Drone Threat

40

“What about my assignment here?” Tamar Stern’s green eyes narrowed as she jogged on the treadmill. The fitness center in the Trump Tower gave her a spectacular view of the city at night, but she was focused on the voice in her Bluetooth. She was glad she had the place all to herself.

The half-Ethiopian, half-Ashkenazi Mossad agent was on the hunt for a Palestinian butcher who killed a young mother and her two toddlers with a knife before slipping into Canada’s refugee program. Tamar had every intention of fulfilling her mission to kill him because he was an enemy of the state and she was a good agent. The fact that he’d murdered her cousin and her children only made the task more gratifying.

“You can finish up later. This Brody thing is important. This is straight from the top.”

She tapped the Off button on the treadmill and stepped off. “There’s nobody else?”

“Not within driving distance. If there were, I wouldn’t be sending you.”

“What’s wrong with flying?”

“Can’t be sure the Americans won’t ground their planes again.”

Tamar knew the voice on the other end of the scrambled phone well. The head of Mossad’s North American operations was her former team leader in Iraq. Refusing an order from Moshe Werntz simply wasn’t an option. Ever.

“You’re the boss,” she finally conceded, barely able to hide her frustration.

“I’ll keep working on leads for you on my end. By the time you get back, you’ll have your target in hand.”

“No one else is to touch him.”

“He’s all yours, I promise.”

“I’ll contact you when I arrive tomorrow,” Tamar said, ending the call. She toweled off her sweaty face as she headed for the door. Back to her suite for a quick shower, then room service and off to bed. It was going to be a long day tomorrow. Seven or eight hours of driving at a minimum. At least she had a new Alex Berenson audiobook she wanted to listen to, and the long drive would give her a chance to call her old friend Troy Pearce. Maybe he could help her find Brody. After all, it was his backyard and he owed her a favor after Berlin.

Grafton unplugged the blow dryer just as the knock came. She scurried out of the marble-tiled bathroom and into the sumptuous living room in her fluffy white robe and matching slippers with the name of the boutique hotel embroidered on the toes. The slippers were a little much but comfortably plush, and she couldn’t bear the thought of walking barefoot on a public carpet, even an elegant one. She opened the door to a smiling, handsome man of Middle Eastern descent standing behind a cart.

“Room service?” he asked.

“Please.” Grafton ushered him in with a wave and held the door for him. He parked the cart in the middle of the Colonial-style living room and began to unload it but she stopped him.

“No need. I’ll take it from here.” She pulled a folded twenty from one of her robe’s deep pockets and handed it to the man.

“Yes, ma’am. Of course.” He bowed slightly and headed for the door. Grafton locked it and threw the swing bar over the security latch, then pushed the serving cart into the next room.

“How was your shower?” Grafton asked.

Al-Saud pulled the champagne out of the ice bucket, admiring the vintage. “Excellent. Wonderful choice, by the way.”

Grafton stood up on her toes and kissed the royal prince on his cheek, just above his stylish beard. “I’m so glad you approve. This is my favorite hotel in D.C.”

Al-Saud popped the champagne cork and poured their glasses as Grafton set up the dinner service on the table beneath the gorgeous period crystal chandelier. They took their seats. Al-Saud lifted his glass. “To us.”

“To us.” They touched glasses and drank.

“I hope you enjoy what I’ve ordered,” she said.

“I’m famished. Show me.”

Grafton lifted the first sterling silver plate cover. “For you we have spiced honey-glazed venison loin with pear, a grits cake, burgundy truffles, savory cabbage, and a combination of pistachios and hazelnuts.”

Al-Saud leaned over the plate and inhaled deeply. “It smells fantastic.”

Grafton lifted a second plate cover. “For myself I’ve ordered roasted medallions of Atlantic halibut, sweet potato, and apple mille-feuille, applewood-smoked bacon, tarragon coulis, and razor clam broth. We can share if you like.”

“Of course. You plan everything so well.” Al-Saud held his knife in his left hand and his fork in the right in the German style. He never understood why Americans insisted on cutting with the right, then switching hands to use the fork.

“I aim to please,” Grafton said, taking her first bite of halibut.

Al-Saud smiled. “Is there anything in which you don’t excel?”

“I used to think I could run a room. But today the meeting ran away from me.”

“How so?”

“In my humble opinion, the United States needs to act swiftly and decisively against ISIS. We can’t afford to wait for the Russians or anybody else to join in. But Lane still hasn’t fully committed.”

“It’s understandable, given his campaign promise of no new boots on the ground.”

“But things have changed since the election. If people knew about the letter, or the attacks—”

“Attacks? There has been more than one?”

Grafton nodded. “You can’t say anything. It’s classified.”

“Of course not.” Al-Saud took another bite of venison. “I could be of more help to you if I were in those meetings.”

“It was Pearce that got you thrown out.”

“Can’t Chandler get me back in?”

“He’s working on it, but Pearce has got Lane’s ear for some reason.”

The prince refilled their champagne glasses. “Tell me more about this Pearce fellow. He seemed rather unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant? He’s a pain in the ass. Believe me, I have to work with him.”

“It is difficult to help him prepare for the Senate confirmation hearing?”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t play nice with others. I don’t know what Lane sees in him.”

“My security people tell me he’s a very gifted man. The founder and CEO of the world’s premier drone security company.”

“All of the CEOs I know are interested in making money. I assumed that’s why he was in Washington — to play the game. But I think he fancies himself some kind of patriot.”

“He is a patriot, isn’t he? He served in the CIA’s paramilitary organization.”

“That’s the strange thing. He’s the strongest voice in the room against a U.S. ground operation. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was an old-fashioned isolationist.” She took another sip of champagne. “Chandler can’t break his spell, either. Maybe it’s Pearce’s connection to Myers that holds so much weight for Lane. Myers was instrumental in Lane’s election.”

“Wasn’t the ‘no new boots’ policy originally hers?”

“Yes. She was only following public opinion at the time, which has only gotten stronger on the subject.”

“Sounds as if she was leading from behind, to borrow a phrase.”

“Lane’s no better. Chandler’s pushing the Russian option if Lane won’t commit American troops. Speaking of which, how did your meeting with Tarkovsky go?”

“A very charming man. Do you know him?”

Strange question, Grafton thought. She wondered for a moment if he knew about her relationship with the Russian ambassador but instantly decided against the possibility. “Mostly by reputation. I’ve been in the room with him a few times. Smart guy. Don’t know if I trust him.”

“I agree. He’s quite intelligent. And persuasive. He’s also a big fan of yours. You must have made quite an impression.”

She shook her head. “It’s the red hair, that’s all.”

“Tarkovsky made a compelling case to me that the Russians should get more involved in the region.”

“Do you agree with him?”

“My government does. Riyadh fears that you Americans have lost your sense of the balance of power. ISIS is an existential threat to the Kingdom, as is Iran. With Baghdad and Tehran getting closer, we fear an overwhelming sense of imbalance that is tilting decidedly against us. At least the Russians have influence with Iran.”

“You said your government supports this. It sounds as if you do as well.”

“Me? Not at all. The Russians would cause more problems for my country than they would solve in the long run. Titov is a dictator in all but name, with grand designs of reviving the Russian empire. I much prefer the Americans as alliance partners. There is much to admire about your way of life and worldview. If your government ever decided to live up to its role as the leader of the Western world, my government would follow suit. Tell me, why do you suppose the vice president is so keen on Russian involvement?”

Grafton took a sip of champagne, trying not to laugh. “He has dreams of winning the Nobel Peace Prize.”

Al-Saud grinned. “Seriously? How?”

“By forging a grand new security alliance with Russia and NATO.”

“For what purpose?”

“He’d tell you it was to bring a lasting peace to the European continent and to solve the trouble in the Middle East, beginning with ISIS.”

“But what do you say?”

“He thinks a Nobel Peace Prize will guarantee him the White House.”

“And does Pearce support Chandler’s position vis-à-vis the Russians?”

“Hardly.”

“So it seems that there are three of us that would like to get Mr. Pearce out of the White House.”

“Yes, but how?” Grafton forked another bite of halibut into her mouth. She was open to suggestions.

“If he can’t be pushed out, maybe he can be pulled out.”

“You have any ideas?”

“I’m not that clever.” Al-Saud lifted the last sterling silver cover. “What’s this?”

“Dessert, my sweet. Caramelized pineapple, bourbon vanilla coconut meringue and passion fruit — mango sorbet.” The plate rested in a bed of crushed ice.

“I can’t wait to try it. Where’s yours?”

Al-Saud felt Grafton’s skilled fingers wrap around his manhood.

“Mine’s right here. But you better eat yours. You’re going to need the energy.”