‘Offhand, I’d say it’s his profile to a capital P, but again it’s only instinct.’
‘So isn’t it possible that your attractive young man—’
‘Oh, come on, MJ,’ interrupted Rashad. ‘That’s so antediluvian.’
‘I substitute it for a term I refuse to use with my niece.’
‘I accept your version of courtesy.’
‘Propriety, my dear. But isn’t it possible that your friend woke up and said to himself, “I’ve made a terrible mistake making a hero out of myself and now I’ve got to undo it”?’
‘It would be if he was a liar, which I don’t think he is.’
‘But you do see the inconsistency of his behaviour, don’t you? He’s acted one way and then claims to be the opposite.’
‘You’re saying that he’s protesting too much, and I’m saying that he isn’t because he’s not lying, either to himself or to me.’
‘I’m exploring every avenue before we look for a bastard, who—if you’re right—was contacted by another bastard, a blond-haired one… Did Kendrick tell you why he publicly took on the Pentagon as well as the entire defence industry, to say nothing of his less public but well-circulated criticisms of our own intelligence services?’
‘Because he was in a position to say those things and he thought they should be said.’
‘Just like that? That’s his explanation?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he had to seek the positions that gave him the opportunity to speak in the first place. Good Lord, the Partridge Committee, then the Select Subcommittee for Intelligence; they’re politically coveted chairs, to say the very least. For every one of those seats there are four hundred congressmen who’d sell their wives for the assignment. They don’t just fall into a member’s lap, they have to be worked for, fought for. How does he explain that?’
‘He can’t. They just fell into his lap. And rather than fighting for them, he fought to stay off them.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ exclaimed MJ Payton, astonished.
‘He said that if I didn’t believe him I should talk to his chief aide, who had to strong-arm him into taking the Partridge assignment, and then see the Speaker of the House himself, and ask that conniving old Irish bastard what Evan told him to do with his subcommittee. He didn’t want either job but it was explained to him that if he didn’t take them, he wouldn’t have a damn thing to say about his successor in Colorado’s ninth. That’s important to him; it’s why he ran for office. He got rid of one party sleaze-ball and didn’t want another taking his place.’
Payton slowly leaned back in his chair, bringing his hand to his chin, his eyes narrowed. Over the years Adrienne Rashad had learned when to be silent and not interrupt her mentor’s thinking. She did both now, prepared for any of several responses but not the one she heard. ‘This is a different ball game, my dear. If I remember correctly, you told Kendrick that you thought he was being exhumed by someone who believed he deserved acclaim for what he did. It goes far deeper than that, I’m afraid. Our congressman is being programmed.’
‘Good Lord, for what?’
‘I don’t know, but I think we’d better try to find out. Very quietly, very cautiously. We’re dealing with something rather extraordinary.’
Varak saw the large dark blue car. It was parked off the winding, tree-lined road cut out of a forest several hundred yards west of Kendrick’s house and it was empty. He had passed the congressman’s impressive hedge-bound grounds, still under minor siege by a few obstinate, hopeful reporters with a camera crew, and intended to head north to a motel on the outskirts of Cortez. The sight of the blue vehicle, however, changed his mind. The Czech continued around the next bend and drove his car into a cluster of wild brush that fronted the trees. On the seat beside him was his attach้ case; he opened it and took out the items he thought he might need, several imperative, several hopeful. He put them in his pockets, got out of the car, closed the door quietly and walked around the curve and back to the blue sedan. He approached the far door nearest the woods and studied the vehicle for traps—trips that would set off an alarm if someone tampered with the lock, or with pressure on the doors, even light beams that extended from the front to the rear spoked wheels activated by solid objects breaking the beams.
He found two out of three with one so serious that it told him something: there were secrets in that automobile far more valuable than clothes or jewelry or even confidential business papers. A row of tiny holes had been drilled and painted over along the lower frames of the windows; they were jets that released a nonlethal vapour that would immobilize an intruder for a considerable length of time. They had been conceived and perfected initially for diplomats in troubled countries where it was nearly as important to question assailants as to save lives. They could be set off by chauffeurs during an assault or by alarms when the car was unoccupied. They were now being marketed among the rich throughout the world, and it was said that the suppliers of the mechanisms could not keep up with the demand.
Varak looked around and quickly walked to the rear of the blue car, reached into his pocket and dropped to the ground in the vicinity of the exhaust. He crawled under the car and instantly went to work; less than ninety seconds later he emerged, stood up, and ran into the woods. The hunt had begun and the waiting began.
Forty-one minutes later he saw the tall slender figure walking down the road. The man was in a dark suit, his coat open, a waistcoat showing; his hair was neatly combed and more red than brown. Someone in charge, thought Milos, should be given a lesson in basic cosmetic tactics. One never permitted an employee to go out in the field with red hair; its as simply foolish. The man proceeded to unlock first the right front door, then rounded the bonnet and unlocked the driver’s side. However, before opening it, he crouched out of sight where there was apparently a third release, stood up and climbed inside. He started the car.
The powerful engine coughed repeatedly, then suddenly there was a loud rattling from beneath the chassis and an expulsion of fumes followed by the sound of crashing metal. The silencer and exhaust pipe had blown apart, accompanied by an explosion of vapour on all sides of the car. Varak lowered himself, a handkerchief over his face, and waited for the clouds to disappear, clinging to the trees as they rose to the sky. Slowly, he stood up.
The driver, a surgical mask on his face and a gun in his hand, also watched the rising clouds as he spun repeatedly around in the seat checking every direction for an assault. None came, and his confusion was obvious. He picked up the car telephone, then hesitated and Milos understood. If the problem was a simple mechanical failure and he contacted his controls, say 30 or 300 or 3,000 miles away, he would be severely criticized. He replaced the phone and put the car into gear; the sound was so thunderous he stopped instantly. One did not call attention to such a vehicle anywhere, any time; one chose another alternative, like calling a garage and being towed in for a simple exterior repair. And yet…? So another period of waiting began. It lasted nearly twenty minutes; despite his red hair, the man was a professional. Apparently convinced that no attack was forthcoming, he cautiously got out of the car and walked to the rear. Gun in one hand, a torch in the other, he continued to look around in all directions as Varak crept silently forward in the undergrowth. The red-headed surveillance suddenly crouched, throwing the beam of light into the undercarriage. Milos knew he had only seconds to reach the edge of the road before the man discovered the heat-expanding plastic inserted in the exhaust or noticed the markings on the silencer made by the small, diamond-edged knife-saw. The moment came as Varak briefly parted the foliage eight feet from the crouching, peering man.
‘Christ!’ exploded the slender, well-dressed redhead, leaping back, spinning first to his right then to his left, his automatic levelled, his back now to Milos. The Czech raised a third item he had taken from his attach้ case; it was a CO2-propelled dart gun. Once again he parted the leaves in front of him and quickly fired. The narcotic dart hit its mark, embedding itself in the back of the man’s neck. The red-haired surveillance whipped violently around, dropping the torch as he desperately tried to reach behind him and rip out the offending needle. The more frenzied his movements the more rapidly the blood rushed to his head, rushing also the circulation of the serum. It took eight seconds; the man fell to the ground, struggling against the inevitable effects, finally lying immobile on the country road. Varak walked out of the woods and swiftly pulled the redhead back into them, returning for the man’s gun and his light. He proceeded to search the man for undoubtedly false identification cards.