where he’d greeted her flight from Washington. She’d tried not to doze along the way, even though she was bone tired. The frantic pace of the previous day had crashed down on her when she got back to her apartment that evening. She tried to relax with a pizza and a glass of wine in front of the TV after she finished packing, but it had still been nearly eleven when she nodded off. She was working on only five hours’ sleep, a couple fewer than usual.

“How much farther to this park?” she asked.

“A few blocks, if I remember right,” the agent said. “We don’t expect any trouble from this guy, do we?”

“You never know. My orders are to persuade him to come to Washington with me, tonight.”

“And you can’t tell me why, right?”

She sighed and then caught herself, hoping he hadn’t heard it. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

There was the smallest bit of a shrug from Graham, but she didn’t miss it. He was sending out the same vibe she often caught from men she worked with outside CIA, especially the younger ones.
Who the hell does she think she is? She’s a spook? Maybe if we want to infiltrate the Cannes Film Festival.
She looked out the side window. This was the real world. Men and women could work together, but it wasn’t always as much fun as it was on
Bones.

“There’s the park,” she said. Graham found a parking space and easily pulled the government-issue Ford Taurus to the curb. He switched off the engine and was taking the key out of the ignition when he felt her hand on his arm. “Hey, I’m sorry about…well, it’s been a long day already and there’s a long way to go.”

For a moment, there was doubt in his eyes, but then he grinned, just a bit. “No problem,” he said. “Let’s go find our guy.”

Jim saw the sedan right away. He’d arrived ten minutes early and spent five of them looking over the park and its bordering streets from three different angles. There was nobody standing near the King statue, nobody sitting on the lone bench nearby, and he couldn’t spot anybody who was obviously out of place. He was probably being too paranoid about this, but you couldn’t be too careful when a stranger wanted to meet you. He’d learned some helpful things about surveillance at Systema camp so why not put them to use?

He spotted them just a few minutes past one. A woman and a man. She’d be the one in charge: she’d made the call and the guy was probably just here to back her up. They just wanted to talk to him, and if it had been some legal trouble he’d be at the police station now instead of in plain sight.

The woman was all business but still striking, reminding him of Elizabeth Hurley but taller, maybe about five-ten, wearing a conservative business suit: gray jacket over white blouse, gray skirt, black pumps, and in between the pumps and the hemline were a nice pair of toned legs. Jim had been around enough dojos and gyms to know the obvious sign of a woman who worked out was well-toned legs. She moved easily, with a sense of confident, fluid motion. If she was in some sort of government law enforcement agency, that probably meant she trained in a combative martial art, maybe Israeli
krav maga
. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but he’d bet she was glancing around, taking in everything. He placed her age at around thirty-five.

The man was an agent, all right. Tall, although a couple inches below Jim’s six-four, short hair, conservative suit and tie, carried himself well and he was more obvious in scanning the vicinity. Broad shoulders, probably a weight-lifter, maybe a football player in his younger days. Not a guy to mess with. Right now he’d have to guess they were both FBI.

When they were within thirty feet, Jim stood up, glad that he’d taken a few minutes to stretch out when he used the rest room in the bank across the street. He couldn’t imagine that he would have to defend himself, not in broad daylight in a public park, but it never hurt to be prepared.

“Mr. Hayes?” the woman asked, when they’d come within ten feet.

“That’s me.”

She walked up to him and extended a hand. “Hello, I’m Denise Allenson, and this is Agent Graham. Nice to meet you.”

Her grip was firm. Her nails weren’t too long, and now that she’d removed her sunglasses, he was close enough to see that she had the slight beginnings of crow’s feet around her eyes, but that didn’t take anything away from their brilliant emerald green shade.

“If this fellow’s an agent, I’m assuming he’s FBI,” Jim said. “How about you?”

She fished a thin wallet out of her shoulder bag and showed him her ID. “CIA,” she said. “Is there some place we could talk, privately?”

“We have a nice coffee shop here,” he said, nodding to his left.

“That would be good. I could use some.”

Jim drained the last of his chai tea latté, trying to give himself another moment to think. He looked over at the counter, where a pair of fresh-faced, happy young baristas served the afternoon crowd. He wondered if any of them would ever in their lifetimes hear a story as fantastic as the one he’d just heard.

He breathed in deeply, settling himself. Then he turned back to the CIA agent across the table from him. Graham had excused himself to use the men’s room. Allenson was boring those green eyes into him. On any other occasion he would allow himself to be entranced by a woman this attractive.

“So let me see if I understand this,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “There’s this terrorist mastermind over in Africa, and it turns out he’s an old college buddy of mine, and he’s willing to defect to our side, but only to me, personally. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“That’s right,” she said. “I know it sounds far-fetched.”

“You might say that.”

“Look, Mr. Hayes, I was briefed personally by the Director of the National Clandestine Service about twenty-four hours ago. He’s one of the top men at CIA, and I know he’s not one to waste his time or spend Agency money on a wild-goose chase.”

“I’ve read Tom Clancy; I know the DNCS is a big shot,” Jim said. “You’re saying that this guy they call Sudika, this terrorist, is really Joe Shalita who went to Platteville with me?”

Allenson took a folder from her shoulder bag and now opened it, turning it toward Jim. He saw the grainy black-and-white photo of a black man with glasses, wearing some sort of turban. “This is the best photo we have of Shalita. It was taken some time ago in Pakistan.”

Jim looked closely at the picture, trying to remember Joe from those days long ago in Platteville. Could the well-spoken, polite little Ugandan he remembered really be a terrorist chieftain? It seemed too fantastic to be true. Yet this picture—he hadn’t seen Joe in thirty years, but it could be him.

“Look, I haven’t seen Joe since we graduated. It might be him, but I can’t be sure.”

“Have you had any contact with him since then?”

“No. I think he told me he planned on going back home after graduation, or maybe to Europe. It was a helluva long time ago, you know.”

“Were you close friends?”

“Well, we hung out together a pretty fair amount, I guess, but I wouldn’t say we were best buddies.”

“You must’ve made an impression on him, because he asked for you specifically.”

Jim sat back, shaking his head. Graham returned from the rest room and sat down next to Allenson.

“What do you want me to do?” Jim asked.

Allenson closed the file and put it back in her bag. “The director wants me to bring you to Langley, where you’ll be thoroughly briefed and prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

Allenson lifted her eyebrows. “We’ll be heading overseas.”

“You mean…where did you say this guy is now, Somalia?”

“That’s where he is, and so that’s where we’ll be going.”

Graham gave her a look, as close to showing emotion as Jim had seen from him. Jim figured this was the first time the FBI agent had heard this part of the story.

“You’re leaving something out,” Jim said.

“What’s that?”

“The part where you say, ‘Should you or any of your Impossible Missions Force be caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.’”

Allenson leaned forward. “Look, Mr. Hayes, this is no joke. This is a critical matter of national security—”

Jim stared right back at her. “Hey, I’ve got a job here. I’ve got a big project due pretty soon and my boss is on my ass about it. You want me to tell her I’m taking a few days off to go chasing terrorists?”

“You can’t tell anyone about this operation,” she said. “You’ll recall that when we sat down here, you agreed our conversation would be confidential.”

Jim looked away again, trying to sort it out. On the one hand, it sounded like the most bizarre thing he’d ever heard. Joe Shalita, a terrorist? The guy wouldn’t have hurt a fly back then. But that was a long time ago, and people changed, sometimes drastically.

He looked back at the agents, trying to decide if they were legit. He supposed it could be part of some elaborate prank, but who would go to the trouble to hire two people to pull off a charade like this? One way to make sure was to have them take him to the FBI headquarters in Chicago. Did the CIA actually have an office anywhere outside Virginia?

If this crazy story was true, if Joe had turned himself into this Sudika character and now he wanted to defect, then he must have some very important intelligence to hand over, otherwise the government wouldn’t be playing ball with him like this. They’d just lure him into a trap and snatch him, send him off to one of those secret prisons he was always hearing about, and that would be that. Why would they need to come all the way to Wisconsin to enlist the help of Jim Hayes?

“So you’re telling me this is an officially sanctioned mission?”

The CIA agent nodded. “Mr. Hayes, less than twenty-four hours ago I was sitting in the Oval Office, watching the President of the United States review your file.”

“I didn’t know I had one,” Jim said.

“Everybody’s got a file,” the FBI agent said. That bought him a sharp look from Allenson.