Payback

82

Between Jackson’s information about Sholk and Tommy’s Indian housekeeper, Rubens now had no doubt that the arms dealer had survived the crash. The link to General Túcume was irrefutable. And the old woman’s story confirmed Rubens’ suspicion that there was another bomb.

Ambassador Jackson’s surprise identification of one of the post office hostage takers as an army soldier was not just another intriguing connection with Túcume. While Rubens realized that it was not definitively proven that the man was working on the general’s behalf — as Mr. Dean so recently illustrated, an underling could easily act on his own — it suggested that at least some of the guerrilla operations in the capital and elsewhere might have been staged by the general. Until now, all of the military was believed to favor Vice President Ortez. Túcume in his meeting with the CIA station chief some days before had come as close as he was allowed by military policies to endorsing Ortez.

But the guerrilla attacks had had hurt the current government and Ortez. While this might have been the result of miscalculations at first, surely someone running a clandestine campaign to bolster Ortez would have stopped them when he saw that the results were the opposite of what he wanted.

The “discovery” of documents linking the guerrillas with Imberbe at the same time the bomb was found — a matter of considerable importance in Peru — told Rubens that Túcume was not trying to help Imberbe, either. So what was Túcume’s agenda?

A coup?

Túcume did not have enough soldiers under his control to pull one off; his units were spread thin over a vast area hundreds of miles from the capital, where forces loyal to the general staff were stationed. Even the Peruvians on the general staff who hated Túcume were having trouble scaring up any evidence of that — though the latest intercepts from the country indicated they were spreading rumors and probably laying the groundwork for such accusations.

Whatever Túcume was up to — assuming he was the mastermind and not being used by someone else — the U.S. needed to find where he might have the bomb hidden. Aside from obvious places like the military bases under his command and the village where his relatives lived, the list was rather short. Johnny Bib’s people were trying to expand it, so that it could be turned over to the Peru Task Force as it searched for the bomb, but when Rubens met him in one of the Art Room conference centers for an update, Johnny’s demeanor made it clear there had been little progress before he even began to speak.

“The problem is, we don’t really know all that much about Túcume,” said Ambassador Jackson, who along with Segio Nakami had accompanied Johnny Bib to the session. “The CIA dossier is far too brief. His military records are extensive. His finances, for example: clearly he must have access to more money than it would appear.”

“Yes,” said Rubens. “Have we looked at the finances of his relatives?”

“We have the bank accounts,” said Segio. “They have money from mining interests. We haven’t finished tracing all of the various family members and company holdings. But the flow to him — that’s what we’re missing.”

“Drug money?” asked Rubens.

“Supposedly very honest, incredibly honest,” said Jackson. “I’m relying on the CIA assessment, but his statements and military career would seem to back it up. And his name never appears in the various files on the narco trade in the north.”

“The assessment is skimpy,” said Rubens. “There’s not even mention of a girlfriend in the backgrounder.”

“According to the State Department backgrounder, the man is a military saint, brave, honest, and celibate. In a world as big as ours, there must be at least one, and apparently he’s it,” Jackson said sourly.

Rubens rubbed his forehead, trying to think of some shortcut to make their work, if not easier, at least more expedient. Much of the agency’s available manpower was being used to examine different intercepts and electronic data relating to army movements and the government. Desk Three had showered several of Túcume’s camps as well as suspected guerrilla strongholds with satellite-launched listening devices to help gather intelligence. Even with computers doing a large part of the work, however, collating and interpreting the information took considerable time and energy. It was a brute-force solution to the problem, a necessary approach certainly, but it couldn’t be expected to yield immediate results.

And they needed immediate results.

“The candidate who has benefited most from recent events,” said Jackson, “has been Aznar. He’s been something of a lightweight in the past. Perhaps there’s a connection between him and Túcume.”

“We haven’t seen one,” said Johnny Bib.

“Obviously they’d have to hide it,” Jackson murmured.

“There must be a connection,” Rubens insisted. “There are many ways to help a campaign. Companies provide in-kind services — telephone banks for example. You have to look beyond financial records.”

“Silver,” said Johnny Bib.

“What about silver?”

“The Incas had silver.” Johnny Bib jumped up and ran to the door. “I’ll update you,” he said, disappearing.

“Odd duck,” said Jackson.

“More than odd,” said Rubens.

Segio simply smiled.

“What do we have new on Babin?” Rubens asked.

“There are no photos of him,” said Jackson. “We have a description based on Mr. Karr’s interview with the housekeeper. Someone who uses crutches or a cane, although he can walk some on his own. Rough idea of his height, hair color, weight. It can be passed on to Peruvian intelligence.”

“Yes,” said Rubens, though doing so would beg the question of why the Americans were looking for Babin.

“We’re looking at intercepts related to the radar station near the farm where he was,” added Segio. “There is a faint possibility that there might be something there, such as money transfers in the region, that sort of thing. Nothing has come up yet. If they used messengers, if he handled things himself, it will be difficult to find any of that.”

“Let’s find out everything we can,” said Rubens. “I’m sure there are other things we don’t know.”

“What is the CIA doing to find their prodigal son?” said Jackson.

“They’re looking,” said Rubens, refusing to be more specific.

The agency would leave no stone unturned. What they did with Babin once they found him — well, that was hardly a matter for speculation, was it?

If Rubens’ people grabbed Babin, what tales might the Russian tell? The CIA, and by extension Collins, would be embarrassed, possibly worse. A leak to the right Senate staffer and Collins’ candidacy for national security adviser would be torpedoed, no matter how cleverly she tried to distance herself from the initial operation.

Rubens winced internally. He liked to think of himself as someone who did not play political games, certainly not with the president and national security. Sholk — Babin — had to be found, but not because doing so would benefit Rubens. If there was a real nuke, Babin would know. And he would probably know where it was.

“Do you think the agency was operating under presidential orders to shoot down Babin’s plane?” Jackson asked as he and Segio got up to go.

“I have to say, Ambassador, you would be in a better position than me to make that judgment. You were closer to that administration than I.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I was close. Different parties, among other things.” Jackson smiled, or was it a grimace? “I’d say it’s a good possibility that the agency had marching orders. Of course, they will have to take the rap now.”

“No way to avoid it,” Rubens agreed.

Jackson zeroed in. “You don’t particularly like the agency, do you, Dr. Rubens?”

“We’ve had our differences,” Rubens admitted, then felt compelled to add, “We are carrying heavy burdens, and we’re only human.”

“You’re sure there’s another bomb?”

“Highly likely.”

“Will we find it?”

Peru was being crisscrossed by a growing armada of U-2s, Global Hawks, and other reconnaissance aircraft, searching for hiding places and trucks similar in size to those that would have left the tracks Karr had found. Army personnel, CIA officers, a number of experts from the State Department and other agencies were working with the Peruvians to watch their ports, airports, and borders. NSA teams were sorting through mounds of signal intelligence, looking for different links with the bomb. Thousands of people were working on this.

But the task was immense. Peru was about the size of California, Oregon, Washington, Nevada, and Utah put together. It was covered with thick tropical forests and inhospitable mountains. The warhead was smaller than an office desk.

“You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen; I have a phone call that I must make.”

General Spielmorph, the officer appointed to head the task force dealing with the weapon in Peru, moderated the secure conference call with the president and others directly involved with the American response. The general briefly summarized the situation in his native Oklahoma drawl, starting with Karr’s discovery, which had been shared with the task force commander minutes after it had been made. The general informed his listeners that the search grids, already concentrated in the north, were being shifted to focus around the houses. Ground-penetrating radar would be used to map possible underground bunkers and hiding places. He was sending a Delta team to inspect the house and barn a second time — unnecessary in Ruben’s opinion, though he didn’t say a word.

“We don’t want this to look too much like an American operation,” the secretary of state said. “It’s better for Peru to be perceived as dealing with this very forcefully — it’s not only a model for similar crises, God forbid, but it removes some political problems.”

“It’s a matter of efficiency,” the general replied. “The Peruvians are very, shall we say, deliberate.”

“Are they dragging their feet?” the president asked.

“No. This is all happening very quickly. They’re used to a slower pace than we are, generally speaking. From their perspective, they may think they’re rushing right along. Major General Maduro, the chief of staff, has been cooperative. Prickly, but cooperative. They don’t want us talking directly to Túcume, although we are. They have the equivalent of a reinforced battalion physically protecting the warhead. That’s actually the largest concentration of troops in the region. The guerrillas can’t get it, at least. I’m certain of that.”

“Is there a second warhead?” George Hadash asked from Japan. He sounded tired.

“Mr. Rubens?”

“We haven’t turned up any hard evidence,” Rubens said. “If handled properly, a warhead doesn’t leave radiation behind. In fact, to detect nuclear material, one has to be very close, generally within nine meters, in some cases less. That said, we can state positively that whatever else was done in that barn, the pit of a weapon was not disassembled there.”

“Or was never there in the first place,” Collins said.

“That is correct. We simply don’t know. These things don’t tie themselves into very neat knots.”

“I’d like as much of the search as possible completed before the Peruvian public learns that the known weapon lacks nuclear material,” the president interjected. “After that comes out, political pressure will build quickly for us to leave the country. Build… it’ll go up like a rocket.”

“The international team of inspectors will probably get around to examining that weapon on Saturday,” the general said. “I can’t guarantee our search will be complete by then.”

“I appreciate your frankness, General. Still, do everything humanly possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rubens’ computer beeped, signaling an alert on his secure messaging system. He tapped the keys to bring the note onto the screen.

So the link between Túcume and the candidate was silver, and Johnny Bib found it. Gallo had probably hacked into the company records and begun comparing what they found to what they knew of Aznar’s finances.

Rubens informed the conferees of the message and filled them in on the silver mining company. “Any contributions from a soldier or his family to a political candidate would be contrary to Peruvian law,” Rubens explained. “This could be part of a sophisticated plot to get Aznar elected, or part of a plot to discredit him.”

“That’s obvious,” Collins said. “It would be nice to know which possibility is the correct one.”

Blanders ignored Collins. “Getting Aznar elected might be one reason that a fake bomb would surface at this time,” he said.

“Be nice if we had some evidence for that,” someone retorted.

“What if Túcume has a real bomb?” Hadash asked.

“Having a weapon and using it are two completely different things,” the president said. “Which may be the reason we are looking at a fake bomb on the world news. Billy, how good is the Túcume-Aznar connection?”

“We’re getting it nailed down.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

“I don’t know yet. Perhaps half Aznar’s campaign money.”

“That’s enough to buy most of the politicians I grew up with,” the president said thoughtfully. “Of course, sometimes the bastards didn’t stay bought — that was always the risk. Do we have any evidence that the candidate knows Túcume is giving him money?”

“No, sir.”

“OK. And the Peruvians are having an election on Sunday. Well, I know a thing or two about politics. State, have the ambassador in Lima find Aznar and inform him of the connection.”

“It’d be better to keep this at arm’s length,” said the secretary of state. He had spent a career in politics, too. “This way we can deny it if blows up in our face.”

“All right,” said the president. “Billy, can one of your people deliver the message convincingly?”

Someday, Rubens thought, he was going to have to tell the president that he hated to be called Billy.

“I have someone who might be credible,” said Rubens. “Hernes Jackson, the former ambassador to Chile.”

“Fine. Leak it to the Peruvian press after Aznar is informed. Don’t get caught doing it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The conference ended on that note. Two minutes later Rubens’ line buzzed with another call. Expecting Hadash, he picked it up. It was Collins.

“You’re just full of surprises today,” she said.

“How so?”

“You parceled out that info on the Túcume connection as if you were Santa Claus handing out presents. You were lucky it wasn’t a videoconference; they would have seen you gloating. How long have you known?”

“I reported the information within sixty seconds of the time I received it.”

“I’ll bet. Stop playing games.”

Rubens couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“All you do is play games,” she continued. “You want Hadash’s job and you’re trashing the agency to get it. You’re manipulating information. You are playing with lives and careers here.”

He hung up without answering.