Allan Folsom - The Hadrian Memorandum

He punched in the number of the president’s phone. It rang once, then twice, then-

“What is it? Something wrong? Have you spoken with Ryder?” the president said quickly, almost as if he’d been waiting for the call.

“The CIA,” Marten said. “Anne Tidrow hacked into a secure Web site and pulled up a memo from the deputy director. He made a deal with Striker Oil and Hadrian to provide backing for the insurrection in Equatorial Guinea as a way to help gain favor with the rebels and drive out President Tiombe, chiefly as a means to secure Striker’s leases for years to come.” Marten took the note he’d scribbled earlier from his pocket. “I wrote down part of it, what I could remember, something like-‘a plan to secure unimpeded drilling access and petroleum rights for the U.S. in Equatorial Guinea,’ ” he read. “ ‘This initiative is part of a bigger national obligation to achieve energy independence from other world sources of crude oil.’ ”

“Are you absolutely certain what you have is authentic?”

“Anne photographed the entire memorandum off a hotel room TV screen. It’s film, 35 mm negative. The quality may not be great, but it’s all there, every page of it. You worried that the attorney general would have little to work with. Add the memorandum to the photographs and Anne’s testimony and you’ll have enough for a major firestorm.

“But that’s putting tomorrow ahead of today. I haven’t yet heard from Joe Ryder and have no way to reach him, but I have to talk to him, and soon. Conor White and his soldiers know we’re here. They saw me and came after me. I had to kill two of them. White is very well connected. He may be CIA himself or closely tied to them, I don’t know. There’s a very good chance they know where we are and are watching the building right now.”

“They are watching the building.”

Marten looked up. Anne stood in the doorway, her hair twisted up in a bun, her robe pulled around her.

“Two men. Across the street in the park.”

“Two?” Marten said. “A few minutes ago there was only one.”

“Well, now there are two.” Anne was calm and very matter-of-fact. “Ryder needs to know where to meet us before he lands. We won’t be able to communicate once he enters the Lisbon cell phone grid. They’ll have every one of his lines monitored. If he tries to use a landline, they’ll have that covered, too.”

Marten turned back to the phone. “Could you hear that?”

“I assume it was Ms. Tidrow.”

“Hopefully Ryder’s left Rome and is en route here now. See if you can reach him and ask him to delay his landing until I can find a place and time where we can meet unseen. The best would be somewhere at the airport itself.”

“That won’t work. His itinerary has been laid out by the embassy. It means he’s got to at least start to play the game and go to his hotel. After that he can try to make his move. But you can’t just meet. You’ve got to get back to the airport, onto his plane, and out of Lisbon. We have to have Ms. Tidrow and every piece of evidence you’ve got in our custody and safely back in the States. Where you land and where she goes after that, I’ll take care of. Your job is to get you, her, and Ryder onto his plane and airborne as fast as possible.”

“We can’t do this alone. I’m going to need Raisa Amaro’s help. You said to trust her completely. I want to hear it from you again, just to be sure I didn’t get it wrong. Right now everything is going to depend on her.”

“You can trust her with anything, cousin. As I said, she is very smart and very gifted, and also very efficient. She and I go back a long way.”

“I’ll talk to her and get back to you, hopefully with a time and meeting place for Ryder. Then you can pass that information on to him before he lands. If Raisa can’t help, we’ll just have to figure out something else. With luck you’ll hear from me soon.” With that Marten clicked off.

“The old girlfriend,” Anne said with the faint hint of a smile.

“Yes.” Immediately he brushed past her and went to the front window to stand beside it and look out. The man he had seen earlier had moved closer to the edge of the park. Another was a little farther back standing by a decorative fountain, his eyes on the building. Several seconds passed, and he reached up and touched his ear as if he were listening to something. Abruptly he put his hand to his mouth.

“He’s talking to someone.” Anne moved in beside Marten. “If there are two there, there will be others watching the back.”

“You don’t think they’re police,” he said flatly.

“No, I don’t think they’re police.”

Marten crossed to the room phone, picked it up, and dialed 11, the extension Raisa had given him. She answered on the second ring.

“Good morning, Mr. Marten.”

“Good morning, Raisa. I know it’s early, but I wonder if you could come up here right away. Yes, now. It’s important. Thank you.” Marten glanced at Anne and hung up.

7:15 A.M.

THE APARTMENT ON RUA DE SÃO FILIPE NÉRI. 7:17 A.M.

An hour and forty minutes of sleep had been enough. Conor White was up at six forty-five. By seven he’d showered and shaved, and then he woke the others. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a bath towel around his waist he’d plugged a team radio unit, a team radio unit, headset into his right ear, tuned to the 171.925 frequency Branco had given him, and listened to the intermittent chatter of Branco’s men watching the apartment at 17 Rua do Almada. Afterward he’d gone into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. By seven ten he was at the kitchen table making notes on his laptop. Six minutes later he opened a map of Lisbon and pinpointed the U.S. Embassy on Avenida das Forças Armadas, a location that looked to be no more than a five to ten minute drive from where they were.

7:20 A.M.

White lifted his BlackBerry and punched in Carlos Branco’s number.

“Yes,” Branco’s voice came back.

“Where are you?”

“Just leaving the Ritz. Congressman Ryder’s suite is ready for him. We are on our way to the airport to meet his flight.”

“I need a car and one of your men for a driver, a guy who knows his way around the city and knows what’s going on with Marten and the congressman.”

“When and what?”

“A limousine of some kind with UN plates, parked outside the U.S. Embassy. I need it fast. How soon can you have it?”

“Not so simple a request. It will take a few calls.”

“How soon, Branco?”

“Within the hour.”

Conor White glanced at his watch. “We’ll leave here at eight twenty and arrive at the embassy by eight thirty. If there is a problem, let me know before that.”

“There will be no problem.”

“Good.”

With that White clicked off and went into the bedroom Irish Jack and Patrice had shared. The covers on the twin beds were thrown back. Irish Jack was just out of the shower, towel-drying his hair. Patrice walked in from the bathroom doing the same. Both were in undershorts and nothing else. Despite their physical differences, both men were built like stone and carried the tattoos and body scars of the longtime combat veterans they were.

“You look like fucking lovers,” White said impassively.

Irish Jack grinned broadly. “That towel does wonders for you, too, Colonel. Standing here with us pretty boys makes you look like some kind of chap who wants to join the party but hasn’t been invited.”

For a moment a boyish sparkle came into White’s eyes. “My dick’s too big for you pussies, you couldn’t handle it.” Immediately the playfulness vanished and his eyes narrowed. “Business garb today. Suits, shirts, and ties. Ready to move out at oh eight twenty.”