Читать книгу Sight Unseen - Gayle Wilson - Страница 11

Washington, D.C.

“I’ve heard of The Covenant, of course. Most of what I know concerns the quasi-patriotic/religious programs they sponsor from behind the scenes. Anyone who’s been in Washington for any length of time has some knowledge of their role in those. That’s not to say, however, that I have anything to add to what you’ve uncovered. Or any names to give you. No acquaintance of mine has ever admitted to belonging.”

Despite his age, former director of central intelligence Montgomery Gardner’s mind was still sharp and his connections as good as they had ever been. If he knew nothing about The Covenant, then Phoenix operative Ethan Snow knew he was at a dead end. And that he’d just spent six months on an investigation that was literally going nowhere.

If the stakes hadn’t been so high, he might have given up long before now. He had come to Griff Cabot’s office today ready to admit defeat. Although Griff had acknowledged that visiting the old man was a last-ditch effort, he had insisted it was one they should make. Gardner was, after all, his wife’s grandfather and Griff trusted him to tell them the truth. Now this, too, appeared as futile as every other avenue of information Ethan had pursued.

“What we’ve uncovered is little more than the fact the organization exists,” Griff admitted. “And that some of its members, maybe a fringe element, have been involved in funding domestic terrorism.”

“Other than a few tantalizing hints,” Ethan added, “we can’t even get a handle on how wide scale their efforts there have been.”

He had hoped the plot involving the Lockett Legacy that John Edmonds had quashed might be an aberration. Now, after months of following up every elusive lead through electronic intercepts and banking records, Ethan had come to believe The Covenant was indeed promoting terrorism on many other fronts. All of them harmful to the United States.

He couldn’t prove what he knew intuitively. And he couldn’t find any way to penetrate the veil of secrecy that effectively protected whoever was behind the organization.

“Americans perpetrating acts of terror against their own people,” Gardner said, shaking his head.

As the director of the CIA, Gardner had certainly been exposed to the harsh realities of treason. There was not a naive bone in the old man’s body, yet he sounded shocked that a group considered by many to be both patriotic and altruistic might be guilty of that heinous crime.

“And protected by an oath of confidentiality while they do it,” Cabot added.

“Membership is by invitation only,” Ethan said. “No one I’ve interviewed will admit to knowing anyone who is or who might be a member. There are no organizational lists as far as we can discover. No tax records because of the way they handle contributions. I’m not sure any one member is allowed to know the identity of another.”

“That must make for interesting meetings,” the old man said dryly. “Do you suppose they go to those masked? A modern-day Hell Fire Club?”

“One bent on destruction rather than debauchery,” Ethan said.

“And all the while hidden behind a cloak of sanctity,” Griff added. “Short of divine intervention or clairvoyance, I’m not sure how we pierce that veil of secrecy.”

“I can’t help you there,” Monty Gardner said, “although I suspect my relationship to the Divinity is as close as some others’ in this town who go out of their way to flaunt their standing with Him.”

They waited as the old man’s lips pursed, his eyes focused unseeingly across the room. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable before Griff broke it.

“Monty?”

“I may know someone who can help. You’ll have to do a bit of traveling. I assume you aren’t averse to that?”

The question was clearly addressed to Ethan. Despite his failure to make any headway with the investigation, this was still his case. If the ex-DCI had a contact he believed could provide information on The Covenant, Ethan was eager to pursue it, wherever it might take him.

“I’m more than willing, if you think it might help.”

“I shall hold you to that,” the old man said with that same touch of dry humor. “Come into my office, and I’ll find the address for you. I keep it in a special place. A very special place.”

With that cryptic comment, the old man began to rise from his comfortable armchair. Under the cover of that movement, Ethan glanced toward Griff, his brows raised in inquiry.

Cabot shook his head and shrugged. Apparently he had no idea where or to whom Gardner intended to send his agent.

And it didn’t really matter, Ethan acknowledged. Wherever it was, after six months of frustration, he was more than ready to contact anyone who might be able to help.