Читать книгу Take No Prisoners - Gayle Wilson - Страница 11

“I’ve already told Griff I’m not interested. Several times, actually.”

The deep voice on the other end of the line seemed resigned, almost amused rather than angry. Dalton Rawls knew that amusement wouldn’t last.

This was a call he’d been dreading having to make for several days, ever since Griff Cabot had broached the idea. They had both agreed, however, that there was no one better suited for this mission than Landon James. And since technically it wasn’t a Phoenix undertaking…

“This isn’t about joining the Phoenix,” Dalton said.

There was a beat of silence as the ex-CIA operative he’d just phoned digested the information. “Then what is it about?”

“A mutual acquaintance who’s in trouble.”

The silence this time was even more prolonged.

“If this isn’t about the Phoenix, then I suppose I should assume that whoever we’re talking about wasn’t part of the External Security Team, either.”

Griff Cabot’s elite counterterrorism unit had been destroyed by the Agency long before the terrorist attack that had devastated the heart of the country. The Phoenix, a private investigative agency, had been born from the EST’s ashes. Although Landon James had been a member of the CIA team from its inception, he had refused every inducement to join the private group of agents Cabot had put together during the last five years, its members almost exclusively drawn from his former operatives.

“We’re talking about Grace Chancellor,” Dalton said, seeing no point in making a mystery of his request. “Griff said you’d remember her.”

The quality of the silence this time was different somehow. As ridiculous as it seemed to believe he could judge something like that over the phone, Dalton knew he’d just taken the other man by surprise. A feat that had once been almost impossible to achieve.

“I remember.”

Dalton couldn’t quite read the tone of those two words, but he’d been right in his earlier speculation. Both the resignation and the amusement had disappeared.

“Tell me,” Landon demanded into his continued silence.

“You know that she testified before Congress a few months ago.”

“You mean when she told the Hill that their vaunted intelligence services—all of them—didn’t know what the hell they were doing during one of the most critical periods in this nation’s history?”

“I don’t believe she phrased it in exactly that way,” Dalton said, making no effort to conceal his own amusement at how accurately Landon’s opinion echoed those that had been expressed privately among the members of the Phoenix.

The destruction of the EST had been only one of the many intelligence blunders made by those in authority during the last ten years, but it had been the most personal for all of them. Certainly the most bitter. At least until New York.

Eventually both the country and Congress had begun to ask why no one had been aware of the threat from Al-Qaeda. Maybe, Dalton thought, because they’d all been too busy getting rid of the very people who might have been able to tell them. And that would certainly have included Landon James.

The Middle East had been his area of expertise. Just as it was Grace Chancellor’s. She’d been an intelligence analyst rather than an operative, but despite the fact that the two had struck sparks off one another on a number of occasions by supporting conflicting opinions about operations there, Dalton knew Landon had respected her opinions.

Whether that respect would translate into the ex-CIA agent taking action in this situation was something neither he nor Griff had been willing to predict. Neither had they been willing to bet against it.

If Landon refused, then Griff would move on to Plan B. With Cabot there was always a Plan B. They had agreed, however, that Landon James was their best hope.

And Grace Chancellor’s best hope, as well.

“Apparently she phrased it strongly enough that it’s gotten her into trouble,” Landon said. “I’m just not sure what you expect me to do about it.”

“I don’t believe the trouble she’s in right now can be blamed entirely on her testimony,” Dalton said carefully.

He didn’t want to suggest too much, but he also knew that the only chance he had of convincing James to undertake this mission was to be absolutely straight with him. Landon was too perceptive not to recognize when he was being played.

“The company despises whistle blowers,” Landon said. “Even those compelled to testify under oath.”

“So much so,” Dalton agreed, “that as a result of her testimony, the powers-that-be found Chancellor a new assignment.”

“Let me guess. Reading satellite images.”

“Something slightly more challenging.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Dalton found himself smiling at the reminder of how hated that particular assignment was among Cabot’s agents. “They put her in charge of stopping the heroin traffic out of Afghanistan.”

Landon laughed, the sound short and harsh. “I’m surprised they didn’t give her a spoon and a bucket and point her toward the nearest ocean.”

Again Landon was on target with his assessment of the task Chancellor had been given. Halting the exportation of heroin from Afghanistan was an impossible job, considering the entrenched culture of poppy production. It had been made even more difficult now by the lawlessness of the vast areas that lay outside the direct control of the Afghan government or the forces of the international coalition.

“Chancellor wanted to see the extent of the problem for herself,” Dalton went on, “as well as every aspect of the process by which the drugs are transported out of the country.”

There was a noise from the other end of the line that sounded like derision. Unsure, Dalton decided to ignore it.

“The Army provided her with a military escort, some lieutenant colonel who was supposed to know the ropes and show her around. Chancellor probably knew more about what was going on before she arrived in the country than he did after several months there.”

“And knowing Chancellor,” Landon said, “she didn’t tell him that.”

Probably not, Dalton thought, but he ignored the interruption to go on with his story. “The Kiowa they were riding in was hit by small-arms fire. Fortunately the pilot was able to set the chopper down, but…”

“Go on,” Landon urged when Dalton paused.

The voice on the other end of the line had become very soft. It was a timbre anyone who had worked in the field with Landon James would have recognized immediately. The more tense the situation, the quieter he became.

“The body of the colonel’s aide was found with the helicopter. Lt. Colonel Stern, the pilot and Grace Chancellor were not.”

“Where did they go down?”

“The mountains just north of Kabul.”

“Son of a bitch.” The expletive was again soft, but obviously heartfelt. “How long ago?”

This was the part Dalton had most dreaded. So far the Agency had been tight-lipped about the incident. There had been a brief report in the media, no names provided. If Neil Andrews hadn’t contacted Griff, they might never have known Grace was involved.

“Nearly two weeks.”

The expletive Landon uttered this time was expressive of his contempt. “And of course, no one at Langley has a clue who took them. Or where.”

Those were not questions. They were assumptions, flatly articulated and based on Landon’s lack of respect for the kind of information gathering that had passed for intel in that area for years.

“Not a clue. At least, according to Griff’s sources within the Agency.”

“Griff wants me to find her?”

The hesitation this time was Dalton’s. “He recognizes that he has no right to ask you to do anything. He simply wanted me to make you aware of what had happened.”

“Okay,” Landon said. “Tell him I’m aware.”

Which didn’t sound promising. Nor did it reveal what the ex-operative intended to do. If anything.

Dalton suspected his boss wasn’t going to be satisfied if he brought back that enigmatic answer. He knew Griff well enough to know that if James didn’t accept the task, Cabot would find someone who would.

His loyalty toward those he considered the good guys within the CIA extended beyond the agents who had worked for him. Apparently, it covered Grace Chancellor, as well. And Griff would damn well want to know if the rescue mission he’d been hoping for was going to take place.

“Are you going to find her?” Dalton asked.

“If she’s still alive.”

“We have no reason to believe she isn’t.”

And none to believe she is.

“Anybody had an offer?”

“For ransom, you mean?”

“Someone in that region is holding a senior CIA analyst, an American colonel and an American pilot, and they aren’t trying to negotiate a deal for their release? Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

“It’s a pretty remote area. A lot of tribesmen—”

“You just made the same kind of mistake our former employer so frequently makes,” Landon interrupted. “Don’t judge sophistication by lifestyle. Just because someone lives in a cave doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what’s going on in the outside world. That should have been one lesson we all learned from 9/11.”

“Then…why wouldn’t anyone have been approached for ransom?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you that single fact bothers me more than anything else you’ve told me.”

Dalton swallowed his own misgivings over the way the capture of the three Americans had played out reinforced by Landon’s certainty that something was wrong with the entire scenario.

“Someone mentioned the possibility that this has been organized by the drug lords,” he said. “Something designed to show that no matter how many people Washington sends out, they’re still in control.”

“If there’s to be any chance of Grace Chancellor being returned alive, you better hope whoever told you that is wrong.”

Dalton had no idea what to say to that. It sounded ominous. And absolutely assured.

“I still don’t know what you want me to tell Griff.”

“Tell him I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Believe me, he knows that, Landon.”

“Does he?” James asked, the hint of amusement Dalton had heard at the beginning of the conversation back in his voice. “And yet, strangely enough, this conversation sounds exactly like those he used to employ to get me interested in whatever he wanted me interested in during the External Security Team days.”

“Are you? Interested, I mean?”

“I’m a few years older and light-years wiser than I was when I worked for the CIA.”

“I don’t believe you’ve changed that much.”

Although Dalton had probably been the closest thing to a friend Landon James had had on the EST, he hadn’t seen his fellow operative in years. At Cabot’s request, he’d made the occasional contact to try to recruit him on the Phoenix’s behalf, only to be turned down each time.

He had no idea what Landon was doing right now. Griff probably knew, but he hadn’t passed on that information along with James’s phone number.

“Apparently not enough that Griff can’t manage to hit all the right buttons.”

“I don’t think that’s what he’s trying to do. I think he just hoped that since this is your area of expertise…”

“I’d ride to the rescue.”

“With all your expenses paid by the Phoenix, of course.”

“Paid on whose behalf?”

The Phoenix was very much a “for-hire” operation, although their charges were usually dependent on the client’s ability to pay. More than a few missions were undertaken on a pro bono basis, however, especially if Cabot felt that justice could be achieved only through their intervention.

“I don’t believe Grace has any family—” Dalton began, only to be cut off in midsentence.

“She doesn’t. I suspect our illustrious leader will be footing the bill himself. Not that he can’t afford it.”

Griff Cabot came from very old money. A lot of it. And James was right. He could afford to mount any quixotic rescue he believed should be undertaken.

“I don’t think he’s counting the cost on this one.”

“No, Griff always did have a penchant for lost causes.”

“Then… You think they’re dead?”

“Actually, that wasn’t what I meant at all.”

The amusement was back, but Dalton had no idea what had caused it. Nor did he have a clue as to what James was talking about.

“I don’t understand—” he began.

“It doesn’t matter,” Landon said briskly. “Tell Griff he pushed the right buttons this time. Obviously he hasn’t lost the fine art of leadership.”

“Then you’re going after them?” Dalton couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice.

“I’m going after Gracie. If the others are there, I’ll try my best to get them out, too.

Gracie? In all the years Dalton had known Grace Chancellor, he had never heard anyone ever refer to her as Gracie. The nickname was totally foreign to the cool, collected persona the intelligence analyst exuded.

Or maybe, Dalton thought, as a click and then the dial tone reverberated in his ear, it was just that he didn’t know Grace Chancellor nearly so well as Landon James did.

Something else Cabot had apparently failed to tell him.

LANDON JAMES PUT DOWN the phone and swiveled his desk chair around until he was looking out over the tops of some of the tallest buildings in New York. He’d been able to lease this office space high above the city for a song in the days immediately after the terrorist attack. No one, it seemed, had wanted to work in the clouds anymore.

After a moment he stood up and walked across the huge room to a wall of windows, thinking instead about the phone call he’d just concluded. Despite his attempt to block them, images of Grace Chancellor had flooded his brain since Dalton had mentioned her name. Memories of the woman he had first met almost…almost ten years ago, he realized with a sense of wonder.

He couldn’t believe it had been that long. He should, he acknowledged. A lot had changed in that time.

Including him. Maybe especially him.

He realized that he was unconsciously fingering the patch that covered the empty socket of what had been his right eye. He forced his fingers away from it, his lips tightening as he remembered how that loss had occurred.

Grace Chancellor and Afghanistan. Two items of unfinished—and very personal—business.

There weren’t many of either in his life these days. Other than the security consultation firm he’d started almost as soon as he resigned from the Agency, there was very little that touched him personally anymore. Both of those did.

Grace Chancellor and Afghanistan.

How well Griff knew him, he thought, his lips lifting in a smile of self-derision. And how cleverly he had chosen his weapons.

Landon hadn’t made many mistakes in the years he’d been an operative. In his line of work, he couldn’t afford them.

What Cabot had set before him this morning, like the food and water the ancient gods had set before Tantalus, was a chance to rectify the two most spectacular ones he’d made in his entire life. And to do it at Griff’s expense.

That wasn’t entirely true, he acknowledged, no matter what Dalton offered. Money was the least of what this journey would cost. And there was no guarantee that he would be able to do what the U.S. Special Forces in the area had not be able to accomplish and find the three Americans. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

If Grace was alive, he’d find her. And if she wasn’t… He took a deep breath, thinking about what that loss would mean.

“Hang on, Gracie,” he whispered, looking down on the area still marked by the attack of madmen. “The bastards haven’t won one yet. They damn sure aren’t going to win this time, either.”