The Icarus Agenda by Robert Ludlum

Varak signalled a waiter and ordered two glasses of chilled Chablis, leaving the choice to the waiter’s discretion. ‘Among my many deficiencies,’ said the Czech, ‘is a lack of knowledge of wines beyond those of my country.’

‘I don’t believe that for an instant. You’re probably a certified sommelier.’

‘Hardly. I hear friends order specific vineyards and vintages and I marvel at them.’

‘Do you really have friends? I think of you as rather an eminence grise.’

‘Je comprends, but you’re wrong. I live quite a normal life. My friends think I’m a translator, freelance, naturally, at home.’

‘Bien,’ said the agent from Cairo. ‘That’s how I began.’

‘There’s no office to contact, only an answering machine, which I can reach from wherever I am.’

‘Me, too.’

The wine arrived and, after sipping, Khalehla spoke. ‘He can’t go back,’ she said, as if speaking to herself, then partially including Varak. ‘At least not for a few years, if then. Once the blackout’s lifted there’ll be a lot of hot blood running in the Baaka Valley.’

‘I assume you’re talking about the congressman?’

‘Yes. The terrorists were caught, in a manner of speaking… There was a third and final attack several hours ago. It took place in Mesa Verde and was every bit as devastating as Fairfax.’

‘Several hours …? Was Kendrick there?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘He’s alive, I’m told by seconds. But like Virginia, many of our personnel were killed.’

‘I’m sorry… Weingrass was severely hurt, I gather. That’s whom you were referring to when you mentioned an old man, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. They’re flying him to a hospital in Denver. Evan’s with him.’

‘The terrorists, please,’ said Varak, his eyes boring into hers.

‘All together there were nine of them. Eight are dead; one survived, the youngest.’

‘And when the blackout’s lifted, as you say, there will be hot blood in the Baaka. It’s why Kendrick can’t go back to that part of the world.’

‘He wouldn’t live forty-eight hours. There’s no way to protect him from the crazies.’

‘There is here and none better than the government’s Secret Service. In these matters nothing is perfect, there is only the best.’

‘I know.’ Khalehla drank from her glass of wine.

‘You understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Miss Rashad?’

‘I think so.’

‘Let events run their natural course. There’s a legitimate political action committee dedicated to supporting Congressman Kendrick for higher office. Let them work unencumbered and let the country respond—one way or the other. And if we’re both right about the Vanvlanderens and the Grinells and the people they represent, let Evan Kendrick make up his own mind. Because even if we expose them and stop them, there are hundreds more who will take their places… A force is needed, a voice is needed.’

Khalehla raised her eyes from the wine. She nodded twice.

* * *

Chapter 36

Kendrick walked along Denver’s Seventeenth Street towards the Brown Palace Hotel barely aware of the light snow that was floating down from the night sky. He had told the cabdriver to let him off several blocks away; he wanted to walk; he had to clear his mind.

The doctors at the Denver General had patched Manny up, relieving Evan by explaining that the wounds, although messy, consisted mainly of embedded fragments of glass and metal. The loss of blood was considerable for a man of his age but not critical; it would be replaced. The bewilderment started when Kendrick took one of the doctors aside and told him about Weingrass’s concern that the cancer had returned. Within twenty minutes all of Manny’s tests had been electronically transmitted from Washington, and the chief oncologist had spoken to the DC surgeon who had operated on the old architect. Then about two hours into his four-hour stay at the hospital, a technician had arrived from some laboratory or other and conferred quietly with another doctor. There had been a mild flurry of activity and Evan was asked to leave the room while various samples were taken from Manny’s body. An hour after that the chief of pathology, a thin man with inquisitive eyes, approached Kendrick in the waiting room.

‘Congressman, has Mr. Weingrass been out of the country recently?’

‘Not within the past year, no.’

‘Where was that?’

‘France… Southwest Asia.’

The doctor’s eyebrows had arched. ‘My geography’s not very good. Where is Southwest Asia?’

‘Is this necessary?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Oman and Bahrain.’

‘He was with you?… Excuse me, but your exploits are common knowledge.’

‘He was with me,’ answered Evan. ‘He’s one of the people I couldn’t thank publicly because it wouldn’t be in his interest.’

‘I understand. We have no press office here.’

‘Thank you. Why do you ask?’

‘Unless I’m mistaken, and I could be, he’s infected with a—let’s say a virus—that to the best of my knowledge is indigenous to central Africa.’

“That couldn’t be.’

‘Then perhaps I’m wrong. Our equipment is among the finest in the West, but there’s better. I’m having lung tissue and blood samples sent to the CDC in Atlanta.’

The what?’

‘Centers for Disease Control.’

‘Disease?’

‘It’s just a precaution, Mr. Kendrick.’

‘Have them flown there tonight, Doctor. There’ll be a jet waiting at Stapleton Airport within the hour. Tell Atlanta to go to work the minute your findings arrive—I’ll pay whatever the cost even if they have to stay there around the clock.’

‘I’ll do what I can—’

‘If it would help,’ said Evan, not sure whether he was bluffing or not, ‘I’ll have the White House call them.’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said the pathologist.

As he left the hospital, having said good night to a heavily sedated Manny, he remembered the vanished Dr Lyons of Mesa Verde, the physician without an address or a telephone but with full government clearance to be presented to a congressman and/or his staff. What clearance? Why was clearance necessary?… Or was it simply a very impressive document, a device for slipping into the private world of one Evan Kendrick? He decided to say nothing to anyone. Khalehla would know better what to do.

He approached the Brown Palace and was suddenly aware through the falling snow of the coloured lights on the Christmas decorations extending across the wide avenue from the old classic structure to the new south Tower. Then he heard the strains of a carol filling the street. Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la… la-la-la-la. Merry Christmas from the legacy of Masqat, he thought.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ shouted MJ Payton, causing Khalehla to hold the telephone away from her ear.

‘Having dinner.’

‘He’s there! Our blond European is in the hotel!’

‘I know. I had dinner with him.’

‘You what?’

‘As a matter of fact, he’s here in my room now. We’re going over what we know. He’s not what we thought.’

‘Damn you, Adrienne! Tell that son of a bitch Mr. B would like to talk to Mr. A!’

‘Good God, you were the one?’

‘Cap it, Rashad! Put him on the line.’

I’m not sure he’ll agree.’ The agent from Cairo again had to pull the phone away. She turned to Varak. ‘A Mr. B would like to talk to Mr. A.’

‘I should have known,’ said the Czech, getting out of the chair. He walked to the bedside telephone as Khalehla relinquished it and moved away. ‘Greetings again, Mr. B. Nothing has changed, you understand. No names, no identities.’

‘What does my niece call you? Mind you, she’s my niece.’

‘She calls me by the erroneous name of Milos.’

‘Meelos? Slavic?’

‘American, sir.’

‘I forgot, you made that clear.’

The Secretary of State, please?’

‘He’s arrived in Cyprus.’

I’m relieved.’

‘We all are, if, indeed, there was cause for alarm to begin with.’

‘The information was accurate.’

‘Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to confirm it at our end. Grinell wasn’t at the hotel and he hasn’t shown up at his residence.’

‘He’s with the Vanvlanderen woman.’

‘Yes, we know. According to a desk clerk, there were several others with them both. Any ideas?’

‘Grinell’s guards, according to the information I received. I mentioned to you that there were men with him, that you should be prepared.’

‘Yes, you did… Do we work together?’

‘From a distance.’

‘What have you got to offer?’

‘Proof of certain things I’ve told Miss Rashad,’ replied Varak, thinking of the edited tapes and transcripts he would give to the intelligence officer—edited so that Eric Sundstrom would remain an anonymous conspirator; a dead man did not need an identity. ‘Perhaps nothing more, but it’s the core of what you need.’

‘It will be gratefully accepted.’

‘However, there’s a price, Mr. B.’

‘I don’t make payments—’

‘Of course you do,’ broke in the Czech. ‘You do so all the time.’

‘What is it?’

‘As long as my demands require a complicated explanation, I’ll let Miss Rashad tell you in her own words. I’ll reach her tomorrow and we’ll communicate through her. If your answer is positive I will arrange for the delivery of my material to you.’