“And you did not intend to inform me of that occurrence? What right do you have to keep such information from me? It could have jeopardized our cause, Roman. You are not foolish enough to believe I would not want to know. And would not want you to locate and disable those responsible.”
“Varden collected all of the papers. No one gave them any attention; they were too busy pulling people out of the rubble to notice or care about the papers.”
“But if someone should recognize the mark of Gaia, Roman ….if someone should, then we will be in jeopardy. And that is not acceptable.”
“No, it is not. I should have told you, Father, but I hoped to spare you needless worry. Varden has assured me that no one has given any thought to the papers. He has been intimately involved in the rescue operations in order to ascertain what investigations are occurring.”
Lev stared at him for a long moment. “You will not withhold any information from me for any reason again. Regardless of its triviality. Do not forget, I am the one who speaks for Gaia. You and Varden — you do not.”
“Of course, father.”
“And when you have determined which of our people allowed such a thing to happen, you will handle it with the same finality with which you handled Israt Medivir.”
“Of course, father. Only last week, Igor Minofsky was punished when he called into question the direction I gave him. He wanted a greater sign that this was the perfect time. Stegnora believes Hedron may have been involved. His sons Bran and George have been missing from their homes in Madrid.”
Hedron was indeed becoming more belligerent and critical of Roman’s practices, and his leadership decisions. Lev suspected he would risk upheaval in the clan in order to remove Roman from his ruling position, despite the spiritual power still retained by Lev himself. Indeed, Hedron had proven his ability to commune with the spiritual world in a way that eluded Roman.
But Hedron was not of the Aleksandrov or Romanovna lines. Thus he could not be accepted as a leader.
“It is more than possible. I presume you will locate the two young men? Fridkov?”
“Of course, father. He arrived Stateside and has been reassigned to conduct his own investigation on the whereabouts of Hedron’s sons. And appropriate steps will be taken.”
“I would expect nothing less, Roman. Do not disappoint me again.”
24
Gabe MacNeil was missing.
With a civilian.
Colin reached for a capsule of Prilosec; downed it with four slugs of coffee. Black. And strong enough to remove rust stains.
He had a feeling it wouldn’t help.
For twenty years, he’d walked the straight and narrow. Always following the rules. Always getting expenses approved before utilizing them. Always clearing investigations as needed. Always being completely forthcoming with his team.
Always justifying his work for the Agency.
And the one blasted time he didn’t, this had to happen.
With a civilian!
Bergstrom was going to have to do something. MacNeil’s satellite phone wasn’t working, and he’d heard nothing from him since he’d left Marquette yesterday afternoon.
He’d allowed his past and his personal prejudices to lead him and now he was going to have to face the consequences.
Damn. It had been a simple assignment: bring Victor Alexander to him so that he could find a way to hold him. Simple.
But, like the time he’d decided to install a new light in the dining room, what had seemed an elementary, straight-forward task had turned into an abominable mess.
He’d lied to his officer, withheld information, and misled him. Endangered a civilian. Utilized unauthorized Agency resources during a time when budget cuts required accounting for everything.
All because he saw the opportunity for revenge.
And now he was going to have to pay the piper, and hope it wouldn’t result in the loss of his job. Because if he lost that, he lost everything.
His attention bounced around his office, unsure where to focus. Onto the stack of files that needed to be dealt with.
Onto the laptop screen, which, behind its screen saver, held nearly a hundred emails.
Onto the minutes from, ironically, the budget meeting he’d attended yesterday.
And, finally, irrevocably, onto the old photo of his wife.
He flipped listlessly through a file while his mind worked. How could he get a team up to Northern Michigan to track down Gabe? Would Darrow agree to it?
Why the hell didn’t Gabe call?
He had a sat phone.
But Bergstrom knew that Gabe would have called if he could have.
Which meant that he was in trouble.
That assumption was a light at the end of the tunnel of his own making. Because if Gabe was in trouble, that meant there was trouble to be had. And if there was trouble, it would justify his actions.
Before he could stew on it any longer, his desk phone rang. “Bergstrom here.”
The voice that came through sounded far away and tinny. At first, his heart leapt. Gabe? But no.
“This is Director Colin Bergstrom?” came the precise, clipped voice that Colin recognized as someone who’d learned English as a second or other language. He spoke his first name “Cole-in.”
“Speaking. Who is calling?”
“This is Inspector Hamid al-Jubeir of the GDI in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.” The way this introduction came through, smoothly with only a minor hesitation over the names and titles, told Colin that the words were written in front of the speaker.
“Yes? How may I help you?”
“I am involved in an investigation related to the murder of a wealthy oil producer here in Riyadh. The man who killed him left a calling card with a black drawing on it. A symbol.”
“Yes?”
“Through the Interpol database, I found that you have been investigating such a symbol in relation to some activity in the United States. Yours is the only identifier I could find for this drawing. I hoped you might have some information that could help me.”
“Indeed. Indeed!” Perhaps the sun would shine. “Can you fax me a copy of the symbol? Do you have any other information?”
“The assistant of the man who was killed met the suspected murderer. I have a composite drawing of that man. Would that be of interest to you? And have you anything to share with me?”
“Yes, to both. Perhaps you can email them to me?” At the very least, Colin would run the photo of the murderer through the database in Langley, unless by some odd break of fortune he recognized it as Victor Alexander. Identifying another Skaladeska; indeed, one who was a suspect in murder, would immediately support his questionable investigation. And then he could put more resources to track down Gabe.
Colin gave Hamid his email address, and while the investigator was preparing the attachments, Bergstrom gave him a sketchy outline of who the Skaladeskas were. “At this time, we haven’t any reason to believe they are a danger to anyone; however, with this new development — and if it is indeed a Skaladeska who is suspected in the murder of Israt Medivir,” he had to look at his notes to make sure he had the name right, “it will give support our decision to continue monitoring those people.”
Perhaps, perhaps his personal feelings had not been skewed too far from professional after all.
His instincts had never been wrong yet.
25