He showed his gun and said, “Inside. Inside.”
She didn’t show the fear he wanted, but she complied, backpedaling barefoot into her flat.
He sat her in a chair, the gun still on her. She said, “You’re the one, aren’t you?”
He waved the gun about and said, “Yes, I am. I’m the one you’re looking for, but you and I are connected, in more ways than one.”
He saw her confusion. She asked, “How?”
“You understood the red cord. You know what I’m trying to do.”
She shook her head and said, “I have no idea what you’re trying to do.”
He chuckled, saying, “Initially, I was just going to kill you to throw off the investigation, but I realized you could help me. Even if you didn’t want to.”
He heard a buzzing on the counter and turned toward it. He saw a phone about to vibrate itself off the table. He caught it, looked, and said, “Who is this?”
She said, “I don’t know. I’m a police officer. It could be anyone.”
“Answer it and tell them to get lost.”
She took the phone, saw the number, but showed no reaction. She said, “No, we can’t meet at this hour. I have guests.”
She listened, looking her killer in the eye, and said, “I told you to come at the end of the day. That’s what I said. The end of day. It’s too late now.”
Still looking at Garrett, she said, “I understand. It’s not like there are a lot of them. Only one.”
Chapter 44
I waited for the connection to go through its myriad of security protocols, ensuring the video was encrypted, knowing this wasn’t going to be a good conversation. I glanced behind me, seeing the rest of the team waiting. Well, the team we still had control of, anyway.
It hadn’t been a good day. We’d come up with nothing from our leads, and then some assholes had attempted to eliminate Knuckles and Brett, using the same tactics the Israelis employed against the nuclear scientists in Iran, and now they were in a heavy police interrogation with a cover that was so skinny it was anorexic.
Which told me we were on the right thread—even if we didn’t know what that was. But I knew the folks in DC wouldn’t see it that way.
The screen cleared and I saw an incredibly agitated George Wolffe. Before I could even talk, he said, “Jesus Christ, Pike—you have two Taskforce members under police control in Italy? After telling everyone they’re State Department? This is not what I would call a covert operation.”
I returned his fury, saying, “Are you shitting me? That’s the concern? Somebody tried to kill them with a limpet mine slapped on their vehicle. And that someone is tied into the Knights of Malta. The damn attempt itself tells us we’re on the right thread.”
“Pike, their cover won’t hold. Nobody in the U.S. mission in Italy has any idea about them. This is going to crack open, and we still have the threat out there.”
Having thought about it, I said, “It’ll hold if you get Amanda Croft on the case. She’s the SECSTATE. Get them backstopping and this will all go away.”
He said, “We’re already doing that, but the fact that it was a car bomb is going to draw attention.”
And I’d thought about this, too. I had a solution, even as it sickened me. I said, “Put out a press release saying that Keta’ib Hezbollah is responsible, just like happened with the other diplomat. Get the focus off the targets and on the perpetrators.”
He looked at me like I was nuts, then said, “You want me to do their work for them? Claim it was an Iraqi militia under the sway of Iran who tried to kill diplomats in Rome? Have you lost your mind?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, wondering if I wasn’t, in fact, nuts. I opened them and said, “Yes. Give them the credit. Get the press on that angle instead of who the two were. Right now, everyone’s talking about the bombing like it’s a possible mafia hit in a gang fight. The focus is on Brett and Knuckles. We need to short-circuit that.”
“Pike, if I do that, we might go to war. The pressure is becoming unbearable here. President Hannister can’t take another attack like that without responding.”
I rubbed my head and said, “I get it, sir, I really do, but a Taskforce compromise at this juncture will short-circuit everything we’re trying to do, and they’ll find it with a little bit of digging. Look, you don’t have to say they claimed credit. Just say it’s related and you’re exploring. Get the United States involved. I need my men back. I need the State Department to engage. They can bloviate like they always do, babbling about how they take it seriously or are in discussions with other diplomats, I don’t care, but I need Knuckles and Brett back. I can’t have them sitting under police exposure because some Rome authority thinks it was a Cosa Nostra thing.”
He said, “Well, maybe that’s a better angle. Leave it as a case of mistaken identity from a gang fight. At the end of the day, it could have been anything.”
I said, “Are you kidding me here? You pull that shit and we will go to war. It’s coming, and we can stop it. Get them back. Use the State Department.”
He sighed and said, “Pike, I don’t think you get what’s happening here. The Fifth Fleet is in the Hormuz Strait, and they’re waiting on the word to attack. The 82nd Airborne is on the way to Kuwait, loaded for war. If I convince the National Command Authority to do what you say, I could be pulling the trigger.”
I said, “Sir, just let the NCA know what you’re doing, because of Taskforce activities. I get they’ll be under pressure when the fake story goes out, but if they know it’s fake, then they’ll keep the status quo. Screw all the talking heads on TV. For once.”
I saw Wolffe rub his face like he was trying to scrape away everything I’d said. He sighed and said, “Can you at least tell me you’re on to something? Besides telling me a chivalric order under the command of the Vatican is evil?”
I leaned back and said, “Yes, sir. We’re on to something. The administration might not like it, because it’s really rotten, but we’re on to something, and I don’t think it’s Iran.”
“Do you have any proof of that? Anything at all?”
“You mean besides the fact that someone tried to murder two of my team an hour after visiting the Knights of Malta?”
He said, “That’s just another attack. It’s no more proof than the death of Gabrielle Hernandez.”
I bristled and said, “Sir, this attack was planned because they went inside that building. Because they were asking questions. There was no targeting here based on being a U.S. diplomat. How the hell would they target Taskforce personnel as State Department when we didn’t even know we were going to be State Department when we landed? Come on now.”
I saw him exhale, then heard, “Yeah, yeah, okay. I get it. That’s more than just a coincidence, but it would be nice if you could give me something concrete. Is there anything you need? Anything we can do from here? Because if I pull this trigger, it’s going to go critical mass very, very soon.”
I said, “Give me tonight.” I looked at my watch and said, “I’m meeting someone in thirty minutes who might help us, and I really have to go to be there in time. Just give me that.”