Allan Folsom - The Hadrian Memorandum

They could do it again.

Carlos Branco and the three who had been with him in the Alfa Romeo, the best of his freelance former members of the Batalhão de Comandos, moved quickly down the darkened stairs toward the train platform where the GOE SWAT team had the area sealed off. Branco still wore the tailored black suit he’d begun the day in. The other three were dressed in loose-fitting, lightweight jackets over blue jeans with 9 mm Uzi submachine guns held out of sight under the jackets.

They’d arrived at the Rossio station less than a minute before the GOE force, immediately gone inside, then waited for them to come in. When they did Branco raised his hands and went to meet them. He identified himself and said he knew why they were there and who they were after, and asked to see the brigade commander. Seconds later the man was at his side.

Branco was well known to the GOE command. He’d worked Lisbon’s underground for years and had been instrumental in collecting and passing on information about organized crime, terrorist cells, the African drug trade and more frequently following up with what was required-the dirty, illegal things that had to be done and that law enforcement agencies couldn’t become involved with for fear of political or social blowback. In other words, he did what was viewed in higher circles as “necessary business.” Consequently, when he showed up in instances like these, more often than not he was deferred to.

“His name is Conor White. Former SAS colonel. Victoria Cross,” Branco told the brigade commander directly. “Now a professional mercenary working out of Equatorial Guinea and involved with the civil war there. He’s the one you’re looking for in the murders outside of Madrid. He followed a U.S. congressman here in an attempt to kill him, the man your people were escorting to the U.S. Embassy when they were shot down. If you kill him it will raise all sorts of questions as to why he was here and what he was doing. The inquiry will be public and potentially embarrassing to a number of countries. If we do it, the government can say he was caught by unknown gunmen who shadowed him to Lisbon, killed him, and then disappeared, apparently an act of reprisal that had to do with the situation in Equatorial Guinea. Then it becomes an incident having to do with that country and not Portugal, Spain, or the U.S.”

The commander said he understood but that there were many citizens in harm’s way and he couldn’t stand by while more were killed.

Branco shared his concern then said the public might be better served by a four-man plainclothes team than an overwhelming force of uniformed GOE. “Cut off the power and secure the area,” he said. “Then let me contact White and let us go in.”

“You can get in touch with him now?”

“Yes.”

The commander had studied him and walked off. Branco saw him speak into a microphone at his collar. Thirty seconds later he came back.

“Alright” had been the commander’s one-word response.

“One thing more,” Branco said. “You’re going to have more media crowded outside this station than you’ve ever seen. Clear two stations down the line. Then I want an automated Metro car brought in. White has two men with him. We’re going to take them out in that car. At the end we’ll hand them over to you. No media. No gang of police. Just a handful of your men and a couple of waiting ambulances.”

The commander stared at him, then finally nodded. “Done,” he said.

Conor White was pushed back in the darkness against the tunnel wall, his eyes, his senses, trying to feel out where Marten was, when he felt his cell phone vibrate. That the phone system worked this far underground startled him, and for a moment he did nothing. Finally he slid it from his belt and looked at it. In an instant he knew who was calling and clicked on.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“I’m with GOE,” Branco said. “Where are the rabbits?”

“Anne and Ryder got away on the last train out. The RSO is dead. So is Irish Jack. Patrice is with me.”

“Where is Marten?”

“Somewhere here in the dark.”

“I’ve made a deal with the police. I’m going to get you out. But I can’t do that with all the people there. I want you to let them go.”

“Branco, they’re our protection. Hostages if we need them.”

“The police know we’re in touch. Once the people are out, they’ll send in an automated Metro car. They’re clearing two stations. They’re expecting I’ll bring you out at the second. We’ll go out at the first. I want to tell them you’ve agreed to let the people go. Once they see they are out they’ll pull back. We’ll come in and they’ll send the rail car.”

“Just you.”

“Yes. Altogether there are four of us.”

“What about the lights?”

“What do you want?”

“Marten’s here. I want him myself. You understand? I want him. Not you, not your men. Not even Patrice. Turn the lights on, get the people out, then turn them back off. ”

“I understand.”

“No! Not just understand. I want your word on it.”

“You have it.”

“Tell the GOE they can have their citizens.”

Marten was crouched by the rails near the platform when the lights suddenly came back on. The unexpected brightness startled him, the same as it startled the others. A wave of nervous cries swept through the station. He stepped carefully over the third rail and slipped under the platform overhang, hopefully out of sight from above. Suddenly came the sound of a bullhorn.

“THIS IS THE POLICE.” The amplified male voice echoed through the cavernous station as it had before, first in Portuguese and then English. “EVERYONE WILL STAND UP AND RAISE YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD, THEN WALK SLOWLY TOWARD THE EXIT AT THE FAR END OF THE STATION. LEAVE ANY PERSONAL BELONGINGS BEHIND. DO IT NOW!”

Marten was stunned. What tactic was this? What was going on? They couldn’t have captured White and Patrice without his hearing. And neither man was about to walk out with his hands over his head. Instead they would take hostages, and the GOE would know that. His hand slid over the Glock and he crouched further down. The best he could do was stay where he was. He could hear people starting to move and assumed they were doing as they had been told, the GOE screening them as they came out.

Maybe White and Patrice were already gone and the police knew it. Escaped through the tunnels and out through a maintenance shaft. They knew Anne and Ryder had made it onto the train and assumed they would be going to Ryder’s plane, the same place White and Patrice would go. And there would be nothing he could do about it because he would be trapped there with GOE sweeping the area the moment the people had left. He took a deep breath and waited, wholly unsure what to do.

Suddenly the station went dark again and the emergency lights came back on.

Christ, he thought. Now what?

“It’s just us now, Mr. Marten.” Conor White’s British-accented voice suddenly came through the radio earpiece he had forgotten he still wore. His manner was calm, even gentle. “I’d like to know who you are. Complex chap, I think. English landscape architect with an American accent. Quite the expert with a handgun. Killing people is relatively easy, but far different when they are trying to kill you first, like Branco’s men in the Jaguar.”

Marten came alert. Who was Branco? Then he thought of the man in the Hotel Lisboa Chiado who’d been playing Anne’s brother just before White came in. Clearly one of his team.