Andrew Kaplan - Scorpion Betrayal

“I was in London coordinating with MI6, the AISE,” Harris said, gesturing to Moretti, “and some of the other services, when I heard what happened. I want you to know, the DNI is very pleased. He’s approved your bonus. He’s convinced keeping you under deep cover on the Palestinian op was his idea and is citing this success as a result of cooperation between the DIA, NSA, and CIA that he implemented.”

“In Italy, it is the same. The big fish takes the credit,” Moretti said.

“As it should be,” the prime minister said. “But we in this room know the truth. This man,” pointing at Scorpion, “saved many lives-and the honor of the Italian nation. I am curious. How did you know that the Palestino was coming in a truck disguised as a camion di Carabinieri?”

“You had to look at it from Hassani’s point of view,” Scorpion said. “His problem was how to get past the barriers of the polizia in order to attack the conference. When I recognized him on the TV with la donna inglese, I couldn’t figure out why he would risk his entire operation just to attend a street demonstration. And then it hit me. He needed a symbol, like a female victim of the polizia, to ensure that there would be violent demonstrations the day of the conference, so the polizia at the barricades wouldn’t question the necessity of a Carabinieri truck coming through with reinforcements.”

“Why didn’t you give us the photograph and let the AISE and the Carabinieri try to find him?” the aide asked.

“It would have alerted him. He could have detonated the bomb remotely anytime. We had to get him and the bomb together,” Scorpion said.

“Generale Lombardi of the Carabinieri and I came to the same conclusion,” Moretti put in. “The only place where both the Palestino and the bomb would be at the same time was at the Congresso.”

“A dangerous strategy,” the prime minister said, looking at Moretti.

“Ours is a dangerous business, Prime Minister,” Harris said. “Happily, there’s more good news. Thanks to the lead on the English girl-Welsh, actually-and you won’t be surprised to learn that the photograph of her covered with blood and beaten by the Italian police was a fake.”

“Of course. This I knew all the time,” the prime minister snapped.

“We were able to round up most of the Islamic Resistance network. The young woman was a pawn. She didn’t know she was being used by the Palestinian.”

“She lied about the beatings. We must investigate. Arturo, make a note,” the prime minister said to his aide.

“Of course, Prime Minister,” Harris said. “You’ll have to work that out with the British, although you may want to wait till after Scotland Yard is done. She is cooperating with them. She gave them the lead that her girlfriend-English, named Liz-was Hassani’s girlfriend, and that before they came to Rome, Liz and Hassani had been staying with jihadis in Turin. After that, it was just a matter of tracking down all the foreigners and Muslim jihadi types who had been in Turin at that time, with I must say a great deal of help from the AISE and the Carabinieri.” He gestured to include the prime minister and Moretti. “Also, the NSA, tracking down all the cell phone messages with the phrase ‘al Jabbar.’

“We now know that in Europe, in addition to Rome, there were four additional attacks planned: London, Brussels, Paris, and Madrid. Thanks to the leads from Turin, we were able to stop three of the four. The only one who slipped through the net and wasn’t picked up in time was a young Tunisian student in Madrid, who managed to detonate his suicide vest at a bus stop-prematurely, we think-killing two and injuring a young girl.”

“What about America?” the prime minister asked.

“There were three attacks planned,” Harris replied. “We stopped two, the big one, the bioweapon attack in New York and one in Chicago; a Pakistani college student who was planning to blow up a train. There were three deaths: the Bangladeshi woman and a Pakistani helicopter pilot in New York, and an incident in Los Angeles. So far we’ve been able to angle the media so the public has been reassured that they were all under surveillance and that the major threat was stopped. Nothing about the bio threat has been given to the press.”

“So many attacks. This time we were lucky,” the prime minister said.

“We were good,” Harris said.

“Thanks to lo Scorpione. Tell him,” the prime minister gestured at Moretti, “what we found in the camion di Carabinieri.”

“One hundred and sixty-five kilos of RDX, plus more than twelve hundred kilos of fertilizer and diesel fuel and three kilos of Cesium-137,” Moretti said.

“A dirty bomb. It would have been a total disaster,” the prime minister said, shaking his head.

“What are you talking about? What about the uranium?” Scorpion asked.

“What uranium?” the prime minister said, looking at Scorpion and Harris.

“The twenty-one kilos of highly enriched U-235 missing from Russia. That uranium!”

“There was nothing in the camion,” Moretti said. “Only the cesium. That would have been bad enough. Cesium-137 has a half-life of thirty years and it bonds with everything-walls, paint, metal, dirt, trees, air. Much of Rome might have been made uninhabitable.”

“The uranium was a false alarm,” Harris said. “It may have been disinformation from the Russians.”

“This is bullshit!” Scorpion said, standing up. He stubbed the cigar out in an ashtray on the prime minister’s desk, a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Where’s Dave Rabinowich? Get him on the line now.”

“Take it easy,” Harris said, glancing over at the prime minister. “Remember where you are.”

“Get Rabinowich now,” Scorpion said through clenched teeth. Two Italian agents stepped into the room, their hands inside their suit jackets, but the prime minister waved them off, indicating that they should leave.

“Dave’s been reassigned,” Harris said, standing up. “He’s not on this operation anymore. Neither are you. This case is closed. Prime Minister, I’m afraid we’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Where’s Dave?” Scorpion said, not moving.

“He’s on vacation. Hawaii, I think. He said he’d be incommunicado. No e-mails, no cell phones. His fat ass is probably in a beach chair right now, ogling girls in bikinis,” Harris said, walking to the door.

The prime minister stood up and extended his hand for Scorpion to shake. “Arrivederci, Scorpione. We owe you much.”

“Prego, but this is merda,” Scorpion said again, shaking the prime minister’s hand but looking at Moretti.

“You should clean your face. It still has dried blood on it, il mio amico,” Moretti said, his eyes sympathetic. “There is a restroom down the hall.”

Harris was waiting for Scorpion in the hallway outside the office.

“What the hell did you think you were doing in there? You don’t work for the Italians, you work for us. Although maybe not anymore,” he said.

“What was I doing?” Scorpion snapped. “How about twenty-one kilos of bullshit from Ozersk that supposedly doesn’t exist? Or an Iranian ship from Bushehr that disappeared into thin air? Did I imagine that too or did I hear it from you, you son of a bitch? And now all of a sudden Rabinowich has disappeared too? This isn’t an intelligence operation, it’s the Bermuda Triangle.”

“Keep your voice down,” Harris said. “You know the rules. You tell the runner just what he needs to know. That’s all.”

“Yeah, but what you tell him is supposed to be good,” Scorpion said. “So what operation was I on, Bob, old buddy?”

“Your job was to terminate the Palestinian. You did it. He’s dead. You saved Rome-and a lot of other people too. You’ve been paid in full plus the bonus. Case closed,” Harris said, adjusting his suit jacket cuffs as he headed for the elevator. The door opened and Harris stepped in. Scorpion watched him from the hallway. “You coming?” Harris said.