Allan Folsom - The Hadrian Memorandum

The GOE vehicles would follow the road down to Rossio Square, then circle it and drive up the verdant Avenida da Liberdade on the way to the U.S. Embassy. Carlos Branco had given him the information seconds after getting off the phone with the CIA/Lisbon station chief, Jeremy Moyer. The route had been laid out by the GOE and approved by the embassy.

The GOE plan gave them all they needed, a map to follow and a time frame in which to work. The entire trip from beginning to end would take no more than fifteen minutes. Somewhere in between they would strike. Where, when, and how was up to White. Branco was, and had always been, the “painter” here, both the setup man and the backup for White. Whatever else might be required he was wholly open to, as long as he got paid. A sum that in this case would be substantial. No matter what White had personally promised him on the side, his wages here, one hundred and fifty thousand euros, would be picked up by Moyer and paid out through a clandestine fund set up by the Agency.

Branco’s final radio communication with White had come immediately after the accident involving the fire truck and the ambulance. By then both men had realized Marten would have taken Moses’s radio unit and be monitoring their exchanges. White had set the location near the accident scene deliberately, betting Marten would rush there to protect Anne and Ryder, thereby bringing the three of them together in a very manageable line of fire. After that all radio contact with Branco ceased, their communication continuing by cell phone only.

That Marten had taken the bait was affirmed by the A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa laundry truck parked just up the hill from the street where White, Patrice, and Irish Jack now waited in the black UN-license-plated Mercedes. Branco and three of his former Portuguese army commandos were in the Alfa Romeo parked on the same street less than a hundred paces behind them. The plan was to wait for the Land Cruiser and Ford tail car to pass, then follow them in traffic around Rossio Square, past the Metro station, and up Avenida da Liberdade to where Rua Barata Salgueiro crossed it. It was there they would strike. Irish Jack would accelerate alongside the procession as if to pass it. At the last second he would abruptly turn in front of the Land Cruiser, cutting it off. In the meantime Branco’s Alfa would pull in tight behind the tailing Ford. The GOE was a highly respected antiterrorist SWAT-type organization whose members had been trained in the same manner as the British SAS, White’s primary regiment, which meant he knew their tactics and mind-set. He also knew that the only way to defeat them was by striking hard and fast, with Branco’s gunmen taking out the GOEs in the tail car while he, Patrice, and Irish Jack attacked the Land Cruiser. That a number of policemen would be killed meant little. Lisbon was a war zone, no different than if it were a city in Iraq or Afghanistan. As he had said-thirty seconds and it would be done. Then Branco and his men would be in the Alfa and gone, and they would be disappearing in the city’s myriad of narrow, twisting streets, racing to the airport and the waiting Falcon 50 for the flight back to Bioko.

“Colonel,” Patrice said quietly, his eyes on the street above them, his Quebecois accent as distinct as ever, “here they come.”

12:30 P.M.

The Land Cruiser came down the hill slowly, its windshield wipers beating a steady rhythm against the light rain. The white Ford was tight behind it.

The task of getting the congressman and his people from the accident scene to the U.S. Embassy was commanded by plainclothes GOE Sergeant Clemente Barbosa, a raw-boned man in his midthirties who rode in the shotgun seat. His driver, Eduardo, was several years younger and fully intent on the roadway ahead and the traffic, streets, and buildings around them. His world, like Barbosa’s, was in the moment, nowhere else. The same was true for the four armed, uniformed GOEs in the tail car.

Ryder and Grant rode in the seats directly behind Barbosa and Eduardo. Marten and Anne were in the third row. The passenger compartment where they all were was shielded from outside view by the Toyota’s dark-tinted windows. In the few moments before the GOE arrived, Marten, Anne, Ryder, and Grant had examined the situation. The consensus was that none wanted to chance going to the embassy, if for no other reason than that at some point they would have to leave it and, no matter how well guarded they were, White would know when they would be leaving and where they would be going. The same as he undoubtedly did now. The difference was that if they moved soon, meaning in the next few minutes, they would have an element of surprise they wouldn’t have once they were in the confines of the embassy.

The idea of disappearing into a large crowd-as Marten and Grant had planned before the accident, when they would have abandoned the laundry truck and dashed into the heavily populated Baixa district to lose themselves in it-still seemed best. Even as the rain toyed with them, this was still the tourist season and crowds were everywhere, most especially where they were headed: Rossio Square, where Ryder and Agent Birns had stopped earlier that morning to change cabs. It was a place, Ryder was certain, that would be filled not only with tourists but also with readily available taxis.

So Rossio was the site where they would make their move. Grant would ask Barbosa to pull over and stop, saying that Ryder wasn’t feeling well and needed some air. Barbosa would be reluctant but have no choice except to do as he had been asked. At that point they would simply open the doors and get out, with Ryder saying he needed a few minutes to walk the sensation off and Grant reassuring Barbosa that he was armed and that the congressman was perfectly safe. Seconds later they would be in the crowd and quickly disappear into it, splitting up as they went-Grant staying with Ryder to guard him, Anne and Marten going off in a different direction altogether. After that each group would find a taxi, take it to the civil aviation terminal at Portela Airport, then go to directly Ryder’s plane, where the pilots would be waiting and the aircraft cleared for takeoff.

Not a word was said as they reached the bottom of the hill and Eduardo turned the Land Cruiser onto Praça Dom Pedro IV, following the one-way streets around Rossio Square in a line of traffic. At that point the rain came down in earnest.

Irish Jack changed the speed of the Mercedes’s windshield wipers to keep up with the downpour and at the same time kept them a neat three vehicles behind the Ford tail car. Directly behind them was a silver Opel and then Branco and his men in the Alfa. He glanced at Patrice in the shotgun seat, then in the mirror at Conor White. Both men had their automatic weapons out and ready. His own M-4 Colt Commando rested in his lap. He looked back at the road in front of him just as the Toyota and Ford reached the far end of the square and began the run along its far side heading toward Avenida da Liberdade.

Ryder glanced at Grant, then turned to look over his shoulder at Marten. “Now what?” he said quietly. Because of the rain, the crowds they were counting on for cover were gone. The big plaza was void of anything but pigeons.

Anne turned to look behind them. “Nicholas,” she warned. “Gray Alfa Romeo, several cars back.”

Marten looked. He saw the Alfa and the black Mercedes in front of it. “The Mercedes is Conor White’s car.” He turned back to Ryder and Grant. “They’re right on our tail,” he said sotto voce. “All due respect to the GOEs, we’re not going to get anywhere near the embassy.”

Immediately he looked at the barren square on his left, trying to decide what to do, find any avenue of escape. There was nothing but the open, rain-soaked plaza. He looked right, along the facade of shops and cafés they were passing, but nothing jumped out at him. If they told Barbosa and they sped off, White would realize they had been seen, drop back, change cars, and wait for later. The same would happen if they called in more police, because he was certain White or his people would be monitoring the GOE radio frequencies. Then, in the distance, he saw it. A big red M marking the entrance to a Metro station. He looked to Anne, then leaned forward to Ryder and Grant. “We’re going underground,” he said quietly, “now.”