The Icarus Agenda

Chapter 32

Ahbyahd called his four 'priests' together in the motel room he shared with the young member of the mission who spoke fluent English and who had never been in Oman. It was 5:43 am, Colorado time, and the long vigil was over. There would be no rendezvous. Command Two had not made contact, which meant that Yosef and his men were dead; there was no other explanation. The hardened veteran who was half Jew but with a consummate hatred of all things Western and Israeli would never permit a single member of his team to be taken alive. It was why he had insisted that the crippled, harelipped boy who would not be denied should be at his side at all times.

At the first sign of even conceivable capture, I will put a bullet in your head, child. Do you understand?

I will do it first, old man. I seek my glorious death far more than my miserable life.

I believe you, you young fool. But please remember the words of Azra. Alive you can fight, dead you cannot.

The martyred Azra was right, thought Ahbyahd. However, Azra had not defined the ultimate sacrifice sought by all who truly believed. It was to die while fighting. That was why the jihad was impervious to traps, even to death. And the thunderous silence that resulted from the attack on the house in Virginia and the absence of Yosef and his men could only be a trap. It was the Western way of thinking: Deny the accomplishment, acknowledge nothing; force the hunters to search farther and lead them into a trap. It was so meaningless. If the trap meant killing the enemy, in this instance the possibility of killing a great enemy, what did death matter? In their martyrdom they would find an exhilaration of happiness unknown in the life they led here on earth. There was no greater glory for the believer than to walk into the gentle clouds of Allah's heaven with the blood of enemies on one's hands in a just war.

It was this reasoning that confused Ahbyahd. Did not the Christians incessantly talk about walking into the arms of Christ for the causes of Christ, calling for wars in his name? Did not the Jews exalt their chosen status under Abraham's God to the exclusion of all others, fighting for deliverance as the Maccabees did, dying for their beliefs atop the Masada? Was Allah to be deemed unworthy in this company? Who decreed it? The Christians and the Jews? Ahbyahd was no scholar, barely a student of such difficult subjects, if the truth be known, but these were things taught by the elders, men steeped in the holy Koran. The lessons were clear: Their enemies were quick to invent and fight for their own grievances but quicker still to deny the pain of others. The Christians and the Jews were very free in calling upon their almighties in any conflict that threatened them, and they would certainly continue to deny the just cause of the lowly Palestinian, but they could not deny him his martyrdom. They would not in a distant place called Mesa Verde, thousands of kilometres from Mecca.

'My brothers,' began the white-haired one, facing the four men of his command in the small, dingy motel room. 'Our time has come and we approach it with rapture, knowing that a far better world lies before us, a heaven where we will be free, neither slaves nor pawns to others here on earth. If through the grace of Allah we survive to fight again, we will bring home to our brothers and sisters the holy kill of vengeance that so justly belongs to us. And the world will know that we have done it, know that five men of valour penetrated and destroyed all within two fortresses built by the great enemy to stop us… Now we must prepare. First with prayers, and then with the more practical applications of our cause. Depending on what we learn, we strike when they will least expect an attack—not with the cover of night but in sunlight. By sundown we will either be with the holy hour of Salat el Maghreb or in the arms of Allah.'

It was shortly past noon when Khalehla walked off the plane and into the lounge at San Diego's International Airport. She was instantly aware of being watched, mainly because her observer made no pretence of not doing so. The nondescript overweight man in an unpressed, ill-fitting gabardine suit was eating popcorn from a white cardboard container. He nodded his head once, turned, and started walking down the wide, crowded corridor towards the terminal. It was a signal. In moments Rashad caught up with him, slowing her pace to his at his side.

'I gather you weren't waiting to pick me up,' she said without looking at him.

'If I was, you'd be on your knees begging me to take you home, which I'll probably have to do.'

'Your modesty is as irresistible as you are.'

'That's what my wife says, except she adds “beauty”.'

'What is it?'

'Call Langley. I have a feeling that all hell's broken loose, but call from one of these phones, not my place, if it's going to be my place. I'll wait up ahead; if we're a team, just nod and follow me… at a respectful distance, naturally.'

'I think I'd like a name. Something.'

Try Shapoff.'

'Gingerbread?' said Khalehla, briefly shifting her eyes to glance at the field officer so highly regarded that he was practically a legend at the Agency. 'East Berlin? Prague? Vienna—’

'Actually,' interrupted the man in the dishevelled gabardine suit. 'I'm a left-handed periodontist from Cleveland.'

'I guess I had a different picture of you.'

'That's why I'm “Gingerbread”… stupid goddamned name. Make your call.'

Rashad peeled off at the next pay telephone. Anxious and not familiar with the latest phone procedures, she pushed the Operator button and while feigning a bewildered French accent placed a collect call to a number she had long since committed to memory.

'Yes?' said Mitchell Payton at the other end of the line.

'MJ, it's me. What's happened?'

'Andrew Vanvlanderen died early this morning.'

'Killed?'

'No, it was a cardiac seizure; we've established that. There was a fair amount of alcohol in his blood and he was a mess—unshaven, eyes bloodshot, reeking of body sweat and worse—but it was a stroke.'

'Damn… damn!'

'There was also an interesting set of circumstances—always circumstances, nothing clean. He'd been sitting in front of a television set for hours on end and obviously smashed it with a marble ashtray.'

'Touchy, touchy,' said the agent from Cairo. 'What does his wife say?'

'Between excessive tears and pleas for seclusion, the stoic widow claims he was depressed over heavy losses in the market and other investments. Which, of course, she insists she knows nothing about, which of course she does. That marriage must have been consummated above a financial statement under the mattress.'

'Did you check on her information?'

'Naturally. His portfolio could support several small nations. Two of his horses even won the daily double at Santa Anita last week, and, along with a few others, are galloping towards millions in stud fees.'

'So she was lying.'

'She was lying,' agreed Payton.

'But not necessarily about the depression.'

'Let's try substituting another word. Rage, perhaps. Manic rage coupled with hysterical fear.'

'Something didn't happen?' suggested Khalehla.

'Something was not made public as having happened. Perhaps it did, perhaps it didn't… perhaps it was botched. Perhaps, and this could be the trigger, perhaps several of the killers were taken alive, as, indeed, one was in Mesa Verde.'

'And captured people can be made to talk volumes without knowing it.'

'Precisely. All that's needed is one source who can describe one location, a method of travel, a drop. We have such a source, such a person. There are too many complications to hide everything. Whoever's behind these killings has to realize that, at least suspect it. That may have been on Andrew Vanvlanderen's mind.'

'How are things going with the prisoner?'

'He's under now, or, as the doctors say, he's being taken up. He's a maniac. He's tried everything from self-asphyxiation to swallowing his tongue. As a result, they had to inject tranquillizers before they could give him the serums, slowing things a bit. The doctors tell me that we should have the first reports within an hour or so.'

'What do I do now, MJ? I can't very well barge in on the grieving widow—’

'On the contrary, my dear,' interrupted Payton. 'That's exactly what you're going to do. We're going to turn this damned circumstantial liability into an asset. When a person like Mrs. Vanvlanderen accepts a position involving close ties with the potential successor to the President of the United States, personal considerations become secondary… You'll apologize profusely, of course, but then stay with the scenario as we've outlined it.'

'When you think about it,' said Khalehla, 'given the circumstances, the timing couldn't be better. I'm the last person she'll expect. It'll shake her up.'

'I'm glad you agree. Remember, you may show compassion, but the cold business of national security comes first.'

'What about Shapoff? Are we a team?'

'Only if you need him. We've lent him to naval intelligence, consultant status, and I'm glad he's there, but I'd rather you start solo. Work out contact arrangements.'

'I gather he hasn't been briefed.'

'No, only to give you whatever assistance you may ask for.'

'I understand.'

'Adrienne,' said the director of Special Projects, drawing out the name. 'There's something else you should also know.

We may be a step closer to our blond-haired European and, equally important, what he's all about.'

'Who is he? What did you find out?'

'We don't know who he is, but I'd say he's working for people who want to see Evan in the White House… or at least closer to it.'

'My God! He'd never consider it in a thousand years! Who are these people?'

'Very rich and very resourceful, I'd guess.' Payton briefly told her about the impending nationwide campaign to launch Kendrick into the vice presidency. 'Jennings said his people are convinced it could fly—“fast and high” were his words. And in my opinion he wouldn't have the slightest objection.'

'Right down to the President's own reaction,' said Khalehla, her voice quiet, floating into the pay phone. 'Every step, every move that was made was thought out and analysed. All but one.'

'What do you mean?'

'Evan's response, MJ. He'd never take it.'

'Perhaps that's the shoe that hasn't dropped.'

'It would have to be an iron boot the size of the Sphinx's foot… Then there are two groups, one pushing our hero congressman on to the national ticket, the other doing its damnedest to keep him off.'

'I came to the same conclusion and told the President as much. Go to work, officer Rashad. Call me when you're settled in your hotel. I may have news from our doctors by then.'

'I don't suppose I could get in touch with my grandparents, could I? They live near here, you know.'

'Am I speaking with a twelve-year old? Absolutely not!'

'Understood.'

It was three o'clock in the winter afternoon, Eastern Standard time, and the limousines were parked in the drive at the estate in Cynwid Hollow. The chauffeurs smoked cigarettes, talking quietly among themselves. Inside, the conference had begun.

'This will be a brief meeting,' said Milos Varak, addressing the members of Inver Brass, the glare of the lamps illuminating their faces in the large, dimly lit study. 'But the information was so vital, I appealed to Dr Winters. I felt it was imperative that you be apprised.'

'That's obvious,' said Eric Sundstrom testily. 'I've left an entire laboratory not knowing what to do next.'

'You dragged me out of court, Milos,' added Margaret Lowell. 'I assume you're right, as you usually are.'

'I flew back from Nassau,' said Gideon Logan, laughing softly, 'but then I wasn't doing anything but fishing until that damned ship's phone jingled. Also, I wasn't catching anything.'

'I wish I could say I was even that productive, but I can't,' offered Jacob Mandel. 'I was at a basketball game when the beeper went off. I nearly didn't hear it, in fact.'

'I think we should proceed,' said Samuel Winters, an edge to his voice, part impatience and part something else, conceivably anger. 'The information is devastating.'

Margaret Lowell glanced over at the white-haired historian. 'Of course we will, Sam. We're just catching our breath.'

'I may have spoken of fishing,' said Gideon Logan, 'but my mind wasn't on fishing, Samuel.'

The spokesman of Inver Brass nodded, his tentative smile unsuccessful. 'Forgive me if I appear irritable. The truth is that I'm frightened, and so will you be.'

'Then there's nothing in my laboratories as important to me right now,' said Sundstrom gently, as if rightfully rebuked. 'Please, go ahead, Milos.'

Watch every face, every pair of eyes. Study the muscles of their jaws and around their lids and their hairlines. Look for involuntary swallows and pronounced veins on their necks. One of these four nearest me here knows the truth. One is the traitor.

'Palestinian terrorists have struck Congressman Kendrick's houses both in Virginia and Colorado. There was a considerable loss of life.'

A kind of controlled pandemonium broke out in that extraordinary room inside the estate on Chesapeake Bay. Its occupants fell back into chairs or sat forward over the table in shock; throated cries came from stretched lips, eyes wide in horror or narrowed in disbelief, and the questions rapidly assaulted Varak like the sharp reports of repeated rifle fire.

'Was Kendrick killed?’

'When did it happen?'

'I've heard nothing about it!'

'Was anyone taken alive?' This last question, the questioner instantly examined by Milos Varak, was Gideon Logan, his dark face set in fury—or was it frenzy… or fear?

‘I’ll answer everything I can,' said the Czech co-ordinator of Inver Brass, 'but I must tell you that I'm not fully informed. The word is that Kendrick survived and is in protective custody. The attacks took place late yesterday afternoon or possibly in the early evening—’

'Possibly?' shouted Margaret Lowell. 'Yesterday? Why don't you know— why don't we all know, why doesn't the country know?'

'There's a total blackout, apparently requested by the intelligence services and granted by the President.'

'Obviously designed to unbalance the Arabs,' said Mandel. 'They kill for publicity, and if they don't get it they go crazier than they already are. Crazy people stand out—’

'And if they're alive they have to get out of the country,' added Sundstrom. 'Can they get out, Varak?'

'It would depend on the sophistication of their arrangements, sir. On who made it possible for them to get in.'

'Were any of the Palestinians taken alive?' persisted Gideon Logan.

'I can only speculate,' answered the Czech, his eyes neutral but beneath that neutrality searching intensely. 'I was fortunate to learn what I did before the blackout was made total; the loss of life was not broken down at that point.'

'What are your speculations?' asked Sundstrom.

'At best, there is only a 10 to 15 per cent chance that any of the assailants was captured—alive. The figure is based on Mideast statistics. It's customary for terrorist teams to carry cyanide capsules sewn into their lapels, concealed razor blades and syringes taped to various parts of their bodies, anything that facilitates taking their own lives rather than reveal information through torture or drugs. Remember, except for the inability to kill their enemies, death is no sacrifice for these people. Instead, it's a rite of passage to an afterlife of joy, not overabundant for them here.'

'Then it's possible that one or two or more might have been captured alive,' pressed Logan, making a statement.

'It's possible, depending upon how many were involved. It's a priority, if it can be accomplished.'

'Why is it so important, Gideon?' asked Samuel Winters.

'Because we're all aware of the extraordinary measures taken to protect Kendrick,' replied the black entrepreneur, studying Varak's face, 'and I think it's imperative to know how these unschooled fanatics penetrated such security. Any word on that, Milos?'

'Yes, sir. Mine, and hardly official, but it's only a matter of days before the federal units make the connection I made.'

'What the hell is it?' cried Margaret Lowell, her voice loud and sharp.

'I assume you're all aware of Andrew Vanvlanderen—'

'No,' broke in Lowell.

'What about him?' asked Gideon Logan.

'Should we?' chimed in Mandel.

'He died,' said Eric Sundstrom, sitting back in his chair.

'What?' The word shot out three times in succession.

'It happened early this morning in California, too late for the eastern papers,' explained Winters. 'The cause of death was listed as a heart attack. I heard it on the radio.'

'So did I,' added Sundstrom.

'I haven't listened to a radio.' Margaret Lowell.

'I was on a boat and then a plane.' Gideon Logan.

'I was at a basketball game.' Jacob Mandel, guiltily.

'It's not the biggest news story of the day,' continued Sundstrom, sitting forward. 'The late editions of the Post had it on page four or five, I think, and Vanvlanderen was at least known in this town. Outside here and Palm Springs, not too many people have ever heard his name.'

'What's the connection to the Palestinians?' asked Logan, his dark eyes riveted on Varak.

'The alleged heart attack is open to question, sir.'

Each face around the table was like granite… hard, immobile, set as in stone. Slowly, each looked at the others, the enormity of the implication rolling over them like an immense powerful wave.

'That's an extraordinary statement, Mr. Varak,' said Winters quietly. 'Would you explain, as you did to me, please?'

'The men around Vice President Bollinger, by and large the heaviest contributors to party funds with interests to protect, are fighting among themselves. I've learned that there are different factions. One wants to replace the Vice President with a specific candidate, another wants to retain him, and still another insists on waiting until the political landscape is clearer.'

'So?' intoned Jacob Mandel, removing his silver-rimmed glasses.

'The one person obviously unacceptable to everyone is Evan Kendrick.'

'And, Milos?' said Margaret Lowell.

'Everything we do entails a degree of risk, Counsellor,' replied Varak. 'I've never tried to minimize that despite the fact that I've guaranteed your anonymity. Nevertheless, to initiate the campaign for Congressman Kendrick we had to create a political committee through which to funnel materials and considerable funds with yourselves nowhere in evidence. It took several weeks, and it's possible that the news reached San Diego… It's not difficult to imagine the reactions of Bollinger's people, especially the faction most disposed towards him. Kendrick is a legitimate American hero, a viable candidate who could be swept on to the ticket in a wave of popularity just as we have proposed he should be. Those people might panic and look for quick, final solutions… Among them would have to be the Vanvlanderens; and Mrs. Vanvlanderen, the Vice President's chief of staff, has extensive ties in Europe and the Middle East.'

'Good Christ!' exclaimed Sundstrom. 'Are you suggesting that Vice President Bollinger is responsible for these terrorist attacks, these killings?'

'Not directly, no, sir. It could be more like Henry II's remark within the royal court about Thomas Becket: “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” The King gave no order, no instructions, he simply asked a pointed question, probably while laughing, but his knights didn't miss the point. And the point here is that powerful people were instrumental in getting those killers into the country and supplied once they were here.'

'It's incredible!' said Mandel, gripping his glasses, his voice a whisper.

'Just a minute,' interrupted Gideon Logan, his large head at an angle, his eyes still riveted on the Czech. 'You've also suggested that Vanvlanderen's heart attack might have been something else. What makes you suspect that, and if you're right, how is it related to the Palestinians?'

'My initial suspicions about his stroke came when I learned that within an hour of the body's arrival at the mortuary, Mrs. Vanvlanderen gave the order for immediate cremation, claiming that they had a mutual pact for the procedure.'

'Said procedure eliminating any chance of an autopsy.' Attorney Lowell nodded her head, clarifying the obvious. 'What's the Palestinian connection, Milos?'

'To begin with, the timing. A healthy sportsman with no history of heart disease is suddenly dead less than twenty-four hours after the attacks on Kendrick's homes. Then, of course, learning further about Mrs. Vanvlanderen's extensive Middle East contacts—that was prompted by our brief discussion about her during the last meeting. These are things the Federal investigators will piece together within a matter of days, and, if valid, probably relate them to the massacres.'

'But if Vanvlanderen was dealing with the terrorists, why was he killed?' asked a bewildered Sundstrom. 'He was the one holding the strings.'

‘I’ll answer that, Eric,' said Margaret Lowell. 'The best way to put evidence out of reach is to destroy it. The courier is killed, not the one who sends the message. That way the instigator can't be traced.'

'Too much, too much!' cried Jacob Mandel. 'Such high levels of our government can be such garbage?

'We know they can be, my friend,' answered Samuel Winters. 'Otherwise we ourselves would not be doing what we're doing.'

'The tragedy of it,' said the financier, shaking his head in sorrow. 'A nation of such promise so racked from within. They'll change all the rules, all the laws. For what?

'For themselves,' replied Gideon Logan quietly.

'What do you think will happen, Milos?' asked Margaret Lowell.

'If there's any substance to my speculation and the blackout runs its course, I believe a cover story will be created completely omitting any reference to government officials making contact with terrorists. Scapegoats, dead ones, will be found. Washington can't afford to do otherwise; foreign policy would be in a shambles.'

'And Bollinger?' Once again Sundstrom sat back in his chair.

'Officially, if the scapegoats are sufficiently convincing, he could be taken, as you say here, off the hook… That's officially, not where we are concerned.'

'That's an interesting statement, if not an illuminating one, Mr. Varak,' said Winters. 'Would you mind clarifying?'

'Not at all, sir. Although I must return to Chicago, I've made arrangements with certain personnel at the telephone company in San Diego to provide me with records of every call placed to Bollinger's residence, his office and each member of his staff. They will state all initiating numbers and times, including pay phones and their locations. Unless I'm mistaken, we'll have enough ammunition, if only circumstantial, to persuade the Vice President to gracefully remove himself from the ticket.'

The last car sped out of the drive as Samuel Winters hung up the telephone in the ornate, tapestried living room and joined Varak at the large front window.

'Which one is it?' said the Czech, staring out at the disappearing vehicle.

'I think you'll know before it's morning in California… The helicopter will be here in a few minutes. The jet's cleared for takeoff at four-thirty in Easton.'

'Thank you, sir. I trust we haven't made all these arrangements for nothing.'

'Your case was very strong, Milos. Whoever it is won't dare place a call. He or she will have to appear in person. Is everything set at the hotel?'

'Yes. My driver at the airport in San Diego will have the keys to the service entrance and the suite. I'll use the freight elevator.'

'Tell me,' said the aristocratic white-haired historian. 'Is it possible the scenario you presented to us this afternoon could be right? Could Andrew Vanvlanderen actually have made contact with the Palestinians?'

'No, sir, it's not possible. His wife would never permit it. She'd have killed him herself if he tried. Complicated arrangements of that sort could be traced, with difficulty of course, but she'd never take the chance. She's too professional.'

In the distance, over the waters of Chesapeake Bay, the chopping sounds of a helicopter's rotors could be heard. They grew louder.

Khalehla dropped her bag on the floor, threw the two boxes and the three shopping bags on the bed and followed them, shoving the bags aside as her head hit the bulge of the pillows. She had asked 'Gingerbread' Shapoff to drop her off at a department store so she could buy some clothes, since those she owned were either in Cairo or Fairfax or in a Bahamian police car or on a US Air Force jet.

'Fiddle-dee-dee,' she said in a weary imitation of Scarlet O'Hara as she stared at the ceiling. 'I'd like to think about everything tomorrow,' she continued to herself out loud, 'but, goddamn it, I can't.' She sat up and reached for the hotel telephone, studying the instructions and dialling the appropriate numbers to reach Payton in Langley, Virginia.

'Yes?'

'MJ, don't you ever go home?'

'Are you home, my dear?'

'I don't know where it is any longer, but I'll let you in on a secret, Uncle Mitch.'

'Uncle…? Good heavens, you must want a pony ride. What is it?'

'Home may end up being with a certain mutual friend of ours.'

'My, you have made progress.'

'No, he did. He even talked about twenty or thirty years.'

'Of what?'

'I don't know. A real home and babies and things like that, I guess.'

'Then let's bring him out alive, Adrienne.'

Khalehla shook her head, not in the negative but to bring herself back to the reality at hand. 'The “Adrienne” did it, MJ. Sorry.'

'Don't be. We're entitled to our glimpses of happiness, and you know I want it all for you.'

'It never happened for you, though, did it?'

'It was my choice, Field Officer Rashad.'

'Gotcha, pal, or should I say sir?

'Say whatever you like, but listen to me. The first report is in from the clinic—the prisoner. They're apparently travelling as priests, Maronite priests on Israeli passports. That boy doesn't know very much; he's an also-ran who was somehow permitted to be part of the team because of Kendrick. He was crippled while he was with our congressman in Oman.'

'I know, Evan told me. They were in a police truck heading down to the Jabal Sham. To their executions, they thought.'

'Things get fuzzy here… that youngster was told very little and rightly so, he's completely unstable. From what our chemists can piece together, however, the two teams were to make contact near an airport—“Command One” joining “Command Two”, which presumably means the Fairfax crowd was to hook up with the Colorado unit out there.'

'That's a lot of arranging, MJ, a lot of mileage. They've got savvy travel agents working on their itineraries.'

'Very savvy and very hidden. One might almost say bureaucratically obscured.'

'Speaking of which, I'm two floors above the grieving widow.'

'Her office has been alerted. She's been told to expect your call.'

'Then I'll straighten up and go to work. Incidentally, I had to buy a few things to dress the part, but I'll be damned if I'll pay for them. Let's say they're not me; they're a little on the severe side.'

'I thought, considering Mrs. Vanvlanderen's past associations, you might be somewhat more chic.'

'Well, they're not that severe.'

'I didn't think so. Call me when it's over.'

Khalehla hung up the phone, looked at it for a moment, then reached down for her bag on the floor. She opened it and took out a sheet of notepaper on which she had written Evan's telephone number in Mesa Verde. Seconds later she dialled.

'The Kendrick residence,' said a woman's voice Khalehla recognized as belonging to one of the nurses.

'May I speak with the congressman, please? This is Miss Adrienne of the State Department.'

'Sure, hon, but you'll have to hang on while I get him. He's outside saying goodbye to that nice young Greek.'

'Who?'

'I think he's Greek. He knows a lot of people the congressman knew over in Arabia or wherever he was.'

'What are you talking about?'

The priest. He's a young priest from—’

'Get Evan away!' screamed Khalehla, lurching to her feet. 'Yell for the guards! The others are out there! They want to kill him!'