The Nostradamus File

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

They flew into Amman, rented a Land Rover and dropped Lamont and Selena at the hotel. From there Nick and Ronnie drove to the American Embassy. Harker had sent their weapons ahead in a diplomatic pouch.

The embassy didn't look like a diplomatic outpost. It looked like a fortress. It was a massive, white building three stories high, set back behind a high wall of fitted stone. An armored personnel carrier manned by Jordanian troops patrolled outside the wall. Palm trees planted at regular intervals tried and failed to create the impression of a normal building. A forest of antennas and satellite dishes rose from the roof. The windows were square and featured diamond shapes that reinforced the thick glass. Tall black iron fencing and metal gates blocked the entrances.

At the front desk they were directed to a room on the second floor. A brass nameplate on the door announced the office of Eric Anderson, Second Cultural Attaché.

"Agency," Ronnie said.

"Our man in Havana."

"Havana?"

"An old British movie about spies. It's a comedy," Nick said.

"I know you like those old movies," Ronnie said, "but these guys aren't very funny."

They knocked and went in. A blond man in his thirties sat behind a desk. He rose when they entered. He had the look of an athlete who was starting to go to seed. Nick's ear tingled.

"Carter?" Anderson said. "Been expecting you."

He smiled and held out his hand. Nick shook it.

"You have our package?" Nick asked.

"Yes. You do realize that Jordan is off limits for covert activity?"

"Who said anything about covert activity? We're here on vacation."

Anderson laughed. "Of course, sorry." He took a card from a case in his pocket and handed it to Nick. "You need anything while you're here, let me know. I'll call down about the package. Sign here."

He pushed a form across his desk. Nick signed it.

"Thanks. Appreciate it."

As they went down the stairs, Ronnie said, "I don't trust that guy."

"Me neither. But he doesn't concern us."

In the office they'd just left, Anderson was speaking on his private satellite phone with Phillip Harrison.

"They're here," he said. "I've talked with our friend. He's waiting for me to give him the heads up."

"Excellent."

Anderson wasn't worried about the call being intercepted. The phone he was using was encrypted with the latest technology. Only the chip at the other end could decode the transmission. The idea that all satellite transmissions could be successfully monitored was fiction. Captured, yes. Decrypted, no. Still, he spoke carefully out of habit.

"Do you want me to ask our friend to invite them to his house? They'd have a lot to talk about."

"It won't be necessary."

"I know he would like to entertain them."

"Entertainment has already been arranged." Harrison ended the call.

Anderson put his phone away and smiled.