"I called all three of the numbers we found," said Holliday. "The first one, and the oldest by the looks of it, was for the Gamma Bank on the Quai du Seujet."
"Tritt's ill-gotten gains, presumably," said Brennan.
"Presumably." Holliday nodded.
"The others?" Peggy asked.
"Another is for a vineyard in Aigle, and the last one is a private garage in a town called Thonon-les-Bains. Wherever that is."
"A bank, a vineyard and a garage. What's that all about?" Peggy mused. "It doesn't make any sense."
"I don't know about the vineyard and the bank, but the garage is easy enough to figure out."
"Do tell," said Peggy.
"Switzerland is just about the only country in Western Europe that's not a member of the EU. Once he's in Thonon-les-Bains, he never has to go through customs again."
"Thonon-les-Bains," said Brennan. "Sounds like a spa town. Lots of them on the French side of Lake Geneva, places like Evian. From there it's just a skip and a jump to Rome."
"A staging base?" Peggy asked.
"Could be," said Holliday. "It's the only number written in ink. It's not a place he's used very often."
"What about the vineyard?" Brennan asked. "Where does that fit in the great scheme of things?"
"The only way to find out is to go there and see," said Holliday.
"I still think it's a waste of time," said Peggy. "As far as I can see none of this has anything to do with your friend Kate Sinclair. The only connection we have is between the CIA and Tritt, and even that's pretty thin. When you get right down to it we have nothing. We're not even sure about Tritt. All we have is the opinion of your friend Philpot."
"All the more reason to check out the only leads we have, which are those phone numbers."
"Maybe he has a rotten memory," Peggy said.
"Then why hide the numbers on the back side of a drawer?" Holliday said. "If he's got nothing to hide, why did he hide them?"
"Time is running out," said Peggy. "I still think we should tell someone."
"So do I," said Holliday. "Once we have something to tell them."
Peter Van Loan had been on the Presidential Protective Detail for eleven years and a Secret Service agent for twenty. This was the third president he'd worked for, and as presidents go, he was a bit of a wimp. Of course, his job was not to reason why; it was but to do or die and all that. But sometimes the Man was worth taking a bullet for, and for others you'd hesitate just a tad, perhaps.
Eleven years was a long time to be on any detail within the Secret Service, but Van Loan was well-liked, always willing to accept even the boring assignments, like taking the kids to school or standing forever on post for interminable meetings. At fifty-four he was getting a little long in the tooth for the wear and tear on the nerves and of being constantly on the alert, not to mention the fact that his knees were starting to give out, his blood pressure was too high and his bank account was too low for someone as close to retirement as he was. He had a few more years left to cash in by working in private security and he was seriously thinking about taking the early retirement option.
Tab Hartmann, head of the detail and senior agent, was empathetic enough to throw Van Loan the occasional bone, such as being on the advance squad that vetted locations the Man was about to visit. Today it was Rome. This time Hartmann wasn't taking any chances. He'd doubled the size of the advance team from six to twelve. The assassination of the Pope less than a week ago had everyone on edge.
Not that Van Loan was unduly worried. Presidential security was always tight, but for this trip there'd be enough security to protect God himself. The president of Russia's Federal Protective Service was already prowling around the Eternal City, as were Canada's RCMP Protective Services Section, the United Kingdom's MI6 and France's GSPR (the Groupe de securite de la presidence de la Republique, or the Security Group of the Presidency of the Republic) and the German Bundespolizei.
On top of that there were smaller contingents from thirty other countries and the personal bodyguards for more than three dozen celebrities and bigwigs from Bill Gates and Arnold Schwarzenegger to George Clooney and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Van Loan had been on dozens of junkets like this, including one for the death of the previous Pope, and he knew he could do the whole thing with his eyes closed.
This is how it would go. Sometime just before midnight tomorrow two U.S. Air Force C-17 Globemaster III transports would arrive at Pratica di Mare Air Force Base, just south of Rome. The first would carry two identical presidential limousines while the second would be carrying six heavily armored Cadillac Escalades for use by the Secret Service.
The main vehicles would be followed by White House staff and support personnel traveling in locally rented Chevrolet Suburbans and the whole procession would be headed and tailed by a dozen motorcycle police on their customized blue and white BMWs.
Long before the arrival of Air Force One the following morning, Van Loan, as chief of the advance team and acting with the advice of the State Police, would have chosen the fastest and most discreet routes both to and from the Vatican, as well as two primary escape routes and one alternate in case of emergencies. Manhole covers would be temporarily spot welded shut and all refuse bins, newspaper boxes and mailboxes along the chosen route would be removed.
An Italian State Police AugustaWestland AW109 helicopter would act as aerial surveillance; it was also fitted out as a medevac unit. Trauma rooms at three local hospitals had also been reserved for the president. Nothing was too good for the Man and nothing was too mundane for his chief gofer.
Procedures at the Vatican itself were relatively easy to deal with. All guests, regardless of their VIP status, would be funneled through metal detectors and sniffer units programmed to detect any explosive residue. Women's purses would be checked for concealed weapons. As the requiem Mass began, the heads of state and other dignitaries would be asked to leave St. Peter's and wait on the steps. Eventually the Pope's plain cedar coffin would be brought out and carried to the center of Saint Peter's Square for the final funeral rites and the liturgy. With that completed, the coffin would be taken to the grottoes beneath the immense basilica and laid to rest with his predecessors.
For Van Loan and the other Secret Service agents, the period when the president was waiting on the steps of St. Peter's was critical. The crowd gathered in the square would be processed through several security checkpoints, but for almost an hour the Man would be vulnerable. Whoever had assassinated the Pope the previous week had done so at a great distance. This time there were armed Italian Special Forces teams in every tower and on the roofs of tall buildings for a mile and a half around the basilica.
It was this measure that led to the discovery of the sniper's nest in the bell tower of the Chiesa Nuova on the Via dei Filippini, an incredible thirteen hundred yards away. The fact that the nest, the weapon and the Arabic coin had been discovered by accident only the day before didn't do much for Van Loan's already low expectations of Italian security measures.
He'd rented a limousine from a local agency and made the trip from the air base to the Vatican twice, instructing the driver to proceed at a steady sixty miles per hour while Van Loan carefully processed each likely ambush spot along the way, seeing nothing that really looked like a weak spot. A sniper taking out a seated figure like the Pope was one thing; hitting an armored limousine traveling at sixty miles per hour was something else again. The moving target was the one thing that had always bothered him about the Kennedy assassination. Shooting downward at such an extreme angle was difficult, but hitting a perfect head shot while the moving target negotiated a curve was virtually impossible for anyone except a very experienced and talented sniper. By the end of the day, Van Loan was satisfied that all the bases had been covered. He went back to his hotel for a well-earned drink and a decent meal.