Читать книгу Betrayed - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

The motor yacht Crescent Moon coasted sedately along the Corsican coastline, heading north toward Monaco. It was a half-day out, plowing gracefully through the Mediterranean Sea. Outwardly it looked like one of the many expensive pleasure crafts cruising the blue waters. Inside, however, the talk was far from casual.

The three men sitting around the large table in the ship’s main cabin had more on their minds than the current trends in Monaco.

“We need to make a decision,” Daniel Hartman said. “Rolling ideas back and forth is all very well, but it doesn’t advance us one little bit.”

His cultured tones, never raised above conversational level, drew everyone’s eyes toward him. His importance in the group was enough to command its undivided attention. He had a policy of seldom repeating himself. And when he gave an ultimatum he never, ever, went back on it.

Hartman had been the man who had allowed Jamal Mehet his one chance to answer the question concerning Sharif Mahoud. The man’s refusal had condemned him to the torturers waiting in the cellars and ultimately his death. His false information had drawn the three-man strike team to the villa on the Algerian coast. When Hartman had learned Mahoud hadn’t been at the villa his calm exterior showed nothing of how he felt inside. He had simply called the strike team back and the team leader to this gathering to decide on their next move.

The quiet American looked around the table. His exceptional patience was often mistaken for indifference. It made him appear cold and distant even to those who knew him. Almost passive. Yet behind the facade was a sharp, incisive mind capable of intellectual keenness and an ability to make unpleasant decisions without a moment’s hesitation.

The leader of the strike team, Ali Asadi, said, “Whatever else we decide, I think it is time to put the California operation into action. Everything is in place. At least that would give us something to fall back on.”

Hartman nodded in agreement.

“I agree.” He turned to the man on his left. “Make the call, Roger. Tell Marino to go. Once they have the Mahoud boy secure, Marino can advise us.”

Roger Dane stood and crossed to a sat phone. He picked up the receiver and tapped in a number, waiting as the connection was made.

“Marino, this is Dane. You’re on. Do it and advise us on completion.”

“Good,” Hartman said as Dane resumed his seat. “Let’s continue. We have to accept that even if we succeed and get our hands on Mahoud’s son there’s no guarantee it will bring Mahoud himself into the open, or even force him to do what we ask. So we still need to follow this through ourselves. One thing is in our favor. Mahoud must have heard by now that Mehet has disappeared, that we took his bait and went for his decoy. No matter how dedicated the man is, losing someone like Mehet must unnerve him. He wouldn’t have expected that to happen. Having his decoy killed will also make him realize he can’t hide from us forever. Those two elements are likely to force him into doing something that might leave a trace. So we double our efforts. Increase the bounty and make sure that every informant available to us is fully aware that Sharif Mahoud is the most important name on their lists.”

“He must be found. And eliminated,” Asadi said, unable to keep his emotion under control. “The man is a traitor to everything he ever believed in. He defiles the very air he breathes, and his words are blasphemy each time he speaks.”

“That may well be so, Ali,” Hartman said, “but we can’t ignore the fact that he is held in great respect by many men of influence throughout your region and beyond. Sharif Mahoud is a force to be reckoned with. No doubt because of his popularity he has many followers willing to hide him and throw off anyone looking for him. Why do you think we’ve had so much difficulty locating the man?”

Asadi’s face darkened as he listened to the American. The knuckles of his clenched fists cracked under the tension.

“Should I begin to suspect that maybe your passion against Sharif Mahoud is not as strong as it should be? Perhaps our collaboration is not such a good idea after all.”

“That is not—”

Hartman raised a hand to silence Dane.

“Please, Ali, you must not take what I said as praise for Mahoud. I’m merely attempting to explain that the man has great standing among his supporters. Not me. Or you. Or the people behind both of us. Our joint aim is to find and eliminate Sharif Mahoud. Be in no doubt as to that. But to help us in our search we have to look at the man as others see him.

“Mahoud has a gift. One we must never overlook. That gift is his ability to communicate. To be able to sit down with men from opposing cultures and religions. To talk with politicians of all persuasions. Even to bring together those who have fought bitterly for many years. Mahoud does this through his communication skills. It’s a rare quality, and it makes our task that much more difficult because we’ll receive very little help overall. Ali, we may not like how the world perceives Mahoud, but we can’t ignore it.”

Asadi digested what Hartman said, not liking what he was implying because it only added to Mahoud’s mystique. He couldn’t deny the effect Mahoud had over many he came into contact with. Secretly he envied the man’s power to sway a crowd with his words. The ease at which he drew people to him and seemed able to calm their fear and suspicion. Asadi might only ever admit to himself that it was that very persuasiveness that generated his distrust of Mahoud. In his eyes it was not normal. As if Mahoud possessed some otherworldly spirituality above that of normal men. That was what created the hostility against him.

That and of course the more mundane fact that Mahoud’s interference in the region’s business might tip the balance of power within certain political-religious factions. Bringing them together might appear a miracle cure for the region’s ills, but many were violently opposed to such maneuvering.

Roger Dane cleared his throat, one hand nervously touching the buff folder he had brought to the meeting.

“There is also the matter of the information Mahoud has in his possession concerning the identification and affiliation of a number of important figures within the various breakaway factions.”

“Thank you, Roger. We can’t ignore that detail,” Hartman said. “Mahoud’s zeal for his righteous crusade well may bring down these notable figures. Singly and collectively these individuals have great influence within various radical groups. If they were compromised, even killed, the effect could be serious. Cut off the head of a snake and the body may well still thrash around, but it will have lost its purpose and in doing that, its effectiveness.”

AN HOUR LATER Roger Dane found Hartman relaxing on deck, a chilled drink in his hand. Watching his assistant approaching, Hartman peered over the top of his dark glasses, allowing a thin smile to curl his lips.

Dane, he knew, was a worrier. He always found the weak spot in any argument, the chink in armor, something to fret about. The look on the man’s lean face spoke volumes.

“All right, Roger, spit it out. I always know when you have something to say.”

“I just got off the phone with Wazir Homani. The word is out on Mahoud, but Homani told me he has heard that Mahoud has a deal being set up. He’s on the verge of accepting. Homani doesn’t have all the details yet, but he’ll inform us when he has more.”

Hartman tool a long swallow from his glass. “And?”

“From what Homani has found out, Mahoud will make his commitment to broker the talks if he can be guaranteed safe passage to a secret location for them. He has made a nonnegotiable demand that his family is to be brought out, as well. Homani believes his source had also verified this deal is being made by the U.S. President himself. He’s going to send in someone he vouches for. Someone he trusts to do the job. The President, Daniel, of the United States, is getting personally involved.”

Dane turned and helped himself to a large drink, swallowing it back in a single gulp.

“Am I missing something here?” Hartman asked.

“Only that the American Commander in Chief is dealing himself in. Our own President.”

“Well, hell, Roger, let’s stand up and salute the flag. We didn’t expect it to be an easy ride. Don’t wet your pants over this. Look on it as a sign they’re taking things seriously. Nothing changes. We carry on as we have been. This might work in our favor. We have contacts in Washington. If the administration has thrown its cap into the ring, it presents us with a possible chance to pick up scuttlebutt. Jesus, Roger, the D.C. circuit has more holes than a leaky sieve. This could make life a lot easier for us. You get back on your phone and rouse everyone we know in Washington. Call in favors. Make threats. Do what the hell is needed, but see if you can get the info we need.”

Alone again Hartman topped up his own drink and turned to stare out across the blue expanse of the Mediterranean. The unexpected news Dane had delivered added a new angle to the affair. He wouldn’t have admitted it to Dane, but the emergence of the U.S. President sanctioning an operation to assist Sharif Mahoud had two sides. The probability of clashing with the American administration was something that needed consideration, though it was small compared with the positive benefits. If they could connect with whoever the President was sending in, their job could be made easier. All in all, it wasn’t too bad a deal, and Daniel Hartman had never been one to back off from a reasonable gamble.

Now all they needed to do was to find out the identity of the man the President was putting forward and give him enough leeway to guide them to Mahoud himself.