Christopher Reich - Rules of Betrayal

“I guess you can say that.”

“She tells me you’ve done marvelously. Exceeded all our expectations. One of her best ever. I’m just sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

“You did, actually. At least, Emma did. Isn’t that the same thing?” Jonathan sat down and crossed his hands on the table. There were bottles of mineral water at all eight seats, along with blocks of papers and pens. A sign outside the door read, “Reserved for Atlantic International Consultants.”

Connor sat next to him, pulling his chair out so the two could look each other in the eye. “I apologize for the hurry. No one expected things to develop so quickly. But that’s the way things are in the business.”

“Is Balfour in trouble?”

“Not any more than before. Pakistanis want him out a little sooner than he expected. That’s all.” Connor sat down with a huff and pulled a stack of files from his satchel, making a show of checking his watch. “Two hours until boarding. We’ve got some time.” He rapped his knuckles on the topmost file. “So, you know all about our boy?”

“Balfour?” Jonathan nodded. “I think I’ve got him down. Details are a little sketchy.”

“He likes to keep them that way. Everyone knows he’s from the slums, but he doesn’t like to admit it. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Mount Everest. Anyway, we were able to dig up about a hundred e-mails exchanged between him and Revy. I’ve brought you a summary of the important stuff. Read it on the plane. When you’re finished, tear it up and flush it down the toilet, page by page. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jonathan, responding to the martial patter of Connor’s instructions and discovering that he was no longer bothered by the military lingo. “We’re clear.”

“Apparently Balfour’s set up the Taj Mahal of surgical suites over there. What he didn’t know was that Revy was taking a fat commission from the medical equipment companies.” A wry grin between accomplices to gauge the new operative’s nerves. Jonathan chuckled, and Connor relaxed a notch. “And here’s a list of Revy’s recent trips: Sardinia, Rome, Paris, Athens, Kiev, Berlin. The man gets around. Memorize it. Finally, we were able to draw a set of plans of Balfour’s home from the city surveyor in Islamabad. Balfour calls it Blenheim. The main building is twenty-two thousand square feet on three floors. There are several outbuildings and stables. Balfour likes to ride. Apparently Revy served in a cavalry unit in the Swiss army. You’ll see a few exchanges about Hanoverians and Warmbloods and all manner of bullshit relating to matters equestrian. How are you in the saddle?”

“I know how to get on and off a horse,” said Jonathan. “But that’s about it.”

“You’re not a rider, then?”

“Give me a saddle with a horn and I’ll be fine. Otherwise, things might get ugly.”

Connor frowned. “Say you’ve got a bum knee. Hurt it skiing. Whatever you do, don’t get on the horse. We don’t want to give him any reason to think you’re not who you’re supposed to be. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.” Connor spread a reduced blueprint of Balfour’s home on the table. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. The guest suite is on the second floor, right here. The master suite, where Balfour conducts his business, is on the third floor, directly above you. That’s the nerve center of his operation. Everything we need to know, we should be able to find in there.”

Jonathan studied the drawings. “Does he have guards inside the house?”

“Not guards per se, but plenty of underlings, including a six-foot-six-inch Sikh named Mr. Singh who’s his majordomo, personal assistant, and hired gun.”

“Sounds like he’ll be hard to miss.”

“He’s the muscle, and he’ll be keeping an eye on you. Be careful.” Connor gave Jonathan a look of warning before going on. “Balfour’s also got his own little harem of between eight and twelve girls. He ships them in and out every six months. Russians, English, even some Americans, I’ve been told. If he offers, accept. Revy’s a bachelor, and Balfour’s asked him a few times about what his preferences are.”

“Preferences?”

“Blond, brunette, or red. The answer, by the way, is young, blond, buxom, and smooth. Don’t ask me anything more about it. I’m an old man and I embarrass easily.”

Jonathan caught sight of his reflection in the window. Or rather, Revy’s. He was beginning to develop an intense dislike for the Swiss plastic surgeon. “Did you get him?” he asked.

Connor’s eyes shot up from the papers. “Revy? Oh yeah. We got him. Not to worry. Von Daniken didn’t harm him in the least. The good doctor is resting comfortably and shall do so for the immediate future.”

Jonathan said he was glad, but he was markedly less concerned about the doctor’s well-being than he had been a few days ago.

“We did have one setback,” Connor went on. “Revy’s phone was broken in the hand-off. We’ve got a new one for you. It has his same number, but we weren’t able to transfer the information from his SIM card.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“We don’t think so. You shouldn’t be contacting anyone once you’re in Pakistan anyway. You can count on the fact that Balfour will block all calls into and out of his compound. His run-in with the Indian government has made him more than a little paranoid about people spying on him.”

“So how do I pass on any information I find?”

“If at all possible, use your laptop and send it to my secure mailbox. Even better is if you get out of the compound and call. If you can’t, we’ve got a nifty little toy that should defeat his jamming signals and allow you to place a call. Only use it if you’ve got important information or if you need help. We should have a team to you within a day.”

“That sounds like a long time. What about Danni?”

“What about her?”

“Is she coming?”

“’Fraid not. I used up that favor. She’s due back in Israel. Pressing business. I told you from the beginning you’d be hanging out there pretty far. It’s no different from one of your big climbs. Once you get past a certain point, you’re on your own. You’ve still got a chance to back out. I won’t hold it against you.”

“What about Emma?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more about her unless you commit.”

“So you’ve learned something?”

“We have.”

The room had suddenly gone still. For once, Connor had stopped shuffling his papers and banging his fingers for emphasis and speaking in his overly loud voice. The table shook minutely as a jet took off, and Jonathan was once again reminded of being back on the USS Ronald Reagan. “Do you have any more idea about the information you’d like me to find?” he asked, testing the waters.

“We’re still talking about a munition and the identity of the man to whom Balfour plans to sell it.”

Something in Connor’s voice sounded an alarm. He sounded too matter-of-fact, too coy. Or maybe it was something that Danni had said earlier in the day. What if it’s more than hundreds of lives?

“What kind of munition?” asked Jonathan.

Connor held his eyes. “In or out? I think we’ve reached the Rubicon.”

Jonathan rubbed a hand over his mouth. He thought about Danni and what she’d said about his motivation for helping Connor. He decided that she was right. He was trying to see if he could do his wife’s job. But the root of his desire was more nuanced than that. It was not competition that drove him, but an ingrained sense of responsibility, maybe even guilt. Willing or not, he had helped Emma carry out too many missions to be a simple spectator. A husband had a duty to know his wife’s business. Once he’d learned her true profession, his own actions had changed markedly. The past eleven months had seen his role grow from pawn to participant-in Switzerland, France, and finally Afghanistan. He’d been a fugitive from justice. He’d witnessed terrible crimes. He’d killed with his own hands in self-defense and with malice and forethought. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped being just a husband or a doctor or a civilian and become something else. It was a testament to his own skills that Connor had recruited him. Jonathan had never known the weight of being asked to serve your country. Looking at the portly, ruddy-cheeked man in the rumpled suit seated an arm’s length away, he felt something close to honor. There was a conviction in Connor’s eyes that Jonathan wanted to be his own.