“Thank you for making a trip out into the suburbs at short notice,” Berg said.
Minkowitz responded in a New England accent that sounded as natural as Berg’s. “My pleasure. Receiving an invitation to coffee by a rising star piqued my curiosity,” he said, radiating a false smile.
“Still,” Berg said, “considering the fact that Thomas Manning has been avoiding you, I appreciate this.”
“I know exactly why Thomas is dodging me…and so do you. That’s why I’m here,” Minkowitz said, relaxing with a sip of espresso.
“We need help with something related to your Persian friends.”
The Israeli lifted his right eyebrow and pushed his wire-rim glasses back with his index finger. “We’re doing all we can in that arena…by ourselves, I might add.”
“We’d like to make a contribution to that cause. How familiar are you with Vektor Labs?”
“How serious are you about making a contribution?” Minkowitz asked.
“Deadly serious. I’d like to put Building Six out of business…permanently,” Berg said.
“So what’s stopping you? I’m still afraid to drink your tap water.”
“Vektor doesn’t fit the criteria of a clear and present danger to the United States,” Berg said.
“I don’t understand your politicians. They declare war on threats that don’t exist, against enemies that they can control…but they don’t have the stomach to take action against the threats right in front of their faces.”
“That’s where I come in,” Berg said.
“And how exactly can I help?”
“If I can definitively link the Iranians to Vektor, the president will green light my operation. We’re talking about more than a simple strike against Building Six. I want to permanently shut down the program.”
“And any Iranian connection?” Minkowitz asked.
“Yes. If there are Iranians involved, they will cease to be a threat to Israel and the United States. This happens even if a strike against Vektor is prohibited. I promise you that much.”
Wiljam Minkowitz finished his espresso and studied Berg. He started nodding slowly, then a genuine smile formed on his thin lips. He extended his hand. “We have a deal. I will provide you with two dossiers. One for a scientist, and one for the Iranian intelligence agent assigned to watch over him. We can’t confirm exactly what the scientist is doing inside the lab, but I can assure you he’s not studying chicken pox vaccines.”
“I might have a source that can help fill in those gaps,” Berg said.
“I hear that source came at considerable price,” Minkowitz said.
“And we just received another bill.”
“The Russians continue to play a dangerous game with our enemies. The Cold War never really ended for them. They just outsourced it. The end of the Cold War was a false notion the politicians managed to sell wholesale,” Minkowitz said.
“Most people believe it.”
“They chose to look the other way. Most people don’t want to see the threats that pose them the most danger. I’ll deliver the electronic dossiers tomorrow morning.”
They both stood up, and the Israeli leaned over the table to Berg.
“A word of advice? Don’t hold onto Reznikov for very long. Vermont isn’t as remote as your agency likes to think.”
He patted Berg on the shoulder and walked out of the café, leaving the CIA officer speechless. The quicker they destroyed Vektor Labs, the sooner he could permanently close the entire loop. Killing Reznikov was the only way he would be able to sleep soundly again.
Chapter 14
Daniel Petrovich took a long swig of beer from an amber bottle and leaned his head back into the white Adirondack chair. He kept the bottle in a loose grip on the wide chair arm and stared out at the calm ocean. Despite the slowly healing bullet wound to his left shoulder, the past few weeks had been the most relaxing time he had spent with Jessica since they abruptly departed Maine two years earlier. His vacation was interrupted every other day by physical therapy visits and a weekly trip to a Charleston orthopedic center to make sure his shoulder was healing correctly. At least he could wade out into the pleasantly warm waters of the Atlantic.
His peripheral vision caught some movement on the wide porch of the thatched cottage next door. He turned his head and watched a solitary figure walk down the steps leading from the deck to the beach. He had wondered how long they would wait. The man reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right, heading south along the beach. He wore a dark blue polo shirt tucked into khaki pants and a white golfing hat. Even from a distance of thirty yards, the outfit looked brand new. Daniel drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down onto the faded decking next to his chair. He eased the hand back toward a blue soft-cooler housing several more beers and removed a SIG Sauer P250 from one of the outer pouches, placing the pistol on the chair along his right leg.
Chambered in 9mm, the ambidextrous P250 represented the latest in modular pistol technology, allowing the owner to change the pistol from subcompact to full size to suit different situational needs. The P250 eliminated the need to buy two or three different pistols, or compromise on one. By purchasing different-sized polymer grips and slide assemblies, the user could quickly switch between pistol categories. The pistol resting in the crease of Daniel’s olive green cargo shorts had been configured for concealed, subcompact use.
Daniel watched the figure move purposefully toward the stairs leading up to his beach rental, not bothering to feign any interest in the tidal boundary that attracted even the most seasoned tourists. Two weeks. That’s all his past would allow. He considered opening another beer, but the man had already reached the stairs and started climbing. Unbelievable. He gripped the pistol and extended it along his right leg, pointing the barrel at the top of the stairs. The gradual rise of the weathered stairway over the rocky seawall eventually brought his uninvited guest’s head into view. A few more steps and the head would be exposed to the pistol’s barrel. When he recognized the face, he was glad Jessica had decided to go shopping in Savannah for a few hours. He lifted the pistol and rested it on the chair’s armrest.
“You could have called,” Petrovich said.
“Sanderson said neither of you were taking calls,” Karl Berg said, arriving on the deck.
“You missed Jessica. She left for town about ten minutes ago,” Petrovich said.
“Twelve to be precise.”
“This ought to be good if you didn’t want her around. Beer?” Petrovich said, reaching into the cooler.
“Why not. May I?” Berg said, motioning to the chair next to Petrovich.
“Suit yourself,” Petrovich said.
He handed a bottle to Berg and took another out for himself.
“How’s your shoulder?” Berg said.
“Not bad enough to keep me from drinking beer on the beach,” Daniel said, transferring the bottle to his immobilized left hand.
He held the bottle tight, experiencing a sharp pain up and down his arm when he used his good hand to twist the cap free.
“Here’s to a polite rejection of whatever you have in mind. You were smart to wait for Jess to leave,” Daniel said.