Stuart Woods - Iron Orchid

“I sat next to this woman at the opera, and later, when I saw her on the street, I followed her to an address on the East Side.” He gave her the address. “Does that ring a bell?”

“Yes, it’s a new, joint CIA-FBI counterintelligence operations center. If she got past the doorman, it’s because she’s authorized to enter. Do you have a last name for the woman? I can check her out.”

“No, I can’t remember it, and even if I could, she was probably using a cover name.”

“Well, if she was that close to you, why didn’t she call in the cavalry?”

“Because she didn’t know who I was. She may have figured it out later, though.”

“Mike, if you’re in New York, maybe it’s time to go somewhere else.”

Teddy was not going to confirm this to her, so he ignored the question. “I need a new target,” he said. “What do you have?”

“Well, if you want one in New York, the U.N. embassies make for a target-rich environment.”

“Who’s running intelligence operations out of U.N. embassies besides the Iranians?”

“Who isn’t? How about the Syrians or the Israelis?”

“I’m not interested in the Israelis, but the Syrians sound good. What’s going on in their embassy?”

“They’re spying on the Israelis, of coarse, They’ve rented an apartment across the street from the Israeli embassy, and they’re doing everything they can to listen to their conversations or read their mail. So far, the Israelis’ counterintelligence has kept them at bay. But if you attack the Syrians, they’re going to blame the Israelis. Do you want that?”

“I don’t much care,” Teddy said. “Since they blame everything on the Israelis, nobody will pay any attention to what they say. I might take a look at their rented apartment.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mike,” Irene said.

“Why not?”

“Because if you start showing an interest in that particular street, the Israelis are going to notice you, and that would not be good. They might think you were casing them instead of the Syrians.”

“You have a point. Who is the head of Syrian intelligence in New York?”

“A very nasty character named Omar Said, or that’s the name he uses. We’ve been keeping an eye on him for at least a year.”

“Maybe he’s my target,” Teddy said.

“Same problem as with the Israelis: you start following him around, and our people are going to notice you.”

“Well, then,” Teddy said, “I’m just going to have to be unnoticeable. Where is the Syrian U.N. embassy?” He wrote down the address: three blocks from the Iranian house he had destroyed. “I’ve got to run, Irene; we’ll talk later.” He hung up.

Teddy went back into the Agency’s computers and did a search for Omar Said. Soon he had a photograph of a tall, balding Arab in a London bespoke suit and shirt getting out of a black Cadillac. A couple of more clicks, and he got a license plate number: a New York City diplomatic plate, SY 4.

At least the guy didn’t ride in a Lincoln Town Car, like half the other people in New York. He went carefully over the available pictures of the car. Nothing that he could see indicated that it was armored. Said’s only protection in the rear seat was blackened windows. He didn’t even appear to travel with a guard, other than his driver.

Teddy began to formulate the rough outlines of a plan for taking the Syrian. He wasn’t quite sure where, just yet, but he had a very good idea about when.

WILL LEE WAS WORKING in his private study off the Oval Office when his secretary buzzed him.

“The director of Central Intelligence for you, Mr. President.”

Will picked up the phone. “Good morning, Madame Director.”

“Mr. President. You asked for any news on the Teddy Fay hunt.”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Fay apparently went to the Metropolitan Opera last Friday night and picked up a lady. Unbeknownst to him, she was a CIA officer.”

“Did they take him? Why wasn’t I told sooner?”

“They did not take him, because she didn’t realize who he was, even though she was looking for him. He’s that good at disguise.

The good news is, he told her he has the same seats for every Friday night performance, so they’re planning an operation for that night.“ ”I have to wait until Friday?“

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient, as will we, Mr. President.”

“I’m getting worse at being patient as I get older,” Will said.

“I’ve noticed.”

“How did Fay get the tickets? Were they mailed to him, maybe?”

“An excellent question, Mr. President. He went to the box office and bought season tickets with cash, then he hung around until somebody showed up to collect tickets for better seats than his, and negotiated a swap. The ticket seller remembers him, but, of course, his description was different from last Friday’s.”

“A slippery fellow,” Will said.

“We trained him well,” Kate replied. “Unfortunately, we’re sometimes not as good at catching our own people when they go bad as we are at finding outsiders.”

“Is this the only lead you have?”

“There’s a record shop specializing in opera that we think he might go to now and then, so we’re keeping that under surveillance, but we have no hard evidence of that.”

“Did you question the staff?”

“An FBI agent blundered in there and alienated the only person who seems to work there. We’re trying to tread more lightly now.”

“Good idea. How is it working out, your people and the FBI?”

“The team has made a good start,” she said. “They’re trying very hard to work together, and it’s my hope that gradually, their institutional attachments will be superseded by their loyalty to the team. It’s not an easy transition for any of them.”

“Bob Kinney starts his confirmation hearings this week, and I expect he’ll be asked for his views on that subject.”

“I’ll be watching, Mr. President. I’ll be interested in hearing his views.”

“Is Bob being helpful?”

“Yes, when he’s not finding things to complain about in the way the Agency works.”

Will laughed. “You left yourself wide open on the question of FBI I.D. cards,” he said.

“Don’t rub it in. Please.”

“I’ll do my rubbing when you get home.”

“I’m shocked, Mr. President, that you would indulge in sexual harassment. On a White House telephone line, anyway.”

“See you later.”

“You betcha, Mr. President.”

TEDDY CONTINUED to pore over the CIA’s file on Omar Said. The most interesting item he found was that, while Said had a wife ensconced in an apartment in the U.N. Towers, he also had two girlfriends kept in apartments located on the East Side. He spent his weekdays with the wife, and the weekends with the girlfriends.

One of the girls, in particular, interested him. She was a belly dancer in a Middle Eastern restaurant a few blocks south of the U.N., and Said frequently began his weekends with her, dining at the restaurant and watching her performance, then taking her to her apartment later to express his appreciation for her work. The transcripts of their recorded conversations were disgustingly vivid, involving imagery that included references to various desert animals. Said was usually with her until the wee hours. Then, the following night, he would be with the other girlfriend. A busy man, Omar.

Teddy began to formulate a plan.

ROBERT KINNEY ARRIVED at the office of the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee promptly on time, then was required to wait for half an hour while the chairman tended to whatever chores he considered to be more important than seeing the director of the FBI.