“What’s our window on this?”
“Three days at the most. According to Banks, this guy Ozal seems to be a little nervous about this whole idea. He seems to think Ozal may decide to back out of this at any minute.”
“In answer to your question,” Packer said, “yes, I think I know where we can find Bogner.”
Bogner opened his eyes, stretched, reached out, and caressed the mound of soft covers in bed beside him. Joy was still asleep. Careful not to disturb her, he shoved his legs over the edge of the bed, stood up, and stretched a second time. The flight from Washington to Paris had taken its toll; he was still a bit stiff, and since they had arrived only a few hours earlier, his internal clock still hadn’t had time to adjust.
He looked down at Joy with her sable-colored shoulder-length hair tangled over the pillow and was momentarily tempted to wake her. Instead, he glanced at his watch and decided, because of the hour, to let her sleep.
The concierge at the Verones had done a nice job; their suite had all the typical French amenities.
The roses were fresh, the fruit looked as if it had just been picked, and the bar was stocked with both a bottle of Scoresby and a fifth of Black and White. Now with daylight just beginning to filter into their suite, he decided to steal a few minutes for himself, headed for the bathroom, turned on the shower, and crawled in. He was counting on a hot shower to clear the cobwebs.
Ten minutes later, he walked back into the bedroom to find Joy sitting on the edge of the bed, glowering. She was pointing toward the telephone.
“That was Packer,” she said.
“He said he’s in the lobby. One question, Tobias. How the hell did he know where to find you? Did you tell him where we were staying?”
“That’s two questions,” Bogner reminded her.
“Damn it, I don’t like ‘cute’ this early in the morning. How did he know where to find us?” Joy repeated.
“I told him we were going to Paris. That’s all.
Hell, I didn’t even know what hotel we were staying at until we arrived. You know Miller. If Packer told him to find me, he could. Miller could find a cobweb in a dark basement.”
The former Joy Bogner, currently Joy Carpenter, was furious. She stood up, pulled on her robe, and stormed into the bathroom. From behind the closed door he heard her shout, “I’m warning you, Tobias, if you have any intention of trying to salvage these next three days, you better find a way to get rid of him.”
Bogner found the ISA chief in the hotel’s coffee shop. He looked like what he was, a man who had spent most of the night on an airplane. His eyes were puffy, his suit wrinkled, and he wore the obvious expression of a man who was about to apologize and at the same time try to justify his presence. He stood up as Bogner approached the table.
“I think you know me well enough to know that if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t,” he said.
Bogner grunted, sat down, reached for the carafe of coffee, and poured himself a cup.
“By now you’ve no doubt figured out that Joy is royally pissed.”
“I know, I could tell by the tone of her voice.”
Packer took a sip of coffee, set his cup down, and shook his head.
“I love Joy like a daughter, T. C., but this couldn’t wait. I let it slip that you were in Paris. Take it from there. Miller was willing to take the heat for calling you.”
Bogner had known Clancy Packer for a long time. Clancy Packer had recruited him for the ISA after Bogner had earned his wings and sweated through a couple of tours of duty in the Orient.
During those years Packer had, at various times, been a surrogate father, a mentor, a boss, and a friend. Bogner knew what role he had to be playing if he had flown all the way to Paris. He settled back in his chair and waited.
“Okay, Pack, you’re here. The damage is done. Now, what’s so damned important that it couldn’t wait until I get back in Washington?”
“Does the — name Concho Banks mean anything to you?”
Bogner nodded.
“Sure, our man in Istanbul, right?”
“Exactly. Twenty-one years with the agency. According to Banks, he has discovered a way to get us into some top-secret Iraqi facilities in Ammash.
He’ll be representing himself as the front man for a weapons dealer in Bucharest. This is all being arranged by a man by the name of Taj Ozal. According to Banks, Ozal has some high-powered contacts in the area. Not only that, for the right price Ozal can see that Concho gets a firsthand look inside the Nasrat pharmaceutical facility as well.”
Bogner was beginning to put the pieces together.
“This all stems from the latest round of chemical weapons attacks on the Kurds, right?”
“The U.N. inspection teams weren’t able to get anywhere near Ammash on their last go-round.
Plus we hear persistent rumors from what we, not
Banks, consider to be reliable sources that the bad blood between Salih Baddour and Anwar Abbasin has reached the boiling point. Langley and his people at N1 believe that even though Baddour is short on manpower, he is perfecting something called GG-2, a cyanide-based poison gas that he either could or has decided to use in a coup attempt against Baghdad.”
“Which, if true, would explain why the Kurds have been catching hell.”
“Precisely,” Packer replied. It was one of his favorite words.
“Sounds to me like you’ve got everything under control,” Bogner said.
“Banks knows the man, and the man knows the territory.”
“I wish I were as comfortable with it as you are.”
“What are you saying, you’re not comfortable with this guy Ozal?”
“Dealing with someone like Taj Ozal is always a risk. I am concerned about Ozal, but I’m even more concerned about Banks. Concho is a good man, nothing but superior ratings on his performance-appraisal sheets — but we think this one may be a little out of his line.”
Bogner shook his head.
“Tell me you’re not thinking I’m the one for this bit of madness, Pack.
Take a look: sandy-colored hair, blue eyes, fair-skinned. Who the hell is going to believe I’m a Romanian?”
“We can’t afford to let this one slip through our fingers, T. C. This may be the only time we get a shot at taking the Ammash complex out. Nasrat Pharmaceutical has been a big question mark for a long time. The whole Ammash complex has been a concern. We’ve shown the U.N. Security Council our satellite photos and they aren’t t impressed. If we can pull this one off, we may be able to go back to the Council with enough proof to get them off the dime.”
“So what you’re telling me is when I get back to Washington, I’m off the Hastings investigation and I’m on the Ammash expedition. I don’t see why you couldn’t have told me all of this when I got back.”
“If we wait until Monday or Tuesday, it may be too late. Banks says Ozal is the nervous type; he may get suspicious. We’re talking a three-day window.”
“So what are you saying?”
Packer reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out an airline ticket.
“I think Banks may be right on this seventy-two-hour window, T. C. Any longer than that and our man Ozal may think he’s being set up and walk away.”
“I suppose I could leave Sunday night,” Bogner said.
“You leave tonight. Paris to Istanbul on Air France. You’re already booked. I’ve got your credentials, contact info, everything you’ll need; it’s all here in this envelope.”
Chapter Four
The long ride in from Alaturk Airport down Millet Caddesi into the heart of the city had given Bogner plenty of time to think. Joy wasn’t his only problem, but she was the one he was grappling with.