Tom Clancy - Command Authority

“Maybe they are setting it up for some future operation,” Ryan suggested.

Sir Basil Charleston said, “I quite hope that is not the case.”

“Why do you say that?”

Basil leaned toward Ryan. “Because the account we are talking about has a balance in excess of two hundred million dollars. With regular high-dollar deposits coming in monthly.”

Jack’s eyes went wide. “Two hundred million ?”

Penright said, “Yes. Two hundred four million, as a matter of fact. And if the money keeps coming in at the same pace, in another year there will be twice that.”

“All in one account? That’s unbelievable.”

“Quite,” said Charleston.

Ryan said, “Obviously, this isn’t being set up for an intelligence operation in the West. That’s way too much money. I… are you sure it’s KGB money?”

“We are not sure, but we believe so.”

That didn’t tell Jack much, but he assumed the Brits were holding back to protect their source. He thought for a moment. “I understand if you aren’t going to give me information about your source for this intelligence, but I can’t think of any possibility other than the fact you have someone in the inside of that bank.”

Basil looked at Penright and nodded again. He clearly was giving the younger intelligence officer the okay to share information with the CIA analyst.

Penright said, “We have a source at the bank. Let’s just leave it there.”

“And the source has reason to suspect the two hundred mil is KGB money?”

“Something like that.”

“And now Gabler, the account manager, is dead.”

“I’m afraid so,” said David Penright.

“You think the KGB found out their moneyman was compromised somehow, so they killed him?”

Basil said, “That is one operating theory, but there is a major hole in it.”

Jack said, “Nothing about the assassination of Gabler looks like a KGB hit.”

Penright said, “Quite right. We are confused by that bit. The witnesses say he was crossing a two-lane street, on foot, at six p.m., when an assault rifle appeared out a window of a supposedly unoccupied hotel room. An entire thirty-round magazine was fired at him at a range of less than fifty feet. He was hit three times out of thirty, which isn’t terribly impressive accuracy.”

Penright added, “Sir Basil’s house cat could do that.”

Basil raised his eyebrows but did not respond to the quip. Instead, he said, “Four other passersby were wounded.”

“And no one saw the shooter?”

Penright replied, “No. A van came screeching out of an underground garage, nearly ran down a group of onlookers, but no one got a glance at the driver.”

Jack said, “It’s not exactly a poison umbrella in the back of the leg.” He was referring to the 1978 assassination of Bulgarian dissident Georgi Markov, who was assassinated just a few hundred yards from where Ryan, Penright, and Charleston now sat.

“No,” Sir Basil admitted. “Nevertheless, we are very concerned that Herr Gabler was not a victim of a random act of violence. Could he have been assassinated by another intelligence agency that became aware of his association with the Russians? Could he have been killed by other clients of his, for some perceived violation of their trust? We would like to know if your agency has any knowledge of either the nefarious affairs of the bank or of any names on this list.”

Penright handed over several sheets of paper folded in half. Ryan opened them and saw literally hundreds of names.

“Who are they?”

“RPB’s employees and clients. As you may know, some numbered accounts are set up by shell corporations, so, despite the rules, even the bank itself doesn’t know who actually owns the funds. It’s another layer of secrecy.”

Ryan understood. “You want us to check our files to see if we have anything on any of the names, in the hopes you can find someone else who had a reason to kill Gabler.”

Penright added, “That, and also we’d like you to try and weed through the corporate accounts. U.S. banking is not as private as it is in Switzerland. You might find some similar data sets that can link actual names to these shell companies.”

Ryan said, “You need to be certain your source in the bank has not been compromised.”

“That’s it exactly,” Charleston agreed.

“Okay. I’ll get to work on this immediately. I don’t want to cable this list to Langley, it’s too sensitive. I’ll go over to the embassy right now and send it over in the diplomatic bag. It will take a few days to get answers back to you.”

Penright said, “The sooner the better. I’m trying to get in touch with our inside man in Zug. It’s a good bet he is going to be shaken up by all this. If we don’t hear from him by tomorrow, I’m going to have to start making preparations to go over there to make contact. I’d like to be able to tell him he has nothing to worry about.”

Jack started to get up, but he stopped himself. “Sir Basil. You know as well as I do that Langley will ask to be dealt in to this hand. This autonomous asset of yours… are you offering to make him bilateral?”

Basil had been expecting the question. “We will share the intelligence we get from this source with our friends in Washington. And we will readily take any advice you might have for us on the operation. But I am afraid, at this juncture, we are not prepared to go bilateral with this relationship.”

“I’ll let Greer and Moore know,” Jack said, and he stood up. “They might want more involvement, but I am certain they will understand that the main focus right now should be on finding out if your agent is in any danger—for his sake, of course, but also for yours. I can’t imagine what two hundred million dollars’ worth of KGB money is doing sitting in a Western bank, but we need that inside man right where he is so we can keep an eye on it.”

Charleston stood and shook Ryan’s hand, as did David Penright.

Sir Basil said, “I had no doubt at all that you would see the urgency of this matter.”

Jack Ryan, Jr., arrived at the Belgravia town house of Sir Basil Charleston during a midafternoon squall. He’d called first, of course, even though he’d been warned by his dad that the octogenarian might not be able to communicate by phone. Ryan was surprised when a younger-sounding man answered the phone. He introduced himself as Phillip, Charleston’s personal assistant, which Ryan assumed meant bodyguard.

Two hours later, Ryan was invited inside Charleston’s home by a housekeeper who was herself up in years, and he met Phillip in the hall. Although the man was well into his fifties, Jack could tell right away he was carrying a weapon and he knew how to use it.

Phillip went to the kitchen to help the housekeeper with the tea, and while Jack waited for Sir Basil in the library, he wandered around the room, taking the opportunity to look through shelves of books, photos, and memorabilia.

He saw pictures of children and grandchildren and several prominently displayed photos of an infant who, Jack assumed, must have been a great-grandchild.

Displayed on the shelves was a British Army helmet from World War One and a set of leather leggings, and a Second World War helmet as well. A German Nazi Luger in pristine condition hung under glass, and various medals, commendations, and letters from the British government adorned the shelves and walls. Ryan marveled at a photo of Sir Basil with Margaret Thatcher, and another picture of Basil with Jack’s father. Ryan recognized the era; it was during his dad’s first term, when he’d visited the UK.

Prominently displayed on the shelf next to this picture was his father’s first book, Options and Decisions . He opened the front cover and saw that his dad had signed it.