Act of Treason

“So no one ever met him face-to-face?”

“Nope,” Green said.

“And there’s no financial records anywhere, or e-mails that could be traced back to you?”

“None.”

“So the CIA is lying,” Garret smiled.

“Or the Bosnian is lying,” Green added.

“Who the fuck knows with the damn CIA?” Garret said. “They have got to be the most incompetent idiots on the planet.” He sat back and took a drink of water.

Green folded his perfectly manicured fingers in front of his face and asked, “So how is my pardon coming along?”

Garret squirmed in his chair for second then looked Green in the eye and said, “It’s coming along just fine.”

“I think you are lying to me,” Green said flatly.

“Cy,” Garret moaned, “we’ve come this far. I’m not going to screw you on our deal.”

“I want my pardon,” Green said in a slightly threatening tone.

“And you’re going to fucking get it,” Garret snapped.

“If I don’t get my pardon, you are a dead man.”

Garret’s throat suddenly felt dry. His life had just been threatened by a man who he knew was capable of following through. “I told you from the very begi

Green ran his palms along the sides of his slicked back hair and accepted Garret’s answer with a nod. Then his face grew serious and he said, “That is fine, but just remember, if it doesn’t get signed, you and your boss are going to pay.”

Garret was not used to being threatened like this. He was usually the one doing the bullying. Feeling as if his back was against the wall, he decided to go on the attack. “For the last time he’s not my boss, and as long as we’re throwing around threats, why don’t you chew on this one. What do you think your old business partner, Pinky, would do if he found out you killed his daughter?”

“Shhh…” Speyer hissed.

Garret lowered his voice a notch and said, “You think just maybe he might call a couple of his old Mossad buddies and have them pay you a visit?”

Green flashed a thin smile at the political huckster sitting across the table. “Pinky should have given that little slut a lobotomy like Joe Ke

Garret looked at the billionaire through squinted eyes. “Well, how about Josh, then? How do you think the soon to be president of the U.S. of A. would react if he found out you killed his beloved wife, just so you could keep some of your ill-gotten billions?” Garret leaned back, certain the thrust had hit home. “He might send a Tomahawk missile right up your ass. Or maybe he’ll have one of his aircraft carriers accidentally ram that yacht of yours when you’re out in the middle of the Med some night.” Garret picked up a piece of bread. “I sure wouldn’t want to piss off the commander in chief of the world’s lone superpower.”

Green’s face turned crimson with rage. “You ungrateful little shit. This wasn’t my idea.”

“The hell it wasn’t,” hissed Garret.

“You and your boss came whining to me about your problems.”

“He’s not my boss!”

“Excuse me,” said Green. “Your soon-to-be vice president.”

“Our…remember. You’re the one who wants American citizenship back so fucking bad.”

Speyer couldn’t take any more. The restaurant was loud, but even so, a few patrons had glanced their way. “Gentlemen, I think you have both made your point. You have made a deal. Cy has completed his end of the transaction and now it is your turn, Stu. May I suggest a toast?” Speyer raised his glass. “To Cy’s pardon, which I’m sure will be signed on Saturday.”

They all clinked glasses, and Green smiled, saying, “It had better be.”

Garret returned the smile and said, “Don’t worry, it will be. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to take a piss.”

When Garret was gone, Speyer looked at Green and said, “I have never trusted that man. I told you this was a terrible idea. What is so bad about the life you have here? Why do you need to go back to America?”

“You’d never understand. You weren’t born there.” Green looked across the room. There was a pretty blond sitting at the bar. He held up his glass and gave her a smile. Looking back to Speyer he asked, “Are you going to join us later? It should be a wonderful show.”

Speyer wished everyone would leave him alone so he could pick a selection of wines. “I’m not sure. I’m supposed to meet some colleagues later.”

Green smiled his big Cheshire cat smile. “Where…Le Pretexte for a little male bonding?”

Green was right. Speyer pla

“Different strokes for different folks.” Green held up his glass. “Find a friend and bring him with. I will have them send a couple of well-endowed boys along with the girls. We will show Mr. Garret how we entertain in Geneva.”

51

Rapp had watched Garret enter the restaurant via the feed on his computer. By the time Speyer arrived he was in a position to see him pull up to the curb and valet his car. When a big black Hummer pulled up to the curb Rapp had a feeling he was about to get a look at the final two members of the four-person di

Rapp recognized Gordievsky immediately. He’d studied his file on the flight over. There was something familiar about the second man, but Rapp couldn’t place it. As they entered the restaurant, he turned his attention back to his screen and picked up a small ear bud that was plugged into the laptop’s audio port. The sounds from inside the restaurant instantly filled his ear. Rapp and Dumond were the only two who were monitoring the audio feed from inside the restaurant. Rapp sat back and got comfortable. He fully expected it to be a long evening of watching, listening, and waiting.

Less than a minute later he was on the edge of his seat, struggling to hear every word as Garret and the man named Cy argued about their arrangement. When Garret got up to go to the bathroom, Rapp pressed the transmit button for his radio and asked, “Did you get all that?”

Dumond’s voice crackled back, “Yeah.”

Rapp took the ear bud out that was streaming audio from inside the restaurant and asked, “Can you clean it up a bit? Get rid of the background noise?”

“I’m already on it.”

“How long?”

“Maybe a minute.”

“Good. As soon as it’s ready, encrypt it and send it off to Irene.”

“Roger.”

Rapp glanced at the computer screen and the three men at the table. Speyer had his back to the camera. The bald man was Aleksandr Gordievsky; Rapp was certain of that. He’d read Langley ’s file on him the day before. The third man, the one Garret called Cy, Rapp felt there was something familiar about, but no matter how hard he tried to make the co

“Mitch,” Dumond’s voice crackled through Rapp’s earpiece. “Garret is making a call on his mobile phone.”

“Where is he?” Rapp grabbed the ear bud and put it back in his left ear.