The Scorpio Illusion Part 59

"Keep going!" Bajaratt ordered as the driver of the limousine swung into an entrance of an airport hotel. "Id prefer something farther away."

"Theyre all pretty much the same, maam," said the chauffeur.

"Try another, please." The Baj kept her eyes on the window, on the receding circular drive outside, watching for any sign of a following automobile, a hesitant car, wavering headlights-anything. She could sense her pulse racing as she gripped the package on her lap and felt the perspiration rolling down her neck. The Mossad had found her, found her despite every tunnel she had buried! Jerusalem was now in the equation, sending over the one man they knew might identify her more quickly than anyone else, a one-time lover who knew her walk, her body, the small gestures indelibly printed on the memory of an intelligence officer who beds a suspicious target.

How did the Mossad fit in? How? What was its connection to Was.h.i.+ngtons Little Girl Blood circle?... The newest leader of the Scorpions, would he know? He had as much as admitted that he not only knew but approved of her mission. Remember Dallas thirty years ago? We do, he had said enthusiastically. He had also mentioned that he hated the G.o.dd.a.m.ned pansies in Was.h.i.+ngton who wouldnt give us the firepower in Nam. It was worth a try; he was worth a try.

"Driver," Bajaratt called out. "Take us into one of the parking areas, if you please."

"What, maam?"

"I realize its inconvenient, but there are several items Id like to get from my luggage."

"Whatever you say, maam."

"And please make sure there are convenient public telephones."

"Theres a real convenient one right here."

"Id prefer the other-"

"Yeah, folks are doing that more and more, I saw it on television. People can listen in on these cellephone things."

"Hardly my concern." But something else was, considered the Baj. An outside parking lot was an enclosed area; cars coming and going were easily spotted. If they were being followed, shed know it in a matter of moments, and vast shadowed areas at night were familiar places to Amaya Aquirre ... Bajaratt. She fondled her purse, feeling the hard steel of her automatic. It was fully loaded.

The only automobile that arrived within minutes of their entry was a brightly painted Jeep, the driver and her pa.s.sengers boisterous young people. The exit was several hundred meters across the lot, beyond the rows of parked cars. They were safe; there was no surveillance. There was, however, a telephone booth.

"It is I," said the Baj. "May we speak?"

"Im in my Pentagon chariot, give me ten seconds to put us on scrambler and Ill be back on the line." Eight seconds later, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs returned. "Youre anxious, lady. I gave the blueprint to a G-2 specialist on my payroll who knew all about it; hes worked the Middle East. Itll be delivered tomorrow morning, no later than seven A.M."

"Youre very professional, Scorpio One, but thats not what I called about. May we talk freely, or are you monitored?"

"You could spell out the nuclear codes and no one could intercept."

"But youre in an automobile-"

"A very special vehicle. I just came from paying my respects to a yellowbelly you did me the courtesy of getting rid of. The son of a b.i.t.c.h would have blown the whistle on all of us."

"Perhaps he did."

"No way, lady, Id know about it."

"Yes, you said you were privileged-"

"All the way to the max," Meyers cut in, "which is kind of funny, considering my nickname."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing, just a little inside humor."

"What I must ask you is not remotely humorous. The Mossad has shown up. What do you know about it?"

"Over here?"

"Precisely."

"Ill be G.o.dd.a.m.ned. Its not in any of our circulations and Id pick it up if it were. I have a couple of special friends over there, the right ones, not the lefties."

"That hardly gives me confidence."

"I separate and distinguish, lady. Mine comes first, everybody else gets in line."

"Including me?"

"Youre the top of my priorities right now. Youre going to bring us back to where we should be, so theres nothing I wouldnt do for you. I can smell the fires, hear the shouting of the scared-s.h.i.+tless mobs, see the columns as we continue the march. Well be in charge again."

"Muerte a toda autoridad."

"What did you say?"

"It matters not to you. Only to me."

Bajaratt hung up the parking lot phone, frowning in thought. The man was a zealot; she liked that, if it was true and not a charade. Was he genuine, or was he an accomplished plant inserted by the same inner circle he disavowed? She would know in the morning when she disa.s.sembled the Allahs Boot, verifying its structure and components as only a skilled activist knew how to do. A technician could build an authentic-looking facsimile, but there were three contact points that could not be duplicated without lethal consequences. Friend or enemy, it didnt really matter. She had told him nothing.

The Baj inserted another coin and called the Carillon to get her messages from the concierge. They were numerous, supplicants all but one. That message was from the office of Michigans Senator Nesbitt, and the words were magnificently precise. The countesss appointment at the White House is scheduled for eight oclock tomorrow evening. The senator will call her in the morning.

Bajaratt walked back to the limousine, instinctively searching the parking lot for new arrivals and the dark sky for hovering aircraft.

"Take us back to the first hotel," she said to the driver. "I was too hasty."

Hawthorne stood over the butcher-block table in the secretary of states kitchen; his angry, reluctant host sat beside the ever-present coffeepot. Their exchange was heated.

"You sound like a jacka.s.s with a commensurate IQ, Commander! Have you lost all skepticism?"

"Youre the jacka.s.s if youre not listening to me, Palisser!"

"May I remind you, young man, that Im the secretary of state."

"Right now, youre the secretary of guacamole!"

"Youre not at all amusing-"

"You said that the last time, about Van Nostrand. You were wrong then and youre wrong now. Will you please think, and follow me?"

"I listened to everything your aide, whats his name, told me, and my heads still spinning."

"His name is Poole, and hes a first lieutenant in the air force, and hes a h.e.l.l of a lot brighter than you or me, and everything he told you is true. I was there, you werent."

"Lets get this straight, Hawthorne," said Palisser. "What makes you think that under the circ.u.mstances old Ingersol has any of his marbles left? Hes d.a.m.ned near ninety, his son was brutally murdered, and hes been flying all day against six or seven time zones. Considering his age and the stress hes under, a bereaved old man like Ingersol might well fantasize, conjure up an army of demons marching out of h.e.l.l to wreak havoc, including the murder of his son.... Good G.o.d! A network of Scorpions with elite leaders who carry out the demands of a mystical order of the Providers? Its all out of some outrageously implausible novel!"

"So was the Schutzstaffel."

"The early n.a.z.is?"

"The same thugs who had uniforms and several thousand pairs of leather boots when a wheelbarrow full of deutsche marks couldnt buy a loaf of bread. Certainly not during the Weimar economic collapse."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"A very relevant pattern, Mr. Secretary. Somebody supplied all those uniforms and boots; they didnt just materialize out of thin air-they were bought and paid for by very special interests who wanted a country! The Providers here arent much different. They intend to gain control of this government and one way they can do it is with the a.s.sa.s.sination of the President and the chaos that would follow. Theyre in place in the Senate and the Pentagon, that much we know, and probably in the courts and communications, ready to jump into the power vacuum."

"What do you mean, we know?"

"The Ingersols, father and son, put it together, from what the son knew as a reluctant Scorpio, and from what Van Nostrand told the old man on the Costa del Sol."

"Van Nostrand ...?"

"You heard me. That p.i.s.s-elegant son of a b.i.t.c.h was at the heart of the whole thing. He laid it on the line to our former justice of the Supreme Court-made it clear that he and his crowd were going to run Was.h.i.+ngton and there was nothing Ingersol or his son could do about it. Those two were the proof-from generation to generation."

"Absurd!"

"And as sure as you and our late secretary of defense, Howard Davenport, are clean, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs isnt. Hes one of them."

"Youre stark raving mad...."

"Im mad as h.e.l.l, Palisser, but Im as sane as Ive ever been, and Ive got a gash in my skull to prove it." Hawthorne yanked off the Burberry hat he had stolen from the younger Ingersols closet, bent over, and revealed the b.l.o.o.d.y tape on his head.

"That happened at Ingersols place?"

"Roughly two hours ago, and Maximum Mike Meyers, the almighty chairman of the Joint Chiefs, was there. One of the Scorpios was described as 'a heavyweight at the Pentagon, the heaviest. Do you need a roadmap to get from Ingersols house to the Pentagon, Mr. Secretary?"

"Well bring in the old man and question him with the appropriate doctors," said Palisser gruffly, pensively.

"Forgive me for using an old technique." Hawthorne lowered his voice and braced himself wearily on the butcher-block table, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. "Its something I refined in Amsterdam. I used to call it the clincher, in case an a.s.set was wavering.... You cant bring in Justice Ingersol because hes dead. A bullet from a .357 Magnum blew his forehead apart, and I was set up to take the kill as my own."

Palissers chair screeched as he involuntarily sc.r.a.ped it backward across the stone floor of the kitchen. "What are you-"

"Its true, Mr. Secretary."

"it would be all over the news! I would have been reached!"

"Not by the Pentagon, and its entirely possible that no one at Ingersols house has walked back into an outside garden beyond the swimming pool. They may not find him until morning; tonights occasion at that house didnt call for skinny-dipping in the pool, unless Ive grossly underestimated my distaste for Was.h.i.+ngton get-togethers."

"Who shot him and why?" Palissers face was white, his lips parted in shock.

"I can only guess, but its based on what I saw, what I was told when I was beat up and getting out of there. I watched as Meyerss extremely agitated aide rushed up to him and d.a.m.n near forced his boss to leave, not exactly the behavior of an underling to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Then old Ingersols grandson said the aide had been trying to get the general out of there for the past half hour. That would correspond to the time when Ingersol was killed and I took the fall."

"Nothing makes sense. Why would anyone want to kill the old man?"

"Because the Scorpios exist, theyre real. I dont know what the killer heard, but Ingersol was about to tell me the ident.i.ties of two people who frequently visited Van Nostrand on the Costa del Sol. He felt that they were keys to the Scorpios-that was uppermost in his mind. He would do anything to break the hold they had on his son."

"So youre saying Meyerss aide shot Ingersol?"

"Its the only a.s.sumption that makes sense."

"But if you saw him when you were leaving, why didnt he see you-a man he bludgeoned half to death-and if he did, why didnt he react accordingly?"

"The foyer was dark, I was wearing this hat, and the place was crowded. Besides, he raced past the kid and me like a man possessed. He had only one thought on his mind, and that was to get the h.e.l.l out of there."

"And on those disjointed suppositions you want me to impugn the integrity and the patriotism of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, a man who endured four years as a prisoner of war in North Vietnam, and have him taken into custody?"

"Thats the last thing I want you to do!" Tyrell said emphatically. "I want you to help me do what I started to do, go down and dirty, and insinuate myself into the core of these people just as fast as I can.... Hes part of the 'circle, isnt he, one of the few people who are apprised daily, even hourly, of the Little Girl Blood progress, right?"

"Naturally, hes the-"

"I know who he is," Hawthorne interrupted. "But he doesnt know that I know hes a Scorpio."

"So?"

"Bring us together. Tonight. Im the expert where Bajaratt is concerned, and I was almost killed at the Ingersols."

"For G.o.ds sake, if youre right, he tried to have you killed!"

"I dont know that, I dont even suspect it," said Tyrell disingenuously. "I believe it was someone else at the house, and since he was there, Im joining him to find out who it was." Hawthorne suddenly turned and approached the dark gla.s.s of an upper oven, his voice becoming harsh, inquisitorial. "Think, General! Go back over every name, every face you can remember! Its vital, General, someone in that crowd is working for Little Girl Blood!" Again Tyrell spun around, his eyes on Palisser. "You see how its done, Mr. Secretary?"

"h.e.l.l see through you."

"Not if I do it right. Incidentally, Ill need one of those small tape recorders, the kind you can put in your s.h.i.+rt pocket. I want to record every word that son of a b.i.t.c.h says."

"I dont have to tell you, Hawthorne, that if youre right and Meyers even suspects hes being recorded, h.e.l.l kill you."

"If he tries, he wont have much of a future."

General Michael Meyers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stood impatiently in his trousers, bare to the waist, as his aide removed the prosthetic right arm that had filled out the sleeve of his civilian suit. Once the straps were off, the general shook the flesh-encased stump protruding from his shoulder, annoyed to see that the skin was reddish; it was time for a new harness.

"Ill get the salve," said the aide, following his superiors eyes and noting the resulting frown.

"Get me a drink first, and make a note to call the Walter Reed doctors in the morning. Tell them to get the d.a.m.n thing right this time, okay?"

"Thats what we told them last time," replied the middle-aged master sergeant, "and that was over a year ago. If Ive told you once, Ive told you a hundred times, these things stretch, and when theyre loose they scratch. But no, you dont listen."

"Youre a pain in the a.s.s-"

"Dont insult me, you p.r.i.c.k. You owe me big for tonight."

"I hear you," said the general, laughing. "But be careful or Ill take away that fancy Porsche youve got stashed in Easton."

"Take it. Ill use the Ferrari you keep in Annapolis; thats in my name too."