The Prince of Risk

44

“Jan, it’s Alex.”

“You’ve been gone twelve hours. What is it?”

“The French ID’d him. His name is Luc Lambert. We were right about the tat. He served in the French Foreign Legion for nine years, then worked as a mercenary afterward.”

“Great news. Pass it on to Bill Barnes.”

“I already e-mailed him the particulars. But listen, Jan, there’s more.” Alex explained about Lambert’s participation in the failed Comoros coup and his ties to Executive Outcomes, the private military company that had acted as a recruiter for the effort. “The way I see it, the same group may know why Lambert was in the States.”

“Executive Outcomes…never heard of them.”

“I did some checking. They went out of business after the failed coup. The owner was a guy named James Salt, former SAS officer, decorated soldier, all that. Salt started another business soon afterward called GRAIL.”

“Slow down, Alex. I’m not getting all of this.”

“G-R-A-I-L. Global Response, Analysis, Intelligence, and Logistics. They don’t call themselves a ‘private military company’ anymore. These days they go by ‘security consultants,’ and they trawl for contracts providing protection and security services in Iraq and Afghanistan, that kind of thing. Their website lists their address in London. I want to fly over and meet with them.”

“When? In a few days?”

“Today. I’ll need a jet.” McVeigh said nothing. Silence was not the response Alex wanted. “It’s our chance to break this thing wide open,” she continued. “If GRAIL recruited him, we can find out on whose behalf.”

“Those are some big ifs. Client confidentiality is a cornerstone of that business. I doubt they’d say a word without a court order.”

“We can go in with our friends at Five,” said Alex, referring to MI5, the British domestic security service and sister agency of the FBI. “Have a heart-to-heart. I don’t think any firm would want to be identified as being a backer of a shoot and scoot on U.S. soil.”

“If that’s what we’re looking at.”

“Even if it’s not, the least we’re talking is international weapons smuggling and multiple homicide.”

“Have Bill call our legate at the embassy over there. He can pursue the matter.”

“I think I can make this happen more quickly.”

“It’s not your decision. I’m not laying on a jet for you to go on a wild-goose chase when we have a network in place that can get us the answers we need.”

Alex had rehearsed her arguments in advance. She had initiated the surveillance on Windermere Street. It was her legwork that had led to the discovery of Lambert. She had experience working with Scotland Yard and MI5. By the tone of McVeigh’s voice, she knew that none would work.

“I’ll convey our concerns that this needs to happen fast,” McVeigh went on. “But from here on out, talk to Bill. I know what you’re feeling. You think that what happened at Windermere is your fault and that it’s up to you to make things right. But I respect the chain of command more. This is Bill’s show. End of story. Are we clear?”

Alex didn’t answer. McVeigh repeated her question angrily.

“Yes,” said Alex. “We’re clear.”

“Goodbye.”

Alex hung up. She called Bill Barnes, and in the interests of honesty and future working relations relayed her conversation with McVeigh. Barnes said much too politely that he’d make the call to their man at the London embassy and promised to keep Alex in the loop. “The second anything happens, I’m on the horn to you. You have my word.”

Alex was underwhelmed by his sincerity. She entered the kitchen and made herself a pot of coffee. She knew in advance how Barnes’s request would play out. First the legate in London would call his opposite at MI5. A meeting would be scheduled later that afternoon at the earliest, but more probably for Wednesday. MI5 likely would have some connections at GRAIL. A call would be made. A luncheon would be arranged. All very formal. Very by the book. Very British. Thursday would roll around, and then…

Alex slammed her mug on the counter, spilling coffee everywhere.

Thursday was too late.