‘No problem, Randy. Unfortunately, I’m on the road right now, so I don’t have a list of extensions in front of me. Do me a favour and transfer me to the correct department.’
‘Sure thing, Mr Payne.’
Raskin punched a few keys on his computer and the call was rerouted to a female operator at the George Bush Center for Intelligence in Fairfax County, Virginia. It was only a few miles from Arlington, but a completely different world. One filled with spooks and deceit.
She answered in a monotone. ‘ID number, please.’
‘ID?’ he said, confused. ‘Who am I speaking to?’
‘ID number, please.’
‘Sorry, ma’am, I’m kind of at a loss right now. I was transferred from a research analyst at the Pentagon to this extension. What department is this?’
She paused a few seconds before answering. ‘Langley.’
‘Langley?’ he said surprised. He had been in Langley, Virginia, twice in the past ten years, and on both occasions it was to visit the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency. The thought of those trips made him squirm. Although he’d worked with a number of operatives over the years — the ‘I’ in MANIACs stood for Intelligence — he found the executive office way too political for his tastes. Based on his experience, they cared more about covering their asses in the media than covering their assets in the field. ‘Is this the CIA?’
‘ID number, please.’
‘Ma’am, I just told you, I was transferred to this extension by the Pentagon. How do I know what number to give you if I don’t know what department this is?’
Click. She hung up.
‘Thanks, sweetie. You’ve been a big help.’
Afterwards, he stared at his phone for several seconds. He hoped Raskin would send him a text message to apologize for his professionalism or, better yet, to explain the situation they had stumbled into. But after a minute of nothing, he gave up hope and went to discuss things with Jones. He ducked his head into the garage and said, ‘Hey, DJ, do you have a second?’
‘Sure,’ said Jones, who had just started to inspect Hamilton’s weapons. He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked past Maria and Ulster. ‘We’ll be outside. Scream if you need us.’
Lost in a world of artefacts, they barely noticed his departure.
Payne waited for him in the driveway. He tried to play it cool by leaning against a stone wall that defined the rear of the property, but his stress level was obvious. Jones could see it on his face and in his posture. Something had happened.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jones demanded.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You came out here to talk to Randy. Five minutes later, you’re talking to me. Obviously, something’s wrong.’
‘You’re right. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Randy wouldn’t talk to me.’
‘What’s he pouting about now?’
‘He wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t allowed to talk to me.’
‘Why not?’ Jones asked.
‘I don’t know. But he called me “Mr Payne”.’
‘He did what?’
‘Then he transferred my call to Langley.’
‘Langley?’
‘Yes, Langley.’
‘Shit.’
Payne nodded. ‘Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.’
Jones paused in thought. It took a moment for everything to sink in. Even then, the picture in his head was still fuzzy. ‘What triggered their interest?’
‘Could’ve been anything: Hamilton’s financials, the serial numbers on the rifles, his disappearance. For all we know, the Agency grabbed Hamilton.’
‘Not a chance in hell. The CIA would never abduct an American on foreign soil.’ Jones kept a straight face for less than three seconds before he cracked up. ‘Damn! I thought I could say that without laughing.’
‘Come on, DJ, focus. We need to figure out our next step.’
Jones shook his head. ‘No, we need to figure out his last step.’
‘Whose last step? Hamilton’s?’
‘No. Randy’s.’
52
Payne was confused by Jones’s comment about Raskin. ‘What good will that do?’
‘You know how the Agency works. They have ten thousand analysts whose sole job is to search data streams for red flags. As soon as one pops up, they make a call and their supervisors intervene. Obviously Randy did something to get noticed. If we can figure out what he did, maybe we can figure out why the CIA is interested in this mess.’
‘Why don’t we just call one of our contacts at Langley?’
Jones shook his head. ‘Randy has higher security clearance than anyone we know at the Agency. Hell, we have higher security clearance than anyone we know at the Agency. If he wasn’t allowed to tell us, then we’re on our own when it comes to Hamilton.’
‘Wait. Should we stop looking for him?’
‘That depends. Did Randy tell you to stop?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone at the CIA?’
‘Not really. They hung up on me.’
Jones laughed. ‘In that case, fuck ’em! No one told us to stand down, so we have every right to look for Hamilton.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. But …’
‘But, what?’
Payne pointed at the garage. ‘I don’t think we should tell Petr and Maria.’
‘Why not?’
‘Technically speaking, we wouldn’t be violating any laws by mentioning the Agency’s interest — especially since we don’t know what their interest is — but I doubt they’d want two foreign nationals to know anything about their involvement.’
‘That’s too bad.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Petr would get a boner if he knew the CIA was involved.’
Payne grimaced. ‘Why are you obsessed with that?’
‘With what?’
‘Petr’s groin. That’s the second time you’ve used that joke in the last twenty-four hours.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. Maria yelled at you the last time. She called you crass.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that explains it. I tend to block out things when she starts yelling.’
Payne smiled. ‘I guess that means you have no idea why we’re in Mexico, because she’s been yelling since we got here.’
Jones stared at him. ‘We’re in Mexico?’
Payne laughed. ‘Anyway, let’s get back to Randy. How do we figure out what got him noticed?’
Jones scratched his head in thought. ‘I wasn’t privy to any of your calls, so I don’t know what was said. How many were there?’
‘Three, counting today.’
‘Forget about today. Whatever got him flagged happened before today. What did you ask him to do first?’
Payne tried to remember the details of their first conversation. ‘I asked him to run a background search on Hamilton. Personal, criminal, financial, the works.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Not in the first call, but …’ Payne paused for a moment. ‘Actually, I take that back. I also asked him to run the serial number on Hamilton’s gun. You know, the Mexican Special from his briefcase. Because of its age, he told me not to get my hopes up.’