Drone Threat

59

Pearce woke, groggy and dehydrated. He wiped his face with his hands to wake up. He winced. Remembered the beating he’d taken at the hands of al-Saud. But he noticed his headache was gone. The meds worked. He felt the side of his face. It wasn’t as sore and the swelling had subsided.

The space around him was dark, save for the eerie glow of blue LED cabin lights. He raised his wrist to read his watch out of habit, but it was gone. Al-Saud’s operatives had destroyed it as a security precaution. A wall clock indicated it was around eight p.m. in D.C. How long had he slept? He did the math on his fingers. Six hours straight. Some kind of record for him, at least lately.

He glanced across the cabin and saw Swift fully reclined and sound asleep beneath a blanket. He needed some caffeine but didn’t want to wake her. He raised his seat back up and stood to head for the galley but had to catch himself from falling. He was a little dizzy on top of the grogginess. He used the leather headrests to work his way back.

In the well-stocked galley he found bottled water in the refrigerator and drained one in one long pull. The cold water soothed his parched throat and slaked his thirst but his brain craved caffeine. He found the hot water spigot, and a few minutes later he was back in his seat with a steaming hot cup of green tea. He tapped the display on the headrest and saw the plane’s location, altitude, and speed, along with the route they were taking. They were over the Atlantic, about one thousand miles due south of Greenland. The ETA to Dulles was still six hours away.

Pearce noticed another benefit to the meds. He didn’t dream. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t haunted in his sleep by the ghosts of men he’d killed or friends he couldn’t save.

He’d slept like the dead.

The caffeine kicked in after a few minutes and the Rubik’s Cube he’d been twisting and turning earlier came back into focus. He wanted to call Myers first and check up on her, but it was only around four in the morning where she was in Germany, so he put that off. It wasn’t yet midnight in Washington, so he called Moshe Werntz instead.

“Moshe? It’s me, Troy.”

“Where are you, my friend?”

“Somewhere over the Atlantic.”

“On a much-needed vacation, I hope.”

“Not exactly. Look, I know you’re busy. I just wanted to follow up on that phone call you made to me two days ago. About al-Saud and Tarkovsky.”

“How can I help?”

Pearce collected his thoughts. “What can you tell me about Ambassador Tarkovsky?”

“Interesting man. Very smart. An ardent nationalist. Part of Titov’s inner circle of advisors — but only recently. A rising star. Surely you know all of this?”

“I read his brief. What else do you have?”

Werntz paused. “The first time I met him in person was at an IAI trade show in Moscow he had arranged several years ago. Have you met him?”

“Yes, briefly.”

“Then you know he is charming but unassuming. But he’s a big thinker. Not just another bureaucrat. Even back then he was pushing for drone development against the protests of the Russian Defense Ministry. He was seeking our latest export designs.”

“Is he a drone operator himself?”

“He struck me as technically well versed in drone systems, but I have no indication he’s an operator himself. He’s a strategist, not a tactician. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to find out who’s behind the current troubles. He seemed a good candidate.”

“Interesting,” Werntz said, his voice trailing off. “Yes, I can see the connection you’re making.”

“You mentioned that he and al-Saud had met privately. What was that meeting about?”

“You put me in a difficult situation, Troy.”

“I’m pulling you into mine.”

“Yes, I understand. So, perhaps I can put it this way. If we had eavesdropping equipment at the ambassador’s personal residence — I’m not saying we did — and if we recorded the conversation — and I’m not saying we did — I would suppose one could guess that Tarkovsky and al-Saud are forming a strong personal bond wedded to mutual national interests.”

“Any talk of a terror attack on American soil? Or the use of drone technology?”

“Of course not. I would have contacted you immediately. I’m a friend as much as I am an ally.”

“So what did they talk about?” Pearce wasn’t going to allow Werntz to dodge the question again.

“Theoretically?”

Pearce rolled his eyes. A legal fiction but necessary, he knew. “Yes. Theoretically.”

“In theory, al-Saud wanted Russian drones and Russian military intervention against ISIS if your government refused either or both. According to Tarkovsky — theoretically — Russia wants the same thing but prefers to be invited into a partnership with the United States. It would be necessary to lift the economic sanctions levied against them for the Crimea invasion, and it would also restore their status and credibility as a great power nation. But all of that is moot now, isn’t it?”

Pearce sighed. “So Tarkovsky isn’t our guy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he failed his mission. Lane didn’t lift the sanctions and didn’t invite the Russians in.”

“Not yet. It’s bound to be a long war.”

“You’re right. It will be. Better not check him off the list.” Pearce sensed the Israeli spy had more to offer. “Anything else?”

“Yes. They discussed you.”

Pearce suddenly felt as if his head were centered in a sniper scope. “What did they say?”

“We lost contact at that point.”

He couldn’t tell if Werntz was telling the truth. The Israeli would be a lousy spy if he couldn’t lie effortlessly, he reminded himself. But he trusted their friendship. “Anything else?”

“As we discussed previously, both men have a strong relationship with Vice President Chandler.”

“How strong?”

“I believe Ambassador Tarkovsky has a lunch meeting scheduled next week with Inger-Marie Ragland. She’s on the Nobel Peace Prize committee. Tarkovsky intends to float Chandler’s name as a possible nominee for the European security initiative the two of them are trying to launch.”

“That’s quite the hand job Tarkovsky’s arranging for Chandler. Clay always was an ambitious bastard.”

“I have a file I can send you — unofficially.”

“That would be great. I’ll forward it to my team.”

“I can send it directly to Mr. McTavish if you prefer,” Werntz said.

Pearce was surprised Werntz knew about Ian. He shouldn’t have been. Mossad was the best. “I’ll handle it from my end, thanks.”

“Of course. And I’d appreciate it if you kept the source hidden.”

“Not a problem. It’s very generous of you. I owe you.”

“Yes, you do. So I’d like to cash in the favor now.”

“Name it.”

“Two of our agents have gone missing. Daniel Brody and Tamar Stern.”

Hearing Tamar’s name was like a cold slap in the face. “Hold on one second.” Pearce put Werntz on mute and quickly scrolled through his phone log. Shit. Tamar’s call from two days ago. He totally forgot. No voice mail. He took Werntz off mute.

“You and Tamar were friends, yes?”

Werntz would know everything about his relationship with Tamar and her husband, Rudy, killed on the operation in Mexico a few years before. “Close friends.” So close, Pearce thought, she ran a risky op in Germany just a few months before that probably saved his life.

“I need your help finding them. I’m shorthanded at the moment.”

“What about the FBI?”

“Brody was the first to go missing. We asked the FBI to send their people out but they couldn’t pick up his trail. We didn’t inform them that Daniel was one of our agents because he was on assignment. When they came up short, we sent Tamar to find him. Now she’s gone missing as well. Any chance you can spare some of your people to take a look around?”

“I’ll go myself.”

“That’s more than I could hope for.”

“She’s done the same for me.”

“I know. But your country just went to war and they’re going to need you.”

“I won’t be playing much of a role if Chandler has anything to say about it.”

“That would be a foolish mistake on his part, in my opinion.”

Pearce’s phone dinged.

“I’ve just sent you all of the information we have regarding Tamar and Daniel’s disappearance,” Werntz said, “along with what little we have on Norman Pike, the man they were investigating. I’ll send Tarkovsky’s file along in a few minutes as well. Good luck — and good hunting.”