Vince Flynn - Act of Treason

“He’s not my boss!”

“Excuse me,” said Green. “Your soon-to-be vice president.”

“Our…remember. You’re the one who wants American citizenship back so fucking bad.”

Speyer couldn’t take any more. The restaurant was loud, but even so, a few patrons had glanced their way. “Gentlemen, I think you have both made your point. You have made a deal. Cy has completed his end of the transaction and now it is your turn, Stu. May I suggest a toast?” Speyer raised his glass. “To Cy’s pardon, which I’m sure will be signed on Saturday.”

They all clinked glasses, and Green smiled, saying, “It had better be.”

Garret returned the smile and said, “Don’t worry, it will be. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to take a piss.”

When Garret was gone, Speyer looked at Green and said, “I have never trusted that man. I told you this was a terrible idea. What is so bad about the life you have here? Why do you need to go back to America?”

“You’d never understand. You weren’t born there.” Green looked across the room. There was a pretty blond sitting at the bar. He held up his glass and gave her a smile. Looking back to Speyer he asked, “Are you going to join us later? It should be a wonderful show.”

Speyer wished everyone would leave him alone so he could pick a selection of wines. “I’m not sure. I’m supposed to meet some colleagues later.”

Green smiled his big Cheshire cat smile. “Where…Le Pretexte for a little male bonding?”

Green was right. Speyer planned on meeting a few friends at Geneva ’s premier gay nightclub. “What is that American saying you like?”

“Different strokes for different folks.” Green held up his glass. “Find a friend and bring him with. I will have them send a couple of well-endowed boys along with the girls. We will show Mr. Garret how we entertain in Geneva.”

Rapp had watched Garret enter the restaurant via the feed on his computer. By the time Speyer arrived he was in a position to see him pull up to the curb and valet his car. When a big black Hummer pulled up to the curb Rapp had a feeling he was about to get a look at the final two members of the four-person dinner reservation. His expectations increased when a man the size of an NFL lineman got out of the vehicle and went into the restaurant for a quick look before coming back out. Another mountain of a man climbed out of the truck, while a third stayed behind the wheel. Then came the two men whom they were protecting.

Rapp recognized Gordievsky immediately. He’d studied his file on the flight over. There was something familiar about the second man, but Rapp couldn’t place it. As they entered the restaurant, he turned his attention back to his screen and picked up a small ear bud that was plugged into the laptop’s audio port. The sounds from inside the restaurant instantly filled his ear. Rapp and Dumond were the only two who were monitoring the audio feed from inside the restaurant. Rapp sat back and got comfortable. He fully expected it to be a long evening of watching, listening, and waiting.

Less than a minute later he was on the edge of his seat, struggling to hear every word as Garret and the man named Cy argued about their arrangement. When Garret got up to go to the bathroom, Rapp pressed the transmit button for his radio and asked, “Did you get all that?”

Dumond’s voice crackled back, “Yeah.”

Rapp took the ear bud out that was streaming audio from inside the restaurant and asked, “Can you clean it up a bit? Get rid of the background noise?”

“I’m already on it.”

“How long?”

“Maybe a minute.”

“Good. As soon as it’s ready, encrypt it and send it off to Irene.”

“Roger.”

Rapp glanced at the computer screen and the three men at the table. Speyer had his back to the camera. The bald man was Aleksandr Gordievsky; Rapp was certain of that. He’d read Langley ’s file on him the day before. The third man, the one Garret called Cy, Rapp felt there was something familiar about, but no matter how hard he tried to make the connection it remained just beyond his grasp. His thoughts returned to the conversation. So they had kept it from Josh Alexander. Rapp thought for a moment about how they would break the truth to the man and he quickly concluded that it might be better to let him go on thinking she’d been killed at the hands of terrorists.

“Mitch,” Dumond’s voice crackled through Rapp’s earpiece. “Garret is making a call on his mobile phone.”

“Where is he?” Rapp grabbed the ear bud and put it back in his left ear.

“The bathroom.”

“I don’t fucking care.” It was Garret’s voice but it sounded tinny. “This guy is crazy. Get a hold of Stokes and tell him State is all his if he can make this happen.” There were a few moments of silence while Garret listened to whoever it was he was talking to. “Tell the prosecutor in New York she can have any job she wants. Hell…I’ll make her the next senator from wherever the hell it is that she’s from.” There was more silence while Garret listened to the other person. “I don’t care what you have to do, Mark. Just get your ass over to the White House first thing in the morning with Stokes and get Hayes to sign this damn pardon, or I’m telling you, Cy Green will make our lives miserable.”

The name and the face connected in Rapp’s mind and it all came back. Cy Green was a sleazy expatriate who had fled New York under indictment for selling arms to Iraq after the first Gulf War and Libya before they decided to play nice. There was also some other problem involving the purchase of cheap tin and copper at a heavy discount from corrupt Russian oligarchs and cash kickbacks for their favorable pricing. The millions he’d made off that deal weren’t enough so he shorted the market, betting that the prices would go down, and then unloaded all his underpriced commodities which then collapsed the world tin and copper markets. Rapp seemed to remember that a few years back Langley had looked into grabbing Green but had been overruled by the State Department. It made him think of the old adage that sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. This time around Rapp would be asking for neither.

Rapp looked at the screen and watched as Garret rejoined his fellow traitor at the table. He picked up the secure satellite phone sitting on the seat next to him and pressed the transmit button in his sleeve. “Did you send it off to Irene?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the last little bit? Are you going to be able to pull the whole conversation off Echelon?”

“I’m working on it right now. It’s near real time, not absolute neat time, so I need a few minutes.”

“All right. Let me know as soon as you have it.” Rapp punched Kennedy’s direct line into the phone and looked at his watch. It was 8:24 in Geneva, which meant it was 2:24 in DC.

Kennedy answered by saying, “I was just going to call you.”

“What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Dr. Hornig. She tells me your friend is very talkative.”

“Yeah, but is he saying anything worthwhile?”

“Apparently he took a little trip to the States back in October of last year.”

Rapp looked up slowly and stared out the front window of the car. “He was the one who delivered the van to Gazich.”

“You’re quick.”

“That’s how they found him.” Rapp imagined Milinkavich photographing Gazich as he picked up the van.

“What?”

“Never mind. It’s not important right now. Do you have the e-mail?”

“Yes. It just landed in my in-box.”

“Open it and hit the play button on the audio clip. And make sure you’re sitting down.”