Rodriguez had arrived early and watched the men file in for the summit meeting. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier. This was the day he had waited for and he intended to savour every minute. What was about to unfold would have been unthinkable only twelve months earlier. Everyone in Mexico now looked to him for leadership and Lora, the other Mexican at the meeting, was only here because it suited Rodriguez. Appearing too much like a solitary leader might create the wrong impression.
The meeting began with a review of how they had fared since the conflict with the Kosovars had ceased. It was reported that, while they were almost back to former levels of supply, there was now more competition in the markets where other players had exploited their difficulties and moved in. To combat this the cartel had taken a conscious decision to subsidise the product until they had reasserted their position as market leaders. One factor that was undermining this effort, however, was the greed of the middlemen who were not passing on the full benefit. It was decided to continue with the current distributors for one more month and then, if the matter had not been resolved, to evaluate other candidates. When the lengthy review of recent business had finished, the men broke briefly for refreshments before the second half of the meeting, which was traditionally a forum for individual members to raise specific issues.
Rodriguez enjoyed the opportunity to mingle. Influential men from all over South and Central America appreciated the shift that had occurred and greeted him with deference. When he looked across the room at Madrigal, the Colombian appeared relatively isolated. A few stalwarts still stuck close, showing their allegiance. He supposed their loyalty was to their credit but made it a point to memorise who they were.
The break finished up and they made their way back to their seats to resume the meeting. He watched with detachment as a number of minor items were discussed and put to a vote. The unspoken expectation in the room was palpable. When it reached the point where he felt it could not be dragged out any further he nodded across the table to Cabieses who stood up and requested the floor. The elderly Peruvian was one of the most respected members of the council. In the past he had often been the calming influence and had averted many potential disputes. Regardless of the issues, he could generally be counted on to find the reasonable middle ground. His sterling reputation and reluctance to become involved in personal agendas at the expense of the Alliance made him the perfect man for the job. There had been no bribery or blackmail involved; both would have been impossible. Once he had been convinced of what was in the best interests of the majority he had volunteered himself.
“Gentlemen, I wish to discuss a serious matter,” he began. “I do not raise this lightly but only because I see it as essential to our future. Before the recent difficulties we enjoyed unparalleled prosperity under Luis’s direction.”
The old man turned and bowed his head slightly to Madrigal who gestured for him to continue.
“Luis formed the group which gathers here today, seeing what no one else could. By working together we increased our revenues many times over and with this came a period of great stability. Despite everything he achieved, he never sought to dictate to us. Instead, he brought us together, eager to hear our thoughts. We should never forget how much he has given us.”
The old man paused, giving his tribute to Madrigal time to sink in, then he resumed. “But all things have their time, they grow, mature and ultimately wane. This is the way of the world, you only have to look at me to see the proof.”
Some of the audience politely refuted his words but he held up his hand.
“No, it’s true. When I was younger my energy was boundless but now I leave much of the decision-making to the trusted friends who share this table. Occasionally I offer advice when I feel it appropriate and this is enough to make me content. Everyone, regardless of former capabilities, reaches a stage when they have to hand over the reins to others. Times change and new challenges arise; a man can find himself out of step with events.”
He looked around the table slowly before continuing.
“The recent troubles almost destroyed us. There were times when I feared we would not survive and only the character of the men here today averted this disaster. Together, you held your nerve and managed to come through. But the question has to be asked, could it have been avoided? I have asked myself this question countless times, trying to see it from all sides, and each time I come to the same conclusion. Had we followed a different strategy, we might have been spared much of the crisis. I think this is proven by how quickly the Kosovars agreed to end hostilities once we stepped up our retaliation. One person, more than anyone else, argued for this course of action from the earliest days.” Cabieses looked to Rodriguez for a moment, drawing the gaze of the others.
“Initially he was dismissed as impetuous by many, myself included. In the past Luis had demonstrated how caution and forethought were invaluable qualities. So, not surprisingly, we resisted calls for action, hoping to learn more. Caesar argued that we were overthinking the problem, the simple explanation, that the Kosovars wanted to supplant us, was the correct one. With the passing of time we began to see the wisdom in his words. Luis’s commendable trait of caution became entrenched stubbornness and inflexibility. At this point Caesar showed his true qualities. Rather than force the issue and cause an irreparable rift, he convinced us to give Luis the time he needed. In the end Luis did retaliate with all the necessary force but only after his closest friend had been brutally killed.”
Once more he paused as if he was not sure how to phrase his next remark. After a heavy sigh, he resumed. “With all this in mind, I respectfully request that Luis steps down and Caesar assumes charge of our future direction. In this new more dangerous time, a fresh perspective is required. Hopefully my example can show Luis that there is still a contribution to be made in a less active role.”
Other than Cabieses no one was willing to make eye contact with Madrigal, but the murmured assents around the table reflected their feelings. Rodriguez, for his part, was confident that regardless of how Madrigal reacted it would make no difference. If he argued against the proposal and painted it as a betrayal, he would only make himself look worse.
Madrigal cleared his throat and the room went still. “Tomas, I have no doubts about why you felt it necessary to speak today and I know that none of it was said lightly.”
Cabieses nodded earnestly at this opening remark.
“It’s true that while I argued for caution we suffered badly,” Madrigal continued. “It’s also true that the Kosovars quickly saw sense once we did act.”
While Rodriguez was happy with what he took as a precursor to Madrigal’s acquiescence, he was a little surprised at how graciously the Colombian was admitting his errors. He warned himself to watch for any attempt to mitigate the admission.
“I see the sense in what was said regarding the phases we must go through and if I can be half as productive as Tomas, I would welcome the new role. When I first brought us together I knew there was more to be done than one man could manage. There is no question of my ego standing in the way of the common good.”
The apprehension in the room subsided noticeably.
“Once again,” Cabieses said. “He shows us the true nature of greatness. No petty selfishness; those feelings are alien to him. We have been blessed.”
Rodriguez was so surprised when Cabieses began to clap and when the others joined in enthusiastically, he almost forgot to go along. It was such a perfect moment that he could not spoil it by appearing less gracious than Madrigal. The outgoing leader held up his hands, gradually bringing the room to silence. “I would just like to speak briefly about the recent troubles and my hopes for our future recovery, regardless of who steers us through it.”
He walked around the table to stand behind Rodriguez’s chair and placed his hands on its back. Rodriguez was not comfortable having him standing there but it would be awkward to twist around and rude to stand. He could smell Madrigal’s cologne and was sure he could feel the man’s breath on the top of his head as he spoke.
“Tomas has suggested Caesar, pointing out how attuned he is to what is now required. We all know of his dramatic rise which has outstripped even that of Francisco Zaragosa before the unfortunate incident.”
People around the room voiced their agreement. Rodriguez found himself wishing Madrigal would hurry up with his abdication speech.
“He has disproved those of us who doubted what he had to offer. It seems like we were thinking about another person entirely. The gulf between expectation and reality has become so wide. You must tell us who’s been coaching you.”
Everyone laughed in appreciation of Madrigal’s good-natured admission of error in judgement.
“Caesar was the first to call for a strike against the Kosovars. He argued passionately for what he felt was necessary for our survival. Despite this, when Esteban Zaragosa took matters into his own hands and moved against me directly, he was never tempted. Indeed, he even warned me about the planned attempt on my life.”
Rodriguez could see everyone looking at him, thoughts flickering behind their eyes. No one was comfortable discussing Zaragosa’s actions but they were equally uncomfortable with the thought that he had been betrayed by his compatriot to the Colombian. It was not something that could be easily given a positive spin. Lora looked particularly pensive. Rodriguez made a note to deal with that as soon as possible. Jesus, he thought as Madrigal droned on, when is he going to sit down?
“Caesar, if I can offer you some advice?’ He felt the hands come to rest on his shoulders and, despite the air-conditioning, he started to feel uncomfortably warm.
“The first thing I would do is deal with the matter of how the Kosovars had such good intelligence. They knew exactly when and where to attack. I’m sure we’re all aware that some of our people must have sold information. I’ve been looking into this matter and recently made some progress. Would you mind if I shared my findings?”
Everyone looked at Rodriguez.
“Of cour –” His throat was so dry he had to stop and drink some water. “Of course, you must tell me everything but perhaps later. Rather than trouble everyone with the interim findings, I can give a more conclusive status report when the matter has been dealt with.”
“Well, actually I think you’ll agree when you hear what I’ve found that it’s already possible to draw conclusions.”
The grip on his shoulders tightened ever so slightly.
“The first thing that struck me is to never be surprised how far people will go to fulfil their ambition. Please, if you will all just bear with me for a moment.”
Madrigal stepped away from the chair and gave an order to two attendants who stood near the door. They left and returned a few moments later, one carrying a remote control for the sound system and the other some files. They placed these at the head of the conference table and stood back.
“It’s a very short tape,” Madrigal said, pressing Play. Distorted electronic voices immediately filled the room.
“Yes, I’ve set up contact with the Mexican, codename Viper from now on. He’s eager to work with us.”
“You’re certain he’s the right man.”
“Oh yes, clever enough but not too clever. He’s as ambitious as we’ve been led to believe but still aware of his limitations.”
“The reservations about his inclination for hotheadedness?”
“I’ve laid the groundwork and I’ll drive it home over time that we decide when direct action is necessary and the appropriate scale.”
“Okay. What’s the first move?”
“We’re going to help Viper look good, a few successful forays led by him against their competition.”
“We don’t want anything too risky, no point in losing him, considering how long it took for us to identify him.”
“Don’t worry. With the intelligence we’re going to give him it should be impossible to screw it up.”
Madrigal stopped the tape and Rodriguez saw an array of puzzled faces. Before he could speak Madrigal pressed Play again.
“... other business, Viper, how’s he doing?”
“Excellently, we’ve provided him with enough help to kick-start his upward progress. He’s now just below the senior level.”
“Well done, and the schedule for the final push?”
“One of the senior figures, the Young Prince, whom we’ve identified as a threat, will have to be removed sooner or later. It may as well be sooner so as to benefit Viper.”
“You’re confident it can be done, we don’t want anything too public, something which would attract too much attention.”
“Viper himself has helped us enormously in that. He’s managed to get detailed information on the Prince’s security arrangements. Actually, I’ll send you the tape where Viper goes through them in detail, I think you’ll be impressed with his professionalism, considering your initial reservations.”
“Excellent, excellent.”
Madrigal stopped the tape again. The blood had drained from Rodriguez’s face and he started shaking ever so slightly.
“The tapes you’ve just heard were made by rogue elements within the US intelligence community. They were delivered to me at the eleventh hour and as such I had no opportunity to share them with anyone before this conference. They deal with an operation whose aim was to first infiltrate and compromise our Alliance and then displace everyone who sits here today.”
The room erupted, shouts of consternation battling with one another to be heard. Madrigal gave them a few seconds, letting them get themselves worked up, each feeding the others’ tension, before he gestured for quiet.
“Like me your immediate reaction might be one of disbelief. Unfortunately, the contents of the tape referred to in the last excerpt, which I’ll play in a moment, puts it beyond doubt. The Young Prince referred to was Francisco Zaragosa. His security was lax as evidenced by the attack on his Californian residence. But Zaragosa’s fate, as tragic as it was, is not the important issue.”
Madrigal had walked back behind Rodriguez’s chair.
“That, of course, is Viper’s identity. Who he is and the damage he has done. Viper worked for these people over an extended period of time to destabilise the cartel and bring it perilously close to ruin. He did this for no other reason than to further himself.”
Rodriguez tried to rise but the pressure from Madrigal’s hands pushed him back.
“I don’t know if he was aware of his associates’ larger plans, which included sabotaging official US foreign policy and crushing the rebellion, but that’s hardly important. What is important and ultimately tragic is that Viper is one of us.”
Madrigal looked to one of the attendants who began handing out the files to everybody around the table.
“That document gives an overview of everything I’ve told you about. A more comprehensive account will be given to you later, to absorb at your leisure.” The man distributing the files passed by, not leaving one in front of Rodriguez. “You’ll understand why some of the names have been omitted. I need to protect those loyal to me. The most important item is the identity of the traitor. I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions and I’m equally sure I can answer them all with some help from Caesar, once we’ve heard the rest.”
Madrigal pressed Play once more.
Larsen closed the car door and removed the wrapping from the prepaid phone. Once he had topped up the credit balance on the cell phone beyond the modest amount it had been issued with, he made his call.
“Canton?”
“Conchillo.”
They had agreed to use this code to confirm they were each okay to talk.
“You made it back okay, then.”
“Once I’d made the call to you and he’d presumably gotten the tapes, he called off his surveillance.”
“Good. It’s been three days; do you think he’s moved?”
They had agreed that, despite the precautions of using only off-the-shelf, prepaid cell phones, they still needed to be as circumspect as possible.
“Definitely, he couldn’t have afforded to delay. We’ll have to wait for definitive confirmation but I’d say there won’t be any more sightings of the heir apparent. What’s the status on your end?”
When she and Larsen had last talked, Wallace was in the midst of negotiations.
She had managed to identify key individuals in the pro-Plan contingent whom they needed to enlist. Initially, Wallace had been greeted with scepticism. Faced with the circumstantial evidence he was able to furnish, however, along with details of specific attacks on the Alliance, they had revised their opinions. Once they were convinced of how they had been screwed over, investigations were set in motion. They needed to move stealthily lest Hughes learn of their efforts and take steps to obstruct them. Additionally, since the vast bulk of the operation had been carried out through Brewer, using Wallace’s apparatus, virtually no official records existed. It had come together slowly – whispers and almost insignificant traces of what Hughes and his backers had been doing began to emerge. In the end, just enough traces existed to implement Mesi’s plan.
Their real battle had occurred, as she had predicted, when Wallace tried to convince the powers they had approached to go along with her strategy. Wallace had been forced to threaten their reluctant allies that he was willing to go public with details of the entire affair. They had argued that he would be destroying his own reputation in the process and that he had little in the way of concrete evidence anyway. She had been sure they would call his bluff, especially in light of his shaky commitment to the idea of propping up Madrigal.
With less than an hour to go to his deadline, they had buckled and agreed to release the documentation Larsen had delivered to Madrigal.
The next bone of contention had been ensuring those responsible, all of them, were made pay and it was this Larsen wanted a status on.
“Negotiations are ongoing,” she told him.
“They’re insisting they’ll deal with it themselves?” he guessed.
“Yes.”
“That won’t work,” he said angrily.
“We’re hanging in there but we don’t have much bargaining power left.”
“Can’t our friend use the same threat as before?”
“They know we’ve already gotten a large part of what we wanted and I think they’ve figured out his heart isn’t really in it.”
“They’ll take too long, try to limit the damage by cutting some agreement and he’ll be gone,” Larsen said wearily.
“Probably.”
They knew a lot of influential people would be happy were Hughes to disappear, whether by his own volition or not.
He agreed to contact her later that evening and hung up.
After wiping the handset and placing it back in its wrapping, he stepped out of the car and threw it in a nearby dumpster.
The back wheel spun faster and faster, until its friction on the A-frame treadmill became a high-pitched whine drowning out the radio. The rider bent forward over the stationary front wheel of the racing bike and pumped his legs faster, causing the bike to wobble in its cradle. He always ended his circuit by attempting to better his previous best speed. It was difficult to continually improve but he was optimistic, having felt very good before training. He pushed himself on, ignoring the sweat running down his face and stinging his eyes. He watched the speedometer climb upwards, the back wheel speeding along, filling the room with noise. His previous best was seventy kilometres per hour and he was at sixty-six now but feeling the strain. He glimpsed quickly at the readout beside the speedometer and saw that his heartbeat was one-eighty a minute, far too high to sustain for long. One last push. Sixty-seven, he blinked rapidly to clear his eyes; sixty-eight, his muscles cried out for release. Suddenly, he lost his rhythm and felt his legs being dragged around by the pedals as his speed plummeted. So close. He admitted defeat and straightened up in the saddle, placing his hands on his hips.
Hughes unclipped his shoes from the pedals and wearily stepped down from the bike. He was annoyed at the way the workout had ended but there was always tomorrow. He turned off the radio and opened the window wider to air the room. The rain still beat down outside, validating his purchase of the treadmill a few months before. Regardless of the weather he need never miss a workout again. He half-heartedly stretched for a couple of minutes and went through to the shower. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the powerful jet of water, luxuriating in the simple pleasure. He was looking forward to the day and the good news it would bring.
The final act, Rodriguez’s deposing of Madrigal, would have occurred some time the previous evening. That was it, all objectives realised.
The only small cloud on the horizon was Mesi. It had been more than two weeks since her attempted killing and there was still no trace of the DEA agent. Clarke, his resource within the Baltimore police department, had called him the day after the ambush. He had told Hughes how the gang members whom he had recruited had been found dead. How had she managed to kill four assailants who possessed such superior firepower? He remembered then how resilient she had proved in the earlier altercation with Abeylan and cursed himself for underestimating her. On hearing the bad news, he had briefly worried that she would threaten his strategy, before sense prevailed. All she had was an unsubstantiated suspicion regarding Wallace, a suspicion which no one in the DEA would even consider acting on. There had been no sign of her going back to her employers. The feelers he had put out confirmed no one had been in contact with her and they were quite happy with that state of affairs. Cut off as she was, ignorant of all that lay beyond Wallace and his vendetta, what danger did she pose? A physical threat perhaps but that was it, she might come gunning for him when she realised he had set her up. Hughes arranged for her apartment to be watched and an experienced security team to shadow him discreetly. As the days passed with no developments, he began to believe that, in fear of her life, she had fled. She had been fragile enough before the ambush, so perhaps it had been the proverbial last straw? Satisfied that he was doing everything possible to tie up the loose end, he had returned his focus to where it belonged.
Stepping out of the shower, he looked at his watch. The first item on his official schedule today was a typically boring meeting with Petersen and some of the other bureaucrats. The main item on the agenda dealt with the cost of external consultancy; specifically the contract firm which had been called in to eliminate wasteful expenditure. They had proceeded to run up a seven-figure bill with nothing to show for it other than proposals any clerical worker in the building could have made. He wondered yet again why he bothered to retain his position – most of his energy was spent on other projects, projects that mattered. After a quick calculation, he decided he had enough time to check for updates.
He dressed quickly and left the house. Using a combination of taxis and Metrorail, he made his way via a roundabout route to the office he had let. Once there, he activated the speakerphone and punched in a number derived from a formula based on a fixed prefix and the current date. He waited for the call to be relayed through multiple routers until it got a ringing tone. Once it was answered and the current codes had been exchanged, he asked for news of recent contacts.
“A routine status report from Buenos Aires, want me to give you a summary?” his operative asked.
“No. Anything from Viper?”
“Not since we last talked. Should I initiate contact?”
He had expected to hear from Rodriguez by now, but the last thing he wanted was to feed the Mexican’s ego by running after him.
“No, leave it for now.”
He put the phone down and felt his irritation grow. Rodriguez had initially been difficult to work with. He had no understanding of procedures or schedules. Not that anything onerous was required; the demands were consistent with his lifestyle but at critical junctures he was expected to report. Junctures like this. If he was looking for ways to exercise his newfound power by ignoring deadlines, Hughes would have to put a quick end to it. A gentle reminder of his vulnerability was all that was required.
He exited the elevator and walked down the corridor towards his office. When he got there, he was surprised to see his secretary standing nervously outside his door.
“Morning, Margaret, everything okay?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Hughes. Mr Petersen told me to ensure that you went down to see him immediately on arrival.”
“Okay,” he replied, “let me get a cup of java and I’ll head straight down. Want anything from the coffee station?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, “but he was most insistent that I tell you to go see him before you did anything else.”
Hughes could imagine the highly-strung Petersen getting worked up over some trivial administrative matter and taking it out on Margaret. “Okay, I’ll head down now. When I come back we’ll have that cup of coffee,” he reassured her.
When he knocked on Petersen’s door his broad smile gave no hint of his annoyance. The bureaucrat was much easier to deal with if you did not try to meet him head-on. “Edward, did I get the meeting time wrong? I’d pencilled in eleven fifteen.”
The bookish, bespectacled Petersen stood up and walked past him to close the door, looking even more grim than usual. “Tom, I hate to have to do this. The director called me at five this morning from London. He instructed me to tell you when you arrived that you’re to be suspended, effective immediately.” He did not meet Hughes’ gaze. “You’re to give me your security pass. There are two agents waiting outside to escort you home. They require access to your apartment so that they can conduct a search. They’ll need your agreement unless they secure a warrant, of course, but my recommendation would be to cooperate. You’re to volunteer any work-related material you may have there. I’m sorry.”
Hughes was rocked to his core by Petersen’s announcement. There was nothing he was working on officially that could have resulted in this. Years of practising concealment of his true thoughts and feelings were all that prevented him betraying himself.
“What else did he say?” he asked calmly.
“Nothing, he wouldn’t talk about it. When I pressed him, he came down on me like a ton of bricks, basically instructed me to do what I was told and not ask questions.”
Petersen opened the door again, clearly eager to get it over with. Hughes handed his pass to Petersen and walked outside in a daze. He wondered if the director had learnt of the Colombian strategy. It didn’t make sense. If he knew even part of what was involved, why was he not being detained?
Later, Hughes watched from the window as the agents drove away. There had been no danger of them finding anything incriminating in the house. He paced around his study, trying to figure out what his next move should be. Something had been brought to the director’s attention to cause this sanction, but what? And who had been responsible? He needed to be careful of who he asked as someone could be monitoring him. The first option was to go through his official network. He knew enough people to hope one of them would speak to him off the record. He called a colleague whom he had helped on a number of occasions.
“Glenn, Tom here.”
“I’m sorry Tom, I can’t talk to you.”
“Come on, I’m not asking you to do anything out of line. Petersen must have gotten his wires crossed. I just want to know what this misunderstanding is all about.”
“We received a directive in the last hour stating that any interaction with you would result in a severe reprimand. I’m risking a lot just telling you that much, I’ve got to go.”
“Glenn, come on, no one’s told me anything. I’ve just been given an inexplicable suspension. Surely, if I was in serious trouble, I wouldn’t have been left unaccompanied.”
“Sorry, Tom, I’m hanging up now. I hope things work out.”
The line went dead. When he tried calling him back he got an engaged signal. He went through half a dozen contacts, being hung up on each time he announced himself. Okay, he thought, no other option. Reaching for his raincoat, he headed out of the house.
He walked for half an hour, ensuring he was not being followed. A couple of times he cut through crowded eateries just to make it more difficult for any unwanted company. When he was satisfied that he had done as much as he could, he went to a public phone in the lobby of one of the large hotels. Using his body to shield the number pad, with the same formula as he had used earlier that morning he derived a new number and dialled it in. The call went through its long sequence of routing, seeming to take even longer than normal before connecting. He listened to it ring, becoming more unsettled as the seconds dragged into minutes. Up to now, he had been confident that whatever the problem was it could be dealt with, but the unanswered ringing tone meant the situation had taken on a new significance. This was part of his network; the phone should have been manned twenty-four hours a day without fail. He hung up and started walking again, thinking about his next step. Subconsciously he performed standard anti-surveillance manoeuvres while his thoughts were concentrated on how he could find out what had happened. He bought a ticket at a Metrorail station. On the train he forced himself to calm down and tried to think of plausible explanations for why his call had not been answered. After a few minutes he gave up; there were none. Contingencies had been designed for every eventuality. Either the network had been breached or abandoned. He got off the train at Union Station and walked over to a row of telephones. Not bothering with his earlier procedure, he dialled a direct number, one he had memorised a long time ago but never before had occasion to use.
“I’ve been expecting your call.”
“What’s going on, William? Has the network been shut down?”
“Yes and once we’re finished here, this number will be taken out of service too.”
“What’s happening?” he asked, his anger building.
“What do you think? You’ve been rumbled, you and the whole Colombian operation.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it? Then there’s no need to be having this conversation. Goodbye.”
“No, wait. Wait.”
“I’m waiting.”
“How?”
“Some very annoyed people, on the Hill and elsewhere, found out everything, chapter and verse.”
Hughes felt his chest constricting and struggled to breathe. The voice on the other end continued.
“If it’s any comfort to you I’m fairly optimistic the imminent purge that’s on the way won’t be fatal. It’s useful knowing where the bodies are buried.”
“So, there’s a chance we can walk away from this?”
“No, my boy, I’m afraid you misunderstood. It will take everything we have for just a select few of us to survive. Lots of markers had to be cashed in and a lot of scrambling done. Please understand, the reason I’m telling you this is so that you’re quite clear of the consequences if anything were to cause this considerable sacrifice to have been in vain.”
He despised the speaker but was incapable for the moment of any action against him. “That’s it then.”
“A final word of advice. If I were you, I’d ditch any unwanted surveillance and start making relocation plans. It seems to me that you’ve been let roam free for a reason. It would be much easier for everyone if you just disappeared. You get to choose whether it’s on your terms or someone else’s. No doubt you’ve salted enough away in some grubby account to maintain a reasonable lifestyle in a far-flung locale. Goodbye Thomas.”
Hughes could not believe it. All the time, effort and risk he had put in, only for it to finish like this. For a fleeting moment, the desolation he felt almost convinced him to throw himself off a bridge or in front of the traffic. Then he snapped out of it. The way he saw it there were only a few choices open to him. He could give up like a coward, he could waste valuable time trying to figure out what had gone wrong or he could choose to survive.
He decided he was going to get out of this nightmare, get to somewhere safe and from there he was going to marshal his forces. This was not the time to dwell on how he had been abandoned, how the years of selfless service, sacrifices, had been discounted without a second thought. There would be a reckoning down the line. Anyone who thought he would meekly slip away, happy to survive with his skin, was mistaken.
He returned to the Metrorail and caught the Red Line to Bethesda. From the station he flagged a cab and headed for a one-bedroom townhouse he maintained there under an assumed identity. He had three properties like this in Maryland and fifteen nationwide. They were particularly useful for storing sensitive information or to provide short-term accommodation for select people. He paid the driver, added a ten-dollar tip and asked him to wait. He went upstairs to the bedroom, pulled back a rug and removed a section of floorboard. He took out a small metal box, opened it and spread the contents on the floor. There were four sets of similar documentation each bundled with an elastic band. He chose one of the bundles and placed it in his coat. He then took out his wallet, removed all existing cards and identification and placed these with the three remaining bundles into the metal box, which he then replaced under the floor. He returned to the driver and asked him to head back to the Metrorail.
– 320 –
Incitement
An hour and a half later the girl at the desk smiled at the handsome customer as she handed him his tickets. “There you go Mr McDermott, your ticket to New York. While you’re waiting for your flight to depart you’re welcome to use the executive lounge. Have a nice trip.”
He smiled and thanked her.
Forty-four hours later he eased back in his chair, trying to get some sleep on the transatlantic flight from Chicago to Frankfurt. Since leaving Washington he had been moving non-stop and was exhausted. He had done his best to make it difficult for anyone who might be looking for him, regardless of how extensive their operation. He had activated a number of agents still under his control to initiate domestic and international travel with aliases he was known to have used in the past. Additionally, he had used contacts not affiliated to the Agency in any way to create yet another new identity for him. Combined with the subtle changes he had made to his appearance, it should be enough to avoid detection. In his hand luggage, he had six more new sets of identification, which he would use on the subsequent legs of his journey.
Finding that sleep eluded him, he considered what the longer term held. In a few months he would start rebuilding. There were resources, known only to him, which had no connection whatsoever to the Colombian operation. They functioned in isolation and only required the correct protocol to be activated. There were also a number of offshore accounts which, even individually, held substantial sums. When he had regrouped, priority would be given to figuring out what had gone wrong.
Despite the frantic running of the past two days there had been time to reflect. While he still had so much to figure out, one thing was clear; underestimating Mesi had been a grave mistake. She had been the one variable unaccounted for and must have been responsible for the dramatic turn in events. Somehow, she had managed to first unearth his strategy and then prevent it. But he couldn’t figure out how, considering how little she had. She would have had to recruit support to bring about what she clearly had, but he had made sure she was marginalised so that the necessary support should have been impossible to rally. More practically, he was mystified as to how she could have set it all up so soon on the heels of the attempted ambush. None of these or the countless other questions which sprang to mind could be answered but he was confident that all he needed was time. Everyone who had contributed, either directly or by simply deserting him, would pay for everything he was suffering.
That he could never return to the US under his true identity was what hurt most. Twenty-odd years ago he had left college as an idealistic young man, eager to serve his country. And serve it he had. He had shown promise and advanced rapidly. From very early on, he had gained an appreciation for how fragile his nation and its way of life was. He understood what it took to protect them. Stability was paramount and, to achieve it, people like him needed to exert control. He had not always liked what he was called to do; some of it had tested his resolve to the limit. But he had persevered, taken the hard path because that was what duty dictated.
Colombia was the latest of a long line. It had not been an easy decision to authorise some of the strategies; the collateral damage was considerable but there had been no choice. They had needed to regain control of the situation there before it was too late. The drug economy was too powerful to eradicate, something the well-meaning optimists who had backed Plan Coca could just not understand. No matter how much they expended in terms of manpower or firepower, the resilient cartels would always bounce back. And while the distracting sideshow was being played out on that continent, escalations in production from other regions were being left virtually unchecked. The only viable choice was for them to seize control of the entire Latin American apparatus while it, crucially, still enjoyed market dominance. That would have enabled them to influence the global drug economy. Once they had achieved their objective, they would have ramped up production but maintained greater control over where the output went. They could have kept it out of decent neighbourhoods and schools, channelled it towards those destabilising elements within their own country. They could have put the vast revenues it brought to good use as well; his thoughts lately had been turning toward using Wallace’s template to sow division amongst the extremist groups who had become prominent in recent years.
Wallace had come along at exactly the right time. Hughes had been refining other strategies, aimed at toppling Madrigal and taking over the territories, but none had looked especially promising. The Colombian had been too well positioned, too powerful, but what Wallace had proposed, if managed correctly, provided the solution. The most difficult part had been ensuring, with Brewer’s help and his own network throughout the Alliance, that Wallace was not too successful. On more than one occasion he had almost failed and the feud had looked like it would consume the protagonists whole. The anarchy which would have resulted if that had happened did not bear thinking about. Despite the obstacles, everything had come together perfectly and only the formalities had remained.
Catching himself, he refused to wallow in self-pity; instead, after ordering a whisky from one of the stewardesses, he turned his thoughts to how he would engineer his revenge.
The concept was simple. Once a year the senior management selected people from all ranks of the organisation to accompany them on an excursion. The people could come from any of the disparate subsidiaries owned by the parent company but all of them had one thing in common: they had each excelled in their jobs during the previous twelve months. This was the company’s way of recognising their contribution and thanking them. The activity changed each year. Last year it had been hot-air ballooning, another it had been a two-day trek in the mountains of British Colombia. This year, the company had chartered five Beneteau 40.7 sailboats out of Boston. After some practical yacht instruction they spent three days, under the watchful eye of instructors, crewing the individual boats, often racing against each other. On the fourth day they returned to shore, exhilarated and exhausted.
He was glad now that he had relented and agreed to come along. It had been one of the most enjoyable experiences he could remember having in a long time. At first he had refused when Philip Sims, the newly-appointed CEO of Diversified Holdings, had asked if he would attend the corporate function. Sims had been harder to dissuade than his predecessor and had insisted that Wallace at least go away and think about it. He had argued that it would be a great boost for the employees to spend time with the man who had founded the company, and the strong internal culture, of which everyone was so proud. Not just the employees lucky enough to have been chosen for the trip either. Everyone who worked for the organisation got a mail-shot updating them on that year’s activities. Imagine the feeling of connectivity they would feel, the CEO had argued, when they saw that the man who had started the whole deal had attended. Wallace was not sure if he agreed with modern corporate theory, the psychology surrounding people’s affiliation and motivational needs. In his day, you worked to put food on the table and a roof over your head, but he had come to the conclusion that he really ought to give the company some time. Returning Sims’ call, he said that, while he was not sure how significant his presence would be, he was happy to attend.
It turned out that the change in focus had been exactly what he had needed. He found mucking in on the boat to be great fun. In addition to the professional crew there were eight people from the organisation on each boat. His companions included the manager of an electrical goods retail outlet, a fork-lift operator and a programmer. Once the initial shock of being paired with him wore off, they began to treat him like just another crew member. On one occasion, the retail manager, wanting them to be the first crew to reach that day’s finishing point, had torn into him with a number of suggestions regarding his head and his ass when he had been slow to react to an order. He had surprised himself with how quickly he had replied in equally colourful terms. That evening they had laughed uproariously about it over dinner.
Now, after reaching the final destination and having had a chance to rest for a few hours, the forty of them were spending their last evening together. The atmosphere was wonderful at the outdoor buffet laid on by the yacht club. With the three days of sun and sea, people positively glowed, not only from the sailing but also from the sense of camaraderie which had formed. He was surprised to realise that he had not thought about his recent troubles for even a fleeting moment over the past three days.
Things had worked out as well as he could have hoped. The thought of saving Madrigal had been abhorrent. They had effectively strengthened the drug lord’s position immeasurably. In eliminating Rodriguez and uncovering the conspiracy against them, his reputation amongst the other cartel members had taken on legendary proportions. Whatever obstacles the Colombian would face in the future, internal challenges were not likely to be among them. The friction between him and the people who controlled the drug-producing territories was still there, but mutual greed was overcoming any philosophical differences.
Most of the intelligence people behind the plot to discredit Plan Coca and misuse his own campaign had been dealt with. Expulsions and demotions at the lower levels, for those who were unaware of the final objective, and, he had been informed, executions for others. Unfortunately, a few had escaped with nothing more than a reprimand. These were the people who knew too much, the ones who had to be handled carefully. He could not complain too much; he had also used the same threat of blowing the whistle on the whole sordid affair to ensure he went unpunished. The hope was that these figures in the upper echelons of the intelligence world would have learnt their lesson as well as he had. Somehow, he doubted it. According to Larsen, Hughes had escaped through the ineptitude of his former employers. Warned that the net was closing, he had been given too much time. Despite the manpower supposedly committed to locating him, nothing had turned up. Wallace was cynical enough to appreciate how content many people were for it to remain that way.
He had not heard from Larsen in the four weeks since that last call and doubted he ever would again. He had no idea where the Dane had gone or what his plans were. It was uncomfortable for him to think too long about the mercenary, because inevitably that stirred memories of how disappointed Larsen had been in him at the end. Not that anything had ever been said, but Wallace knew.
He had, however, finally stopped torturing himself over the harm they had done. It would do no good for him to spend the rest of his life fretting over what had happened. It had never been his intention to hurt innocents and he had done his best to make up for any damage he might have caused. That had to count for something. Besides, a large part of him still believed that, without outside interference, they might have succeeded in crippling the drug trade and kept innocent casualties to a minimum. At least the clinics were recovering. Now that the crisis was well and truly past, he had been told they would be back on track within six months.
“Larry. Hey, Larry!”
His thoughts were disturbed by Sharon Murray, the programmer from his crew.
“Sorry, what?”
“Rob’s going inside to get another beer; do you want one?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.” He spent the next couple of hours enjoying himself immensely, even being dragged up to dance at one stage by some of his fellow crew members. When the party started to wind down, he sat down beside Sims, the CEO.
“Well, happy you changed your mind?”
“Absolutely. Being here’s shown me how much I’ve been missing. I was thinking of talking to you about maybe taking a more active role than I have been recently.”
“That’d be great. As long as you’re not thinking of taking my job,” Sims laughed.
“No, no, I was ...”
“Mr Wallace?”
He looked up at the manager of the yacht club, who stood beside their table. “Yes?”
“I’m so sorry to disturb you but there’s an urgent phone call for you inside.”
He had deliberately not brought his cell phone, wanting to have a complete break from the stresses of the past few months. He smiled in apology to Sims and headed into the club-house.
“Hello, this is Lawrence Wallace,” he said into the phone.
“Enjoying your little jaunt?” asked a man’s voice.
“What? Who is this?”
“My name is Thomas Hughes and this is just a call to let you know that this isn’t finished for you yet. You have no idea how much damage you’ve done, but I intend to show you. I’ll let you get back to your friends now.”
The line went dead but Wallace remained standing there listening to the dial tone. Everything started to fade and the sound of the party grew steadily more distant.