Andrew Britton - The American

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That they would abandon us now is unspeakably treacherous to me.

I miss you and William very much. I’ll see you both soon.

Love always,

Francis

Ryan finished the letter and handed it over to Naomi. Selecting another from the box, he read through it quickly. The content was much the same.

“My God,” Naomi murmured after a moment. The ambassador cleared his throat gently, causing both his guests to look up.

“Needless to say, the American support never arrived. It was an Agency operation from the start, black on black. Washington was never involved. Of course, once Congress found out about it, they quickly put an end to things. Officially, the Senate voted to stop all U.S. aid to anti-MPLA forces on the 18th of December 1975. In truth, however, the damage was already done. Once Vanderveen’s column reached Benguela, the MPLA launched a massive counterattack. The rebels had Cuban troop reinforcements and Soviet artillery on their side, whereas Vanderveen was struggling with unreliable supply lines and political indecision in Pretoria. He was forced to pull back his army on the 10th of November. During this time, his letters to Julienne became increasingly bitter, particularly with respect to the Americans.

“Five days later, the general’s helicopter was hit by small-arms fire as it left a camp just south of Cubal. Francis Vanderveen and twelve other soldiers died in the ensuing crash.”

“Unbelievable,” Naomi said softly. Ryan said nothing. He could guess what was coming next.

The ambassador paused for a moment to let the information sink in. Finally, he said, “There were some communication issues that made notification impossible. It wasn’t until two weeks later that the widow was informed. The defense minister broke the news himself, I’m told, in light of Vanderveen’s rank and stature. I suppose it turned out to be too much for Julienne. As I said, she was already devastated over her daughter’s death. Losing her husband must have been the final straw. She committed suicide that same night. According to Mrs. Poole, it was also the last time anyone saw young William in Piet Retief.”

Naomi shook her head slowly. Ryan remained silent. He was beginning to put the pieces together in his mind, but he wanted to hear the ambassador say it first.

Martins studied them each in turn. “Unfortunately, this is where the facts end. Anything else is pure speculation, but I have an opinion, if you’d like to hear it.”

Naomi nodded once. “Please, Ambassador.”

“I think there’s a good chance that William Vanderveen saw these letters,” Martins said, gently resting a hand on the small tin box. “I also think that he probably had something to do with his sister’s death, not to mention what happened to the young man she was seeing. I believe William may have taken what he wanted from his father’s words, because doing so would have been a good deal easier than shouldering the blame himself. In my opinion, Will Vanderveen found exactly what he was looking for in the United States: an outlet for his rage. And he’s not going to stop until everyone knows how he feels.”

CHAPTER 21

PRETORIA, TAJIKISTAN,LANGLEY

For Ryan Kealey and Naomi Kharmai, South Africa had yielded its secrets, and had nothing left to offer. As their meeting with the ambassador drew to a close, Gillian Farris began to make the arrangements for their return to Washington. When the embassy car was ready to depart for Johannesburg International late that afternoon, her hand rested in Ryan’s for a very long time. Gillian was sorry to see him go.

Naomi fell into a deep sleep on the short ride south, leaving Ryan alone with his troubled thoughts. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. As his mind struggled for answers, Naomi’s words came back to him, but with a taunting edge that had been absent in her spoken voice: “What do we really know now that we didn’t know before? His real name? It’s not like that’ll be the one he’s using…”

The name was important to Kealey because it offered some small measure of relief from the feeling of impotence that had plagued him for years. Now that he had the truth, though, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

It had become clear to Ryan during the ambassador’s recitation that William Vanderveen blamed the West — or more specifically, the United States — for what had happened to his family. It was also clear that Vanderveen had joined the army of a country he hated for only one reason: to learn the skills that he would ultimately twist to use against his unsuspecting benefactors.

With this thought, Ryan found his thoughts drifting back to Vanderveen’s intentions in Washington. Needless to say, it was a huge risk for the man to return to the city, so whatever he had planned would have to be worth that risk. Stephen Gray’s final words echoed in his ears with the steady rhythm of a dripping tap: The shipment has landed in Washington… He already has what he needs. The last shipment to arrive in Washington was an unspecified amount of explosives. Would he be arrogant enough to try the same thing, perhaps sneaking it ahead of the increased security at the ports?

Could it have come in on the same shipment as the first explosives that were used?

In his former life, Vanderveen had been a highly skilled Special Forces engineer. As such, he had the patience and the specialized knowledge to carry off a successful attempt on the president’s life. Ryan thought the man would fall back on what he knew, despite his sniper training at Benning. He decided that he could only trust his instincts, since he had no proof either way.

He tried not to think about what might happen if he was wrong, or if he was right but not fast enough in putting it together.

As he leaned back in the comfortable seat and tried to follow Naomi’s example, Ryan decided that it was time to pay Thomas Elgin another visit.

As the Boeing 747 carrying the two CIA officers lifted into the clear night sky above the lights of Johannesburg, Will Vanderveen emerged from the depths of the Tian Shan mountains, following Ayman al-Zawahiri into the quiet hollows of the surface caves. The ground was littered with cots and sleeping men. The stench from their unwashed bodies filled the air, despite the cold and the open space.

“You will get 45,000 U.S. dollars for expenses, then,” al-Zawahiri said in a low voice. “In five installments of 9,000 dollars each, all to the same account.” A small frown moved over his face. “We will need Mazaheri to move it.”

Vanderveen continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Make sure that the funds are routed through Western Europe, preferably England or France. American banks are required to report lump sum deposits of 10,000 dollars or more to the government. By keeping the deposits under that amount, we remove some of the risk, but there is still some danger in using the one account. Unfortunately, I have very few complete identities. Creating a full legend takes time, which is the one thing we don’t have. In less than a month’s time, the itinerary will be useless.”

They moved out of the caves and into the clearing, walking quickly through the cold night air toward the massive canvas tent and the steady hum of the generators.

“Will he keep to the schedule?”

“He has so far.”

“And you think it can be done?”

“There are no guarantees, but we will never have a better opportunity. I believe it can be done.”

The Egyptian did not respond as they moved gratefully into the stale warmth of the tent. The radio operator pulled back the curtain and waved for his commander’s attention. A moment later, al-Zawahiri was calling for the American.

Vanderveen walked into the cramped room and took the proffered sheet of paper. He scanned it quickly, but one name stood out from the rest. He stared at it in disbelief.

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