The Hadrian Memorandum

107

10:42 A.M

RSO Special Agent Tim Grant, the near-spitting-image of Congressman Joe Ryder, stepped out of a taxi on Rua Ivens, paid the driver, and watched the cab drive away. At the far end of the street he could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. A wisp of black smoke rose skyward just past them; the cause of which he didn’t know. Immediately he turned and walked off in the direction of Rua Serpa Pinto. By his estimation, it was a block, two at most, to the Hospital da Universidade. He wore jeans and a light, baggy jacket and had a small backpack slung casually over his shoulder. Inside it were his wallet and diplomatic passport, a map of Lisbon, and an MP5K submachine gun with two fully loaded magazines. For all intents, he looked like a tourist.

10:43 A.M.

Carlos Branco sat waiting in a five-year-old Fiat on Rua da Vitória. He’d made the call at ten fourteen, seconds before he notified Conor White that Ryder and his RSO detail had vanished from the Ritz.

“You asked me to tell when I might have an apartment available for lease for your daughter,” he’d said. “I have one now, but it’s being shown this afternoon to another interested party. Perhaps you could come right away. I will meet you at Rua da Vitória just back from where it meets Rua dos Fanqueiros in the Baixa. The sooner you see it and make up your mind the better.”

10:45 A.M.

A gray Ford with a fading paint job pulled up next to the Fiat and stopped. Branco glanced briefly around, then got out and climbed into the Ford’s front passenger seat.

“What is it?” Jeremy Moyer asked without emotion as he pulled the Ford into traffic.

“The wheels are starting to come off,” Branco said, telling the CIA/Lisbon station chief what he couldn’t tell him over the phone. “Ryder and his RSO detail are gone from the hotel. Somehow they got out without being seen. The same thing happened with Marten and Anne Tidrow. They got help and slipped out of the apartment building using the cover of an electrician’s van. I had an asset follow them on a motorcycle. He’s dead. Maybe an accident. Probably not.”

Moyer flared. “You’re telling me with the all the talent under your control, you lost-”

“White found out where Marten and Anne Tidrow are headed.” Branco cut him off. “Hospital da Universidade on Rua Serpa Pinto. It’s either a stopping point for them or a place for them to meet Ryder. White’s on his way there now. So far there’s been no communication from Ryder or his RSO detail at all, so somebody on the outside has to be coordinating all this. Who it is, or where it’s coming from, we don’t know. What we do know is where they’re going. If we have to take them down in the hospital it will be messy. But the longer we hold off, the greater the chance something will go wrong and we’ll lose them altogether. What do you want to do? The call is yours.”

Moyer ground his teeth and looked at the traffic in front of him. Suddenly he was riding a whirlwind. In the next seconds a thousand thoughts crisscrossed. CIA Deputy Director Newhan Black had personally given him the order to put a trusted freelancer like Branco in charge of the operation in order to set up a terminal action by Conor White. For a moment it appeared those best-laid plans were coming apart. But then, in a sudden turn, they began to come together again, never mind that the venue was a hospital. His choices were simple: either go back to the embassy, try to get Black on a secure phone, and ask him for a further directive; or take charge himself and do what Black had intended he do from the beginning-let White put the matter to rest. Career-wise, the second choice was extremely risky, especially if it ended in disaster. But considering the time constraints, and how long it might take to make a secure contact with Black, it seemed best that he act now and on his own. Besides, if it came out as it should, it would greatly improve his standing within the organization.

“Take your assets and back up White at the hospital,” he said to Branco, then swung the Ford around and headed back into the Baixa.

“The rest of the embassy RSO detail is waiting at the Ritz for further instructions. What about them?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Moyer slowed for traffic, then abruptly pulled to the curb and stopped. He looked at the freelancer. “Compreenda?”

Branco nodded, “Sim.” Yes. Then opened the door and got out. Moyer drove off, and he walked back toward his car in a gaggle of tourists knowing he’d just been given carte blanche to do whatever was necessary to bring the entire episode to a suitable end.

10:50 A.M.