"The whole thing is too Byzantine," said Peggy. "It's a fairy tale, something out of the Brothers Grimm."
"The world is a Grimm place." Pesek smiled, briefly turning away from the window. "In the sixteenth century a Bohemian countess named Elizabeth Bathory liked to bathe in the blood of virgins she lured to her castle. As a serial killer she was much more prolific than your Theodore Bundy. Now that is truly Byzantine, my friend."
"So, where do you fit in the grand scheme of things?" Holliday asked Philpot.
The CIA analyst picked up a piece of chicken, then thought better of it and dropped the battered lump back into the bucket on the table. He wiped his lips with a napkin and belched discreetly.
"The Sinclair family has been a plague in D.C. since the beginning. They've got links and connections that go back to Donovan and Dulles and the old OSS boys-the Ivy League spies. They stuck themselves on the intelligence community like a flea on a dog and they never let go. There's been a cadre of Rex Deus members in Congress, the Senate, Justice and the Pentagon for decades. The old senator was too corrupt to ever make a move on his own-like Joe Kennedy and the bootlegging years. But he had the right connections and before he died he passed the mantle on to his grandson, and he passed it on to his wife, the venerable Kate. Now she's finally making the move that the old man dreamed about."
"Putting her son in the White House." Holliday nodded.
Philpot gave a hollow laugh and tossed a chicken bone into the wastebasket beside him. "The White House? That's just the beginning."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Peggy asked.
"There was a movie a long time ago, back in the early sixties," said Philpot. "It was called Seven Days in May."
"Never heard of it," said Peggy.
"Ah, youth." Philpot smiled, judiciously plucking another piece of fried chicken from the bucket.
"I remember. It was about a military coup d'etat," said Holliday. "A general doesn't like the way a milksop president is dealing with the Russians over some missile treaty, so he plots to take over the United States by force of arms."
"That's the one," said Philpot. "And Kate Sinclair's about to do the same thing with the help of her little buddies in the Central Intelligence Agency and the Pentagon, General Angus Scott Matoon in particular. She doesn't care much for the way the present administration is giving away the store. She thought she had the power on Capitol Hill to get the poor bastard impeached. Now she's trying a back door to put her son on the throne and her behind it."
"In the movie the reason for the coup d'etat was a lily-livered missile treaty the general honestly believed was crippling America's power. What's Kate Sinclair's excuse?"
"What do you think was the best thing that ever happened to George W? What got him elected for a second term and allowed him to start a phony war in Eye-Raq. The best thing that could happen to any president you can name?"
"Bin Laden and 9/11," offered Peggy. "Saddam Hussein and the phantom weapons of mass destruction."
"A common enemy," said Holliday.
"A rallying cry. One if by land, two if by sea, the English are coming! The English are coming!" Peggy said. "Jihad al-Salibiyya."
"The whole thing's crazy," said Holliday. "Does she really think her son getting winged by a fake terrorist is enough leverage to overthrow the government?" He shook his head. "There isn't one politician in the U.S. of A. who is that stupid."
"Which is saying something," rasped Pesek, still standing by the window. "Since there are many very stupid politicians there. More than here."
"She'd need another 9/11 to pull it off," said Peggy. "Something huge."
"Which is precisely what she intends." Philpot nodded, leaned back in his groaning chair, wiped his hands on a napkin and lit a cigarette. "Except this time it won't be a rich Saudi Arabian with daddy issues and a teeny-tiny weenie. This time it'll be a homegrown, Kansas-corn-fed, little-mosque-on-the-prairie domestic rag head, just like the poor martyred Senator Sinclair has been fog horning about for the past couple of years. The prez will be pressured by Matoon to declare martial law and if he won't do it he'll be impeached and replaced by the young senator. He's already in the VP's chair. There's only one thing left."
"Tom's Hill," whispered Holliday.
"What the hell is Tom's Hill?" Philpot scowled, irritated that the flow of his narrative had been interrupted.
"When we tossed Tritt's house in Lyford Cay-"
"You what?" Philpot stared, owl-eyed.
"We tossed Tritt's place at Lyford Cay… I'll tell you about it some other time. Anyway, I found a CD with a whole lot of information about a place called Tom's Hill. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now…"
"Now what?" Philpot asked.
"According to Tritt's CD, Tom's Hill has a population of only a few thousand but almost all of them are employed by a company called the King Fertilizer Corporation. King Fertilizer is the largest manufacturer of ammonium nitrate in the United States."
"Dear God," said Philpot, looking horrified.
"What's so bad about that?" Peggy asked. "What does fertilizer have to do with any of this?"
"Because ammonium nitrate is the basic ingredient for ANFO," said Pesek. "The explosive that was used in your Oklahoma City bombings." The dapper-looking assassin shook his head sadly. "You Americans really are crazy. The sale of such fertilizer has been regulated in Europe for years, but still anyone in your country can buy it by the ton, no questions asked." He poked back the sheer curtains and looked down at the street again. "Speaking about crazy Americans, it looks as though we have company."
Philpot was instantly alert. "What are they driving?" He drew a Glock 9 from his shoulder holster and jacked a round into the chamber.
"Lincoln Navigator," answered Pesek. He drew his own weapon, a Beretta 92, and took a stubby little suppressor out of his suit jacket pocket.
"Blackhawk," said Philpot. "Either that or our guys. How many?"
"Four," said Pesek. "Three in a group; one trailing."
"What are they carrying?"
"Backpacks."
"What kind of ordnance, do you think?"
"Probably FN P90s. Suppressed. The BIS uses them."
"BIS?" Peggy asked.
"Bezpec?nostni informac?ni sluzba," said Holliday. "The Czech Secret Police."
"How do we do this?" Philpot asked.
The Czech assassin didn't hesitate for a second. "We need to contain them. The trailing man will come up the stairs to block any attempt at escape. The other three will take the elevator and come into the room. They'll have a key card."
"How can you be so sure?" Peggy asked.
"Because you can bribe anyone in Prague, Ms. Blackstock. Hotel clerks come very cheap, young lady, I assure you." He nodded to Holliday. "You and your cousin into the bathroom. Lie down in the bathtub. Mr. Philpot, you take the stairwell."
"And you, Pane Pesek?" Philpot asked.
Pesek smiled and briefly touched his well-groomed mustache. "I shall be in my own room across the hall."
Philpot nodded and left the room.
"Quickly," said Pesek. "It will be soon now."
Holliday grabbed Peggy by the elbow and they headed for the bathroom. Pesek left the room, locking the door behind him.
"Didn't he try to kill you once?" Peggy asked, kneeling down in the old cast-iron tub.
"More than once actually," said Holliday, climbing in after her. "Not to mention the fact that I tried to kill him. I thought I had, as a matter of fact."
"And you still trust him?"
"I don't have to," said Holliday. "Philpot's paying for his services."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Pesek's a pro. He survives on his reputation. He betrays the people who pay his fee and he never gets another job. He's blackballed for life and probably winds up getting a hit taken out on him."
"Murderers with ethics. What's next?" Peggy sighed.