"Or the news media," Brogan added.
"Do you have a file on Ammar?"
"About a meter thick. He's what the trade used to call a master of disguise. A good, practicing Muslim who has little interest in politics, a mercenary with no known association with fanatical Islamic diehards. Ammar charges enormous fees, and gets them. A shrewd businessman. His wealth is estimated at over sixty million dollars. He seldom goes by the book. His hits are ingeniously planned and carried out. All are planned to look like accidents. None can be laid on his doorstep with certainty. Innocent victims mean nothing to him so long as his target is taken out. We suspect he is responsible for over a hundred deaths in the past ten years. His attempt, proven, to kill Hala K I would mark his first recorded failure."
The President adjusted his glasses and turned to the report on the air crash. "I must have missed something. If he meant for the plane to vanish in the ocean, why did he bother poisoning the passengers? What possible reason could he have for killing them twice?"
"There's the catch," explained Brogan. "My analysts don't think Ammar was responsible for murdering the passengers."
The President's eyes took on a look of surprise. "You've switched me on a sidetrack, Martin. What in hell are you talking about?"
"Pathologists from the FBI labs flew up to Thule and performed autopsies on the victims. They found fifty times the sarin required to kill inside the flight crew's bodies, but their tests showed the passengers died from ingesting manchineel in the flight meal."
Brogan paused to sip his coffee.
The President waited, impatiently tapping a pen against a desk calendar.
"Manchineel, or poison guava as it's called, is native to the Caribbean and gulf coast of Mexico," Brogan continued. "It comes from a tree that bears a deadly, sweet-tasting, appleshaped fruit. Carib indians used the sap to tip their arrows. any number of early shipwrecked sailors and modern tourists have died after eating the manchineel's poisonous juices."
"And your people believe an assassin of Ammar's caliber wouldn't stoop to using manchineel?"
"Something like that." Brogan nodded. "Ammar's connections would have no trouble buying or stealing sarin from a European chemical-supply company. Manchineel is something else. You can't find it on a shelf.
It also works too slowly for a quick kill. I find it doubtful Ammar would even consider using it."
"If not the Arab, then who?"
"We don't know," answered Brogan. "Certainly none of the three survivors. The only trail, and a faint one, leads to a Mexican delegate by the name of Eduardo Ybarra. He's the only other passenger besides Hala Kaniil who didn't eat the meal. "
"It says here he died in the crash." The President looked up from the briefing file. "How could he insert poison in the flight meals without being seen?"
"That was done in the kitchen of the company that caters for the airline. British investigators are checking out that lead now."
"Maybe Ybarra is innocent. Maybe for some simple reason he didn't eat."
"According to the surviving flight attendant, Hala slept through the meal, but Ybarra feigned an upset stomach."
"It's possible."
"The surviving flight attendant saw him eating a sandwich from his briefcase."
"Then he knew."
"Looks that way."
"Why did he risk coming on board if he knew everyone was going to die except him?"
"As a backup, in case the main target, or targets, probably the entire contingent of Mexicans, didn't take the poison."
The President leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. "Okay, Kamil is a Thorn in the side of Yazid. He pays Animar to erase her. The job is botched and the plane doesn't disappear in the middle of the Arctic Ocean as planned but comes down in Greenland. So much for mystery number one. Solid facts for a good case. We'll call it the Egyptian connection. Mystery number two, the Mexican connection, is far more cloudy. There is no obvious motive for a mass murder, and the only suspect is dead. If I were a judge I'd order the case dismissed for lack of evidence."
"I'd have to go along," said Brogan. "There has been no evidence of terrorist movements operating out of Mexico."
"You forget Topiltzin," the President said unexpectedly.
Brogan was surprised at the cold, mysterious look of pure anger that spread across the President's face.
"The agency has not forgotten Topiltzin," Brogan assured him, "or what he did to Guy Rivas. I'll have him taken out whenever you say the word."
The President suddenly sighed and sagged in his chair. "If only it was that simple. Snap my fingers and the CIA obliterates a foreign opposition leader. The risk is too great. Ken nedy found that out when he condoned the mafia's attempt to kill Castro. "
"Reagan made no objections to the attempts to get Muarnmar Qaddafi. "
"Yes," the President said wearily. "If only he had known Qaddafi would fool everyone and die of cancer!"
"No such luck with Topiltzin. Medical reports say he's as strong as a Missouri mule."
"The man is a bloody lunatic. If he takes over Mexico, we'll have a disaster on our hands."
"You played the tape made by Rivas?" Brogan asked, knowing the answer.
"Four times," the President said bitterly. "It's enough to provoke nightmares."
"And if Topiltzin topples the present government and makes good his threat by sending millions of his people flooding across our border in a mad attempt to recover the American Southwest." . . . ?" Brogan let the question hang.
The President replied in a strangely mild tone. "Then I will have no choice but to order our armed forces to treat any horde of illegal aliens as foreign invaders."
Brogan arrived back in his office at the CIA headquarters in Langley and found the Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Elmer Shaw, waiting for him.
"Sorry to foul up your busy schedule," said Shaw, "but I have some interesting news that might make your day."
"Must be important to warrant your personal visit."
"It is."
"Come in and sit down. Is the news good or bad?"
"Very good."
"Nothing else is going right lately," said Brogan solemnly. "I'll be glad to hear something decent for a change."
"Our survey ship, the Polar Explorer, has been searching for the Soviet Alfa-class submarine that went missing."
"I'm familiar with the mission," Brogan interrupted. "Well, they've found it."
Brogan's eyes widened slightly, and he rapped his desk in a rare display of pleasure. "Congratulations. The Alfa class is the finest sub in both navies. Your people have pulled off a master stroke."
"We haven't got our hands on it yet," said Shaw.
Brogan's eyes suddenly narrowed. "What about the Russians? Are they aware of the discovery?"
"We don't think so. Shortly after instruments detected the sunken sub, which, by the way, includes videotape of the wreckage, our ship pulled off the search track and assisted in the rescue operations of the downed U.N. aircraft. A heavensent smoke screen. Our best intelligence from inside the Soviet navy confirms business as usual. Nothing from the KGB
either. And our space surveillance of their North Atlantic fleet shows no indication of dramatic course changes toward the search area."
"Odd they didn't have a spy trawler shadow the Polar Explorer."
"They did," explained Shaw. "They also kept a close eye on our operations all right, monitoring our ship's course and communications by satellite. They left it alone, sitting back and hoping our more advanced underwater search technology would get lucky where theirs failed. Then they banked their expectations on the clear possibility our crew would give away the location through the tiniest of errors."
"But they didn't."
"No," answered Shaw firmly. "Ship security was airtight. Except for the captain and two NUMA underwater search experts, the entire crew was briefed to think they were on an iceberg-tracking and sea-bottom geology survey. My report on the success of the discovery was hand-carried from Greenland by the Polar Explorer's executive officer so there was no chance of communications penetration."