Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

"There's a small Resident Agent Office right in Ventura." She picked up the phone and said to me, "I hope we're not too late, and I hope they can set a trap for Khalil."

"Yeah." I stood. "I'll be back in about fifteen minutes."

"Where are you going?"

"Stein's office."

"More cop stuff?"

"Well, with Koenig over the Atlantic, Stein is the man. Be right back."

I hurried off, out of the ICC.

I took the elevator up. Captain Stein's office was located in the southwest corner of the twenty-eighth floor, and I had no doubt it had the exact same number of square feet as Mr. Koenig's southeast office.

I sort of barged past two secretaries and found myself in the middle of the room facing Captain Stein, who was sitting at his large desk, talking on the telephone. He saw me and got off the phone. He said, "This has got to be important, Corey, or your ass is in a sling." He motioned me to a chair across from his desk, and I sat.

We looked at each other, and we established that this was important. He opened his desk drawer, took out a seltzer bottle, and poured two vodkas in plastic cups. He handed one to me, and I drank about half of it. The Federal angels wept somewhere. He took a slug himself and said, "What do we got?"

"We got it all, Captain, or most of it. But we got it about seventy-two hours too late."

"Let's hear it."

So I told him, quickly, without regard to grammar or punctuation, cop-to-cop, if you will, my mouth in New York overdrive.

He listened, nodded, made no notes, then sat there when I finished and thought for a while. Finally, he said, "Four dead?"

"Five, counting Colonel Hambrecht. Fourteen counting everyone, not to mention everyone on board Trans-Continental Flight One-Seven-Five."

"That fuck."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll find this fuck."

"Yes, sir."

He thought a moment, then said, "And you didn't call anyone in Washington?"

"No, sir. The call would be better coming from you."

"Yeah." He thought awhile longer, then said, "Well, I guess we have one or two chances to collar this guy, assuming he didn't already get to this guy Wiggins, or, if he goes for Callum."

"Right."

"But maybe he's done, or he thinks it's getting hot around here, and he's out of the country already."

"Possible."

"Shit." Stein thought a moment and asked, "So the Ventura office is covering Wiggins' last known address?"

"Kate is working on it."

"And this guy Colonel Callum is covered?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are the Feds laying a trap for Khalil there?"

"I believe they're just covering the Callums. I'm thinking if Khalil knows this guy is dying, would he go for a dying man?"

Stein replied, "If the dying man dropped a bomb on him, I think he would. I'll call the FBI in Denver and strongly suggest they set a trap." He finished his vodka and I finished mine. I thought about asking for seconds.

Captain Stein looked up at his high ceiling awhile, then looked back at me and said, "You know, Corey, the Israelis took eighteen years to settle the score for the Munich Olympic massacre in nineteen seventy-two."

"Yes, sir."

"The Germans released the captured terrorists in exchange for the release of a hijacked Lufthansa flight. The Israeli Intelligence people systematically hunted down and assassinated each of those seven Black September terrorists who massacred the Israeli athletes. They got the last one in nineteen ninety-one."

"Yes, sir."

"They play a different game in the Mideast. There's no clock on the field. Ever."

"I see that."

Stein stayed silent a half minute or so, then said, "Did we do everything we could?"

"I think we did. I'm not sure about anyone else."

He didn't reply to that, but said, "Hey, good work. You like it here?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

"Back where I was."

"You can't go home again, my boy."

"Sure I can."

"I'll see what I can do. Meantime, you have enough writing to do to keep you busy through the weekend. I'll talk to you later." He stood, and I stood. He said, "Tell Ms. Mayfield I congratulate her, if it means anything from a cop."

"I'm sure it does."

"Okay, I've got a lot of calls to make. Scram."

I didn't scram. I said, "Let me fly out to California."

"Why?"

"I'd like to be in on the last act."

"Yeah? There's an army of police and FBI there by now. They don't need you."

"But I need to be there."

"Why not Colorado Springs? I'm thinking geography. Colorado 's on the way to California, last time I checked."

"I'm tired of chasing this asshole. I want to be ahead of him."

"What if you go to California, and the FBI nabs him in Colorado Springs?"

"I can live with that."

"I doubt it. Okay, go wherever you want to go. You're better off out of here, anyway. I'll authorize it. Use your own credit card to save time. Don't get yourself killed. You have reports to write. Beat it before I change my mind."

I said, "I'll take my partner along." "Whatever you want. You're the Golden Boy, for the moment. Hey, you watch the X-Files!" "Sure do."

"How come he's not fucking her?" "Beats me."

"Me, too." He put out his hand, and we shook. On my way out the door, he called after me, "I'm proud of you, John. You're a good cop."

Captain Stein's office felt like a breath of fresh air in 26 Federal Plaza.

I went quickly back downstairs to the ICC, aware that I could be trapped here by a phone call, or an FBI boss. I went directly to Kate's desk and said, "Let's go." I took her arm.

"Where?" " California." "Really? Now?" "Right now."

She stood. "Do I need-?" "Nothing. Just your gun and shield." "Badge. We say badge." "I say walk faster."

She kept up with me as I walked toward the elevators. She asked, "Who authorized-?" "Stein." "Okay-She thought a moment, then said, "Maybe we should go to Colorado Springs."

Maybe we should. But I didn't want an argument from my lady boss, so I said, "Stein only authorized California." "Why?"

"I don't know. I think he wants me as far away as possible."

The elevator came, we got on, and rode down to the lobby, then walked out to Broadway. I hailed a taxi, and we both got in. I said to the driver, "JFK."

We pulled out into heavy downtown traffic.

I said to Kate, "What's the news from Ventura?"

"Well, our Ventura office got Wiggins' unlisted phone number, and they called Wiggins' house while I was on the phone. They got his answering machine, but didn't leave a detailed message. They just told him to call them the minute he got the message. Then, they sent some agents to his house, which they tell me is near the beach. Then they called for reinforcements from L.A. " She added, "There are only a few people in the Ventura office."

"I hope they don't find him home and dead. What do they plan to do? Surround the house with tanks?"

"We are not as stupid as you think, John."

"That's reassuring."

"They'll check his house, interview neighbors, and, of course, lay a trap for Khalil."

I tried to picture a bunch of guys in blue suits running around a beachside neighborhood, knocking on doors and flashing Fed creds. That should cause a stampede of illegal aliens heading south. Meanwhile, if Asad Khalil was staking out the neighborhood, he might get a little suspicious. But to be fair, I wasn't sure how I'd handle this either.

I said to Kate, "Call Ventura again."

She took her cell phone and hit the buttons. The taxi was approaching the Brooklyn Bridge. I looked at my watch. It was just 3:00 P.M., noon in California. Or was it the other way around? I know it changes west of Eleventh Avenue.

Kate said into the cell phone, "This is May field. Anything new?"

She listened awhile and said, "Okay, I'm flying to LAX.