STEPHANIE STOOD FROM HER CHAIR. FORCE OF HABIT.
Davis did, too.
Daniels motioned for them to stay put. "It's late and we're all tired. Sit." He grabbed a chair. "Thank you, Colonel. Would you make sure we're not disturbed?"
Gross disappeared toward the front of the warehouse.
"You two look like hell," Daniels said.
"Comes from watching a man's head get blown off," Davis said.
Daniels sighed. "I've seen that myself, once or twice. Two tours in Vietnam. Never leaves you."
"A man died because of us," Davis said.
Daniels' lips tightened. "But Herbert Rowland is alive because of you."
Little consolation, she thought, then asked, "How are you here?"
"Slipped out of the White House and rode Marine One straight south. Bush started that. He'd fly all the way to Iraq before anyone knew. We have procedures in place to accommodate that now. I'll be back in bed before anyone knows I'm gone." Daniels' gaze drifted toward the refrigerator door. "I wanted to see what was in there. Colonel Gross told me, but I wanted to see."
"It could change how we view civilization," she said.
"It's amazing." And she could see that Daniels was genuinely impressed. "Was Malone right? Can we read the books?"
She nodded. "Enough to make sense."
The president's usual boisterous bearing seemed in check. She'd heard he was a notorious night owl, sleeping little. Staffers constantly complained.
"We lost the killer," Davis said.
She caught the defeat in his tone. So different from the first time they'd worked together, when he'd tossed out an infectious optimism that had driven her into central Asia.
"Edwin," the president said, "you've given this your best shot. I thought you were nuts, but you were right."
Davis' eyes were those of someone who'd given up expecting good news. "Scofield's still dead. Millicent is still dead."
"The question is, do you want their killer?"
"Like I said, we lost him."
"See, that's the thing," Daniels said. "I found him."
EIGHTY-THREE
RAMSEY SAT IN A RICKETY WOODEN CHAIR, HIS HANDS, CHEST, AND feet bound with duct tape. He'd contemplated attacking McCoy outside but realized that Smith was surely armed-and he could not elude them both. So he'd done nothing. Bided his time. And hoped for a fumble.
Which may not have been smart.
They'd herded him into the house. Smith had lit a small camping stove that now provided weak illumination and welcome heat. Interesting how one section of the bedroom wall was swung open, the rectangle beyond pitch-black. He needed to know what these two wanted, how they'd joined forces, and how to appease them.
"This woman tells me that I've been added to the expendable list," Smith said.
"You shouldn't listen to people you don't know."
McCoy stood, propped against an open windowsill, holding a gun. "Who says we don't know each other?"
"This isn't hard to decipher," he said to her. "You're playing both ends against the middle. Did she tell you, Charlie, that she shook me down for twenty million?"
"She did mention something about that."
Another problem.
He faced McCoy. "I'm impressed you identified Charlie and made contact."
"Wasn't all that hard. You think no one pays attention? You know cell phones can be monitored, bank transfers traced, confidential agreements between governments used to access accounts and records that no one else could get to."
"I never realized I interested you so."
"You wanted my help. I'm helping."
He yanked on his restraints. "Not what I had in mind."
"I offered Charlie half the twenty million."
"Payable in advance," Smith added.
Ramsey shook his head. "You're an ungrateful fool."
Smith lunged forward and raked the back of his hand across Ramsey's face. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."
"Charlie, I swear to you, this you're going to regret."
"Fifteen years I've done what you asked," Smith said. "You wanted people dead. I made them dead. I know you've been planning something. I could always tell. Now you're moving to the Pentagon. Joint Chiefs of Staff. What's next? No way you'll be satisfied and retire out. That's not you. So I've become a problem."
"Who said that?"
Smith pointed at McCoy.
"And you believe her?"
"She makes sense. And she did have twenty million dollars, because I now have half of it."
"And we both have you," McCoy said.
"Neither one of you has the guts to murder an admiral, the head of naval intelligence, nominee for the Joint Chiefs. Going to be tough to cover that one up."
"Really?" Smith said. "How many people have I killed for you? Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred? I can't even remember. Not a one of which has ever been tagged murder. I'd say cover-up is my specialty."
Unfortunately the cocky little weasel was right, so he decided to try diplomacy. "What can I do to assure you, Charlie? We've been together a long time. I'm going to need you in the years ahead."
Smith did not answer.
"How many women did he kill?" McCoy asked him.
Ramsey wondered about that question. "Does it matter?"
"Does to me."
Then he realized. Edwin Davis. Her co-worker. "This about Millicent?"
"Did Mr. Smith here kill her?"
He decided to be honest and nodded.
"She was pregnant?"
"That's what I was told. But who knows? Women lie."
"So you just killed her?"
"Seemed the simplest way to end the problem. Charlie here was working for us in Europe. That's when we first met. He handled the job well, and he's been mine ever since."
"I'm not yours," Smith said, contempt in his voice. "I work for you. You pay me."
"And there's lots more money to be made," the admiral made clear.
Smith stepped toward the open panel in the wall. "Leads down to a concealed cellar. Probably came in handy during the Civil War. Good place to hide things."
He caught the message. Like a body.
"Charlie, killing me would be a really bad idea."
Smith turned and aimed his gun. "Maybe so. But it sure as hell will make me feel better."
MALONE LEFT THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE AND ENTERED HALVORSEN Base, followed by the others. Their host, waiting for them on the ice when they'd deplaned into a blast of frigid air, was a swarthy, bearded Australian-stocky, robust, and seemingly competent-named Taperell.
The base comprised an assembly of high-tech buildings buried beneath thick snow, powered by a sophisticated solar and wind-of-the-art, Taperell said, then added, "You're fortunate today. Only minus thirteen degrees Celsius. Bloody warm for this part of the world."
The Aussie led them into a spacious wood-paneled room, filled with tables and chairs, that smelled of cooking food. A digital thermometer on the far wall read nineteen degrees Celsius.
"Hamburgers, chips, and drinks will be here in a tick," Taperell said. "I thought you'd need some tucker."
"I assume that means food," Malone said.
Taperell smiled. "What else, mate?"
"Can we get going as soon as we eat?"
Their host nodded. "No worries, that's what I was told. I have a chopper ready. Where you headin'?"
Malone faced Henn. "Your turn."
Christl stepped forward. "Actually, I have what you need."
STEPHANIE WATCHED AS DAVIS STOOD FROM HIS CHAIR AND ASKED the president, "What do you mean, you found him?"
"I offered the vacancy on the Joint Chiefs to Ramsey today. I called him and he said yes."
"I assume there's a good reason you did that," Davis said.
"You know, Edwin, we seem to stay twisted around. It's like you're the president and I'm the deputy national security adviser-and I say that with a special emphasis on the word deputy."
"I know who's the boss. You know who's the boss. Just tell us why you're here in the middle of the night."
She saw that Daniels didn't mind the brash insolence.
"When I went to Britain a few years ago," the president said, "I was asked to join a foxhunt. Brits love that crap. Get all dressed up, early in the morning, mount a smelly horse, then take off following a bunch of howlin' dogs. They told me how great it was. Except, of course, if you're the fox. Then, it's a bitch. Being the compassionate soul that I am, I kept thinking about the fox, so I passed."