The Hadrian Memorandum Part 39

They had just taken seats at a small outdoor cafe on Rua Garrett and were ordering coffee to wait it out when they heard the alarm. One of Branco's lookouts was extremely concerned about two people who had suddenly appeared from the bas.e.m.e.nt entrance of the building at the end of the block and climbed into an electrician's van that had been parked there for nearly a half hour. Seconds later the vehicle pulled away.

"Couldn't tell if it was two men or a man and a woman. One of them wore a pulled-down hat," a male voice spat in Portuguese. a male voice spat in Portuguese. "Blue van, Servico Eletrico de Sete Dias, with white and gold lettering. Moving north toward Travessa do Sequeiro." "Blue van, Servico Eletrico de Sete Dias, with white and gold lettering. Moving north toward Travessa do Sequeiro."

Immediately they heard Branco cut in. "Bernardo. Pick it up! Pick it up! Pick it up!" "Bernardo. Pick it up! Pick it up! Pick it up!"

"Excuse me," Conor White said politely and left the table. He walked past several customers and crossed to where Moses waited in the parked Mercedes. Safely out of earshot, he lifted his right arm, pressed the KEY TO TALK b.u.t.ton on the small microphone in the sleeve of his jacket, and spoke into it. "Branco," he said quietly. "Can you talk?"

"Yes."

"Was it them?"

"Don't know. Sit tight. We'll find out."

"Don't lose that van."

"I have a man on a motorcycle right behind it."

"Where is Ryder?"

"Went for a swim, then back to his room. Wants a car at eleven thirty to go to a cafe in the Alfama district."

"Where the h.e.l.l is that?"

"Across the Baixa quarter from where you are."

"Which way did the van go?"

"I-Wait, what?" Branco paused, as if he were listening to some other transmission, then came back on. Branco paused, as if he were listening to some other transmission, then came back on. "It just turned onto Calcada de Combro." "It just turned onto Calcada de Combro."

"What's that mean?"

"It's not heading to the Alfama district."

"Stay on it to wherever it stops. Then just watch, don't do anything. See who gets out and where they go afterward. If it is Marten and Anne I want immediate confirmation."

Conor White clicked off the microphone, went back to the table, and sat down next to Patrice and Irish Jack. "You heard?"

Patrice nodded.

"What do you think?"

"They know we're here and watching," he said in his distinct French-Canadian accent, "and have found a way around us."

"That's what I think, too." White glanced around, then lifted the microphone. Again he spoke quietly. "Where is the van now?"

"Rua Antonio Maria Cardoso."

"Which way is it going?"

"Just city streets. No way to tell. As I said, sit tight. My guy's a good rider."

10:13 A.M.

104.

10:14 A.M.

"Senhor, a motorcycle has been following us for the last minutes," the heavyset, middle-aged electrician said over his shoulder as he guided the blue van down a series of narrow cobblestone streets. He wore white coveralls and a Servico Eletrico de Sete Dias baseball cap and was clearly nervous.

Quickly Marten moved forward from where he and Anne had been crouching among the electrical supplies to look into the van's side mirror. The motorcycle was two hundred feet back with a small car in between. It looked like a j.a.panese street racer, a Suzuki maybe. Very fast, with tremendous acceleration. Its rider was a man, or so it appeared. He wore jeans, a dark jacket, and a full helmet and visor, making it impossible to see his features.

"How close are we to the hospital?"

"About five minutes."

"If he's still with us after the next turn, pull over and stop and let him pa.s.s. We'll see what happens then."

The driver started to look back at Marten.

"Don't," Marten warned. "I don't want him to think you're talking to someone."

The driver looked back to the road, his anxiety growing. "I'm just an electrician, senhor senhor. Doing a favor for Raisa. I have three school-age children."

"What's your name?"

"Tomas."

Marten smiled. "Don't worry, Tomas. You'll be fine. So will your children."

10:15 P.M.

Moses had pulled from the curb and was heading the Mercedes toward Rua Antonio Maria Cardoso, the street where the van was last seen, when Branco's voice crackled through their headsets.

"Congressman Ryder's not in his hotel room," he said firmly. he said firmly. "He came back from the pool and went up to his room. Then he vanished. The same with his RSO detail." "He came back from the pool and went up to his room. Then he vanished. The same with his RSO detail."

"What?" White snapped, giving a quick glance to Patrice beside him. Irish Jack had turned and was looking at him from the shotgun seat.

"They're nowhere in the hotel. Not that we can determine, anyway."

"They're moving all at once," Patrice said. "Somehow they've communicated. It means they have an agreed-upon time and destination."

White looked off, staring at nothing. Five seconds later he turned back. "Branco," he said softly into the microphone, "you're an accomplished resource who would have done his homework before he moved his surveillance team in. Who owns or manages the building on Rua do Almada?"

"A Raisa Amaro. Lives on the first floor. She's French. Been in Lisbon for fifteen years. She also owns a commercial laundry close to the waterfront. She went there about seven thirty this morning."

"The name and address of the laundry."

"Give me a minute."

White's eyes were locked on nothing. He was thinking, planning the next step. This was like a fast-moving combat situation where every possible situation had to be considered, sorted out, and then acted upon.

Branco clicked back on. "A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa. Avenida de Brasilia, 22, at Cais do Sodre. As I said, it's close to the waterfront." "A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa. Avenida de Brasilia, 22, at Cais do Sodre. As I said, it's close to the waterfront."

"Thank you."

10:16 A.M.

"He's still coming."

Tomas turned the van left onto Largo da Academia Nacional de Belas Artes. The motorcycle rider followed at a distance.

"Pull over," Marten said.

"Alright, senhor senhor." Tomas slowed, then pulled the van to the side of the street and stopped beside a row of parked cars. The motorcycle rider slowed as well as he approached, then suddenly sped up and pa.s.sed, turning at the far end of the street to disappear from view.

"Get out and put up the hood as if you're having engine trouble." Marten reached down and touched the Glock in his waistband.

Tomas did. Quickly and nervously.

Marten slid up to look in the van's side mirror. They had stopped on a narrow cobblestone street in what appeared to be a relatively fas.h.i.+onable neighborhood. For a moment there was no movement at all, and then a car followed by a taxi turned the corner and approached, the bright midmorning sun flas.h.i.+ng off their winds.h.i.+elds. In seconds they had pa.s.sed and the street was quiet again. Maybe there'd been no threat at all, Marten thought. Maybe the motorcycle rider had been doing nothing more than simply going his own way.

He was about to tell Tomas to get back in the van when the motorcyclist slid into view at the far end of the street. Seemingly he'd circled the block and come back. He slowed as he came toward them, then stopped at the side of the roadway.

"Dammit," Marten breathed and looked to Anne. "He's back. Stopped at the end of the street behind us."

Anne slid up beside him and looked in the mirror. "He thinks we're in the van but he's not sure. He's waiting for us to move. The minute we do, he'll follow. In the meantime he'll call for backup, probably is now."

Marten looked out at Tomas, his head poked under the hood. "Tomas," he said, loud enough to be heard. "Close the hood and get back behind the wheel."

Tomas hesitated, then stood upright and closed the hood. As he did, he hesitated, looking back down the street toward the motorcycle rider.

"Tomas, get in!"

"He's scared to death," Anne whispered.

"I don't blame him, but we can't sit here waiting to see what happens next." Marten slid the Glock free of his waistband. "Give me your professional opinion. Is our pal one of White's men or does he work for the Agency?"

"Take your choice."

"Not just somebody curious."

"No."

Tomas opened the door and got in behind the wheel. Immediately Marten climbed into the seat beside him. "How do I get to Rua Serpa Pinto from here? You said it was close."

"I don't understand."

"Just tell me how to get there."

"Up this street, past the fancy restaurant on the left. Then turn down Rua Capelo. At the end is the street you want. Number 25 is right there."

"Thank you." Marten looked over his shoulder at Anne. "Go with Tomas. I'll meet you at the hospital. If I'm late, if something happens, follow up with Ryder yourself. Give him everything you have and go with him. His people will protect you."

"What the h.e.l.l are you going to do?"

Marten smiled. "Not quite sure."

With that he opened the pa.s.senger door and stepped onto the street. "Get out of here, Tomas. Now!"

Marten slammed the door and stepped into the shadows between parked cars. Tomas glanced at him and then drove off. Marten looked back down the street. The motorcycle rider was watching either him or the van, it was hard to tell which. Suddenly he moved his head animatedly, as if he were either receiving orders or replying to them over a radio-microphone in his helmet. A split second later he set himself and revved the machine. There was a vicious scream of engine and the street racer shot toward him. Its speed alone told Marten all he needed to know. The rider had been ordered to ignore him and follow the van.

By his estimation a bike like that would accelerate from 0 to 150 miles per hour in about ten seconds. Meaning it would be going close to a hundred by the time it reached him. He counted, one, two; then stepped into the middle of the street and directly into its path. He waited a half second, then raised the Glock with both hands, pointing it at the rider's chest and giving him three choices to make in less than a heartbeat. Swerve out of the way, hit him at full speed, or get shot. The distance between them was closing at warp speed. The machine and rider were little more than a blur. A bullet coming straight at him. Marten stood his ground, his finger closing on the trigger. Then it was right there. Marten saw the rider touch his brakes and veer sharply to the left in an attempt to go around him. Instantly the laws of physics took over. The machine slid out from under him and he was airborne. A split second later he slammed headfirst into the winds.h.i.+eld of a parked car. His head snapped back and he bounced off it, his body twisting high in the air and then disappearing from sight on the far side of the car with a sickening thud. In the next instant the riderless motorcycle hit another car and exploded in an enormous fireball.

Marten watched for a moment, then slipped the Glock back into his waistband and turned and walked off toward Rua Capelo, the way Tomas had told him to go. Behind him traffic came to a standstill as flames and black smoke bellowed skyward.

10:21 A.M.

105.

10:22 A.M.

"Stop here, please," Joe Ryder said abruptly as the cabdriver took them along a large tree-lined plaza called the Rossio. One of the city's main squares, it was alive with tourists peopling the shops and cafes surrounding it.

"We are not yet close to the Alfama district, senhor senhor."

"It's alright. I just realized this is my wedding anniversary. I want to get my wife a present."

"You're American, yes?" The driver slowed, then pulled to the curb near a large flower stand.

"Yes."

The driver grinned. "Then you mean you have have to get your wife a present." to get your wife a present."

Ryder smiled in return. "That's one way to put it."

"I will wait for you, senhor senhor."

"Not necessary, thank you. We'll find another cab when we've finished shopping."

Agent Birns got out first, briefcase in hand, his eyes sweeping the area. Ryder paid the driver, then followed Birns, and the cab drove off. Immediately they turned down a side street and went into a store selling brightly colored ceramics. Thirty seconds later they exited, walked to the end of the next block, and hailed another taxi.

"Rua Serpa Pinto," Ryder said as they got in.

The driver nodded, put his cab in gear, and pulled into traffic.