Kendal understood. If he was in Gideon's place, he'd want to believe that there was some great conspiracy behind what happened.
However, even if he thought that the thing was a generic Washington law-enforcement screwup, he was still treating his friend's fears seriously. That was why he was here in an anonymous diner with dirty windows and flyspecked lamp shades.
Kendal was on his third cup of coffee when Christoffel walked in. He walked up to Kendal's booth and asked, "Is this seat taken?"
Christoffel knew it wasn't, but he always asked anyway.
"Go ahead," Kendal said. He had cultivated Christoffel for a few years now. Always with these informal chats. What Christoffel got out of it was the information Kendal gathered as a security consultant for a half-dozen embassies and foreign officials. What Kendal got out of it was the opportunity to pump Christoffel for information.
Kendal nodded slightly to the seat next to Christoffel. "You're sitting next to Saudi Arabia."
Christoffel slid down the seat, and though Kendal didn't see him do it, Kendal knew he palmed the CD that'd rested on the seat next to him. On the CD was a catalog of security measures of a Saudi diplomatic attache, including a list of the procedures used against electronic surveillance.
"So how're things at the Agency?" Kendal asked.
"Same old, same old."
Kendal gave his disarming smile and commented, "Not what I hear." It was the usual banter, but Kendal noticed something wrong. Christoffel looked nervous. He never looked nervous. It was as if his offhand comment had struck a nerve. Maybe Gideon was on to something here.
"Do you need anything?" Christoffel asked. "I'm late for an appointment."
Then why aren't you looking at your watch ?
"Yeah," Kendal asked. "I want to talk to you about a certain Secret Service operation." Kendal swore the guy actually paled when he said that. This was a guy who had once told him of covert operations to topple three different third-world governments in a single conversation without showing a twinge of discomfort.
"I can't help you," Christoffel said, and stood up.
"Wait a minute," Kendal said. "You've got to give me something."
Christoffel looked at Kendal, and did something he'd never done before. He took the CD out of his pocket and laid it on the table in front of Kendal. "No, I don't, Morris."
Kendal looked at the CD, then back up at Christoffel.
Christoffel shook his head. "As much as I know, which isn't much, I shouldn't know. Leave it alone."
He walked out of the diner, leaving Kendal with his CD full of Saudi intelligence secrets.
Morris Kendal met Chaviv Tischler in the Georgetown Mall. Tischler was a minor diplomat at the Israeli Embassy,. He was also Kendal's contact with the Mossad. Not that Tischler ever identified himself as anything other than a secretary.
Kendal wasn't in the habit of dealing with governments other than the U.S. However, since he worked for so many Middle Eastern states, it was only natural that he'd develop some sort of relationship with the Israelis.
If anything, his relationship with Tischler was even more informal than the one he had with Christoffel.
Tischler was a white-haired old man with a humorous glint in his eyes that were otherwise as hard as steel. He was as tall as Kendal, but much less massive, so it still seemed as if Kendal loomed over him.
Tischler was leaning on the railing, looking down a level at the people going from shop to shop on the ground floor. Kendal walked up to the railing and put a hand on it.
"You wanted to see me?" Tischler asked.
"I have some data you might find useful." Kendal's hand was on the Saudi disk in his pocket.
Tischler nodded. There never was any question about Kendal's intelligence. If he brought it to Tischler's attention, Tischler knew he could use it. Tischler also knew that there was a quid pro quo involved.
Tischler pushed away from the rail and waved him along. "Come, let's walk."
Kendal followed the old Israeli diplomat as Tischler asked, "Now what is it you want?"
"I'm looking into a certain Secret Service fiasco—"
"Ah. That is a U.S. matter. I don't think you expect us to spy on our allies?"
And tell me about it? No. "I was just hoping that you may have heard something .. ."
"Through the grapevine, so to speak?"
Kendal nodded.
"Keep your data, my friend. This is riot something I wish to be involved in."
Christ, what is it about this that has everyone running scared?
Tischler turned to face Kendal. "Some advice, leave this be. All I could give you would be rumors."
"What's going on, Chaviv? What the hell has got you spooked?"
Tischler chuckled and looked at the ceiling. "What does everyone on the planet fear? What binds me to a Ukrainian, a Slav, a Thai?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The United States." Tischler shook his head and turned to walk away.
Kendal grabbed his shoulder. "What the hell do you mean?"
"I mean that I can't even appear to be interested in this matter. If you would please let me go."
Kendal released his hand, and Tischler walked away from him, not looking back.
What does everyone on the planet fear?
The United States. . .
What was Tischler talking about? It was obvious that he knew more than he admitted. Kendal doubted the Israelis shied away from any information—but Tischler's comment about "appearing to be interested," that was chilling. The intelligence relationship between the U.S. and Israel was close enough that they often—not a lot, but often—shared intelligence with each other.
But Tischler had just about said that what was going on was sensitive enough that it would cause an incident if the Israelis were involved, or expressed interest in it. The way he'd said it made Kendal think that Tischler believed that that kind of incident might lead to war.
Kendal fingered the Saudi disk in his pocket and wondered what could've scared Tischler that bad.
1.10 Sat. Mar. 7
GIDEON drove his Nissan through Brookland. He hoped he was driving toward one of the men responsible for his brother's death.
After calling on Kendal for help, he had spent all night nonstop on the computer, paging through the department's computer records. Somehow, there was some concrete connection between Lionel and the Daedalus. Gideon was obsessed with finding that connection.
How did he know that the Daedalus was there? And what was it that he wanted to sell to Gideon for three hundred dollars?
Gideon had spent most of the night pulling the sheets for Lionel's known associates. He felt that Lionel must have gotten his information from one of the creeps he hung out with.
On the seat next to him a printout from his computer was weighted down by his crutch. It was the results of that search. He had found one possibility that made sense—Franklin Alexander "Davy" Jones.
The man had started out in assault and car theft and had graduated all the way to truck hijacking. He had spent a stretch of time in the same prison as Lionel, and they had been released together. Of all the names Gideon looked into, Davy seemed the most likely candidate for involvement in the Daedalus theft and Gideon could see him as the driver of the truck that never showed.
And one of the last things that Lionel had ever said was the guy's name.
Gideon pulled to a shuddering stop on the street in front of Davy's apartment building. The lurching stop was due to his bad leg and arm. He probably shouldn't have been driving. The only thing that made it possible was the fact he drove an automatic. A manual would be near impossible with his cast.
As the Nissan's engine ticked into dormancy, Gideon looked up at Davy's building. It wasn't the most inviting of places, a pile of sooty brick with a dozen plywood-covered windows. An old man sat on the stoop eyeing him suspiciously.