Sterling would keep the rest of the money, which, after expenses, could still net him nearly three hundred million dollars, and maybe more if he worked things right.
It was an amount he definitely had to keep very quiet. He was getting fifty million alone to kill the president, and the same for all three Jensens combined. So his assembled assassin team could not logically lay claim to any of that money, because they would have no part in those four kills. And he was betting that three million dollars was more than most of them had ever earned for a single job, far more, despite how good they all were.
Still, should they find out that their take was less than twenty-five percent of the total payout, there could be problems. Percentages were percentages irrespective of totals. Other than himself, the only person in the world who could accurately and legitimately relay the total bounty the team would receive was Daniel Gadanz. And Gadanz had no incentive to whisper that amount to anyone — until Operation Anarchy was over.
But when OA was over, the drug lord would have an incentive to send that figure out into the spook ether so he could save himself from having to pay the lion’s share of the three hundred million, because the other assassins would turn on Sterling. Fortunately, he’d anticipated that possibility and taken measures to protect himself.
He always tried to think like everyone around him was thinking. That ultimately made anticipation much easier.
Sterling smiled as a locomotive’s horn wailed at him sadly from the east. The CSX main line out of Washington, DC, split in two on the north shore of the Potomac, which lay just ahead of them at the other end of this bridge. One track — the line they were walking beside now — followed the south shore of the Potomac to points west, while the other line — which traversed a bridge over the Potomac a little to the east of this one — hugged the Shenandoah’s western shore for points south.
It didn’t matter which bridge the train took over the Potomac when it got here. They’d get an impressive, close-up look at it going past, because the two bridges were very close. And as it passed, he would deliver sensitive information concerning the attack. Even hidden, high-tech microphones listening from up on the Maryland cliffs wouldn’t pick up anything as a hundred empty coal hoppers thundered past. It was terribly paranoid to think those mikes could be there, he knew, but he wasn’t taking any chances with this mission.
And he was very aware of how thoroughly the NSA had blanketed the globe with listening devices.
“All right, people,” he called, turning to face the group, which trailed behind him in a strung-out line like ducklings trailing their mother. “Let’s bring it in close. Come on, come on,” he called in a slightly nagging nasal tone, trying to imagine what a church leader would sound like.
He’d never been to church, so it wasn’t easy. The masters at the orphanage had never been able to make him go to chapel, or see the point of it.
“I have some announcements.”
Sterling had to give his team credit. They’d taken direction well. They certainly looked the part of a church group, at least to him. The women wore plain blouses with conservative pants or skirts, and none of them had heels on. And the men wore blazers and slacks with shiny, tasseled loafers. Some of the couples were even holding hands, and he wondered if any extracurricular activity had erupted at the inn last night. The walls of the place were thin, and he hadn’t heard anything. But he wouldn’t doubt that it had. After all, they naturally did things quietly. And, Sterling knew, assassins were as much into casual sex as everyone else in the world, perhaps more. They appreciated the fragility of life more than most, and therefore the need to live every day and night to its fullest.
Well, that was their business. As long as they executed their piece of the mission, he didn’t care what they did on their own time. And these twenty-four individuals were the best of the best. They could shoot the asshole out of a mosquito from a thousand yards — while it was flying.
The men and women huddled close to him as the three giant diesel locomotives appeared out of the tunnel a hundred feet away on the track closest to them.
“You all know what this is about,” Sterling said as loudly as he dared over the screeching of the hoppers’ steel wheels against steel rails when the locomotives were past. “When you get back to your rooms you will find envelopes beneath your pillows. Use the first letter of each word to determine your specific target. That progression will spell out the title of the individual, not the name.”
Last night, he’d ordered them to make their own beds in the morning and to request privacy so no one would come into their rooms while they were gone. But he’d still used code in the communication, in case housekeeping snooped.
“Starting now, you will have twenty-four hours to determine the probability of success of your individual mission on the target day, and we will be in close contact during that period.” He pointed back at Harpers Ferry as though he were giving directions for a tour, and they all followed his lead by turning their heads and nodding. “The target date is in the envelope as well. However, that date is subject to change.”
Sterling had already done general research on the near-term schedules of their targets. This time of year actually seemed to be working out well. Everyone was back in Washington and in session after the summer break. It looked like the secretary of state might be traveling, but that was all right. In fact, it might make her more vulnerable, and he had another assassin trailing her. A technology guru he paid handsomely had hacked into schedules and itineraries, and everything was coming together.
“It’s a soft date,” he explained to the group. “We’ll have to coordinate closely because, as I’m sure you can understand, this must be pulled off on the same day. All of the attacks will have to come within minutes of each other if we expect maximum success. Once the shooting starts, the rabbits will dive for their holes, and our window of opportunity will slam shut. So we will be flexible as far as the date, though it can’t be that far off from what I’ve suggested. When I have settled on a certain date, you will go on that date no matter what, and you will ask no questions.”
“What’s the payoff?” a woman in front asked.
Sterling had promised them only that their reward would be significant, but he hadn’t been specific up to this point. They had to be thinking high six figures. That would make sense in today’s world and would fit the “significant” description.
“Each of you will receive three million dollars for your mission.” Impressive, he thought to himself. None of their expressions had changed when he’d announced the number. They were cool customers. But they were impressed. They had to be. “I’ve already deposited a million in each of twenty-four escrow accounts, which, as of four minutes ago,” he said smoothly as he checked his watch, “you may now all access and move into your own accounts as you see fit. Instructions for doing so are on that letter in your room. And you will receive the other two million dollars within twenty-four hours of the successful execution of the man or woman you’ve been assigned to kill.”
He took a deep breath. He’d seen a couple of tiny grins break the surface in the back of the pack. They were impressed, all right.