"Like I said, he's young. He hasn't learned how to hold his anger in check when things are going against him. That's not a good trait."
"I like him though," Selena said. "He showed respect, once he could stand."
"I saw that. I think he heard what I said when I told him he could learn from you."
"He did well on the range."
"After years in the Rangers he ought to," Nick said. "He showed good judgment on the combat course. He only shot one civilian. That's better than I did the first time through."
The urban combat course was recent, installed in the large warehouse across from headquarters. It consisted of movable walls and props that looked like the streets and buildings of an urban environment anywhere in the world. It could be configured as a village street, a city block or a mockup of a mission target, depending on need. Three-dimensional automated targets popped out in unpredictable ways from doors and windows, inside rooms and from behind walls and vehicles. Some were enemies, with a variety of weapons and looks. Others were civilians, old men, office workers, children, women with babies. Ramirez had shot one of the old men, thinking his cane was a gun. Grading depended on hits, accurate identification of the target and speed of response.
Selena said, "He's getting into it. I can see him trying to figure it out. He still doesn't know what we do, not really."
"He won't, until he's in the field."
Nick checked the chicken. "It's done."
"You realize this is our first real dinner here?" Selena said.
"Won't be the last," Nick said.
"You're a real romantic, aren't you?"
Here was a remodeled loft looking out over the Potomac. They'd moved in a few days before. They'd bought it together even though they weren't married. Nick figured they would be. In the meantime, the loft was a way to commit to each other before getting to the altar. So far they hadn't set a date or made arrangements for the final step.
"What do you think about our rookie?" Selena asked. "Do you think he's going to fit?"
"He looks pretty good," Nick said. "I think the biggest problem is going to be whether or not he can let go of his self-image."
"His self image?"
"Macho Ranger, superhero."
"Oh, that image."
"Army Rangers are like that."
"Do I hear the Marine Corps Hymn playing in the background?" Selena said.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. That Marine thing about other units."
"The Rangers are a good unit."
"Are they as good as the Marines?"
"Marines are the best," Nick said, "but the Rangers are damn good."
"I rest my case," Selena said.
CHAPTER 6
Nazar Al-Bayati sported a heavy brush of a mustache like the one worn by Saddam Hussein. He was heavy, thick around the waist. His arms were the size of many men's thighs. He had once crushed a man to death with those arms to make a point.
Some made their money selling guns or drugs or women. Nazar sold all of those, but his main source of income was information. He lived at the center of a web of thieves and spies that reached across the Middle East and Europe, from the back alleys of Damascus to the corporate board rooms of London and Paris.
Not much of importance in the Middle East escaped his notice. For Al-Bayati, the endless wars were a blessing from God. Not that he believed in God. He believed in an insatiable deity of a darker nature, worshipped by his Carthaginian ancestors in centuries past. Nazar's god was old, older than the one revered by Christian, Jew and Muslim alike. It was to him that he directed his prayers and supplications.
The only other thing he believed in was greed. An intelligent and cunning man, Nazar found his most profitable information came from new developments in technology. New weapons, new discoveries, better ways to wage war. All these things equaled new ways to make money. The man who knew what was coming would always stay one step ahead of his competitors. To that end he had informers watching for information he could turn into profit. He had eyes in the nuclear facilities of Russia, men who watched the Israelis, and men in the temples of science in Europe. It was one of these who had told him about the odd looking Italian and his volcanic scroll. Nazar had dispatched his agent at once.
Professor Caprini's overnight bag rested on the desk in front of him. Nazar looked up at the man who had brought it. His name was Addison Rhoades, a disgraced British spy who'd become one of Bayati's most valuable assets. Rhoades was Bayati's fixer, the man who took care of problems. A small problem, Rhoades took care of it himself. A large one, he knew men who could do what needed to be done.
At first glance Rhoades looked like a successful European businessman. He was dressed in a good suit, a light blue shirt and a lavender tie knotted to perfection. A closer inspection revealed the dissipation in his face, the tight lines around his eyes and the darkness under them. He was tall, stronger than he looked and a highly trained assassin.
"You opened the bag?" Nazar said.
"Yes. The scroll lies in a case within."
"Are there notes?"
"There's a computer. I haven't looked at it but if there are notes, that's where they'll be. There are copies of the x-rays."
"Excellent. I assume you left no traces behind."
"You haven't read the papers today?"
Nazar thought. "The train in Italy?"
"Yes."
"Ah. A bit extreme, wasn't it?"
"It seemed best," Rhoades said.
"Who else knows about the x-rays?" Nazar asked.
"As far as I know, only one person. The technician who operated the machine."
"I want you to go back to Grenoble," Nazar said. "Eliminate him. Destroy any records of the results as well."
"That may involve damage to some very expensive equipment," Rhoades said.
"It's of no importance. The French will repair it. Make it look like some kind of terrorist attack."
"As you wish."
"You've done well, Addison."
Nazar reached into a drawer. He took out a small, foil wrapped ball. Rhoades wet his lips. Nazar saw the longing on his face.
"Make sure this doesn't interfere with your mission."
"Of course," Rhoades said. He took the ball, placing it in his pocket.
When Rhoades had left, Nazar opened Professor Caprini's laptop and booted it up. The screen requested a password. Nazar inserted a flash drive loaded with a program stolen from Russian intelligence. The screen went dark for a moment then cleared, revealing a dozen file folders against a blue background. Nazar clicked on the one marked Herculaneum.
The file contained the pictures taken in Grenoble, showing what lay beneath the crusted surface of the scroll. Even crystal x-ray tomography wasn't good enough to show what was written on most of the ancient document. But what had been revealed was enough to set Nazar's black heart beating.
CHAPTER 7
Stephanie and Elizabeth were in Elizabeth's office when Nick and Selena arrived. Ronnie came in right after them.
"I got a heads up from the White House," Elizabeth said. "Rice wants us to look into something that happened in France."
"If there's a chance we're going out soon you'd better get Ramirez in here," Nick said. "He needs to be in on the planning."
"Have you decided to keep him?"
"I don't know yet but this seems like a good time to show him how we work."
"Last I saw of our rookie, he was in the workout room. Steph, would you ask Sergeant Ramirez to come up here please?"
Down in the workout room Diego was on the treadmill, running in place. His mind was going faster than his feet.
Who the hell are these people? he thought. This is one weird set up. Hell, they're old, Carter and his Indian buddy. I wonder what happened to his ear? The blonde, Selena. Where did she learn to fight like that? And the whole operation is being run by a woman.