That was eleven years ago.
It was Admiral Lafever, the deputy director of operations, who had asked her to join his personal crusade against Division. It was not a request one could turn down, and in any event, she was eager for a new challenge. All records of her employment with the CIA were expunged. A simple legend was created, establishing her as a peripatetic teacher, one of the flock of displaced Europeans who travel from country to country filling vacant slots at one American school after another. Her husband’s job at the World Bank provided a natural cover.
Simone arrived in Beirut a month ahead of Emma. To establish their friendship, she helped Emma secure working quarters for the Doctors Without Borders mission that served as her cover. Friendship came naturally. After all, the two had much in common. Birds of a feather, so to speak. It wasn’t long before they were talking to one another daily.
All the while, Simone watched.
One by one, she uncovered the members of Emma’s network, though not in time to prevent the hospital bombing that had taken the life of a Lebanese police inspector involved with the investigation into the former Lebanese prime minister’s assassination.
In Geneva, Simone continued her work. It was only a month earlier that she’d identified Theo Lammers as a member of Emma’s new network. She passed word to Lafever, and this time Lafever did not hesitate to take action. She’d always figured that somewhere along the line killing might come into things. In her past assignments, it usually did. Part of her wondered if he’d somehow killed Emma, too.
Simone passed through the two checkpoints without incident. At each, she stopped and showed her identification. At each, she was sure to look the inspector in the eye, though not quite respectfully. And at each, she was quickly waved on.
Instead of turning right when she hit the crossroads for the highway that led westward to Landquart, and on to Zurich, she guided the car in an easterly direction, heading deeper into the valley. There were enough twists and turns in the road to convince her that Jonathan couldn’t possibly figure out in which direction they were traveling. Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. The trunk was locked.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Poor lamb.
72
Alphons Marti stood atop the hill overlooking the meadow, hands tucked at his side like a victorious general. “Did you think I wouldn’t look into who tipped off the CIA? You know how badly I wanted to nail the Americans. They’ve been using our airspace to ferry suspects to their secret prisons for far too long. It makes me sick to think of the innocent men they’ve captured, the lives they’ve destroyed.”
“Since when are they innocent?” asked von Daniken. “The Americans have stopped quite a few attacks. The system is working.”
“That’s what they’d have us believe. So high and mighty, yet always ready to step on a rule when it applies to them. We had them this time. Gassan was on that plane. It was a golden opportunity to show the world what Switzerland stands for.”
“What’s that? Getting in the way of the war on terror?”
“‘The war on terror’? You have no idea how much I despise that phrase. No, in fact I was referring to decency, honesty, and the rights of the common man. I think such things are the responsibilities of the world’s oldest functioning democracy. Don’t you?”
Von Daniken shuddered with disgust. “I don’t pretend to believe that anyone cares what I think about those kinds of things. All I know is that it was Gassan who told the CIA about the planned attack on our soil.”
“What about it? Are you any closer to finding the drone?”
“Considerably.”
The answer surprised Marti. “Oh?”
“The van used to transport the UAV was photographed by one of our surveillance cameras driving through Zurich last night. Right now I have the Zurich police force combing all the communities surrounding the airport, looking for any sign of it.”
“That’s against my orders.”
“Exactly,” said von Daniken. “I should have told you to go screw yourself two nights ago. I knew you were up to something then. Of course, I didn’t know what kind of traitor you really were.”
“Traitor?” Marti reddened. “It wasn’t me who contacted the CIA.”
“No,” said von Daniken. “You did worse.”
“I think I’ve had just about enough. You’re finished, Marcus. You purposely betrayed my trust. You gave secret information to a foreign government. Give your gun to my men.” Officers of the Federal Security Service charged with Marti’s protection stood to either side of him. Marti turned to one of his officers. “Cuff him. It’s my opinion that he poses a flight risk.” He looked back at von Daniken. “Why don’t you call your friend Palumbo and see if he can get you out of this mess?”
“Just a moment.” Something in von Daniken’s voice gave the men pause. They held their ground, observers in the war between their superiors.
“Go on, cuff him,” said Marti.
Von Daniken stepped forward and placed a controlling hand on Marti’s forearm. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Von Daniken tightened his grip. “Trust me. This is something you’ll want to keep between us.”
One of the security men made a move toward them, but Marti shook his head. Von Daniken led him down the hill away from the assembled officers.
“The van wasn’t the only discovery we made,” he said, after they’d covered twenty meters. “We were able to trace the money paid to Lammers and Blitz to a certain offshore trust opened by the Tingeli Bank. I believe you know Tobi, don’t you? Weren’t you at university together? Both law graduates, as I recall. Tobi wasn’t forthcoming at first. I had to remind him of his duties as a Swiss citizen.”
“By stepping on more laws, no doubt,” declared Marti, yanking his arm free.
Von Daniken ignored the comment. “As you’re aware, it’s standard practice for the bank where the trust is domiciled to keep all account statements on behalf of its clients. Tobi was good enough to give me copies of the trust’s monthly statements…for ‘the public good.’ We were both surprised to learn that the money that funded the trust wasn’t sent from Teheran, but from Washington, D.C.”
“D.C.? That’s ridiculous!”
“An account belonging to the U.S. Department of Defense.”
“But Mahmoud Quitab was an Iranian officer. You told me so yourself.” When Marti saw that he was making no headway, he changed tack. “Regardless, Tobi had no right to reveal that kind of information. It breaches every bank secrecy law on the books.”
“Maybe so,” said von Daniken. “Still, I’m certain that your fellow members on the Federal Council will be keen to learn the identity of some of the other individuals being financed by the trust. In fact, we tracked some of the payments to a private account at the Bern branch of the United Swiss Bank. You have an account there, don’t you? Number 517.62…um, help me out, will you?”
The color drained from Marti’s cheeks.
Von Daniken continued. “For the past two years, you’ve been receiving five hundred thousand francs a month courtesy of the United States Department of Defense. Don’t talk to me about being a traitor. You’re a paid foreign agent.”
“That’s absurd!”
“All your talk about nailing the CIA and about showing up America was nonsense. You wanted to take Gassan off that plane in Bern so he wouldn’t be interrogated by the CIA. You didn’t want him to give up any information about the attack to Palumbo.”