Читать книгу Treason Play - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

“The Man isn’t going to like this,” Brognola said. “Hell, I don’t like it.”

“None of us do, Hal,” Bolan said. “It is what it is.”

“Hell of a time to get philosophical on me, Striker.”

Bolan allowed himself a smile, his first since he and Grimaldi had returned to a safehouse owned and operated by the U.S. government inside a walled community located in suburban Dubai. The place was three stories high, stuffed with luxurious furniture, surrounded by iron gates and bristling with tall iron fences topped with concertina wire. It was surrounded by other, similarly luxurious homes, most occupied by foreign executives working inside Dubai who made tempting targets for Islamic terrorists.

“Where’s Jack?” Brognola asked.

“In the shower,” Bolan replied. “Or maybe one of the pools. I’m not sure.”

Brognola laughed. “How is it to sit in the lap of luxury?”

“Not a bad place as far as safehouses go,” Bolan said. “I’ve definitely slept in worse. Did you send a clean-up crew to the address I gave you? I’d like it if we could recover Lang’s body and send it home.”

“We’re on it. We have guys from the local FBI office on detail there. The local police are none too happy with us, obviously. First, we pull a covert move in their town and then we lock them out of a crime scene. But they are cooperating, which is about the best we can hope for. You already met Potts?”

“I did.”

“He’s handling things on our end. He’s really got the touch with the locals.”

“What about Lang? At least in some circles, he was a high-profile figure. He can’t just disappear.”

“Right. Fortunately he was a private pilot. According to a press release that should be going out within the next few hours, he died in an accident. His plane crashed while he was flying from Dubai to Tel Aviv to conduct an interview.”

“Sounds plausible.”

“The family will issue a press release, too. Because he worked in a nonofficial cover capacity, his family has no idea that he was an espionage agent. They think he was just a reporter, which is just as well for all involved. I guess everyone is sitting on the story until the next of kin are notified. Once that happens, the story goes out, runs a couple of days and should disappear after the family has a funeral for him.”

“And since the plane was lost at sea, there’s no need for them to ever see his body so they’ll never need to know that he was tortured to death.”

“If everything goes to plan,” the big Fed said.

“We’ve had such good luck so far.”

“Cynic. Look, I’ll stress to Potts that if he or any of his crew find anything, they should pass it along to you.”

“Good,” Bolan replied. “I may need him to dig up some other information, too.”

Bolan paused and tried to gather his thoughts. “Let me ask you something, Hal. What else do we know about Lang? I mean, about the guy.”

“What are you driving at? Do you think he’s dirty?”

“Not necessarily. Frankly, I’m not sure what to think. But I do wonder how the guy got so over his head in this whole thing. And I have to wonder whether everyone’s telling us everything we need to know, including our friends in Washington.”

“Do they ever? Brognola replied.

“Think about it. You have an experienced agent who goes up against Nawaz Khan, a major weapons dealer. And he does it all by himself? No support? Nothing? I have an arms-length relationship with the government and can do that stuff. But I can’t envision Lang doing the same thing. I’m sure he wasn’t stupid. But was he enough of a cowboy to go out and get himself killed? And he took important information with him to the grave.”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this,” Brognola said. “But damn it, I also can’t refute it. Let me rattle some cages here and see what else I can learn.”

“Thanks.” Bolan raised his mug to his lips and slurped some coffee.

“Look, Bear has been looking through Lang’s phone records, trying to chart out who the guy was talking to and when. The rest of the cyberteam is working through the guy’s bank records and whatever else they can get their hands on. Maybe we’ll know more later.”

“Keep me posted,” Bolan said before terminating the call.

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER Bolan’s cell phone rang again. He took the call.

“Go.”

“Jesus, Cooper, that’s how you answer the phone?” It was Potts.

“You get the building cleaned out?”

“About fifty percent. Not too bad, considering the mess you left behind. It was like the Valentine’s Day massacre on steroids. The harder part was convincing the state security forces that they needed to let you go about your business and ignore the death of an American journalist and several Pakistani nationals. But I think we’re in the clear, at least for the moment.”

“How’d you manage it?”

“Would you believe I’m a good diplomat?”

“No.”

“Would you believe I dropped some names of people in Washington? The kind who approve arms sales to the United Arab Emirates?”

“That I believe. You have that kind of clout?”

“Nah, I just said I dropped names. I didn’t say I knew them.”

“Just the same, thanks for sticking your neck out.”

“Don’t mention it. Hey, the real reason I called was to let you know a couple of things. First, I got a phone call from a reporter, a lady named Tamara Gillen. She left me a message, said she’d heard through the rumor mill that Terry Lang may have been lost in an airplane crash. She said she might have some important information about that.”

“I guess I don’t need to tell you to ignore the call.”

“Aren’t you a genius? Thanks for the tip. Maybe if the bottom falls out of the paramilitary business, you can jump over to public relations.”

Bolan grinned.

“Anyway,” Potts continued, “she said she thought that the whole notion that Terry died in a plane wreck was bullshit.”

“She say why?”

“Negative. Probably because she doesn’t want to believe the guy’s dead.”

“That a theory?” Bolan asked.

“Call it an educated guess.”

“Based on?”

“On the fact that Terry boned everything in a skirt in Dubai. You call five people who knew him, and they’d tell you the same thing. The bastard couldn’t keep it in his pants to save his life. I barely knew him, but he was notorious among the reporters, politicians and government people for screwing everything he could get his hands on,” Potts said.

“Good to know,” Bolan said. “You know anything about this reporter?”

“She’s little more than a name to me. I went back through my Rolodex and I had a card in there from her. She probably interviewed me at a press conference or some such. I try to avoid the press like the plague, but sometimes it just can’t be helped.”

“You think she knows anything about Lang?”

“She probably knows a lot about him. Whether any of it’s useful is another matter.”

“Maybe it’s time I checked.”