“You know she performed magnificently during the war, you read the reports,” Niles countered.
“I know all about Miss Anya Korvesky and what she did for the war effort.” The president felt a pinch of guilt as he recalled that Carl Everett had been in love with her and she him. Everett had even resigned his navy commission over his relationship with the Israeli intelligence specialist. Miss Korvesky had indeed paid a heavy price for their victory in space.
At that moment the Group’s private satellite phone chimed and Niles answered it with a stern look at his friend. The president looked away.
“Compton,” he said into the small untraceable device. “I see. What have you done?” Jack and the president watched Niles purse his lips as he listened. “I should have known you would have been on top of it. No, Alice, that is exactly the course you should have taken. Are they safely out of there? Okay, I’ll meet everyone in Arizona. Good job and thank you.” Niles closed the phone and placed it in his coat pocket. He looked at the president. “Anya recovered the file in question.”
“Then her part in this rescue attempt is at an end, correct?” the president inquired.
“She was caught by the Mossad.”
“Damn!”
Jack said nothing, but waited.
“Our dear Mrs. Hamilton foresaw this and made a few calls. Her and Garrison Lee’s influence has evidently been felt in some very obscure circles; the Mossad seems to be one of them.”
“What does Mrs. Hamilton have to do with this very bad situation?” the president asked incredulously.
“She made a deal with Anya’s uncle. She’s now our problem. Colonel Henri Farbeaux is already bringing Anya in. It seems, Mr. President, she’s now a part of our team whether you like it or not. We owe her at least that.”
The president was almost as white as a sheet. “What in the hell does Henri Farbeaux have to do with all of this?”
“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention, I recruited Henri as a specialist for the duration of this Event. After all, he’s seen our complex, thus he’s not a security risk. He already knows everything.”
The president took a moment at this time to turn away, crutch in hand, and walk to the cafeteria area of the kitchen. He sat slowly in a chair with his cast and leg sticking out precariously.
“You and Mrs. Hamilton laid a trap for me, legally speaking, and frankly I don’t appreciate it.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. President,” Niles retorted.
“I just gave you executive powers far beyond any agency in the history of the United States by granting you a delayed reporting rule change and you turn around and hit me with a prison escape, a request to allow a foreign intelligence agent into the top-most secret agency in the world, and, oh, by the way, we’re also bringing in a sociopath as your head engineer, and now you’re saying you want the foremost enemy of this department inside my facility!”
Jack looked at Niles, as he was stunned that just Niles and Alice had done all of the planning.
“Premeditated,” the president said. “You knew when you and I planned on sending her back to Israel that the odds were she was going to get caught, thus you had Alice on standby in case the worst happened.”
“Problem on all fronts solved. Now everyone, including the colonel and yourself, are up to date on everything. Anya and Henri are now my responsibility, so let’s get moving and bring a brave man back home, shall we?” He smiled as he looked from Jack to the president. “If not, I can always tell your wife about your dietary habits when she’s not here.”
“You bald bastard, get the hell out of here, and if that Frenchman steals anything, it’s coming out of your ass. Jesus, we’re probably letting the Mossad in on everything we have inside those vaults!”
“You worry too much.” Niles stood and he and Jack left the kitchen.
On the way to the elevator and the rooftop helipad, Niles lost his smile as he knew then that it was a good thing the president gave him the hundred-hour window for reporting. He knew that it was not only to keep deniability to other federal agencies, like the CIA, on when and how the president knew something, it was for other reasons also.
“Okay,” Niles said as he stopped short of entering the idling Black Hawk helicopter for their return flight to Nellis Air Force Base. “The one thing I didn’t tell the president was that Operation Alcatraz has already commenced.” Compton handed one of his security men his briefcase. “It makes me nervous with the operation going in so short-handed. How is Mr. Ryan doing in Mexico?”
“He said he had volunteers, that’s all I was aware of before his team left for Mexico. So, I figure Captain Ryan is deep into his role,” Jack said.
As Niles climbed into the seating area of the Black Hawk, Jack looked to the sky. When he knew Niles could not hear him he said a silent rebuttal.
“Just how deep is anyone’s guess.”
The Rio Natchez prison was a private concern based on the model perfected in the States. One of the minor investments of Richard Salvador Gutiérrez, the Rio Natchez was basically a death camp for storing the drug dealer’s enemies until he had the leisure time to watch them die. At least fifty percent of the eighty-six inmates were sent there to die after committing some grievous error in judgment against the cartel.
Eyes watched the boy who had struggled to push his wheelchair into the far corner of the large cell for protection. Thus far the young man, who was no more than twenty-five and who had a beard as soft and sparse as a young deer, had to be given the credit he deserved. He had fought and been beaten for the right to hang on to the wheelchair after some toughs had decided they needed it more. The young man wiped the blood from his nose after placing the bed’s broken slat in his lap. The three men who had attempted to purloin the chair were now trying to stem the flow of blood from the noses of two of their number after the young man had released a torrent of blows to their faces. They were stunned for now, but the new prisoner knew they would come again and very soon.
The eyes watched as the out-of-place young man once more brought the old wooden bed slat up and waited for the second assault to begin. The wheelchair-bound man didn’t have to wait long.
The three men turned as one, their burly leader tossing a bloody rag to the floor. They started toward the brave young man in the chair. The largest attacker reached into the waistband of his pants and brought out a small picklike weapon. The toothless smile that crossed his face was one of pure pleasure at what they were about to do. They surrounded the young man, who raised the slat to defend himself.
“That’s not a very wise thing to do, my brothers,” came a voice speaking in Spanish.
The three men turned and saw a small but very stout man dressed in denim pants and a white, affectionately nicknamed “wife beater” undershirt. His close-cropped dark hair was covered by a black bandana. The goatee and crocodile smile were illuminated by the newcomer’s three gold front teeth. But the most outstanding feature of the muscular man was the tattoo that started down from his scalp, crawled over his nose and eyes, and ended at a tanned jawline. The tattoo was in the shape of a claw and was etched in deep blues and reds. The man was smiling, showing his gold-plated dental work.