Targets of Deception (24 page)

“Do you think we’re wasting our time on Andrioli, then?”

“Not at all,” Byrnes said. “Whatever he has—whatever he can get—we want it. We also want to see where he goes. The path he travels may have more value than anything he can tell us.”

“If he has so little intelligence data on these ops, why is Traiman so intent on removing him?”

“I believe it may have more to do with Vincent than with Andrioli.” Byrnes had worked with Traiman for years. “Vincent was always a cautious man.”

“And what if Traiman’s people reach Andrioli first?”

“They’ll kill him. We saw that yesterday in Florida. That is, of course, unless he has something to trade.”

“And the risk assessment?”

“We clearly stand to gain more by pushing him than bringing him in, at least for now.”

“What about the girl?”

“The girl . . . yes.” The DD raised his right eyebrow slightly. “What options does she have? She may be too frightened to move on her own.”

“Yes,” Covington agreed, “I suppose you’re right. They might leave her behind.”

“It’s possible,” Byrnes agreed. “I assume you’ve reviewed the CTC reports on the teams Traiman sent into Western Europe.”

“I have,” Covington said. The Counter-Terrorism Center had confirmed the movement of men believed to be involved with Traiman. They were currently running down the specific locations and identities.

“The press is going to get hold of this,” Byrnes said. “There are leaks we can’t plug. They may even be coming from the other side, as part of their terror campaign.”

“You think al-Qaeda would use advance teams to advertise their plans?”

“Possibly. This is about terror, after all. The governments involved have increased security measures for the heads of state, particularly in the U.K. and Italy. The Secret Service is obviously on high alert.”

“They believe this is for real?”

“We all do,” Byrnes acknowledged solemnly. “Traiman is doing an effective job of gearing up without allowing us to pinpoint the source.”

“Or the targets.”

“Yes. The President has his hands full with Iraq, Iran and rest of this mess. He can’t afford another domestic catastrophe on his watch. The war, the stock market, the fear. The American people have had enough. And you never know how the Arab nations will align themselves.”

“Petropolitics.”

The DD permitted himself a grim smile. “The Arabs love to hate one another, but they’re uniformly resistant to outside interference.” He thought that over and then asked, “So where are we on locating them?”

Covington shifted in his seat. “They left Fort Lauderdale right after the shootings. We’re trying to pick up their trail now.”

“What about the shooters?”

“Two of Traiman’s men, or that’s what it looks like. We sold it to the local authorities as a drug deal gone bad. The Bureau helped with that.”

“And Sandor?”

“As I said, we’re canvassing the airports. Got a lead on a car switch. Trying to trace that now.”

“Keep your eye on Paris,” Byrnes told him again.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Morning broke in a glare of hazy sunshine that seemed to mock their loss of sleep. Night had become day, but it was less a transition than a milestone on their journey.

They stopped for breakfast at a Waffle House, just off the highway outside Macon. A short, unkempt waitress, who looked even wearier than they felt, took their order and brought them each a cup of steaming coffee.

“I heard you.” It was the first thing Christine had said in quite a while.

“Heard what?” Andrioli asked, taking a sip from the heavy, ceramic mug.

“You expect me to stay behind, don’t you?”

Neither man responded.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Christine . . .” Andrioli began, then stopped, not sure of what to say.

“You’ve seen how dangerous these people are,” Jordan said quietly. She was sitting beside him in the small booth, and he turned toward her, placing his arm around her shoulders. “You wanted to find Tony, and we have. Why would you put yourself in any more danger?”

“Why would you?” she asked defiantly. “I’m involved in this as much as you are.”

Jordan knew it might be useful to have a woman with them. He also knew the risks they would be taking.

“These people are killers,” Andrioli said as casually as if he were commenting on the coffee. “You’ve seen it firsthand. They murdered Jimmy, and they’ll keep after me wherever I go. If either of you are with me, you’ll be in the line of fire.”

“Don’t you think I’m in the line of fire now?”

The two men exchanged a knowing glance. She was, of course, correct. Christine and Jordan had become targets, whether they went with Andrioli or not. Traiman would regard them as contaminated by the information he might have given them. Just as Dan Peters was terminated, as a collateral risk, Christine would be in their sights, one way or another. Sandor also realized what they did not—that Traiman had ulterior reasons for eliminating them.

“All right,” Jordan said. “But any time you want to bail, you just give us the signal.”

“Not me,” she said. “I’m in this till the end.”

They drove on to Atlanta, where Andrioli located a shop offering instant passport photos. Christine had her picture taken, then got back in the car. Meantime, Andrioli used his passport and false credit card to buy a cell phone.

“I’ve got some arts and crafts to do,” Andrioli told Jordan. “You drive.” He climbed in the back seat, opened his attaché case and began working on a passport for Christine. Jordan got behind the wheel.

“You carry blanks?” Christine asked as she watched him applying her photo to the first page of a forged US passport.

“Comes in handy, as you can see. Not much trouble using one of them when you leave the country. Hassle getting back in with it, though.” He looked up at her as they shared the obvious thought—that they might never get that far.

As Jordan drove, Andrioli went back to expertly affixing the photograph to the page before applying a stamp. He handed it to Christine and had her sign it.

“At least they won’t be able to track us by our real names,” he said, taking the passport back to finish his work. “The first thing they’ll do is run flight rosters through the IATA computers. We’ll travel separately. You two as a couple. I’ll book as a single.” Andrioli then used his new cell phone to make the reservations—two phone calls, different credit cards. Jordan had his Scott Kerr passport, and an American Express card issued in the same name.

They made another stop, at a luggage store, where they bought a matching set of suitcases. Jordan and Andrioli agreed it would be less suspicious if they checked in for an international flight with baggage. They purchased a few items in a clothing shop then left the city, resting for a few hours until dusk in a park overlooking a small lake.

They arrived at the airport, left the car in the short-term lot and went through the contents of Jordan’s black leather bag and Andrioli’s attaché case. They knew they had to leave the two automatics behind. As they walked to the parking lot exit they placed the guns in a nearby trash can, making certain no one was watching as they covered them with newspapers, then moved on.

“I feel naked,” Andrioli said.

Jordan smiled. “Second time for me in two days. I’ve been throwing away some very nice hardware.” He slapped Andrioli on the shoulder. “Look on the bright side. At least we don’t have to worry about a weapons charge.”

His encouraging demeanor belied the tension he felt rising up the back of his neck as they approached the terminal. If anyone had followed them, or if someone were waiting at the airport, they would be captured. Or worse.

“I think we should call Covington,” Andrioli said.

Jordan stopped. “Covington?”

“I told you, he was the point man when Jimmy and I tried to come in.”

“But you told me he wouldn’t deal. He turned you down.”

“It’s worth a try, if I can talk our way out of this.”

“It won’t work,” Sandor told him.

“I still think we should try.”

“And as soon as we call, he’ll trace us. They’ll pick us up. You’ll be done.”

“They’ll never trace this cell phone. Not it if we’re quick.”

Jordan knew that whatever phone number Andrioli had for Covington would be hooked into the satellite links at the Global Response Center that could pinpoint their location within ninety seconds. He decided not to divulge his own knowledge of Covington’s secure line. “All right,” Jordan agreed, “but it’s a waste of time.”

“Why?” Christine asked.

Jordan was not prepared to give that answer, not yet. He understood that Covington wanted them in the hunt, that he would reject any deal Andrioli tried to make at this point. “Just a feeling,” he said. “Let me do the talking. And time me. Give me seventy-five seconds.”

Andrioli’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he handed Jordan the phone. They were at the edge of the parking lot, across the access road from the international terminal. Andrioli opened his case and pulled out a number. Jordan recognized it as one of the sterile lines the Agency kept for outside contacts. As he had guessed, it was also a line easily tapped for tracing through GPS locators.

Jordan dialed the number and listened to it ring.

“Covington,” the familiar voice answered.

“Jordan Sandor.”

“You and who else?” he demanded brusquely.

“I’m standing here with Tony Andrioli and Christine Frank. Christine and I are paying Tony a visit here in Fort Lauderdale.”

“I heard about the shootings.”

“Good. Then you know Andrioli is telling the truth when he says he’s got something to deal.”

“Where are you?”

Jordan didn’t answer. Instead he turned to Andrioli. “Covington sends his regards.”

“I realize you can’t talk. Just tell me if you’re leaving the country,” Covington said.

“First, we need to know where the Agency stands on helping us. We were almost killed last night,” Jordan replied into the telephone.

“So you’re on the move.”

“Naturally,” Jordan said. “You don’t want us sitting out in the open for target practice, do you?”

“Are you going to Paris?”

“Look, Andrioli has information. He’s willing to trade it for protection.”

“We don’t bargain with traitors, and we’re not convinced he has all that much to sell.”

Jordan looked to Andrioli again. “Covington says you can turn yourself in and they’ll put in a good word for you at sentencing.”

Andrioli responded with a grim smile.

“He says you can shove it,” Sandor replied to Covington. “If the best you can offer is the deluxe cell at Leavenworth, he’ll take his chances on the outside.”

Covington said, “Tell him he’s got to give me something with real substance I can take to the director. Meantime, Sandor, I need to know where you’re going.”

Jordan only repeated the first part of Covington’s remark, to which Andrioli just shook his head.

“Tell him to pound sand,” Andrioli said. “That’s what he told me.”

“He says you should pound sand,” Jordan said into the phone.

Christine pointed to her watch. She mouthed the words, “
Thirty seconds left
.”

“This guy is setting you and the girl up for trade bait.” Covington tried a different tack.

While that thought had already occurred to Jordan, it surprised him to get the advice from Covington. He was not the type to caution his operatives, even former operatives, when it might scare them off. Perhaps it was that uncharacteristic gesture that gave Jordan the idea. Or maybe he had the idea already. “One more question. Why did you send those two men to kill us last night?”

 “What!” The surprise in Covington’s voice was as genuine as the look on Andrioli’s face.

“
Twenty seconds
.”

“They could have been your men as easily as Traiman’s. Andrioli recognized one, said he worked for the Agency in Paris.” Andrioli had not said any such thing, but he let Jordan play out the hand.

“What is this?” Covington demanded.

“Why would Andrioli lie to me?”

“I just told you why.”

There was a short silence on the line then Jordan said, “No deal then?”

“
Ten seconds
.”

“Sandor, where the hell are you? Are you going to Paris? Yes or no.”

Jordan hesitated.

“
Five seconds
.”

Covington had just confirmed what he had suspected since he managed to escape the hotel in New York. The Agency wanted Andrioli, not for what he knew, but as bait for bigger prey.

“We’re moving again—” Jordan said.

“
Three seconds
.”

“—and you just blew—“

“
Two
.”

“—your best shot—”

“Jordan!”

“—to make a deal.” Without a goodbye, he snapped the phone shut, disconnecting the call.  

“Cutting it a little close, don’t you think,” Christine said.

Jordan shook his head. “And I had so much more I wanted to say.”

Andrioli was obviously disappointed.

“What did you expect?” Sandor asked him.

“I’m not sure anymore.”

“Come on,” Jordan said, “let’s go check in. We could all use a drink.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Jordan and Christine checked in first. Andrioli stayed back near a bank of phones, pretending to make a call as he watched them receive their boarding passes without incident. He then made his way to the first class check-in and was quickly provided his ticket.

He was not far behind them in the long, slow security queue. Another agonizing wait until they got through to the other side.

They found a small cocktail lounge near their gate and ordered drinks.

“Notice anything?” Andrioli asked.

“Not a thing,” Sandor told him.

For now, Jordan believed that no one was certain where they were or where they were going. Although Covington suspected they would soon be en route to Paris, and probably attempted to track the cell phone call, Sandor had to assume he was on his own. Jordan asked for Andrioli’s phone.