The Hadrian Memorandum

68

HOTEL LARGO, FARO, PORTUGAL. 11:02 A.M.

Ten minutes earlier Sy Wirth had checked in, gone to his room, and immediately put in a call to Dimitri Korostin only to get the Russian’s voice mail. It was the fourth call and voice mail response in the thirty-odd minutes since his Gulfstream had touched down at Faro International Airport. Each time he’d left word for Korostin to call him back immediately. So far he’d had no reply.

He called again. Once more he got the voice mail. This time he left no word, just clicked off. This was crazy. They’d been in contact ever since he’d left Berlin. Now, at the most crucial moment of all, there was nothing but silence.

Conor White’s Falcon had landed, and he and the others were at the airport waiting for word and ready to go. But to w here? Korostin’s men should have long ago been on the ground. By now, theoretically at least, they would know where Marten was. But theoretically was just that, nothing. He couldn’t send White after Marten if he didn’t know where he had gone. And he couldn’t know that without Korostin telling him. The whole thing was very nearly a replay of what had happened when Marten dodged them all at the airport in Málaga, disabling the hidden transmitter and flying off for parts unknown. Now he was on the ground somewhere here with all kinds of land routes open to him. If they’d lost him this time there was every chance he would recover the photographs and disappear into the countryside. Then what? Sit back and wait for the pictures to be made public?

Then, and maybe darker still, there was Korostin himself. He knew how important the pictures were. What if his people already had Marten? If they retrieved the photographs and looked at them out of sheer prurient interest expecting to see illicit sex, it wouldn’t take long for them to realize what they really had, and Wirth would never know until it was too late. By then Korostin would have not only the pictures but also the Santa Cruz-Tarija gas field. Depending on what he did with the photos-turning them over to the Russian government would be the worst-he might very well lose the Bioko field as well.

He went into the bathroom and washed his hands and face, then stared at himself in the mirror. What had he done? The idea that Korostin might somehow double-cross him had never entered his mind. This was his own doing. His alone. Even his chief counsel, Arnold Moss, had no idea he’d made a deal with Korostin. Only Conor White knew someone else was involved, but he had no idea who it was.

Wirth cursed himself with every word he knew. Why he had so blindly trusted the Russian? Inviting him to secretly partake in the greatest triumph of his life had been insane. It was like taking a lover and trusting her with all kinds of intimate secrets only to have her destroy your marriage and family and afterward run off with the company.

Half panicked and full of rage, he went back into the other room and picked up the BlackBerry, determined to try Korostin again. No sooner was it in his hand than it rang.

“Yes,” he snapped.

“Josiah, you call me every five minutes. You’re giving me a headache. Where the hell are you?” Dimitri Korostin’s voice rumbled through the receiver.

“Faro. Where the hell are your people?”

“There and gone.”

“To where? Do they know where Marten is?”

“They have rented a car and left the city. That’s all I know. When I have more I will tell you.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Josiah, it’s all I have. Trust me.”

“Trust you?”

“Yes, trust me.” Korostin paused. “I think maybe you are getting nervous again. Don’t, there is no need.”

“The terms of our contract, Dimitri. I am to be there when the pictures are recovered. They are to be brought directly to me unopened.”

“I think I was right about the pictures compromising you. Very personal, yes? You and a woman. Or several women. Or men? Doing what, Josiah? We’re all human. We do things. We aren’t perfect. What makes these photographs so special you can’t live another hour without them?”

“That’s my business.”

“Josiah, you will be there when the pictures are recovered. They will be delivered to you right away. The terms of the contract. You have my word.”

There was a click and Wirth’s BlackBerry went dead.

11:15 A.M.

Sy Wirth sat at a corner table in the hotel’s Santo Antonio restaurant staring blankly out over the harbor. The two BlackBerrys were on the table in front of him, the one with the blue-tape closest. A waiter came and took his order-coffee and fresh fruit. Maybe he was being crazy. Maybe Dimitri had been right when he told him to calm down. There was a big payoff for him, so why would he double-cross Wirth, especially as he had promised during their meeting in London that the Santa Cruz-Tarija gas field could be the first of many deals they might work on together. Why would he do something stupid and jeopardize the future? Moreover, the photographs would have to be in some kind of package, meaning that he and his men might not even look at them. Just deliver them as promised. They would know what they were because Marten would have them in his possession.

So take it easy, he told himself. Calm down. So far everything they had plotted from Berlin to here, even with the delays, had worked. Now came the waiting game; it happened in almost every business transaction, and as anxiety-provoking as it was, it wasn’t unreasonable.

He glanced at the blue-tape BlackBerry. Conor White was nearby and waiting. He could wait a few minutes longer.

Wirth picked up the other BlackBerry, hit the speed dial, and called Arnold Moss’s personal cell phone. It was almost five twenty in the morning in Houston. Whether Moss was up or not made little difference. If things were going to come off as planned, at some point soon White would go into action, and Wirth needed to officially cover the state of affairs. It was something his general counsel would understand immediately and afterward dictate for transcription to be included in the Striker corporate record under MINUTES OF THE DAY.

“Good morning, Sy.” Moss picked up at once. If he’d woken from sleep it wasn’t evident. “Where are you?”

“Faro, Portugal.”

“I thought you were headed to Barcelona.”

“I was. Conor White called several hours ago telling me he was on his way here and asked me to meet him. I’ve only just arrived. He said it was urgent but didn’t say why or what it was. From the sound of his voice I’d say it was more than urgent, it was critical. Frankly I’m hesitant to call him because I don’t know what’s going on. I’d rather have him come to me and explain it.”

“You think Hadrian should be advised?”

“Probably. But again I don’t know. Hadrian and SimCo have their own arrangements. If what’s going on here has to do with Striker, I’m completely in the dark about it.”

“Have you heard from him since you arrived?”

“No. Not yet.”

“If he asked you to meet him the way he did, I’d say Hadrian should be advised right away. Let them get in the middle of it, or at the least advise us as to what’s going on. Want me to call Loyal Truex?”

“No, I’ll do it. He still with Joe Ryder in Iraq?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to whatever you were doing, Arnie. I’ll be in touch later.”

“Good luck.”

“Indeed.”

Wirth clicked off just as his breakfast came.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” his waiter asked.

Wirth looked up. “Not just now, thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wirth watched him go, then picked up the BlackBerry, looked at it, and set it back down. Loyal Truex was in Iraq. Wirth’s story would be that he had tried to get through to him but couldn’t get a connection and so would try again later. Meaning no call would be made to Truex until the photographs had been recovered and Nicholas Marten and Anne Tidrow were dead, with Conor White and his men in the custody of Portuguese authorities charged with their killing and the suspicion of their involvement in the Madrid farmhouse murders. All of it topped, as Wirth would put it to Truex, by the chilling sense that because White had asked him to meet him there and because of what had happened to Anne, he’d meant to kill him, too. That way, and quite clearly, Truex would have been informed of the extent of Conor White’s derangement.

11:09 A.M.