Ghost Sniper

44

Strolling casually into Pope’s office, Fields took a chair across the table near the window. The CIA director did not acknowledge him, sitting with his eyes focused on a laptop screen, his fingers moving slowly over the keys in gentle taps. Fields didn’t know it, but Pope was hacked into the Chinese Guojia Anquan Bu mainframe (Chinese Ministry of State Security), and he was searching to see if the Chinese had discovered an ex — Navy SEAL operating in their country. So far there was no such indication.

He closed the laptop and looked across at Fields. “How are things in Mexico?”

Fields took off his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. “Crosswhite and Mederos have met with Castañeda,” he said. “I don’t know what was discussed, but I doubt it was in the interest of the agency.”

Pope set aside the computer with a sigh. “I’m sure they mean well.”

“I’m not.” Fields put the glasses back on.

Pope stared with his powder-blue eyes. “Is this in reference to missing gold again?”

“Gold or no gold,” Fields said. “You need to accept that all three of your most trusted children are up to something.”

While Pope did believe that Gil and Crosswhite were up to something, he didn’t believe they were up to the same thing. And he knew for a certified fact that, whatever they were up to, it had nothing to do with any missing gold. He knew this because every ounce of bullion stolen from the Palinouros—a yacht owned by a corrupt Turkish banker in the Mediterranean — the year before, had been accounted for behind door number nine of the French storage unit.

How silly, he thought, his mind drifting. People are so prone to conspiracy theories. As if Gil and Crosswhite could ever sell gold bullion on the black market without me catching them. But this was the lens through which Fields viewed the world, and the reason that Pope had put him in charge of the Mexico crisis in the first place. Fields was predictable.

“They didn’t steal any gold,” he said, dismissing the notion. “What’s happening with Serrano?”

Fields let the question of gold pass for the moment. “He’s cooperating, but if things go bad for him, he’ll attempt to throw you under the bus — he as much as said it.”

“There’s no record of our dealings with Hancock,” Pope said. “It would be my word against Serrano’s. No one paid attention when Manuel Noriega accused Bush I of colluding with him as director of the CIA in the midseventies. Everyone believed it was probably true, but nobody paid attention.”

“Still, we might have backed the wrong horse,” Fields went on. “There’s some low-level buzz in the Mexican media. They’re accusing Serrano of arranging Ruvalcaba’s ‘escape’ from prison last year. Few journalists have been brave enough to write about it, but if the story picks up momentum, it could put Serrano out of the race for president. Meanwhile, Castañeda continues to honor the truce.”

“Castañeda’s intelligent,” Pope conceded, “but he has no political ties; no one to run interference for him with the Mexican government. That makes him problematic in the long term. It’s true that Ruvalcaba is less intelligent, but he’s easier to control. Our most immediate problem is Vaught. How do we stand?”

Fields sat up in the chair. “I’ve told Serrano to send Hancock after him. It’s the most expedient solution.”

Pope nodded. “In that case, Hancock will have to go too — eventually.”

“I already thought of that, so I’ve tracked Billy Jessup to Tijuana. Once I have him, I should be able to learn quite a bit concerning Hancock’s movements.”

“I trust you have the necessary assets in Tijuana?”

“I’m leaving tonight.” Fields was satisfied that Pope was not asking for details because he wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to him manipulating Mariana. “I’ll have things in order within a few days. Jessup isn’t going anywhere soon. He’s too busy living the Tijuana nightlife.”

“Hancock won’t be easy to remove,” Pope warned. “I misjudged his mental stability, but his skill set is sound. Has he figured out the CIA put him in touch with the Ruvalcabas?”

“Not that I know of.”

Pope’s mind began to drift again, but he came back on tangent. “Midori asked me what you were doing in Mexico City. Did you meet with anyone other than Serrano while you were there?”

“I did. I made it a point to drop in on the head of the PFM. He thanked us for our cooperation in allowing them to use Agent Vaught — though the quake seems to have derailed their investigation for the time being.”

“Good,” Pope said. “That will make it easier to explain why you took a company jet to Mexico, if anyone ever comes asking. Continue to be careful, Clem; there’s no way to know who’s watching what anymore.”