The Bourne Sanction (17 page)

“How long have you been at this?” Soraya asked.

Hart glanced out the window. “It’s morning already? I ordered Rob home hours ago.”

“Way past morning.” Soraya smiled. “How about lunch? You definitely need to get out of this office.”

She spread her hands to indicate the queue of dossiers loaded onto her computer. “Too much work-”

“It won’t get done if you pass out from hunger and dehydration.”

“Okay, the canteen-”

“It’s such a fine day, I was thinking of walking to a favorite restaurant of mine.”

Hearing a warning note in Soraya’s otherwise light voice, Hart looked up. Yes, there was definitely something her director of Typhon wanted to talk to her about outside the confines of the CI building.

Hart nodded. “All right. I’ll get my coat.”

Soraya took out her new cell, which she’d picked up at CI this morning. She’d found her old one in the gutter by her car at the Moira Trevor surveillance site, had disposed of it at the office. Now she texted a message.

A moment later Hart’s cell buzzed. The text from Soraya read:
VAN
X ST. Van across the street.

Hart folded her cell away and launched into a long story at the end of which both women laughed. Then they talked about shoes versus boots, leather versus suede, and which Jimmy Choos they’d buy if they were ever paid enough.

Both women kept an eye on the van without seeming to look at it. Soraya directed them down a side street where the van couldn’t go for fear of becoming conspicuous. They were moving out of the range of its electronics.

“You came from the private sector,” Soraya said. “What I don’t understand is why you’d give up that payday to become
DCI
. It’s such a thankless job.”

“Why did you agree to be director of Typhon?” Hart asked.

“It was a huge step up for me, both in prestige and in pay.”

“But that’s not really why you accepted it, was it?”

Soraya shook her head. “No. I felt a strong sense of obligation to Martin Lindros. I was in at the beginning. Because I’m half Arab, Martin sought out my input both in the creation of Typhon and in its recruitment. He meant Typhon to be a very different intelligence-gathering organization, staffed with people who understood both the Arab and the Muslim mind-set. He felt-and I wholeheartedly agree-that the only way to successfully combat the wide array of extremist terrorist cells was to understand what motivates them. Once you were in sync with their motivation, you could begin to anticipate their actions.”

Hart nodded, her long face in a neutral set as she sank deeper in thought. “My own motivations were similar to yours. I grew sick of the cynical attitude of the private security firms. All of them, not just Black River where I worked, were focused on how much money they could milk out of the mess in the Middle East. In times of war, the government is a mighty cash cow, throwing newly minted money at every situation, as if that alone will make a difference. But the fact is, everyone involved has a license to plunder and steal to their heart’s content. What happens in Iraq stays in Iraq. No one’s going prosecute them. They’re indemnified against retribution for profiting from other people’s misery.”

Soraya took them into a clothes store, where they made a pretense of checking out camisoles to cover the seriousness of the conversation.

“I came to CI because I couldn’t change Black River, but I felt I could make a difference here. The president gave me a mandate to change an organization that was in disarray, that long ago had lost its way.”

They went out the back, across the street, hurrying now, down the block, turning left for a block, then right for two blocks, left again. They went into a large restaurant boiling with people. Perfect. The high level of ambient noise, the multiple crosscurrents of conversations would make their own conversation undetectable. At Hart’s request they were seated at a table near the rear where they had excellent sight lines of the interior as well as the front door. Everyone who came in would be visually vetted by them.

“Well executed,” Hart said when they were seated. “I see you’ve done this before.”

“There were times-especially when I was working with Jason Bourne -when I was obliged to lose a CI tail or two.”

Hart scanned the large menu. “Do you think that was a CI van?”

“No.”

Hart looked at Soraya over the menu. “Neither do I.”

They ordered brook trout, Caesar salads to start, mineral water to drink. They took turns checking out the people who came into the restaurant.

Halfway through the salads Soraya said, “We’ve intercepted some unconventional chatter in the last couple of days. I don’t think alarming would be a too strong a word.”

Hart put down her fork. “How so?”

“It seems possible that a new attack on American soil is in its final stages.”

Hart’s demeanor changed instantly. She was clearly shaken. “What the hell are we doing here?” she said angrily. “Why aren’t we in the office where I can mobilize the forces?”

“Wait until you hear the whole story.” Soraya said. “Remember that the lines and frequencies Typhon monitors are almost all overseas, so unlike the chatter other intelligence agencies scan, ours is more concentrated, but from what I’ve seen it’s also far more accurate. As you know, there’s always an enormous amount of disinformation in the regular chatter. Not so with the terrorists we keep an ear on. Of course, we’re checking and rechecking the accuracy of this intel, but until proven otherwise we’re going on the assumption that it’s real. We have two problems, however, which is why mobilizing CI now isn’t the wisest course.”

Three women came in, chatting animatedly. The manager greeted them like old friends, showed them to a round table near the window, where they settled in.

“First, we have an immediate time frame, that is to say within a week, ten days at the outside. However, we have almost nothing on the target, except from the intercepts we know it’s large and complex, so we’re thinking a building. Again, because of our Muslim expertise we believe it will be a structure of both economic and symbolic importance.”

“But no specific location?”

“East Coast, most probably New York.”

“Nothing’s crossed my desk, which means none of our sister agencies has a clue about this intel.”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Soraya said. “This is ours alone. Typhon’s. This is why we were created.”

“You haven’t yet told me why I shouldn’t inform Homeland Security and mobilize CI.”

“Because the source of this intel is entirely new. Do you seriously think HS or
NSA
would take our intel at its face value? They’d need corroboration-and A, they wouldn’t get it from their own sources, and, B, their mucking about in the bush would jeopardize the inroads we’ve made.”

“You’re right about that,” Hart said. “They’re about as subtle as an elephant in Manhattan.”

Soraya hunched forward. “The point is the group planning the attack is unknown to us. That means we don’t know their motivation, their mind-set, their methodology.”

Two men came in, one after the other. They were dressed as civilians, but their military bearing gave them away. They were seated at separate tables on opposite sides of the restaurant.

“
NSA
,” Hart said.

Soraya frowned. “Why would
NSA
be shadowing us?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let’s continue with what’s most immediately pressing. You mean we’re dealing with a complete unknown, an unaffiliated terrorist organization that is capable of planning a large-scale attack? That sounds far-fetched.”

“Imagine how it’ll sound to your directorate heads. Plus, our operatives have determined that keeping our information secret is the only way to get more intel. The moment this group catches wind of our mobilizing they’ll postpone the operation for another time.”

“Assuming the current time frame is correct, could they abort or postpone at this late stage?”

“We couldn’t, that’s for sure.” Soraya gave her a sardonic smile. “But terrorist networks have no infrastructure or bureaucracy to slow them down, so who knows? Part of the difficulty in locating them and taking them down is their infinite flexibility. This superior methodology is what Martin wanted for Typhon. That’s my mandate.”

The waiter took their half-eaten salads away. A moment later, their main courses arrived. Hart asked for another bottle of mineral water. Her mouth was dry. Now she had
NSA
on one side, an off-the-grid terrorist organization about to carry out an attack on a large East Coast building on the other. Scylla and Charybdis. Either one could wreck her career at CI before it even began. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She wouldn’t.

“Excuse me a moment,” she said, getting up.

Soraya scanned the restaurant, but kept at least one of the agents in her peripheral vision. She saw him tense when the
DCI
went off to the ladies’ room. He had risen and was making his way toward the rear when Hart returned. He reversed course, sat back down.

When the
DCI
had settled herself in her chair she looked Soraya in the eye. “Since you decided to deliver this intel here instead of the office I assume you have a specific idea as to how to proceed.”

“Listen,” Soraya said, “we have a red-hot situation, and we don’t have enough intel to mobilize, let alone act. We have less than a week to find out everything on this terrorist organization based God only knows where with who knows how many members.

“This isn’t the time or place for the usual protocols. They’re not going to avail us anything.” She glanced down at her fish as if it were the last thing she wanted to put in her mouth. When her gaze rose again, she said, “We need Jason Bourne to find this terrorist group. We’ll take care of the rest.”

Hart looked at her as if she were out of her mind. “Out of the question.”

“Given the urgency of the mission,” Soraya said, “he’s the only one who has a chance of finding them and stopping them.”

“I wouldn’t last a day in the job once it got out that I was using Jason Bourne.”

“On the other hand,” Soraya said, “if you don’t follow through on this intel, if this group executes their attack, you’ll be out of CI before you can catch your breath.”

Hart sat back, produced a short laugh. “You really are a piece of work. You want me to authorize the use of a rogue agent-a man who’s unstable at best, who many powerful people in this organization feel is dangerous to CI in particular-for a mission that could have dire consequences for this country, for the continuation of CI as you and I know it?”

A jolt of anxiety ran down Soraya’s spine. “Wait a minute, back that up. What do you mean the continuation of CI as we know it?”

Hart glanced from one of the
NSA
agents to the other. Then she expelled a deep breath and told Soraya everything that had happened from the moment she’d been summoned into the Oval Office to meet with the president and had found herself confronting Luther LaValle and General Kendall.

“After I managed to prevail with the president, LaValle accosted me outside for a chat,” Hart concluded. “He told me that if I didn’t play nice with him he’d come after me with everything he has. He wants to take over CI, Soraya, wants it as part of his everenlarging intelligence services domain. But it isn’t just LaValle we’re fighting, it’s his boss, the secretary of defense. The plan is Bud Halliday’s through and through. Black River had some dealings with him when I was there, none of them pleasant. If he succeeds in bringing CI into the Pentagon fold, you can be sure the military will come in, ruin everything with their usual war-like mentality.”

“Then there’s even more reason to let me bring Jason in for this.” Soraya’s voice had taken on added urgency. “He’ll get the job done where a company of agents can’t. Believe me, I’ve worked with him in the field twice. Whatever’s said about him within CI is totally false. Sure, lifers like Rob Batt hate his guts, why wouldn’t they? Bourne’s got a freedom they wish they had. Plus, he’s got abilities they never dreamed of.”

“Soraya, it’s been implied in several evaluations that you once had an affair with Bourne. Please tell me the truth-I need to know if you’re being swayed by anything other than what you think will be best for the country and for CI.”

Soraya knew this was coming and was prepared. “I thought Martin had laid that office scuttlebutt to rest. There’s absolutely no truth to it. We became friends when I was chief of station in Odessa. That was a long time ago; he doesn’t remember. When he came back last year to rescue Martin he had no idea who I was.”

“Last year you were in the field with him again.”

“We work well together. That’s all,” Soraya said firmly.

Hart was still clandestinely watching the
NSA
agents. “Even if I thought what you were proposing would work, he’d never consent. From everything I’ve read and heard since coming to CI, he hates the organization.”

“True enough,” Soraya said. “But once he understands the nature of the threat I think I can convince him to sign on one more time.”

Hart shook her head. “I don’t know. Even talking to him is a damn huge gamble, one I’m not sure I’m willing to take.”

“Director, if you don’t seize this opportunity, you’ll never be able to. It’ll be too late.”

Still, Hart was unsure which direction to take: the tried and true or the unorthodox. No, she thought, not unorthodox, insane.

“I think this place has outlived its usefulness,” she said abruptly. She signaled the waiter. “Soraya, I believe you have to powder your nose. And while you’re there, please call the Metro DC Police. Use the pay phone; it’s in working order, I checked. Tell Metro that there are two armed men at this restaurant. Then come right back to the table and be ready to move quickly.”

Soraya gave her a small conspiratorial smile, then rose, threading her way back to the ladies’ room. The waiter approached the table, frowning.

“Is there something wrong with the brook trout, ma’am?”

“It’s fine,” Hart said.

As the waiter gathered up the plates Hart took out five twenty-dollar bills, slipped them in his pocket. “You see that man over there, the one with the wide face and football player’s shoulders?”