Drone Threat

46

Pearce stood, heart racing.

“What’s wrong?” Lane asked as Pearce pulled out his iPhone and hit the speed-dial for Myers.

“For heaven’s sake, Pearce, we’re in the middle of a very important meeting,” Chandler said.

Pearce ignored him. The phone rang. Finally it picked up. “Margaret? Where are you?” Pearce asked.

“It’s not Margaret. It’s me, August,” Mann said. “I’m sorry but I had to use her phone. Margaret was shot. She’s still in hospital but she’s fine.”

“How badly was she wounded?”

“Wounded? Margaret?” Lane asked, obviously concerned.

Tarkovsky and al-Saud exchanged a glance.

“She was shot in her left bicep with a twenty-two-caliber rifle. It passed through the muscle. No significant damage.”

Pearce frowned. “A twenty-two? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“The Israelis use twenty-two-caliber in urban countersniper operations to limit collateral damage. It’s quite an effective round at close range. But there’s more.”

“What?”

“She also hit her head on the cobblestones when she fell to the ground. The doctors ran preliminary tests. No concussion, no internal bleeding. But they want to keep her for a few days for observation. I just wanted you to know in case you wanted to come.”

“Let me speak with her, please.”

“I can’t. She’s having an MRI scan. That’s how I managed to get her phone and call you. She threatened my life if I told you any of this.”

“Troy, you should go and see her. Bring her back safe,” Lane said.

Pearce spoke to Lane. “Thanks, but no. My job is here. August will take good care of her.”

“Natürlich!” Mann said. “She didn’t want you to know because she doesn’t want you to leave what you are doing. She said it was important for you to stay.”

“Any idea who was behind the shooting?” Pearce asked.

“The two culprits are dead. No identification papers, but by looks alone I would guess Levantine.”

“Syrian?”

“Most likely. But they could be Lebanese or Jordanian as well. The BND is looking into it now.”

From experience Pearce knew the German foreign intelligence service was first rate and their contacts throughout the Middle East impressive. They were as likely as anyone to find out who the attackers were. “You think ISIS?”

“Perhaps, but the attack was professional. Definitely not a lone-wolf assault. And almost nobody knew the president was in Germany, let alone where she was at that moment.”

“You think another intelligence service was behind this?”

“We should know more in a few hours. I’ll have her call you as soon as she can.”

“Thanks, August. I owe you.”

Pearce hung up his phone. He felt the familiar, mind-numbing fury burning again in his chest. He wanted to smash something.

“Excuse me,” Tarkovsky said. He pulled out his cell phone. Checked the text message. He turned to Lane, “Unfortunately, I must leave on urgent business. But I’m available for further discussion by phone or perhaps later today in person after this matter is resolved.”

Lane nodded at Tarkovsky’s phone. “Anything I can do to help?”

Tarkovsky smiled as he stood. “No, sir. That is very kind of you. This is an internal Russian matter.”

Lane stood, as did the others. Tarkovsky shook hands with him. “I hope I don’t need to remind you to keep everything we’ve just discussed between us. A press leak at this time would be a disaster.”

“Of course,” Tarkovsky said. “Discretion benefits us all. If you don’t mind my asking, have you made your decision?”

“Not yet. But I’ll be in touch.” Lane turned to al-Saud. “With you as well, Faisal. Again, I urge your discretion.”

Tarkovsky left as al-Saud gripped Pearce’s hand. “I’m sorry to hear about President Myers. Please convey to her my country’s best wishes and my personal concern for her health. If there is anything I can do for her, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Pearce peered into the ambassador’s dark eyes. “I will on both counts. Thanks.”

After al-Saud shut the door behind him, Lane turned to Chandler.

“Can we trust either of them, Clay?”

“No, but you can trust their ambitions. We stand to gain a lot more than we’ll lose if we invite them into the fight. It’s better than going it alone.”

Lane turned to Pearce. “Troy? Of the two, whom do you trust more?”

Pearce’s mind was on Myers. He was scared to death for her. Everything in him told him to bolt out of there and head for the nearest plane and go to her. But duty called and she was in good hands.

“Neither, sir. But if it were up to me, I wouldn’t go back in, with or without them.”

“I think you’ve made your position clear enough,” Chandler snapped as he sat back down on the couch.

Pearce ignored the vice president. “But if you do decide to go in, I know you’ll do it because you think it’s right for the country. Whatever you do, trust your gut.”

“If the American people knew what you knew, David, they’d demand you launch an attack,” Chandler insisted.

“Your instincts have gotten you this far,” Pearce said, casting a withering glance at Chandler. “Ignore the noise.”