Power Play, page 27
The long-term damage of not taking Knowles down was worse. Far worse.
Dempsey’s plan was the best way to save America from the evil that had hijacked its highest office. Kirk was sure of that. And as a patriot, she had no choice but to play her part.
Kirk stood up and moved towards the chairs by the TV screen, her arm outstretched and Sam Cooke’s phone in her hand.
‘Thank you, Father.’
Cooke rose to his feet as Kirk approached.
‘I appreciate your help with this. And your friendship to Agent Dempsey.’
Cooke took the offered handset from Kirk’s hand.
‘No need to thank me, Director,’ Cooke replied. ‘They came after Joe. As far as I’m concerned, whatever happens now they’ve brought on themselves. I just want to see my side safe.’
‘That’s good to know.’ Kirk enjoyed the thought. ‘And much appreciated. Can’t hurt to have God in our corner on this.’
‘Now I didn’t promise that,’ Cooke replied, his eyes betraying a smile. ‘But I wouldn’t worry about that. He’s never been that hands on with the help, has he?’
‘No, I guess he hasn’t.’ Kirk laughed, grateful for a moment of levity. ‘But again, thank you for this.’
‘You’re welcome. Now I’ll leave you to it. Sounds to me like you have some arrangements you need to make.’
‘I do.’ Kirk nodded her head. ‘Bye, Father.’
Cooke responded with a wave of his hand, before turning and leaving the office. Kirk watched him go. She had appreciated the brief distraction, but the priest was right. She had work to do.
She returned to her desk and glanced at her wall clock.
5.24 p.m.
Dempsey and Eden Grace would be boarding the plane at LaGuardia in forty minutes. That would have them in Montreal by 7 p.m. EST. Assuming a one-hour change over to the Airbus and then fourteen hours to Kabul, they would land in Afghanistan around 10 a.m. tomorrow morning.
Which would make it 7.30 p.m. over there, Kirk calculated. A night operation.
Happy with the timings, she mentally ran through the phone conversation. Kirk remembered it exactly. Every detail. A talent necessary in a world where even a notebook scribble could undermine an entire nation’s security.
The sound of her office telephone interrupted her thoughts. Kirk answered it on the second ring.
‘Henry.’
‘Ma’am. I have Assistant Director Jack Meyer of the United States Secret Service on the line.’
‘Meyer?’
‘Ma’am. He says it’s essential he speaks to you now.’
Kirk hesitated. She had expected this. Maybe not so soon, but it had been coming.
‘Put him through,’ she instructed, a feeling of dread growing in her gut.
‘Ma’am.’
There was a single second of delay, as the lines switched.
‘Elizabeth.’ It was Meyer’s voice. Rough and deep. The stereotype of a tough guy.
‘Jack.’ Kirk noticed a slight break in her voice. A sign of weakness she could not allow. She corrected it with a cough. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘We both know this isn’t a social call, Elizabeth.’
‘Do we?’ Kirk lied. A lifetime of professional dishonesty had prepared her for this moment. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I need to see you.’ Meyer ignored Kirk’s response. ‘To put an end to this before it blows up and more people get hurt.’
‘More people?’ Kirk feigned confusion. ‘What people?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Elizabeth. Believe me, this could just be the beginning. Whatever your boy managed to pull this afternoon, he won’t get that chance again. He’s going down. Don’t be dragged down with him.’
‘I genuinely have no idea what you mean.’
‘THIS ISN’T A FUCKING GAME, ELIZABETH!’
Kirk pulled the phone away from her ear as Meyer’s voice screamed out of the handset. The shout was a surprise. She had never liked Jack Meyer, but in all the years she had known him she had at least admired his professionalism.
It’s not like him to lose it, she told herself. Which means this is going badly.
Dempsey is moving too fast for them. It’s left them playing catch up.
Kirk had to make the most of their advantage. She had to buy Dempsey as much time as she could. Which meant dragging out the pretence. She injected some emotion into her voice as she spoke again.
‘Look, Jack, whatever this is—’
‘I’m on my way to New York now,’ Meyer interrupted. ‘Wheels down in an hour, I’ll be in the Brooklyn Field Office by seven p.m. Meet me there then. Don’t be late.’
The line went dead, but Kirk kept the phone in hand – still against her ear – and pressed ‘nine’.
She had arrangements to make, and time had just become of the essence.
‘Ma’am?’
‘Henry. The flight arrangements to Montreal and Kabul. I want you to book another set.’
‘When, ma’am?’
‘Tonight. As soon as possible.’
‘It will take a few hours, ma’am. We were lucky to get the last set up.’
‘Do whatever it takes. But make sure that it’s tonight.’
‘Ma’am.’
‘Now, where are we with locating Dempsey’s team?’
FIFTY-SEVEN
Will Duffy awoke with a start.
The sound of his mobile’s ringtone was muffled, while the buzzing of the handset’s vibrating alert seemed weakened. Neither was enough to wake most people, but then Duffy had always been a light sleeper.
He climbed to his feet, his mind fully awake and entirely clear. He had fallen asleep on the reclining leather chair, in front of a television that was perpetually set to whichever channel was showing the latest boxing news.
He turned in a complete circle as he looked for the source of the ringtone, only to realise that the handset had slipped into the side folds of his chair. It explained the low volume and the suppression of the vibration, both of which increased as he retrieved it.
Duffy looked at the phone’s screen. It told him two things. Bruce Bull was calling. And he was doing so after midnight.
Duffy connected the call, retook his seat and downed the last mouthful of now warm white wine that was sitting in a glass next to his chair.
Only then did he speak.
‘Bruce. It’s a bit late, big man.’
‘I know, I know. But it’s important.’
‘I bloody hope it is. What’s up?’
‘It’s Nizar Mansour. He’s been attacked in prison.’
‘What? Is he OK?’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say OK, no. He’s hurt. Bad enough that he’s in intensive care. But he’ll live.’
‘Shit. Who did it?’
‘Inmates is the party line,’ Bull replied, ‘but I think there’s more to it than that. There was a guard hurt in the incident. Officials are saying he went to Nizar’s aid and got hurt then, but it doesn’t ring true with the rest of it.’
‘You think he was in on it, eh? The guard?’
‘Yeah. It’s got all the hallmarks of an attempted prison hit. I think someone organised this. To shut him up for good.’
‘It’s easy to “think”, Bruce. Not much you can do when you have no evidence, though.’
‘You’re telling me. But still, it’s enough for me to have put a guard on Nizar. I’ve got my best man with him. He won’t leave him for a second.’
‘So he’s safe for now.’
‘For now.’
‘And how long can that last?’
‘I can keep him protected for a few days at least,’ Bull explained. ‘After that? We’ll see. But this has taken a real turn. I knew they’d want him out of the way, but I didn’t think they’d act this fast.’
‘Aye, it’s quick. Especially to get at someone held in the unit. These guys have got some proper resources, Bruce. You still happy we’re going up against them?’
‘I never said I was happy about it.’
‘Aye, well, I am. Even more now. Bring the bastards on, I say.’
‘I really hope you don’t regret those words, Will.’
‘Time will tell, eh?’
‘I guess so.’
‘What about tomorrow?’ Duffy asked, the thought just occurring to him. ‘We’re supposed to be in Woolwich for his first hearing.’
‘Not a chance. He won’t be fit. We haven’t had the prognosis yet, but it’ll be Monday at the very earliest.’
‘My wedding anniversary. That’ll please the wife.’
‘It’s just a morning. She’ll let you off.’
‘You’ve not met my wife,’ Duffy laughed. ‘Anyway, look, I’ll let Michael Devlin know about tomorrow. And I guess I’ll see you on Monday, eh?’
‘There’s one more thing,’ Bull said, keeping Duffy on the line. ‘I was going to tell you tomorrow but since I’ve got you.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s what we discussed earlier. About Nizar’s sister.’
‘Aye. You find something?’
‘I’m afraid I did. We heard back from the Italian police pretty quickly on this. They found a body matching Yara Mansour four days ago. Washed up in the Bay of Naples.’
‘Shit.’ It was the very last thing Duffy wanted to be told. Not least because it would now be for him to inform Nizar Mansour. ‘Are they sure of the ID?’
‘No, not yet. They had no idea who it could be until we contacted them. But from everything you’ve told me, it sounds like it’s her.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘It can’t be a surprise, Will. They were never going to keep that poor girl alive. It’s a miracle Nizar made it himself.’
‘I know. I know. I just wanted some good luck for the poor man. That’s all.’
‘Careful, Will. You’re in danger of becoming a nice guy.’
‘Piss off, Chief Inspector.’ Duffy was too disappointed to laugh. ‘And thanks for telling me. I’ll see you on Monday.’
He did not wait to hear Bull’s reply. Instead he placed the phone down, refilled his wine glass, sat back into his chair and looked at the ceiling as a single thought dominated his mind.
What god has Nizar pissed off to bring all this on himself?
FIFTY-EIGHT
Elizabeth Kirk glanced at her watch as she reached the main door of the Secret Service New York Field Office, situated at 335 Adams Street, Brooklyn.
7.20 p.m. Twenty minutes later than Jack Meyer had demanded.
Enough of a difference to needle. Not enough to ignite fireworks.
She opened the dark glass door, stepped into the building’s marbled reception area and headed straight for the manned front desk. The receptionist – a young black woman who sat behind a name plate that read ‘Susan’ – was the only other person in the room.
‘You must be Director Kirk.’ Susan beat Kirk to the introduction. Her tone was almost robotic. ‘Assistant Director Meyer expected you twenty minutes ago.’
‘Then Assistant Director Meyer doesn’t know much about Manhattan and Brooklyn traffic, does he?’ Kirk was ready for whatever Meyer intended to throw at her. Starting with Susan the receptionist. ‘Is he coming down or am I going up?’
‘My instructions are to bring you to him myself,’ Susan replied. She pressed a button, which audibly locked the building’s glass front doors, rose from her seat and indicated for Kirk to follow. ‘This way, Director Kirk.’
Three minutes and seven floors later, Kirk was escorted into a large, imposing office. A room designed for intimidation, it maximised distance between the entrance at one end and an oversized mahogany desk at the other.
The idea was to make the walk between them – under the eye of the desk’s occupant – an ordeal in itself.
Cod psychology, Kirk thought to herself. Why am I not surprised?
‘Sir, I have Director Kirk of the International Security Bureau for you.’
Susan’s deep, monotone voice filled the room more effectively than Kirk had expected.
‘Elizabeth.’ Jack Meyer stood up as he spoke. ‘Please, come and take a seat.’
He turned his eyes on the receptionist.
‘That’ll be all for today, Susan.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Susan spoke as she backed out, closing the door behind her. It left Kirk and Meyer alone together.
‘I won’t bite, Elizabeth. Come on, take a seat.’
Kirk hesitated for a moment. She didn’t know why. She had arrived full of confidence, but suddenly she felt nervous. Perhaps the intended intimidation had been effective after all. Whatever the cause, she was beginning to doubt how convincing her deception would be.
She would not let that doubt beat her. She strode forward without a word, took the seat and looked Meyer directly in the eye.
‘You look well, Elizabeth.’ It was Meyer who broke the silence. ‘The UN suits you.’
‘Just what the hell is this all about, Jack?’ The role Kirk had chosen to play demanded immediate outrage. ‘I’m not used to being screamed at down a telephone. Or ordered across town without warning.’
Meyer looked annoyed.
‘Straight to the point, Elizabeth. Fine, I’ll do the same. Where the fuck is Joe Dempsey, and what the fuck has he done with Eden Grace?’
The first question was expected. The second was not. Kirk kept her face impassive, giving nothing away, as she considered the meaning of what Meyer had just revealed.
They’ve no idea their own agent’s turned on them.
‘I haven’t got the first clue where Joe Dempsey is,’ Kirk lied, going for a combination of confusion and belligerence. ‘And I’ve never even heard of an Eden Grace. Anyway, why? What’s Dempsey done that’s pissed you off so much?’
‘We’re dealing with a national security threat, here.’
‘From Joe Dempsey? Are you serious? Look, Dempsey is many things, but he’s no security threat. The man’s an attack dog. Dangerous and loyal as hell. No one on our side has anything to fear from that man.’
‘Yeah? What about the four Secret Service agents he killed in Manhattan this afternoon? What about the fifth agent who’s unaccounted for? You wanna tell them that he’s nothing to fear?’
Kirk allowed her jaw to drop.
‘What . . . what the hell are you . . . are you saying the incident in Yorkville today, that . . . that was Dempsey?’
For the first time Kirk saw doubt in Meyer’s eyes. Her performance must have looked as good as it felt. He was buying this.
‘You know exactly who it was,’ Meyer replied, his tone far less certain than his words.
‘I . . . I don’t . . . what happened?’ Kirk allowed her voice to rise as she spoke. ‘What were your agents doing there?’
‘You know what—’
‘NO, JACK!’ It was Kirk’s turn to shout. To catch him off guard. ‘NO, I DAMN WELL DON’T. NOW TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.’
Meyer looked as uncertain as Kirk had ever seen him.
‘Jack,’ she implored, ‘if my agent has killed your men, I need to know exactly what’s happened. I need to act, dammit. Someone’s gone rogue here and we have to figure out who.’
Meyer remained silent, studying her.
Kirk rose to her feet, feigning impatience.
‘You know what? Screw this. If you won’t tell me what the fuck is going on, Knowles sure as hell will.’
She reached across Meyer’s desk, picked up the handset of his landline phone and spun the console to face herself. She had already dialled the DC area code – 202 – before Meyer slammed his huge hand down onto the phone’s switch hook and cleared the line.
Kirk looked directly into Meyer’s face, her own a mask of pretend anger. In return, she saw his rage disappear.
The act had worked.
‘Are you gonna tell me, Jack?’ she asked. ‘What do I need to know?’
When Meyer replied, his voice was calmer.
‘Sit down, Elizabeth.’
Kirk did as instructed, never taking her eyes off of Meyer.
‘Look, I thought you must have known. I thought Dempsey must have been acting on orders.’
Kirk shook her head.
‘What orders? Why the hell would I send him after your men? The president’s men? I haven’t even seen Dempsey in days.’
‘It’s not that,’ he replied. ‘It was . . .’
He trailed off. And Kirk knew why. There was nothing Meyer could say that did not risk putting Kirk on the path he had – until moments ago – thought she was already on.
‘It was what? Come on, Jack. It’s me. What the hell is this?’
‘I . . . I can’t tell you,’ he finally answered. ‘Like I said, it’s a national security threat and you don’t have that kind of clearance any more.’
Kirk suppressed a smile. She had this.
‘Just know, if Dempsey contacts you in any way, directly, indirectly, you need to contact me immediately. He’s a threat, Elizabeth. A massive threat. And there’s only one way we can deal with him.’
Kirk felt her eyes widen. Almost like it was no longer an act.
‘You mean there’s a sanction on him?’
‘He killed four, maybe five US Secret Service agents. What do you think?’
Kirk looked down. Allowing the right amount of time to pass, she put just the right amount of regret into her voice when she looked back up.
‘I understand,’ she said. ‘If he contacts me or if I hear anything, I’ll get in touch.’
‘You have my cell?’
‘Have you changed it lately?’
‘Not in two decades.’
‘Then I have it.’
Meyer paused before replying. As if he was running through his remaining thoughts.
‘OK,’ he finally said. ‘In that case, I guess you should be going. What needs to happen now, you don’t need to be here to see. Not when it’s one of yours.’
Kirk rose to her feet.
‘I appreciate that, Jack. I really do.’
‘Don’t. I’m just disappointed it has to happen at all. I’d rather I had my team back.’
Meyer seemed genuinely sad. If Kirk had been naive, she might have even felt sorry for him.
