A Bloody Storm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

They separated as soon as the CIA-contracted charter flight delivered them to the U.S. garrison in Wiesbaden, Germany. Showers was admitted to the hospital so doctors could repair her damaged collarbone, while Storm was given time to bathe and eat, but then was put on a flight back to Andrews Air Force Base. A car was waiting to take him to Langley.

Jones was leaning back in his squeaky desk chair when Storm entered his office and sat in the all-too-familiar chair across from the CIA spymaster.

“We didn’t find any gold,” Storm said. “No sixty billion in kilobars owned by the Communist Party. Petrov must have given Lebedev the wrong coordinates.”

Jones leaned forward and said, “Is that what you think?”

Storm paused and then said, “You intentionally entered the wrong coordinates into our GPS in Uzbekistan. You sent us on a wild goose chase.”

“For more than twenty years, that gold has been hidden in the Molguzar Mountains and no one has been able to find it,” said Jones. “Why disturb it now? Especially since I know where it is and we can keep an eye on it with one of our birds.”

Removing sixty billion in gold from a Uzbekistan cave would be a major operation that would not go unnoticed. There would be angry denouncements from Russia and Uzbekistan. The White House would have a major political problem on its hands — especially since Russian president Barkovsky remained in power.

“If you didn’t expect us to find the gold,” Storm said. “Why did you send us to Uzbekistan?”

“I thought you would have figured that out by now,” Jones said.

Storm had, but for once he wanted to hear it from Jones. This time, he was the one playing dumb in their cat-and-mouse game.

“Tangiers,” said Jones. “After it, I knew we had a leak. There were only four possibilities. Oscar, Casper, Dilya, and — you.”

“You suspected me?”

“It’s my job to suspect everyone. What did we really know about you as a person? Clara Strike recruited you because you were a skilled private eye. After Tangiers, I thought maybe the other side had gotten to you, corrupted you. You decided you wanted out. I was suspicious, but your death also gave me an idea. I decided to retire Oscar, Dilya, and Casper, too.”

“Tangiers,” Storm said.

Jones nodded. “When I learned where the gold was hidden, I decided fate had given me an opportunity, a chance to catch a traitor. I knew the mole would contact the Russians. Sixty billion was too big of a prize. And that is exactly what Oscar did.”

“What about Dilya?”

“That’s an irony, isn’t it?” said Jones. “You throw out a net and who knows what you catch? Oscar told the Russians about Tangiers. Dilya tipped off the Viper.”

“Twice betrayed,” said Storm. “What kind of spying operation are you running when two of your recruits are secretly working for the other side?”

Jones shrugged. “Good traitors are hard to find.”

“Why did you suspect Casper?” Storm asked.

“Casper had a habit of getting drunk and bragging. I thought maybe he had inadvertently talked to the wrong people.”

“Casper got killed and we nearly did.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” Jones said. “Before you begin feeling sorry for yourself, remember you came back to work for me because you knew someone had betrayed you in Tangiers. You wanted revenge. And I couldn’t afford another Tangiers. It was a price I was willing to pay.”

“Casper might feel otherwise.”

“In a strange way,” Jones said, “fate brought us full circle from Tangiers. We learned that Dilya and Oscar were traitors. We missed the Viper in Tangiers, but his body was found dead on the mountain. The Vympel soldiers apparently cut his throat. You and Casper were cleared, and we now know where the Russian gold is hidden. It’s a win-win-win in my book. The only question that remains is this: Are you done? Are you going to disappear back in Wyoming?”

“Montana,” Storm said.

“No matter. Are you going to go back off the grid or are you going to do what you do best?”

Storm rose from his chair. “Right now, I’m going to take some time off.”

“Take as long as you want,” Jones said, opening his desk and removing an envelope. “This will help.” He slid over the package and Storm picked it up, knowing that it contained hundred-dollar bills.

Storm removed the wristwatch that Jones had given him and put it on his desk. “I won’t be needing this.”

Jones said, “I’ll keep it for next time. There’s a rental car parked outside.” He handed Storm a set of keys.

“Is it bugged?” Storm asked.

“You figure it out.” He stood and extended his hand.

As the two men shook, Jones said, “Agent Showers will be flying in tomorrow. I understand she will be placed on a mandatory one-month medical leave of absence. She’ll have time on her hands, just like you.”

Storm found the rental parked outside. Jones had splurged. It was a cherry red Corvette ZR1, a $110,000-plus convertible with a 638 horsepower, supercharged V-8, the fastest production car ever made by General Motors. It was not the type of car that passed unnoticed — the suburban-friendly vehicles that Jones insisted that his operatives drive.

Storm fired up its engine and enjoyed the loud muffler growl as he exited the CIA en route to the George Washington Parkway. His private cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

It was Showers calling from Germany.

“I need a lift from the airport tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’ll check my schedule,” he said.

“I’m expecting more than a ride?”

“Like what?”

“Dinner.”

“No cookies in Germany?”

“Just be on time.” She hung up.

He turned into one of the scenic overlooks on the parkway and look down at the Potomac River. He searched his cell phone until he found what he wanted. When he had been in London in the parking garage, he’d sent Jedidiah Jones the coordinates for the gold. He’d also sent a backup copy to his own private phone.

Jedidiah Jones was not the only one who knew where the sixty billion in bullion was stashed.

His phone rang again.

“Listen,” Showers said in a serious voice, “I really do want you to show up tomorrow at the airport. I’ll pay for dinner if you want. Just don’t go AWOL on me.”

“The last time we met, you stuck me with the bill,” he said.

“Trust me, it will be worth your while. See you tomorrow, and don’t worry, you’re not my boyfriend.”

“And you’re not my girlfriend,” he said. “But I have a question. You got some time off coming, right?”

“They’re forcing me to take a month off.”

“I’m thinking about going on a trip.”

“Where in the world are you going now?”

“Mountain climbing.”

The End