Brad Thor - The Lions Of Lucerne

“My way? You’ve gotta be kidding me. I didn’t tell that reporter any-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Scot was losing his temper, and he began to raise his voice, “I don’t care if you want to hear it or not; you’re going to.”

“Not a chance.”

“Agent Lawlor, if you just get ahold of the raw tape from that reporter, you’ll hear that I said nothing further than ‘no comment.’”

“Agent Harvath, I don’t know what you said while the camera was rolling or when it wasn’t.”

“But what would I stand to gain by compromising the investigation?”

“I don’t know, Agent Harvath. Maybe you don’t like the way the FBI is handling this and want to push things along because you think you can do better.”

“I want what you do.”

“You’ve said that several times, but you don’t want to operate as a team player, and you don’t want to play by the rules-”

“Play by the rules? Do you think the kidnappers played by the rules when they snatched the president?”

“Agent Harvath, I’ve had enough, and so have your superiors.”

“My superiors? What are you talking about?”

“I have cut you more than enough slack. More than I should have. The little bit of rope you had left you just used to hang yourself with.”

“Hang myself? But I told you, I had nothing to do with that CNN report.”

“And I told you, I don’t care. As of”-Lawlor looked at his watch-“two minutes ago, you are officially recalled to D.C.”

“You had me yanked? I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it. Agents Patrasso and Sprecher here are to escort you back to the hotel, where you will collect your belongings and then proceed to Salt Lake City Airport. There will be a ticket at the Delta counter with your name on it. The agents will accompany you and make sure that the plane takes off with you on it. After that, you are no longer my problem.”

Scot knew he was grasping at straws, but he tried anyway. “I’m sorry about what happened. You’re right. This needs to be a team effort. I was just out of it, but I’ll pull it together. This is your investigation, and I will respect that. I’ve already come up with several theories that I think are worth taking a look at, so why don’t we-”

“Too late. I warned you, and you didn’t listen. It’s out of my hands.”

Really reaching, Scot went for the medical angle. “I haven’t gotten my CT and MRI scans yet with Dr. Trawick. We’re supposed to do it tomorrow afternoon and then he can clear me to travel.”

“Screw Dr. Trawick. I’m clearing you to travel. If you can beat the stuffing out of one of my agents, rappel down a sheer rock face, commandeer a helicopter and fly to Midway, plus give CNN interviews, then you’re fine to travel.”

“I told you, I didn’t say anything to that reporter.”

“And I told you, I don’t care. Patrasso and Sprecher are going to take you to get your things, and then you are going to the airport and getting on the next plane to D.C. What you do once you’re there is somebody else’s problem. Now, get out of here,” Lawlor said, turning and going back into the command center.

Scot looked from Patrasso to Sprecher and realized they were a pair it probably wouldn’t be wise to mess with. He had a feeling Lawlor had instructed them to use any means necessary to get him on that plane. Frankly, he was too tired to try to resist.

What is the name of your hotel? had been one of Dr. Trawick’s memory questions the night before. Even seeing the hotel’s name now, on the big sign outside, didn’t ring any bells. He really had hurt his head.

Patrasso and Sprecher accompanied him to his room, where he packed, and then took him to the airport.

The flight back to D.C. was the quickest he had ever had. Despite his headache, he slept the entire way.

André Martin struggled against the laundry cord digging into his wrists, then let his muscles go limp. He had to stay calm. Focus on your breathing, he told himself. The gag in his mouth tasted like shoe polish, and a strong smell of mildew rose from the stained floor beneath him. All he wanted to do was vomit, but he knew for sure if he did, he would choke on it and die. He kept reminding himself to be calm. There has to be a way out of this, he thought. It had better come soon, though. The uncomfortable hog-tie position in which he was restrained threatened to drive him insane. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what had happened.

When Senator Snyder had opened the door to the shower, André hadn’t seen the hypodermic in his hand. By the time he did, it was too late. The tranquilizer worked extremely fast. Considering the difference in their sizes, deception was the only advantage Snyder had over his taller and more muscular victim.

In a strange sort of way, had he but known it, this had been André’s lucky day. The senator’s schedule was tightly packed, and with all the events of the last fourteen hours, he didn’t have time for any diversions, especially a killing and the requisite disposal of the body. This was something he wanted time to savor. He also wanted to know how much his young lover knew.

Snyder didn’t have the time to put all of the pieces together then, but lately something about André Martin had begun to bother him. Call it a feeling. Senator Snyder put a lot of stock in his intuition, especially when it was telegraphing danger signals.

Snyder had tried to rationalize his fears, thinking that as he was getting older he was getting more paranoid, but he knew this wasn’t true. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The older he got, the more attuned to his senses he had become. That morning, not wanting to appear suspicious, Snyder could glance over his shoulder only so many times in the taxicab on the way to Rolander’s house. Although he couldn’t have proved it, he knew he was being followed.

When he returned home to Georgetown, the entry hall was perfectly dry, but the mudroom at the rear entrance to the house was a different story. There was water there, even though someone had done their best to mop up. Snyder knew that person could only have been André Martin.

Snyder was also sure André had been listening in on his phone call with Agent Zuschnitt. When he’d hung up the phone, he had done so by depressing the switch hook so he could place another call to his office. André had not been fast enough in replacing the handset in the upstairs bedroom, and Snyder had heard him hang up. Those two pieces of evidence were enough to seal Martin’s fate.

From inside a false champagne split stored in the wet bar fridge of his den, Snyder removed the hypo and its potent drug. Minutes later he was at the shower door. With the thick steam and Snyder’s quick moves, André never had a chance of avoiding the needle.

Like a cat playing with a mouse, Snyder couldn’t deny himself the opportunity of toying with André. While he waited for the drug to take full effect, he asked him why he had followed him and why he had listened in on the phone call. To his credit, André was quite clever.

“You’ve been distant lately. You seem preoccupied with something or someone else,” said André, his muscles growing extremely weak, his eyes showing his terror despite their heavy lids. He knew what Snyder was capable of. He struggled to gather all of his faculties to present the strongest argument he could, but the fog of the drug was pulling him down with ever increasing speed. “I thought you might be seeing someone on the side. Why else would you leave the house in the middle of the night like you did?”

“What I do, my little André,” said Snyder as he yanked Martin’s hair to lift his head from where it had slumped against his chest, “is my business. I am a senator, you know, and have very important business at all times of the day and night.”