Sandstorm (12 page)

“And the Israeli contingent?” Daniels followed up.

“In the shadows, omnipresent, ready to move when we give them the green light.”

“Are you absolutely sure we can trust them?” the billionaire whose profit was garnered from computer software chimed in. Ian Novak was a familiar face, having been the subject of several technology-related articles and interviews. It was a fair but bold question, considering one of the members of the group was Jewish.

“Frankly, this wouldn’t be possible without their expertise and willingness to see this through.” Lipton glanced at the lone Jew for a moment to see if there was any reaction. He kept quiet on the surface, but he had to at least suspect that others in the room, at some point, had wondered the same thing.

The most private of the men in the room, Dominick Rourke, spoke next. Lipton had developed a great deal of respect for him. Rourke didn’t scare easily, was Princeton educated, and carried himself with a quiet calm. He was also the youngest of the group and not married, which made it even more of a challenge to remain totally off the radar. Lipton anticipated a well-thought observation.

“Senator, my only hesitation at this point lies in the potential of this not being as secret as we’d hoped,” Rourke said. “And certainly, once it’s done, there’ll be several loose ends that have to be tidied up. The potential for exposure is already there with the messy situation concerning the woman from the CIA. Compounding that is her protégé’s being still unaccounted for, with knowledge of God knows what. To make this more troublesome, there is the fact that your son has history here. How long or difficult is it before someone starts connecting the dots?”

Lipton remained composed, despite the mention of his son. If he weren’t sitting here and weren’t a part of this, Lipton envisioned they would have done something already to remove what they perceived as a potential problem. As always, though, Rourke’s thoughts were on point. Lipton could foresee the day when the young man from Arizona would be the head of this group if it lasted that long.

“Dominick.” Lipton addressed him as if he were the only other person in the room. The technique worked well to appease the pompous egos of network news people. “My son is well insulated in this matter. Necessary steps, as you recall, were taken a while ago to put us in a position to proceed, and yet, the woman from the CIA persisted in being a threat to our success. Her removal unfortunately was unavoidable. It’s true, her protégé is in the wind, but if she had anything of substance, I wager we would have felt the fallout by now. Still, the search for her is widespread and ongoing.”

Lipton didn’t feel the need to reveal that Nora Mossa had found someone to assist her. He was privy to the exhibition at Dupont Circle. Surely, though, she was fishing, and in this case, the body of water was huge.

“As far as loose ends, rest assured that measures are already in place to do what needs to be done.”

Daniels formed a devious smile. He looked at the faces around the room and realized he was on the brink of completing a monumental achievement. There for the taking was a chance to change an entire culture. Huge profits would eventually follow, and they’d be in place to take those as well. And the best part was, no one would ever know. Daniels raised his glass in a toast. “If there is nothing else, I take it we are all in agreement in saying, the time has come.” Hands went up around the table. There were no disbelievers. Daniels looked at the man who wanted to be president of the United States. “Senator, you have the green light.”

Lipton nodded and instinctively checked his watch. In another part of the world it was way too early and risky for him to make a phone call or send a direct, unsecured e-mail, no matter how vague its wording. Besides, a procedure had been established, and even though it would take another day, he had to resist the momentum of the room. For the moment, as the last of his Scotch and soda slid down his throat, Lipton could rejoice in knowing that “Sandstorm” was now fully operational.

CHAPTER
20

Alex found that getting the ten thousand dollars he’d requested was a lot easier than calming Nora down. Her main purpose in life now centered on killing Davis Lipton. She was convinced of his involvement in her friend Erica’s death. Alex needed more proof to be sure. That’s where he hoped the money would come in handy.

Under the name of Nathalie Tauziat, Nora arranged for two separate five-thousand-dollar transfers to two different banks. Both ING and Deutsche banks were within walking distance of each other along Avenue Marnix. The first transfer came from a bank in the Cayman Islands, the second from an account in Cyprus. It was all done quickly and without incident. Alex had sent Nora into the banks on her own. She wore a wide-brimmed hat to circumvent surveillance cameras, making facial recognition that much harder. Anything that kept her mind off Lipton was worth doing.

The withdrawn funds were basically seed money from the CIA. An agent with Nora’s status needed funds readily available in case of an emergency. She had been entrusted with a total of thirty thousand dollars. It was enough to offer a bribe or secure an escape route if needed in a hurry. She had split the money into several smaller fractions, depositing it in various banks around the world, under various names. There was a total of twelve thousand dollars under the name Nathalie Tauziat, an identity she had never used before or reported to her superiors. The remaining funds were under names the CIA knew, and they would stay there, because surely those accounts were being closely monitored by now.

A block away from the Deutsche Bank, she hopped in the car driven by Duncan. Nora then put all ten thousand dollars into two large brown envelopes. The packages bulged slightly despite the denominations being large bills. She made a call to Alex’s cell, and he instructed that the money be delivered to him as fast as they could catch up. Sensing they were running out of time, Alex hoped his instincts would prove correct. He maintained a leisurely pace through the congestion at Louise Square, a nexus of people, cars, tramway and metro station. As he pressed on, the fashionable section of Avenue Louise lived up to its nickname of
le goulet Louise
—the Louise bottleneck. Two tramway lines and an endless flow of vehicular traffic marched through the narrow street. Taking an interest in all the distractions, Alex snapped pictures occasionally with a palm-sized digital camera. While Brussels passed by on a different pace, he was a man in no particular rush. He got another call from Nora, and turning around, he located the car making its way down the street. He maneuvered himself between two parked cars, giving off the appearance of wanting to cross the street as he waited for Duncan to pull up. Duncan slowed down as if looking for a parking space while Alex moved against traffic in the narrow space along parked cars. In an instant he took the two packages from Nora like a running back receiving a handoff from the quarterback. They disappeared inside his jacket just as fast. The car darted off, and Alex returned to the sidewalk. When he focused on the people, he didn’t see what he was looking for, which he took as a good sign. He wanted to make it as easy as he possibly could. He continued on his previous path. A shopper’s delight of designer stores, coffeehouses, and chocolate offerings lined the street. Alex made a point to stop and look through the windows of establishments as he passed. He paused in front of one shoe store to take a picture, studying the reflection off the curved glass front as he snapped away. A smile creased his lips as he saw what he hoped would be there. As he resumed walking, his pace quickened, and a couple of blocks later, he turned down a quieter street. With camera in hand, Alex gave the appearance of intently focusing to get a shot of the street’s architecture. He never took the picture because the unmistakable shape of a gun barrel was pressed against his side. There was a considerable amount of mass behind it, semi-pinning him to the wall of the building, the free hand placed on his shoulder for added leverage. To an onlooker, it would seem like two acquaintances, sharing a private talk.

“You’re either terribly horrible at surveillance or you want to get my attention,” the voice breathed hotly into Alex’s ear. He then shoved the barrel into his kidney for added emphasis. “Which, by the way, you have.”

Alex tolerated the mild discomfort from one of Tobias Baum’s bodyguards. “I admit, I’m a bit rusty, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Can we go somewhere to talk?”

“Why?”

“Look, if I didn’t want you to see me, we wouldn’t be having this Hallmark moment.”

Alex’s solid build and casual demeanor made an impression. Even though he was holding the gun, the bodyguard had a sense this could go either easy or hard. It was still early in the day, and easy sounded good.

“I’m hungry, but then you should know that, since you’ve been on my ass for a while. There’s a place to eat a couple of blocks back. This better be damn good,” the bodyguard said as he withdrew the gun from Alex’s side. He motioned for Alex to lead, staying a couple of steps behind, the gun now resting in a side pocket of his light windbreaker, his hand still firmly attached.

So far so good, Alex thought.

CHAPTER
21

The two strangers sat across from each other in the quaint restaurant, separated only by a small square table. Neither had had to suggest their strategic seating arrangement next to the large window. Each could watch the other’s back as they looked out upon the intersection of Rue de Florence and Rue Veydt. The restaurant was understated, the kind of place that had word of mouth to thank for its survival. For those who discovered it, the payoff far exceeded the expectations. If it weren’t for the architecture beyond the glass, this could have easily been a culinary establishment located in New York’s SoHo district. Having already placed their order, they took a nonverbal moment to determine who would take the next step.

The bodyguard unzipped his jacket but kept it on, resting a hand on his lap. A clear message that he was still armed. He didn’t take his eyes off Alex as he took a drink of grapefruit juice. “It’s your meeting,” he said, nearly draining the glass.

“My name’s Alex.”

The bodyguard thought about it for a moment and then acquiesced. “Michael.”

“Ex-military? Afghanistan? Iraq?” Alex probed. He then decided to provide the answer he knew wasn’t forthcoming voluntarily. “Had to be Afghanistan. No one in his right mind would choose Iraq. Bad intel, poorly equipped, too many hostiles to identify. You could get blown up just getting a cup of coffee because some sectarian wants to martyr himself and impress a sheikh you’ve never even heard of. In the early stages, Afghanistan was where you could make some money. Your tour is eventually over, and instead of re-upping, you sign on with a private contractor and get assigned to security. The same government that had been paying you shit is now forking over thousands to protect its assets.”

Nodding his head, Michael offered, “I’m impressed. Somewhere along the way, you took a political science course.”

Alex chuckled. “Better to live it.”

“So, Mr. Obvious, how long have you been following me today?”

“Since you left your apartment.” That revelation got the bodyguard’s attention. “You caught wind of me for the first time when you left the health club late this morning, after your workout. But then, that’s when I wanted you to see me. Not this morning for your coffee and bagel stop. Not at the ATM or on the metro to get to the gym. With your morning being so free, I can only assume it’s going to be a late night for Tobias Baum.”

The bodyguard locked his gaze on Alex. He didn’t look away as the waiter laid out their order. Alex said “Thank you” for the both of them.

“More impressed now?”

“I don’t take kindly to being threatened,” Michael said, his nostrils widening.

“Ease up,” Alex consoled, getting ready to take a bite of his sandwich. “It’s not about you.”

“Who are you?”

Alex held up a finger, waiting to swallow. “We’ve established that already. I’m Alex, remember?” Before Michael could utter a protest, Alex reached inside his jacket and lobbed one of the packages onto the table.

Michael let it stay there briefly before carefully peeling back a portion of the package, revealing an indication of its contents. “I get compensated for my services pretty well already.” He slid the package back over to Alex.

“I’m sure you do. That’s to cover lunch.” Alex slid it back.

“I don’t plan on eating that much.”

Alex took a sip of his iced tea. “Like I said, this isn’t really about you. This concerns Baum and a certain business associate of his.”

“How long have you been on me?” Michael questioned, and then another thought appeared. “No, make that ‘us.’”

The cat was out of the bag, so Alex felt he needed to give a little. “For a few days now. Don’t get all freaky about it. If I’m doing what I should, you’re not supposed to notice I’m there. I’m interested specifically in the man who visited the estate last night.”

The bodyguard contemplated his response. “Interesting. Since you probably already know more about him than I do, I’ll just say he feels like an OGA employee. Perhaps you two have that in common. He reeks of it, though. You, not so much.”

Alex continued eating, somewhat amused at being reminded of the military’s euphemism for a CIA employee, OGA being Other Government Agency. If his tablemate was starting to talk, he wasn’t going to interrupt. “You said earlier, ‘Better to live it.’” Michael leaned in and lowered his voice. “Ex-CIA? Or perhaps Special Ops? No, I’ll stick with CIA. Considering you guessed—correctly, by the way—that I did a tour in Afghanistan, I’ll wager you spent some time there as well. When my military obligation was over, I wised up and saw the opportunity to make nice money working for an independent contractor. Guarding guys like Hamid Karzai was a hell of a lot less dangerous than chasing the Taliban or freedom fighters in the Hindu Kush Mountains.”

Alex nodded in agreement. “Now, I’m impressed. And you’re right about the Hindu Kush Mountains. Nasty place to get caught with your ass in the wind.”