The Negotiator

“Yes, I do.”

“He’s the Company, right?”

“Yeah, he’s the DDO. Why?”

“He asked to meet me. He said something’s breaking. Fast. He doesn’t understand it, thought you would.”

“You met at Langley?”

“No, he said that would be too exposed. We met by appointment in the back of a Company car at a spot near the Tidal Basin. We talked as we drove around.”

“Did he tell you what?”

“No. He said he didn’t feel he could trust anybody, not anymore. Only you. He wants to meet you-your terms, any time or place. Can you trust him. Qui

Qui

“Yes,” he said, “I do.” He gave her the time and place of the rendezvous.

Chapter 18

Sam Somerville arrived at Montpelier airport the following evening. She was accompanied by Duncan McCrea, the young CIA man who had first approached her with the Deputy Director of Operations’ request for a meeting with her.

They arrived on the PBA Beechcraft 1900 shuttle from Boston, rented an off-road Dodge Ram right at the airport, and checked into a motel on the outskirts of the state capital. Both had brought the warmest clothing Washington had to offer, at Qui

The DDO of the CIA, pleading a high-level pla

He landed at 7:00 A.M. in a ten-seater executive jet whose logo Sam did not recognize. McCrea explained it was a Company communications plane, and that the charter company listed on its fuselage was a CIA front.

He greeted them briefly but cordially as he came down the steps of the jet onto the tarmac, dressed in heavy snow boots, thick trousers, and quilted parka. He carried his suitcase in his hand. He climbed straight into the back of the Ram and they set off. McCrea drove, Sam directing him from her road map.

Out of Montpelier they took Route 2, up through the small township of East Montpelier and onto the road for Plainfield. Just after Plainmont Cemetery, but before the gates of Goddard College, there is a place where the Winooski River leaves the roadside to make a sweep to the south. In this half-moon of land between the road and the river is a stand of tall trees, at that time of year silent and caked with snow. Among the trees stand several picnic tables provided for summer vacationers, and a pull-off and parking area for camper vehicles. This was where Qui

Sam saw him first. He emerged from behind a tree twenty yards away as the Ram crunched to a halt. Without waiting for her companions she jumped down, ran to him, and threw her arms ’round his neck.

“You all right, kid?”

“I’m fine. Oh, Qui

Qui

“Who did you bring?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, silly of me…” She turned. “You remember Duncan McCrea? He was the one who got me to Mr. Weintraub.”

McCrea was standing ten yards away, having approached from the truck. He wore his shy smile.

“Hello, Mr. Qui

From the side door of the Ram the second man descended. He carried the folding-stock rifle he had taken from his suitcase, just after passing McCrea the Colt.

“Who’s he?” asked Qui

Sam’s voice was very small and very frightened.

“David Weintraub,” she said. “Oh, God, Qui

“You’ve been tricked, darling.”

It was his own fault, he realized. He could have kicked himself. Talking to her on the phone, it had not occurred to him to ask whether she had ever seen the Deputy Director of Operations of the CIA. She had twice been summoned to the White House committee to report. He assumed David Weintraub had been present on both, or at least one, of those occasions. In fact the secretive DDO, doing one of the most covert jobs in America, disliked coming into Washington very often and had been away on both occasions. In combat, as Qui

The short, chunky man with the rifle, made to look even plumper by his heavy clothes, walked up to take his place beside McCrea.

“So, Sergeant Qui

Qui

“You gave me this, you bastard. Now that’s going to cost you, Qui

Qui

“I remember,” he said.

“Good,” said Moss. “Now, let’s get moving. Where you been living?”

“Log cabin, up in the hills.”

“Writing a little manuscript, I understand. That, I think, we have to have a look at. No tricks, Qui

He jerked the barrel of the rifle to indicate there was no chance of making ten yards toward the trees before being cut down.

“Go screw yourself,” said Qui

“Cold must have frozen your brain, Qui

Qui

Alone, he would have tried to fight it out, against all the odds, died cleanly with a bullet in the heart. But with Sam… He nodded.

McCrea separated them, handcuffed Qui

In West Danville, people were stirring but no one thought anything of two off-road vehicles heading toward St. Johnsbury. One man raised a hand in greeting, the salutation of fellow survivors of the bitter cold. McCrea responded, flashing his friendly grin, and turned north at Danville toward Lost Ridge. At Pope Cemetery, Qui

Where the paved road ran out, Moss abandoned the Ram and clambered into the back of the Renegade, pushing Sam ahead of him. She was white-faced and shaking with fear.

“You sure wanted to get lost,” said Moss when they arrived at the log cabin.

Outside, it was thirty below zero, but the interior of the cabin was still snug and warm, as Qui

“Nice,” he said at last and with satisfaction. “Nice and private. You couldn’t have done it better for me, Qui

Qui