Asai turned to Gerd Maas, who nodded his head.
"Gunter has been following the plane for the past eight hours in one of our jet helicopters," the assault-group leader said.
"By himself?" Abercombie asked.
"Yes, of course." Maas shrugged indifferently. "Gunter will not need assistance in this matter. The helicopter can follow this plane wherever it goes, and he can complete his mission at any time, even with an air-to-air missile if necessary."
"Then what is he waiting for?"
"There are others on the plane, and Chareaux would not logically have access to such weapons," Maas said. "They are scheduled to land at D.C. National in approximately one hour. It is better to wait until then."
"But when they land?"
"Then Gunter will not fail, and the last agent will be dead," Maas said matter-of-factly.
"Good," Lisa Abercombie approved. "I will meet all of you in the conference room at five-thirty, and I will be expecting good news when I get there."
After waiting until the door closed behind the ICER team leaders, Lisa Abercombie pressed two buttons on the underside of her desk. The outer door of her office automatically locked, and her phone console was set to record. Then she retreated to her private quarters, accessible only from the inner sanctum of her underground office.
Once inside this luxuriously furnished sanctuary, Abercombie treated herself to a long, hot bath, and then to a two-hour nap, which had become a physical necessity to the hard-driving and late-working politician-turned- counterterrorist.
At four p.m., her alarm went off and she woke refreshed and ready to begin again. Thirty minutes later, she was dressed and back in her office, where she turned her full attention to the sheath of reports and clippings on her desk.
By five minutes past five that afternoon, Lisa Abercombie was halfway through the Washoe County coroner's autopsy report on Felix Steinhauser when the private line on her phone console rang.
"Abercombie," she answered in her characteristically gruff, no-nonsense voice.
"Mrs. Abercombie, this is Gwen Fletcher, Dr. Wolfe's secretary at the Main Interior Building in Washington, D.C."
"Yes?"
"You asked me to let you know if anyone attempted to contact Dr. Wolfe at his office."
"Yes, go on," Abercombie said, impatient to get back to the autopsy report.
"There have been three such contacts this afternoon. One at two-fifteen. One at three fifty-five, and one at a quarter to five."
"Oh, really?" she said. "And what did they want?"
"They all wanted to speak to Dr. Wolfe, of course. I explained to them that he had several appointments today and wouldn't be back in his office until tomorrow morning."
"How would you describe these people?"
"One of them was a white-haired, older gentlemen in his sixties. I believe he is a biologist interested in Dr. Wolfe's grizzly bear research. The other two were much younger men, in their mid to late thirties, I suppose. One of them-"
"Did you make the recordings, as I asked?" Abercombie interrupted.
"Yes, of course. That's why I'm calling. I dropped the tape off at K-Link Communications. They said to tell you that they would be ready to transmit whenever you called."
"Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher," Lisa Abercombie said in a neutral voice as she hung up the phone. She began humming to herself as she picked up her reports, stepped out of her office, closed and locked the door, and then walked quickly down the long, narrow hallway toward the command-and- control room.
When she entered the glass-walled room, Gerd Maas was just hanging up the phone.
"It is done," he said abruptly. "The last agent is dead."
"Are you certain that it was him?" she asked.
"They were going out to eat in a rented automobile. Gunter verified his presence with his binoculars, using the photograph you provided, and then waited until they came out of the restaurant before he detonated the device," Maas replied. "Everyone in the vehicle was killed instantly."
"Fine," Abercombie nodded after a moment. "Then all we have to do is dispose of Alex Chareaux and we are home free." She smiled as she sat down at the main control console, reached for one of the phone handsets, and dialed a memorized number.
"Marlene, this is Lisa. Yes, fine, thank you. I'm ready to receive. Which transponder will you be using? All right, fine, just a moment."
Looking up at the main video screen, Abercombie keyed in a series of commands, then watched the control board until the screen read:
DISH ONE SATELLITE: K-16 TRANSPONDER: 33 LINK VERIFIED SYSTEM READY DO YOU WISH TO TRANSMIT OR RECEIVE?
Abercombie pressed "R" and then "Enter" on the keyboard before speaking into the phone again.
"We have a verified link at our end. Please begin transmitting now," she said. She watched the screen as the computer controlled the receipt of the digitalized video signal. After approximately two minutes had passed, the screen went blank for a brief moment, and then a new message appeared:
SIGNAL PACKET D0I-DD-00162 RECEIVED. DURATION 117.32 SECONDS STORAGE: DRIVE 13 FILENAME: WC0008. VID SYSTEM READY DO YOU WISH TO TRANSMIT OR RECEIVE?
Abercombie punched the "N" and "Enter" keys, waited until the main menu display reappeared on the screen, and then turned to Maas.
"In five minutes," she said, "As scheduled, we will all meet again in the first-floor conference room."
Chapter Forty-Three
It was dark and raining, and the two agents could still hear the sirens in the background as they climbed into the front seats of the rented van. Whatever it was, it had happened in Georgetown, at least a mile away, and so they figured they probably wouldn't get caught up in the confusion.
"Well?" Dwight Stoner asked from the far backseat as he adjusted his sprawled-out body to take full advantage of the legroom created by Mike Takahara's unauthorized removal of the middle seat.
Henry Lightstone had tried to talk the rental company people into removing the middle seat themselves, but the clerk at the counter had balked, and the manager of the maintenance facility had said it was against company policy, and the employees in the shop had mumbled something about it not being in their job description. So Lightstone and Takahara had finally given up, gone back to the maintenance area parking lot and pulled it out themselves.
"Guards were a piece of cake," Lightstone said. "We gave them some bullshit story about getting into an accident on the Beltway, which was why we were late, and how we needed to use the Y-band transmitter on the roof to send an emergency message to South Africa before the government shipped any more of their elephants to the Saudis. Don't think they even looked at our credentials."
"Pretty sad performance for a couple of D.C. brothers." Paxton shook his head.
"So what's a Y-band transmitter?" Stoner asked.
"Beats the hell outta me. Ask Captain Marvel up here." Mike Takahara, in the front passenger seat, shrugged. "I just do locks."
"Yeah, so how did the locks go?" Paxton asked.
"Easy. Typical government low-bid stuff. But we did discover something else that was interesting," Takahara said. "Somebody set up a remote video unit to monitor the secretary's desk outside Wolfe's office."
"Oh, really?" Paxton said. "Any kind of surveillance system inside the office?"
"Nope, just a wire to his phone that he had hooked up wrong," Takahara replied. "Doesn't look like he's the technical type."
Larry Paxton thought about that for a moment. "Which would lead a suspicious person to think that somebody else wants to know who stops by to see our little piss-ass bureaucrat."
"Looks that way," Lightstone agreed. "We'd better not lose track of him tomorrow, because he's about the only lead we've got."
"Yeah, no shit," Paxton nodded. "So what do we do now?"