Strategic Moves

FORTY-THREE

Early the following morning Stone got a call from Bob Cantor.

“How’s my little scrambler working out for you?” Cantor asked.

“I’ll tell you how beautifully it’s working,” Stone said. “It’s driving the Agency people absolutely nuts. They want to know how I’m doing it. Do you want me to tell them?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Cantor replied. “My attorney is filing a patent this morning on two versions. You’ve got one; the other has two buttons: one for the frequency range of most bugs and one for the cell phone frequency range.”

“Sounds great.”

“It is, believe me. You tell the Agency people to get in touch with me, and I’ll sell them preproduction units for twenty-five thousand bucks a pop, minimum order of twelve.”

Stone whistled. “What will you sell the production models for?”

“We’re aiming at thirty-five hundred bucks and going after the professional market first. Later, we’ll market a consumer version for fifteen hundred. Tell the Agency people that the preproduction units I’m offering will allow them to adjust the frequency range on the bug scrambler. You can keep your copy, but don’t give it to them; they’ll just cannibalize it and clone it.”

“Right,” Stone said.

“How much longer are you meeting with these folks?”

“Today’s the last day.”

“Okay, I’ll put everything on DVDs and have two copies for you ready tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Bob.”

Pablo was late arriving, only a couple of minutes ahead of Lance and his group. He was carrying a cardboard mailing tube under his arm.

“Here’s how I want to work this,” Stone said. “We’ll give them the morning to continue grilling you, then immediately after lunch, we’ll hand them their bonus. Once you’ve answered all their questions, excuse yourself to go to the john and get out the back way.”

“Sounds good,” Pablo said. “I’m going—”

Stone interrupted him. “I don’t want to know where you’re going or how,” he said. “Wait a day or two, or when it’s convenient, and give me a call. I’ll bring you up to date on anything that’s happened.”

“There’s something I should tell you,” Pablo said. “The name they called me on—Mohammed X—the one they couldn’t find in their files?”

“Yes?”

“He’s the one who gave me this map.” He held up the tube.

“Then please tell them that,” Stone said. Joan buzzed him and said that everybody was waiting for them in the dining room.

Stone and Pablo went in and sat down at the table.

Lance began. “Pablo, let’s revisit your mention of the nom de guerre Mohammed X.”

“I’ll tell you more about him after lunch,” Pablo said, “but not until then.”

“Why not until then?”

“You’ll understand after lunch.”

Lance sighed. “All right, but you’re not getting out of here until I know everything you know about him.”

“You will,” Pablo said.

Pablo was now up to date on his recitation of events, so the questions fired at him before lunch were all about his previous statement, mostly clarifications.

Lunch was served where they sat, sandwiches and soup, then, when the dishes had been taken away, Lance called the group to order again. “Now tell me about Mohammed X,” he said to Pablo.

“Mohammed X is an underground arms dealer who claims to have excellent contacts inside the upper ranks of Al Qaeda and the Taliban, among other groups,” Pablo replied.

“Have you sold him arms in the past?”

“No, I had met him on two occasions before . . . ah, accepting your invitation to come to the United States.”

“When was the first time?”

“About three weeks ago. We had a long and alcoholic dinner in Mijas, a village up the mountain from my home in Marbella, and he dropped many heavy hints about his contacts.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me that he had actually met Osama bin Laden, face-to-face, but he wouldn’t tell me when.”

“What else did he tell you on that occasion?”

“He told me that Al Qaeda and the Taliban were planning a large acquisition of small arms and antiaircraft missiles, which they intend to use against your unpiloted drones that are raining down Hellfire missiles on them. He asked if I would bid on their order. I told him I would need a detailed list of what they wanted, when and where they wanted it, and what they were prepared to pay.”

“Did he give you the list?”

“He gave me that on the second occasion we met.”

“When and where did that take place?”

“At my home, at lunch, on the day your people kidnapped me.”

Pablo reached inside the mailing tube at his side and extracted two sheets of paper. He separated them and handed the smaller one to Lance. “This was his order. I had planned to fax it to your station chief in Madrid.”

Lance looked at the list, then held it up to a camera for transmission to Langley. “And you expect me to believe that?” he asked.

“It’s immaterial whether you believe it or not,” Pablo said. He gave Lance a telephone number. “That is the fax line for your station chief.”

“Did you bid on the weapons?”

“No. I told him I would, in due course, but I never had any intention of selling him the weapons. I think he believed I needed further convincing, so he gave me a very interesting piece of information.”

“And what was that?”

“The longitude and latitude of the redoubt of Osama bin Laden.”

The room became absolutely silent.

“Would you like to write down the coordinates?” Pablo asked.

Lance grabbed a pad. “Yes, please go ahead.”

Pablo recited the numbers.

“My God,” Holly Barker said.

“What?” Lance asked.

“It’s Tora Bora, where he was almost caught before,” she replied.