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“That’s because the translation is wrong.” Ke
“I knew it.”
Ke
Swanson groaned in frustration. “Shit.”
She looked at the designation on the folder. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s frickin’ NSA.”
“I see that.”
“I’ll be lucky if I get the tape before the Fourth of July.”
Ke
“And if she tells me to get in line like everyone else?”
Ke
“Good morning. Would you please come upstairs. There’s something we need to discuss.”
Ke
Ke
“Please sit,” he said without turning around. “There’s tea on the table. Help yourself.”
Ke
Ke
“Is my memory falling me,” Stansfield said, “or was I misinformed about the operational timetable?”
Ke
“Where are they?”
“Greece.”
Stansfield sat back and ran his right hand over his black-and-blue-striped tie. “Where is Rapp?”
“In-country.”
He thought about that for a second. “When did he arrive?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“You’re sure.”
She nodded. “He checked in last night and then again this morning.”
“His time or ours?”
“It would have been around midnight our time.”
Stansfield looked out the window for a moment and then removed his black glasses. He set them on his lap and rubbed his eyes. Jumping to conclusions wouldn’t do him any good. Anything, of course, was possible when it came to a character like Sharif. He had made more than a few enemies over the years, but the notion that two separate camps had decided to go after him at the exact same time was a tough one to swallow.
Before Stansfield could say what was on his mind, his office door burst open. Max Powers, the Near East chief, strolled in without offering an apology. “Big news.”
“What now?” Stansfield asked.
“Our favorite arms dealer is no longer with us.”
Out of the corner of his eye Stansfield saw Ke
“Sharif, that fat Turk,” Powers said with a satisfied grin. “Someone blew his head off in Istanbul this morning.”
“His entire head?” Ke
“The back of it at least.” Powers placed the palm of his right hand on the back of his head and tapped his bald spot several times. “I have a good source who works for Turkish NIO. Says someone plugged him up close. One in the heart and they’re not sure how many in the face, but more than one. Right here.” Powers tapped the space at the top of his nose between his eyes. “Tight grouping. Very professional. Blew the back of his head off.”
NIO was Turkey’s National Intelligence Organization. “Do they have any idea who carried it out?” Ke
“Not a clue, but the rumor mill is already working overtime.”
“Candidates?” Stansfield asked.
“Usual suspects … Jews, Frogs, Iranians, Iraqis, Syrians, and us, of course.”
“Russians?”
“My guy said they were thick as thieves. Also said he got a call from your old friend at KGB.”
“You mean SVR,” Ke
“Yeah, but, he referred to them as KGB. Same assholes as before. Just a new name.”
“What did Mikhail want?” Stansfield asked, referring to Mikhail Ivanov, the deputy director of Directorate S, perhaps the most ruthless outfit in the espionage business.
“Not happy,” Powers said with an emphatic shake of his head. “I guess he made some pretty heavy demands.”
“Such as.”
“He wants to know who did it, and he expects full cooperation. Said he’s going to make life very hard for anyone who doesn’t cooperate fully. Pushy bastard.”
“Any witnesses?” Ke
“Not one,” Powers said with a grin. He looked at his watch. “The Turk’s been dead for five hours. It looks like it was professional. Five hours means the guy who pulled the trigger is long gone. They’re screwed.”
“Guy?” Ke
Powers shrugged. “Just my guess. No offense, but it’s pretty much an exclusively all-men’s club.
Ke
Stansfield asked, “Your source … he’s good?”
“Great. Very dialed in.”
“Loyalties?”
“To the almighty dollar, but he prefers to do business with people he likes. We can trust him.”
“Keep me posted. I want to know what Mikhail is up to. If he starts swinging his velvet hammer, we might be able to win over a few more hearts in Ankara.”
“Good idea.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll have my gang put together a full workup for you.”