The Last Surgeon

CHAPTER 32

For several minutes Lionel Ramsland remained silent. He had already been chosen to join the ticket with John Greenleigh, his party’s leading presidential candidate, well in advance of the August nominating convention. Popular and respected defenders of democracy, few expected they would lose.

“I know that we erred with that condo fire,” Ramsland said finally.

“Do you remember what I told you about my marks?” Koller asked.

“Refresh me.”

“Under no circumstance are clients ever to engage, tail, touch, or even breathe near anybody associated with a mark without my authorization-and that authorization is something I would simply never grant.”

“Okay, you’ve made yourself clear.”

“I had materials well concealed in the place that I hadn’t had the opportunity to remove. If the police had found them, it could have gone poorly for me-and you.”

“Our mistake.”

“And you paid me for that mistake. So?”

“Well, it seems Operation Jericho has a few new and unforeseen stress points. Nothing I’m that worried about, especially with you on our side. But then again, I didn’t get to where I am by being passive.”

“You know I’m a professional and I always deliver. Customer satisfaction guaranteed or your victim back,” Koller said with a chuckle. “Maybe I should have that slogan printed on my business cards.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Go on, sir.”

The man many considered more powerful and decisive than his much younger, more intellectual running mate cleared his throat. Koller noted for the first time the fatigue in his voice.

“I love this country,” Ramsland said, “and consider myself a patriot, someone who would do anything in his power to protect her. Anything. It’s important to me that I believe you would do the same.”

“Country love is your business, not mine.”

“The people who have hired you in the past told me I could expect that answer from you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have brought the subject up.”

“As the moving force behind Jericho, I could not in good conscience address our latest concerns without meeting you face-to-face and at least asking.”

“Detachment is a valuable asset in my work, but so is loyalty.”

“To the country?”

“No, Mr. Ramsland, to my clients.”

“I see.”

“Why don’t you cut the cloak-and-dagger bullshit and come sit next to me?”

Ramsland did as the killer suggested and for a few pregnant moments, the two men locked gazes and sized each other up.

“You’re not what I pictured,” Ramsland said.

“I try to stay out of the papers. Sweet to think you were fantasizing about me, though.”

“My sources told me that you had a-how did they put it-an eccentric sense of humor.”

“I don’t really enjoy being talked about. Go on. I think you should get to the point.”

“Ah yes, I was told about your bluntness, too. Okay, let me begin by saying that we have a responsibility, you and I. A great and important responsibility.”

“If you say so.”

“I can tell a lot about a man by his eyes. But yours tell me nothing.”

“That should bring you some degree of comfort,” Koller offered. “It means I have no agenda other than the one you pay me to have.”

“And if somebody were to pay you more money to have a different agenda?”

The man, closing in on the end of his sixties, close to being a heartbeat from the presidency, was uninspiring. But then, to Koller, most people of stature and power were. Ramsland was a throwback to the days of détente and domino theory backroom politics-a saggy-skinned prune with puffy eyes who overfilled the blue power suit peeking out from underneath his London Fog trench.

It amazed Koller that the balding, silver-haired fool stirred up emotions in anybody other than his mother, let alone a majority of the free world. Koller kept his eyes fixed on the man, and had a brief flash as to what he would look like with his lungs full of sarin. Still, underneath Ramsland’s doughy exterior, Koller sensed toughness, and warned himself not to lose sight of that observation. Guys who played chicken with tanks and missiles tended to have balls.

“I might not be a patriot like yourself, but what I am is a professional. A consummate professional with my own set of laws. At the moment, you are protected under those laws. Whatever you have to say here you can say in confidence.”

Ramsland took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Okay, Mr. Koller. I know that by torching Jillian Coates’s place we violated one of your laws and placed you in some jeopardy. But she had gone on air with some potentially damaging information, and we felt we had to act quickly.”

“I know much more about the woman than you do, believe me. All you did was make her more determined than ever to keep investigating things. I’ve had to start following her to make certain she doesn’t make any progress.”

“We had intended to follow her, but with what you’re costing us, and the small size of our group, we just didn’t have the resources.”

“What you did was panic.”

“Okay, okay. We panicked. But I need to tell you that our concerns about Ms. Coates weren’t entirely unjustified.”

“Oh?”

“A week or so ago there was a security breach at a downtown VA facility. A kid, a black kid in his early teens, no less, accessed the computer system and started digging around for information about an individual connected to Jericho.”

“How is Coates involved?”

“The kid’s name is Reggie Smith. He’s fourteen. He has a decent-sized rap sheet from his habit of hacking computers. He lives with a foster mother and father in Baltimore. Living near them is a family friend, a doctor named Garrity.”

“Nicholas Garrity. I know, I know.”

“Jesus, you are good.”

“So let me get this straight. A fourteen-year-old kid got information from the VA computers that you couldn’t have deleted?”

“Actually, the truth is we couldn’t find it. That goes back to what I said about manpower. We don’t always have the resources to bypass proper channels.”

“Go on.”

“So, Garrity. He’s in the VA system as having severe PTSD. That’s-”

“I know what it is,” Koller cut in. “Is Garrity part of Jericho’s concerns?”

“Indirectly, yes.”

“Is Jillian Coates?”

“She wasn’t, but she became a player once she began sniffing around for her sister’s killer. That’s what led her to Garrity.”

“So, you want me to kill them?” Koller offered up their lives with the same emotion he would have used to order a Grand Slam breakfast at Denny’s.

“No,” Ramsland said, “I’ve got our people watching Garrity and his partner, June Wright, and their medical bus. Wright is Reggie Smith’s foster mother. There aren’t enough of us to follow them all twenty-four seven, but we are keeping an eye on them. Your assignments for Jericho have been geographically arranged to keep the media spotlight away from any pattern in your marks. We can’t risk igniting curiosities by having anything happen to Jillian Coates or people close to her, which Garrity has now become.”

“If she gets in the way, she’s dead,” Koller said. “That’s what you get for stirring her up.”

“Okay, then let us handle Garrity. I’m betting he’s a patriot like myself. He’ll understand what we’re up against here and back off.”

“If not?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Whatever you say. So if it’s not Garrity or Coates, why did you bring me out here?”

“The kid has caused one of our people to go squirrelly. The guy’s a small cog in our machine, but he’s become a weak link.”

I hate mixed metaphors, Koller thought. I can’t believe you were a big shot in the CIA for all those years, let alone that you’re going to be vice president.

“It will cost you a million two,” he said, “an extra fifty if you want the job done quickly.”

“Quick as possible.”

“Your call. Same rules apply. I can get what information I need about the mark off of eBay.”

“Don’t you even want to know who it is?”

“In time.”

“I’ll just give you his name so you can get started.”

Koller sighed. “As you wish.”

“He’s a VA claims processor named MacCandliss. Phillip MacCandliss.”