Was it any wonder Thornhill hated his federal counterparts? Like a
cancer, the bastards were everywhere. And to drive the nail a little
farther into the CIA’s coffin, a former FBI agent now headed up the
Center for CIA Security, which conducted internal background checks on
all current and prospective personnel. And all CIA employees had to
file annual financial disclosure forms that were damn well exhaustive
in their content requirements.
Before he suffered a stroke thinking any more on this sore subject,
Thornhill forced himself to turn his attention to other matters. If
Buchanan had hired this PI person to follow Lockhart, then he very well
could have been the man at the cottage last night and the person who
had shot Serov. There had been permanent nerve damage to the man’s arm
from the gunshot wound, and Thornhill had ordered the Russian to be
finished off. A hired killer who could no longer hold a weapon steady
enough to kill would look for other ways to make money and could pose a
small threat. It was Serov’s own fault, and if there was one thing
Thornhill demanded from his people, it was accountability.
So this Lee Adams was now in the mix of things, he mused. Thornhill
had already ordered a complete background search on the man. In these
days of computerized files, he would have a full dossier in half an
hour, if not sooner. Thornhill did have Adams’s file on Faith
Lockhart; his men had taken that from the apartment. The notes showed
that the man was thorough, logical in his approach to investigation.
That was both good and bad for Thornhill’s purposes. Adams had also
given Thornhill’s men the slip. That was not an easy thing to do. On
the good side, if Adams was logical, he should be amenable to a
reasonable offer, meaning one that would allow him to live.
Presumably Adams had also escaped from the cottage with Faith Lockhart.
He had not reported in to Buchanan about this, which was why Buchanan
had left that phone message. Buchanan was obviously unaware of what
had happened last night. Thornhill would do all he could to make sure
this state of affairs continued.
How would they run? A train? Thornhill doubted it. Trains were slow.
And you couldn’t take a train overseas. Now, a train to an airport was
a more intriguing possibility. Or a cab. That seemed certainly more
likely.
Thornhill eased back into his chair as an assistant entered with some
files he had requested. While everything at the CIA was computerized
these days, Thornhill still liked the feel of paper in his hand. He
could think much more clearly with paper than when he was simply
staring at the pixe led screen.
So all the usual bases were covered. What about the unusual? With the
added element of a professional investigator, Adams and Lockhart might
be fleeing under false identities, even disguises. He had men at all
three airports and the train stations. That would only go so far. The
pair could easily rent a car and drive to New York and take a plane
there. Or they could go south and do the same thing. It certainly was
problematic.
Thornhill hated these sorts of chases. There were too many places to
cover and he had limited manpower for these “extracurricular”
activities of his. At least he had the advantage of operating more or
less autonomously. No one from the director of central intelligence on
down really questioned him as to what he was up to. Or if they did, he
was able to dance around any issue they threw at him. He got results
that made them all look good, and that was his biggest weapon.
It was much better to coax the runners out, bring them to you, which
was certainly possible with the right sort of bait. Thornhill just had
to come up with that bait. That would take some more thinking.
Lockhart had no family, no elderly parents or young children. He
didn’t know enough about Adams yet, but he would. If the man had just
hooked up with the woman, he couldn’t possibly be willing to sacrifice