Rules of Deception

A silver Renault pulled up next to the barn on schedule. Simone rolled down her window. “Jonathan,” she called. “Are you there?”

Jonathan waited for a few seconds, his eyes on the road behind her, waiting to see if she’d been followed. When no cars approached, he waited longer still. He was certain that the assassin was out there.

Finally, he ducked from behind the shed on the opposite side of the street and dashed to the car. “Open the trunk,” he said, wrapping his knuckles against the passenger window.

Simone jumped in her seat.

“Hurry up,” he said. “Someone’s following me.”

“Who is it? Where? Do you see them?”

“I don’t know exactly, but he’s close.”

“They’re saying an Iranian minister was inside the car when it exploded. Parvez Ji

Jonathan nodded. “The trunk,” he said.

“Tell me what I’m getting myself into.”

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Come on. Hurry!”

Simone considered this, then motioned for him to get in. A moment later, she released the trunk.

“Stop in Landquart and let me out,” he said. “I’ll explain everything to you then.”

With that, he hustled to the rear of the car, arranged himself inside the trunk, and pulled it closed.

71

“I have him,” Simone Noiret said quietly into her cell phone. “I’ll pick you up where we agreed.”

She hung up, then lowered the car radio’s volume. “How are you doing back there?” she called over her shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

A muffled voice and two thumps was her response. The trunk might be cramped, but there was more than enough oxygen for the short ride. After all, she was not pla

For over two years, Simone Noiret had been working to infiltrate Division. It was odd to think of turning against your own country, but the world was a decidedly odd place these days. Rivalries were as fierce between organizations as between enemy nations.

Born Fatima Françoise Nasser in Queens, New York, she was the daughter of a French-Algerian mother and an Egyptian father. Her earliest memories were of money, or more precisely, arguments about the lack of it. Her father was a congenital miser. When she thought of the cu

Hardly a month later, she received a call asking her to come to a meeting in Manhattan with a representative of the CIA. He made his pitch straightaway. The operations directorate had been keeping an eye on her dating back to her time in the army. They offered her a slot overseas. It was spying pure and simple. Not like you saw in the movies, but the real thing. She would attend a course at the Farm, the CIA’s training facility, near Williamsburg, Virginia. If she passed, she would go on for further training as a clandestine operative. He needed an answer in twenty-four hours. Simone said yes on the spot.

That was eleven years ago.

It was Admiral Lafever, the deputy director of operations, who had asked her to join his personal crusade against Division. It was not a request one could turn down, and in any event, she was eager for a new challenge. All records of her employment with the CIA were expunged. A simple legend was created, establishing her as a peripatetic teacher, one of the flock of displaced Europeans who travel from country to country filling vacant slots at one American school after another. Her husband’s job at the World Bank provided a natural cover.

Simone arrived in Beirut a month ahead of Emma. To establish their friendship, she helped Emma secure working quarters for the Doctors Without Borders mission that served as her cover. Friendship came naturally. After all, the two had much in common. Birds of a feather, so to speak. It wasn’t long before they were talking to one another daily.

All the while, Simone watched.

One by one, she uncovered the members of Emma’s network, though not in time to prevent the hospital bombing that had taken the life of a Lebanese police inspector involved with the investigation into the former Lebanese prime minister’s assassination.

In Geneva, Simone continued her work. It was only a month earlier that she’d identified Theo Lammers as a member of Emma’s new network. She passed word to Lafever, and this time Lafever did not hesitate to take action. She’d always figured that somewhere along the line killing might come into things. In her past assignments, it usually did. Part of her wondered if he’d somehow killed Emma, too.

Simone passed through the two checkpoints without incident. At each, she stopped and showed her identification. At each, she was sure to look the inspector in the eye, though not quite respectfully. And at each, she was quickly waved on.

Instead of turning right when she hit the crossroads for the highway that led westward to Landquart, and on to Zurich, she guided the car in an easterly direction, heading deeper into the valley. There were enough twists and turns in the road to convince her that Jonathan couldn’t possibly figure out in which direction they were traveling. Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. The trunk was locked.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Poor lamb.

72

Alphons Marti stood atop the hill overlooking the meadow, hands tucked at his side like a victorious general. “Did you think I wouldn’t look into who tipped off the CIA? You know how badly I wanted to nail the Americans. They’ve been using our airspace to ferry suspects to their secret prisons for far too long. It makes me sick to think of the i

“Since when are they i

“That’s what they’d have us believe. So high and mighty, yet always ready to step on a rule when it applies to them. We had them this time. Gassan was on that plane. It was a golden opportunity to show the world what Switzerland stands for.”

“What’s that? Getting in the way of the war on terror?”

“‘The war on terror’? You have no idea how much I despise that phrase. No, in fact I was referring to decency, honesty, and the rights of the common man. I think such things are the responsibilities of the world’s oldest functioning democracy. Don’t you?”

Von Daniken shuddered with disgust. “I don’t pretend to believe that anyone cares what I think about those kinds of things. All I know is that it was Gassan who told the CIA about the pla

“What about it? Are you any closer to finding the drone?”

“Considerably.”

The answer surprised Marti. “Oh?”

“The van used to transport the UAV was photographed by one of our surveillance cameras driving through Zurich last night. Right now I have the Zurich police force combing all the communities surrounding the airport, looking for any sign of it.”

“That’s against my orders.”

“Exactly,” said von Daniken. “I should have told you to go screw yourself two nights ago. I knew you were up to something then. Of course, I didn’t know what kind of traitor you really were.”