The Icarus Agenda by Robert Ludlum

‘On that level, it’s that simple,’ said Evan, smiling. ‘I may even have mentioned it myself.’

‘Keep mentioning it, kid. Don’t walk away from that platform we talked about—mainly regarding a certain Herbert Dennison we also talked about whom you scared the shit out of. Remember, you got listening credentials like me. Use ’em.’

‘I’ll have to think about it, Manny.’

‘Well, while you’re thinking,’ coughed Weingrass, his right hand on his chest, ‘why don’t you think about why you had to lie to me? You and the doctors, that is.’

‘What?’

‘It’s back, Evan. It’s back and it’s worse because it never went away.’

‘What’s back?’

‘”Big casino”, I think is the gentle phrase. The cancer’s running rampant.’

‘No, it isn’t. We ran you through a dozen tests. They got it—you’re clean.’

‘Tell that to these little suckers who are choking off my air.’

‘I’m no doctor, Manny, but I don’t think that’s a symptom. During the last thirty-six hours you’ve been through a couple of wars. It’s a wonder you can breathe at all.’

‘Yeah, but while they’re patching me up at the hospital you have them run one of those little checks, and don’t lie to me. There are some people in Paris I’ve got to take care of, some things I’ve got locked away they should have. So don’t lie to me, understand?’

‘I won’t lie to you,’ said Kendrick as the aircraft started its descent into Denver.

Crayton Grinell was a slender man of medium height and a perpetually grey face made prominent by sharp features. When greeting someone, for the first time or the fiftieth, whether a waiter or a board chairman, the forty-eight-year-old attorney who specialized in international law greeted that person with a shy smile that conveyed warmth. The warmth and the modesty were accepted readily until one looked into Grinell’s eyes. It was not that they were cold, for they were not, yet neither were they particularly friendly; they were expressionless, neutral, the eyes of a cautiously curious cat. ‘Ardis, my dear Ardis,’ said the lawyer, walking into the foyer and holding the widow, gently patting her shoulder as one might console a faintly disagreeable aunt who had lost a far more agreeable husband. ‘What can I say? What can anyone say? Such a loss for us all, but how much more so for you.’

‘It was sudden, Cray. Too sudden.’

‘Of course it was, but we must all look for something positive in our sorrows, mustn’t we? You and he were spared a prolonged and agonizing illness. Since the end must come, it’s better if it’s quick, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose you’re right. Thank you for reminding me.’

‘Not at all.’ Disengaging himself, Grinell looked over at Sundstrom, who was standing in the large sunken living room. ‘Eric, how good to see you,’ he said solemnly, walking across the foyer and down the marble steps to shake hands with the scientist. ‘Somehow it’s right that we both should be with Ardis at a time like this. Incidentally, my men are outside in the hallway.’

‘Fucking bitch!’ Sundstrom mouthed the words, his breath a whisper as the grieving Mrs. Vanvlanderen closed the door, the sound of the closing and the noise of her heels on the marble covering the mumble uttered by her former lover.

‘Would you care for a drink, Cray?’

‘Oh, no thank you.’

‘I think I will,’ said Ardis, heading for the bar.

‘I think you should,’ agreed the attorney.

‘Is there anything I can do? At the legal end here, or with arrangements, anything at all?’

‘I imagine you’ll be doing it, the legal things, I mean. Andy-boy had lawyers all over the place, but I gathered you were his main man.’

‘Yes, I was, and we’ve all been in touch during the day. New York, Washington, London, Paris, Marseilles, Oslo, Stockholm, Bern, Zurich, West Berlin—I’m handling everything personally, of course.’

The widow stood motionless, a decanter halfway to her glass, staring at Grinell. ‘When I said all over the place, I didn’t think that far all over the place.’

‘His interests were extensive.’

‘Zurich…?’ said Ardis, as if the name of the city had slipped out unintentionally.

‘It’s in Switzerland,’ broke in Sundstrom harshly. ‘And let’s cut the crap.’

‘Eric, really—’

‘Don’t “Eric, really” me, Cray. That bullheaded horse’s ass did it. He contracted the Palestinians and paid them out of Zurich… Remember Zurich, sweetie’? … I told you in Baltimore, Cray. He did it!’

‘I couldn’t get a confirmation on the assaults in Fairfax or Colorado,’ said Grinell calmly.

‘Because they never happened!’ yelled the widow, her right hand trembling as she poured a drink from the heavy crystal decanter.

‘I didn’t say that, Ardis,’ objected the lawyer softly. ‘I merely said I couldn’t get a confirmation. However, I did get a later call, no doubt placed by a well-paid drunk who was handed a phone after the number was dialled, thus eliminating the identity of the source. The words he obviously repeated are all too familiar. “They’re following the money,” he said.’

‘Oh, Jesus!’ exclaimed Mrs. Vanvlanderen.

‘So now we have two crises,’ continued Grinell, walking to a white marble telephone on a red-lined marble table against the wall. ‘Our weak, ubiquitous Secretary of State is on his way to Cyprus to sign an agreement that could cripple the defence industry, and one of our own is linked to Palestinian terrorists… In a way, I wish to heaven I knew how Andrew did it. We may be far clumsier.’ He dialled as the widow and the scientist watched. ‘The switch from Design Six to Design Twelve, Mediterranean, is confirmed,’ said the attorney into the phone. ‘And prepare the medical unit, if you will, please.’

* * *

Chapter 35

Varak raced around the corner to the service entrance and took the freight elevator up to his floor. He then walked rapidly to his rooms, unlocked the door and rushed to the sophisticated vertical recording equipment against the wall, somewhat startled to see that so much tape had been used. He ascribed it to various telephone calls received by Ardis Vanvlanderen. He flipped the switch that allowed dual transmission, tape and direct audio, put on the earphones and sat down to listen.

She left about an hour and a half ago.

She? Who?

A woman named Rashad, a counter terrorist expert. She’s with a cross-over unit…

The Czech glanced at the spool of exposed tape. There were at least twenty-five minutes of recorded conversation on it! What was the former operations officer from Egypt doing in San Diego? It made no sense to Milos. She had resigned from the Agency; he had confirmed it. The quiet but official word out of Cairo and Washington was that she had been ‘open to compromise’. He had assumed it was the Oman operation and entirely accepted her vanishing. She had to fade—but she had not! He listened further to the conversation taking place in the Vanvlanderen suite. Sundstrom was speaking.

He did it, didn’t he, Ardis? That financial megalomaniac couldn’t stand the possibility that a small group of benevolent misfits might replace his man with another who could cut off his pipeline to millions and probably would.

Then Ardis Vanvlanderen.

Eight hundred million, that’s what he said. Eight hundred million for him alone, billions for all the rest of you… I didn’t know a thing!

Varak was stunned. He had made two enormous errors! The first concerned the covert activities of Adrienne Khalehla Rashad, and difficult as it was for him to accept this error, he could do so, for she was an experienced intelligence officer. The second he could not accept! The false scenario he had presented to Inver Brass had been true! It had never occurred to him that Andrew Vanvlanderen would act independently of his wife. How could he? Theirs was a La Rochefoucauld marriage, one of convenience, of mutual benefit, certainly not of affection, to say nothing of love. Andy-boy had broken the rules. A bull in financial heat had crashed open the gates of his corral and raced into the slaughterhouse. Varak listened.

Another voice, another name. A man named Crayton Grinell. The tape rolled as the Czech concentrated on the words being spoken. Finally:

So now we have two crises. Our weak, ubiquitous Secretary of State is on his way to Cyprus to sign an agreement that could cripple the defence industry… The switch from Design Six to Design Twelve, Mediterranean, is confirmed.

Varak tore off the earphones. Whatever remained to be heard in the Vanvlanderen suite would be recorded. He had to move quickly. He got out of the chair and rushed across the room to the telephone. He picked it up and pressed the numbers for Cynwid Hollow, Maryland.

‘Yes?’

‘Sir, it’s Varak.’

‘What is it, Milos? What have you learned?’

‘It’s Sundstrom—’

‘What?’

‘That can wait, Dr Winters, something else cannot. The Secretary of State is flying to Cyprus. Can you find out when?’