Hancock walked in the door and headed directly for a black leather chair in the rear of the operations center for his CDA section. The center was shaped like a smaller version of NASA's launch center, with rows of people with computer consoles arrayed below Hancock, all facing a large screen that took up most of the front wall.
"Are we tracking?" Hancock asked as he settled into the chair.
His operations officer, Dilken, sat directly below Hancock. He wore a headset through which all reports were sent and had four computer screens arrayed around his seat.
"Yes, sir. An hour ago we had a flight take off out of Radanti whose configuration matches Jawhar's plane. Heading is southwest toward Budapest. Touchdown is estimated in five minutes. We think they'll switch over to Jawhar's helicopter, which is currently hangared there, to continue on to Bosnia to make the delivery of the VZ to the Serb patrol. Satellite imagery confirms the Serb patrol is closing on the meet point."
"Our team?" Hancock asked.
"Ready to go wheels up at Sarajevo. They need authorization to go soon if they're going to be able to interdict the meet."
"Tell them to go," Hancock said. He leaned back in the leather, enjoying the unique pleasure of watching a complex plan pull together.
Dilken relayed the order, then left his desk and approached Hancock.
"What?" Hancock's good feeling was gone. He knew the look on his assistant's face and he also knew that Dilken was the only one clued in to the entire situation.
"Dublowski is still alive. He's holed up in the Ranch."
Hancock considered that. "A problem, but not a fatal one. That loose end can be cleared up later." He leaned forward. "And Thorpe?" They had taken satellite surveillance of the ambush site in the Ukraine. Given that Hancock had had Akil tipped off about the probability of a Mossad ambush through a cut-out, they had been surprised that the two Saudis had barely made it out alive.
"The Mossad team was pulled just after dawn local time. Thorpe made a call on his secure SATPhone prior to that to Colonel Parker."
"Shit!" Hancock exclaimed, a sign of extreme agitation. "Where is he now?"
"He's heading back to Israel with the Israeli team."
"And Parker?"
"She went into the Pentagon this morning as usual. Surveillance hasn't seen her leave. No calls on her phone."
"She's not just sitting there doing nothing," Hancock said.
"Maybe she's waiting for Thorpe," Dilken said. "We…" he paused and put a hand on the side of his headset. "Satellite has picked up Jawhar's chopper heading southeast."
"Get our team wheels up," Hancock ordered. "We take care of this, the rest will fall into place."
"VZ?" Colonel Patten looked older than his years.
"Yes, sir." Dublowski had just gotten off the SATPhone with Parker.
"Destination?" Patten asked.
"Romania, as an intermediate stage, then God knows where," Dublowski said.
"And the CIA is on top of this?" Patten asked, his voice indicating what he thought of that.
"Colonel Parker is with the chief of Operations as we speak," Dublowski said. "But, sir—" Dublowski began, but Patten raised a hand.
"I know what you're going to say." Patten gave a weary smile. "Fucking Clowns In Action are more likely to screw things up than solve anything, but this is their province, not ours. However," he continued, forestalling another outburst from Dublowski, "it doesn't hurt to be prepared. I've got a forward-deployed reaction team in Israel. I'm putting them on alert. I'll also get some air support — Combat Talon, Blackhawk, Apaches — our usual air package — lined up just in case."
Dublowski's scalp was sewn. He stood up. "Sir, request permission to—"
"No!" Patten cut the sergeant major off. "You've gotten in enough hot water as is. Besides, by the time you got over there, anything that's going to have happened will have happened. You stay here and stay out of trouble. If you're capable of that."
Thorpe placed his pistol on the worn wooden tabletop. "They knew they were going to get ambushed."
"Put that away," Major Rotzinger growled.
They were seated in a windowless room somewhere on the outskirts of Tel Aviv. Thorpe had no idea exactly where he was, as they'd been hustled off the helicopter the moment they landed into the back of a truck that had no windows, and driven to this spot.
He'd been surprised to see Rotzinger waiting inside the room; not so surprised to see Esdras seated in the corner. A man who had introduced himself as Yaron was seated at the end of the table, Aaron, the senior surviving member of the ambush team, to his right. Yaron was an old man, with a wrinkled, bald head covered with spots, and the tiredest-looking eyes Thorpe had ever seen. He'd pursed his lips at Thorpe's statement and appeared to be deep in thought.
Esdras was the only one who hadn't reacted to the weapon or Thorpe's announcement. He was seated across from Thorpe, regarding him quietly with his dark eyes.
"I've got no more time for people bullshitting me," Thorpe said. "We—we," Thorpe emphasized, staring first at Rotzinger, then Esdras, "have a common problem. In the form of two briefcases full of VZ nerve agent in the hands of a couple of guys who I think you know more about than you've told me."
"You were looking for a young girl last time I saw you," Rotzinger said. "Now you come to us with this crazy story?"
"Karl." Esdras turned to look at the German. "We lost four men last night trying to stop the shipment. We got two-thirds of it, but we needed to do a one-hundred-percent interdiction."
"The two brothers are being tracked," Rotzinger said. "They — and the VZ — will be contained and sterilized."
"How the hell do you know that?" Thorpe demanded.
Rotzinger's bushy eyebrows contracted. "You came to my country asking questions. You sit here with a gun on the table threatening me? And you want information? You want help? You are a fool."
Thorpe met his gaze squarely. "You never took down the arms brokers that Jawhar and Akil met, did you?"
Rotzinger's eyes shifted to Esdras for the briefest of moments, then back to Thorpe.
"They were intermediaries," Rotzinger said. "Representing some Russian military officers. Taking them out would only have slowed things down, not stopped them. This way everything is wrapped up tight — people, weapons, both ends. A great coup."
"Which way are you talking about?" Thorpe demanded. "Who's going to stop Jawhar and Akil now?"
Rotzinger turned to Yaron, who finally spoke. "Your own people are taking care of things now."
"What people?" Thorpe demanded.
"The CIA is on top of this," Yaron said quietly.
"The CIA?" Thorpe repeated.
A quick smile flittered across Yaron's face and was quickly gone. "You do not trust your own government?"
"No, I don't," Thorpe said.
"Interesting," Yaron said. He pointed a finger at Aaron. "Were you set up?"
Aaron nodded. "Yes, sir. I think the brothers knew someone would be attacking them."
Yaron steepled his fingers and tapped his thumbs together for a few seconds. "Then there must be either a leak or a traitor working somewhere. Sounds like a double-cross. Perhaps even a triple. Who knows these days?" He stood. "I would ask you gentlemen to remain here for a short period of time while we see what develops."
Rotzinger stood also. "I came here as a courtesy from my government to yours. I don't have—"
"Sit down." Yaron's voice was like a whip, causing Rotzinger to step back. "You have not been honest with us. I am wondering what other lies and deceptions play a role in this. I assure you I will find out, and when I do, there will be a reckoning."
Parker and Gereg were in the latter's office. It had taken Parker only ten minutes to get the Chief of Operations up to speed before they were heading to Langley and directly to Gereg's office. Along the way, Parker had called Dublowski, updated him on what Thorpe had told her, and then continued talking to Gereg, telling her all she had learned from Thorpe, along with the information about the missing girls.