THIRTY
Even before they pulled up to the private entrance to the United Nations, Wexler could see that chaos reigned on the sidewalk outside. Perhaps two dozen men clad in nondescript clothes were moving about purposefully. They had no particular uniform. Some were in conservative suits, others wore blue jeans and T-shirts. They had one thing in common, however — a purposeful look in their eyes that kept everyone away from them.
And weapons. Their choices seem to be about equally divided between automatic weapons and handguns. There was an air of menace around them, and for just a moment she quailed. Had they come this far only to be trapped right outside their own building?
Then she saw that Brad was right in the thick of it, clearly in charge. She breathed a sigh of relief.
T’ing shot her a thoughtful look. “He is very well-organized,” was all he said.
As their car approached the area, they were immediately surrounded by the armed men. Sarah rolled down the window, and Brad rushed over. “You’re okay?” he asked, a hard note in his voice.
“Yes. It has been… it has been interesting.” She laid one hand on his forearm. “But my friend took care of things.” She saw the light of slight surprise in T’ing’s eyes, as though he had not expected her to publicly acknowledge what he’d done.
A group of men quickly formed up behind him, and Brad helped her out of the car. She was immediately surrounded by them, shielded completely by their bodies. She turned back to the car. “Are you coming?”
“Madam Ambassador, we don’t have—” Brad started.
She cut him off. “The ambassador has been most generous with his resources. We will reciprocate.” There was steel in her voice, and she noticed Brad blinked.
“Of course.” He made a motion, and additional men formed a separate protective group.
T’ing waved them off. “Thank you. I appreciate very much the offer of assistance. However, given the events of the last few hours, I suspect that I have some matters to resolve.” A brief, but bloodthirsty look flashed in his eyes. “I will call upon you when I return, if I may.”
“What are you going to do?” she demanded. “Who were they, and what did they want with me?”
But T’ing only shook his head. “I’m sure you can answer part of that — and as for the final act in this sequence of events, I must decline to share the details with you. Perhaps some later date.” The window rolled up, T’ing spoke quietly to the driver, and the car pulled away.
“Now, Madam Ambassador,” Brad said firmly, and it was clear from his voice that he would brook no further delays. “I want to get you to a place of safety immediately.” She had a suspicion that whatever T’ing planned to do would accomplish more toward that end than surrounding her with armed guards.
She let Brad’s men sweep her into the building, forming a solid shield of human flesh around her. When they reached the elevators, another group had already secured them, and no one else was allowed on. She crowded in with six of Brad’s men and they went to her floor.
Never had she been so grateful as she was at that moment to walk into her office. The secretarial administrative staff, as well as the two assistants, all had a shocked, stunned look on their faces. They rushed to her immediately.
Brad waved them off. “The ambassador has had a difficult day. Later, please.” With that, he ushered her into her own office and shut the door behind them.
Wexler sat on the couch, leaned back against the armrest, swung her feet up on the couch, and kicked off her heels. She cut her eyes toward Brad, then let them drift closed. “I suppose tea is out of the question.”
For moment, she saw a flash of her old aide, the cheerful, genial, confident man who kept things running so smoothly. Then it disappeared, replaced by the new, harder man. “Of course it’s not out of the question,” he said easily. “I still remember how to make it.”
He left for a few minutes to go make it.
Finally alone, a new weariness came over her. Brad — CIA, FBI, or what? It would have to be resolved, and immediately. How dare they…?
Is this perhaps your own fault? A small voice asked. Is it so wrong to expect some degree of contact with your office? After all, you’re all after the same thing — protecting U.S. interests, right? And you must admit, there were times when assistance from the CIA would have made your job easier. Like with Wells — some hard data on who and what he is would have made the job of figuring out what he was up to much more simple.
Have I been so blind? she wondered. Have I actually damaged national interests in my efforts to keep a wall up between this office and other U.S. agencies? Their methods are distasteful, the goals and objectives inconsistent with what I believe is important in the world. But we all work for the same man — have I been too hard-headed about this?
Brad came back in, bearing her tea service. He poured her a cup, and slid it across the coffee table to her. Without getting up, she picked it up, and took two sips. The warm, faintly orange-scented fluid had an immediately restorative effect. She let it trickle down her throat, then said, “So tell me everything. From the beginning.”
“There’s not much to tell. The contingency plan was—”
She cut him off with a gesture. “Don’t even try. I mean the real story. Who are you — who do you work for?”
“You have my real name,” he began, and for some reason that didn’t reassure her. “Before coming to your office, I was employed by the FBI.”
“That was after the CIA, was it?” she asked. “Or do they have some sort arrangement that allows you to work for both at the same time?”
A longer silence this time, and she could see conflicting emotions warring on Brad’s face. Finally, he said, “There are some things I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Madame Ambassador, but I simply can’t. They’re mostly things that would endanger programs now in place, or people in particular situations. But what I can tell you, I will.”
Wexler took another sip of tea, buying herself some time. Exactly how much did she want to know? How much did she need to know? She had already decided that it was partially her fault that the CIA had been pushed to these measures, but she wasn’t going to tell Brad that. No, whatever her sins had been, the agencies’ had been worse.
“Tell me what you can… I’ll decide if it’s enough.”
“For starters, I’ll answer your first question Yes. I have at some point been employed by the CIA. I still have many contacts there, but I don’t report to them anymore. The FBI is my only other master. And as to why — well, I think you can figure that out.” He leaned forward, his voice intent. “Domestic terrorism is becoming an increasingly critical problem. The lines between CIA and FBI responsibilities are more blurred than they have ever been before. And I suspect the boundaries between diplomatic and intelligence office functions are going that way as well.” He splayed his hands in a placating gesture. “I wanted to work for you — I asked to be allowed to apply here. My request was granted. And although you haven’t asked, I’ll tell you that I have tried to do my best for you, and this hasn’t been a comfortable dichotomy for me. But I believe in what I’ve been doing — I want you to know that.”
“And what do we do when my wishes conflict with the FBI’s?” she asked softly. “What have you told them?”
“I have told them what they needed to know in order to do their job. No more.” There was a trace of steel in his voice now that matched her own. “I regret that it has come to this, but I’m profoundly grateful that my connections with the FBI — and yes, those were FBI agents supplementing the UN security force — have kept you safe. I only wish I’d sent more men immediately to the restaurant.”