The Ares Decision

66

So we’re still not completely certain,” Lawrence Drake said, leafing through the stack of police and fire reports.

Dave Collen slid another folder onto the desk. “We don’t have a body, if that’s what you mean. But the local investigation is still ongoing and I wouldn’t expect to at this point. What we know is that Russell’s car was there and that she hasn’t been seen since. The cops believe she was in the house when it went up.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I don’t know. It was too risky to have surveillance there when it went down. We’re still not sure how the fire started or what happened to Gohlam. It’s possible that instead of using a gun, he decided to use some kind of incendiary device and he blew himself up in the process of getting Russell — either by accident or by design.”

“That’s a lot of speculation, Dave.”

“I know, but at this point there isn’t anything we can do about it. It’s possible that Russell escaped and went to ground, but I doubt it. With an Afghan coming after her, it’s more likely that she’d want to use our resources to find out where the orders came from.”

“Unless Brandon’s message spooked her.”

Collen nodded. “Unfortunately, it gets worse. I think we have to assume at this point that the Iranians have van Keuren.”

“Do we have updated casualty estimates?”

“Even with the response plan we’ve put together under the cover of upgrading our biological attack readiness program, adding her into the equation could push it to a million.”

Drake let out a long breath and pointed to the file Collen had placed on his desk. “Smith and Howell?”

His assistant nodded. “They were on the plane to Brussels that got diverted to the military base on Diego Garcia. The public story is that the plane had a problem with its navigation system and made a safe emergency landing. Based on what little I’ve been able to get out of Army Intelligence, the real story is that there was a Sudanese man with an unknown infection aboard and that he’s been killed. The passengers all look clean and will be released soon.”

“What about Smith and Howell?”

“They got on a private jet that we don’t know anything about. Every avenue I’ve tried to get information on it turns into a dead end.”

Castilla, Drake thought. It had to be. “Do we know where it went?”

Collen flipped open the folder, paging to a satellite photo of a small jet landing on a remote airstrip. “Turkey. They got immediately into a car and started toward the Iranian border. The satellite lost them in the cloud cover when they started into the mountains. By the time I got a man up there, the tracks were already covered. He estimates that they couldn’t have gotten their vehicle any closer than seven or eight miles from the border before the snow got too deep.”

“To what end?”

Collen jabbed a finger onto a topographical map of eastern Turkey. “In all likelihood, Smith and Howell went up this canyon on foot.”

“So we have the enigmatic Dr. Smith and a former MI6 operative headed into Iranian territory under orders from what can only be the White House. The Iranians may have van Keuren, and no one has actually seen Randi Russell’s body. Jesus Christ, Dave. Is there anything left to blow up in our faces?”

“It’s not all bad news. Even if it is Castilla, I think we can be pretty confident that he’s grasping at straws by sending two lone men across the border like this. How are they going to find the facility Omidi’s taken the parasite to? And even if they do find it, how are they going to stop him?”

Both interesting questions, but by no means the ones foremost in Drake’s mind. Clearly, the CIA was being purposefully kept out of the loop. Given the fact that Castilla wouldn’t want to reveal that he was operating an extralegal team, it wasn’t entirely surprising. But it was still extremely worrying.

“Do we have anyone we can use in that part of Iran?”

Collen nodded. “Sepehr Mouradipour. He’s a former Iranian special forces man who grew up not far from where Smith and Howell were inserted.”

“Reliable?”

“If the money’s right, he and his men never fail.”

Drake leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring down at the carpet. There were two paths laid out in front of him. He could walk away and explain the CIA’s ignorance of the situation as just another intelligence failure. Or he could stay the course and do everything he could to bring about a permanent end to a threat that was potentially greater than even the Third Reich or Soviet Union. Germany would have never been able to mount a viable invasion of North America, and the members of the politburo had never been anxious to destroy their world of Crimean dachas and young Czech models.

But the Muslims were different. They were acquiring first-strike technology that Hitler could only dream of, and they didn’t share the Soviets’ aversion to self-annihilation. In many ways, they courted it.

Finally, he looked up at Collen. “Pay the man what he wants and get rid of them.”