Allan Folsom - The Hadrian Memorandum

10:45 A.M.

A gray Ford with a fading paint job pulled up next to the Fiat and stopped. Branco glanced briefly around, then got out and climbed into the Ford’s front passenger seat.

“What is it?” Jeremy Moyer asked without emotion as he pulled the Ford into traffic.

“The wheels are starting to come off,” Branco said, telling the CIA/Lisbon station chief what he couldn’t tell him over the phone. “Ryder and his RSO detail are gone from the hotel. Somehow they got out without being seen. The same thing happened with Marten and Anne Tidrow. They got help and slipped out of the apartment building using the cover of an electrician’s van. I had an asset follow them on a motorcycle. He’s dead. Maybe an accident. Probably not.”

Moyer flared. “You’re telling me with the all the talent under your control, you lost-”

“White found out where Marten and Anne Tidrow are headed.” Branco cut him off. “Hospital da Universidade on Rua Serpa Pinto. It’s either a stopping point for them or a place for them to meet Ryder. White’s on his way there now. So far there’s been no communication from Ryder or his RSO detail at all, so somebody on the outside has to be coordinating all this. Who it is, or where it’s coming from, we don’t know. What we do know is where they’re going. If we have to take them down in the hospital it will be messy. But the longer we hold off, the greater the chance something will go wrong and we’ll lose them altogether. What do you want to do? The call is yours.”

Moyer ground his teeth and looked at the traffic in front of him. Suddenly he was riding a whirlwind. In the next seconds a thousand thoughts crisscrossed. CIA Deputy Director Newhan Black had personally given him the order to put a trusted freelancer like Branco in charge of the operation in order to set up a terminal action by Conor White. For a moment it appeared those best-laid plans were coming apart. But then, in a sudden turn, they began to come together again, never mind that the venue was a hospital. His choices were simple: either go back to the embassy, try to get Black on a secure phone, and ask him for a further directive; or take charge himself and do what Black had intended he do from the beginning-let White put the matter to rest. Career-wise, the second choice was extremely risky, especially if it ended in disaster. But considering the time constraints, and how long it might take to make a secure contact with Black, it seemed best that he act now and on his own. Besides, if it came out as it should, it would greatly improve his standing within the organization.

“Take your assets and back up White at the hospital,” he said to Branco, then swung the Ford around and headed back into the Baixa.

“The rest of the embassy RSO detail is waiting at the Ritz for further instructions. What about them?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Moyer slowed for traffic, then abruptly pulled to the curb and stopped. He looked at the freelancer. “Compreenda?”

Branco nodded, “Sim.” Yes. Then opened the door and got out. Moyer drove off, and he walked back toward his car in a gaggle of tourists knowing he’d just been given carte blanche to do whatever was necessary to bring the entire episode to a suitable end.

10:50 A.M.

HOSPITAL DA UNIVERSIDADE. 10:52 A.M.

Marten reached the rear entrance and hesitated. He had no idea what to expect when he went in. A Lisbon police car had come down the alley from the opposite direction just as he’d started toward the entrance, and he’d had to draw back and wait. It had stopped at the door, and a uniformed officer had gone inside. It was a full ten minutes before he came out again and drove away past Marten. Why the police had stopped there, what had happened inside that had taken so long, he had no way of knowing. Conor White and the others aside, he’d had to remember that he was still wanted for the murder of Theo Haas. And, as the president had told him, both he and Anne were the prime suspects in the murder of Hauptkommissar Franck. The Portuguese police knew they had been in the Algarve the day before and might well suspect they were in Lisbon now. For all he knew the police visit to the hospital was one of many, giving the staff their description and instructions on what to do in the event either of them showed up. Still, he had little choice but to go ahead as planned, hoping that he was wrong about the police and that Anne was safely there and that Ryder and his RSO detail were either with her or on their way for the eleven o’clock encounter. With great trepidation he took a deep breath, then pulled open the door and went inside.

What he saw was a relatively small city hospital with corridors leading this way and that and people coming and going in any number of directions. A sign guided him toward the front of the building and to a waiting area where about a dozen people occupied its twenty-odd chairs. On the far side was a walk-up booth with two people behind it. One was a balding man, who fit Raisa’s description of Mário Gama, the hospital’s director of security. He was maybe fifty, wore a white shirt and a tie, gray slacks, and a dark green blazer, and was working at a computer terminal. Marten approached him.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a Mário Gama.”

The man looked up. “You found him, sir.”

“My name is Marten. Has a Ms.Tidrow or a Mr. Ferguson arrived? I’m from the American Insurance Company. We are to meet with Catarina Silva, the accounts receivable director.”

“Ms. Tidrow is here, sir. Mr. Ferguson has not yet arrived. Please come with me.”

“Thank you,” Marten said gratefully and followed him across the room and down a side hallway.

10:54 A.M.

Gama opened the door to a small examination room and ushered Marten in. Anne stood there, alone and waiting. He was surprised at the way her face lit up when he came in, as if she had been more than a little worried about him.

“Please excuse me,” Mário said and then left.

“What happened?” Anne asked as the door closed behind him.

“There was an accident. The motorcycle rider chased after you and Tomás in the truck. He was going very fast when he suddenly swerved to avoid something in the street.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“But he’s dead.”

“I didn’t hang around long enough to find out.” Marten changed the subject. “No sign of Ryder.”

“Not yet.” Anne looked at him uncertainly, as if she wanted to tell him something but didn’t quite know how.

“What is it?”

“I-”

“Go on.”

“Earlier, I got a text message from Loyal Truex at Hadrian. I didn’t tell you because we were on the run and there was no reason. But you should know. Sy Wirth is dead. They found his body floating in the Tagus River, downstream, where it meets the Atlantic.”

“So he was here.”

“Apparently.”

“And with Conor White.”

“Probably.”

“White kill him?”

“I don’t think he slipped and fell. Put the pieces together. Sy made a stupid deal with the CIA to protect the Bioko field. Then he and Loyal brought in White and created SimCo. Things were fine until the pictures showed up. Then everything started to come apart. At some point Sy probably pushed too hard like he always did and stepped all over Conor in the process.”

“And that jeopardized the whole operation, and White, maybe at the Agency’s request, got rid of him.”

“I don’t know. I doubt if we’ll ever know. What’s clear is that they-Conor, Loyal, Sy, and the Agency-wanted to recover the pictures from the beginning. Now, they want more.”

“What does that mean?”