Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

She nodded, but said nothing.

We kept at the reading, answered a few phone calls, and read some faxes. I managed to access my e-mail, but other than something called the Monday Funnies, there wasn't much interesting. We drank coffee, swapped ideas and theories with the people around us, and generally spun our wheels, waiting for something.

As new people arrived in the room, they glanced at Kate and me-we were sort of minor celebrities, I guess, being the only two people in the room who had been eyewitnesses to the biggest mass murder in American history. Living eyewitnesses, I should say.

Jack Koenig entered the room and came over to us. He sat so that he was below the cubicle partition, and said, "I just got a top secret communique from Langley -at six-thirteen P.M., German time, a man answering the description of Asad Khalil shot to death an American banker in Frankfurt. The gunman escaped. But the four eyewitnesses described the gunman as Arab-looking, so the German police showed them Khalil's photo, and they all ID'ed him."

I was, to say the least, stunned. Crushed. I saw my whole career down the toilet. I miscalculated, and when you do that, you have to wonder if you've totally lost whatever it was that you had.

I glanced at Kate and saw that she, too, was shocked. She really had believed that Khalil was still in the U.S.

My mind raced ahead to my resignation and badly attended retirement party. This was a bad end to things. You don't recover professionally from blowing the biggest case in the world. I stood and said to Jack, "Well… that's it… I guess… I mean…" For the first time in my life, I felt like a loser, like a totally incompetent blowhard, an idiot and a fool.

Jack said softly, "Sit down."

"No, I'm out of here. Sorry, guys."

I grabbed my jacket, and went out into the long corridor, my mind not working and my body just sort of moving like an out-of-body experience, like when I was bleeding to death in the ambulance.

I didn't even recall getting to the elevator, but there I was, waiting for the doors to open. To make matters worse, I'd lost a total of thirty dollars to the CIA.

All of a sudden, Kate and Jack were beside me. Jack said, "Listen, you're not to breathe a word of this to anyone."

I couldn't understand what he was saying.

Jack Koenig went on, "The ID is not positive-How can it be? Right? So, we need everyone to keep working this case as if Khalil may still be here. Understand? Only a handful of people know about this Frankfurt thing. I thought I owed it to you to tell you. But not even Stein knows about this. John? You have to keep this to yourself."

I nodded.

"And you can't do anything to arouse suspicion. In other words, you can't resign."

"Yes, I can."

Kate said, "John, you can't do that. You've got to do this one last thing. You have to carry on as if nothing has happened."

"I can't. I'm not good at playacting. And what's the point?"

Jack said, "The point is not to ruin everyone's morale and enthusiasm. Look, we don't know if this guy in Frankfurt really was Khalil." He tried to make a joke and said, "Why would Dracula go to Germany?"

I didn't want to be reminded of my stupid Dracula analogy, but I tried to clear my head and think rationally. Finally, I said, "Maybe it was a plant. A look-alike."

Koenig nodded. "That's right. We don't know."

The elevator came, the doors opened, but I didn't get in. In fact, I realized Kate was holding my arm.

Koenig said, "I'm offering you two the opportunity to fly to Frankfurt tonight and join the American team there-FBI, CIA, and German police and German Intelligence people. I think you should go." He added, "I will accompany you for a day or two."

I didn't reply.

Finally, Kate said, "I think we should go. John?"

"Yeah… I guess… better than being here…"

Koenig looked at his watch and said, "There's an eight-ten P.M. Lufthansa out of JFK to Frankfurt. Arrives tomorrow morning. Ted will meet us at-"

"Nash? Nash is there? I thought he was in Paris."

"I guess he was. But he's on his way to Frankfurt now."

I nodded. Something smelled funny.

Koenig said, "Okay, let's wrap it up here and be at JFK no later than seven P.M. Lufthansa, eight-ten flight to Frankfurt. Tickets will be waiting for us. Pack for a long stay." He turned and walked back to the ICC.

Kate stood there awhile, then said, "John, what I like about you is your optimism. You don't let anything get you down. You see problems as a challenge, not as a-"

"I don't need a pep talk."

"Okay."

We both walked toward the ICC. Kate said, "That's very good of Jack to send us to Frankfurt. Have you been to Frankfurt?"

"No."

"I've been a few times." She added, "This trip could take us all over Europe, following leads. Can you break away on short notice without too much inconvenience?"

There seemed to be other questions hidden in that question, but I replied simply, "No problem."

We got to the ICC, and we went to our desks. I packed some papers in my attache case, and threw junk in my desk drawers. I wanted to call Beth Penrose, but I thought it might be better if I waited until I got home.

Kate finished up at her desk and said, "I'm going to go home and pack. You leaving now?"

"No… I can pack in five minutes. I'll meet you at JFK."

"See you later." She took a few steps, then came back and put her face close to mine. She said, "If Khalil is here, you were right. If he's in Europe, you'll be there. Okay?"

I noticed a few people looking at us. I said to her, "Thanks."

She left.

I sat at my desk and contemplated this turn of events, trying to identify the smell in my nostrils. Even if Khalil had left the country, why and how had he gotten to Europe? Even a guy like that would head home for a pat on the back. And clipping a banker was not exactly a strong Second Act after what he'd done here. And yet… I was really burning up the neurons on this one. It's easy to outfox yourself when you're too smart for your own good.

I mean, the brain is a remarkable thing. It is the only cognitive organ in the human body, except for a man's penis. So, I sat there and put my brain in overdrive. My other controlling organ was saying, "Go to Europe with Kate and get laid. There's nothing in New York for you, John." But the higher areas of my intellect were saying, "Someone's trying to get rid of you." Now, I don't necessarily mean someone was trying to get me overseas to have me whacked. But maybe someone was trying to get me away from where the action was. Maybe this Khalil thing in Frankfurt was made up, either by the Libyans, or by the CIA. It really sucks when you don't know what's real and what's made up, who your friends are, and who your enemies are-like Ted Nash.

Sometimes I envy people with diminished mental capacity. Like my Uncle Bertie, who's senile. He can hide his own Easter eggs. You know?

But I wasn't where Uncle Bertie was yet. I had too many synapses opening and closing, and the wiring was burning up with information, theories, possibilities, and suspicions.

I stood to leave, then sat down again, then stood again. This looked weird, so I moved toward the door with my briefcase, determined to make my decision before I left for the airport. I was leaning toward Frankfurt at that moment.

I got to the elevators, and coming toward me was Gabriel Haytham. He saw me and motioned me toward him. I went to where he was standing, and he said in a soft voice, "I think I have a live one for you."

"Meaning?"

"I got a guy in an interrogation room-this guy is a Libyan, and he made contact with one of our stakeout teams-"

"You mean he's a volunteer?"

"Yeah. Just like that. He has no prior problems with us, no history as an informant, he's not on any list or anything. Regular Yusef, whose name is Fadi Aswad-"