Act Of Treason Part 30

"What do we know about the bank?"

Rapp pointed at Dumond. "Marcus is working on that. Apparently it's one of Geneva's oldest and most secretive inst.i.tutions."

"And by far the most difficult one to hack into," Dumond added without looking up.

"Is that what you're working on?" Kennedy asked.

"No. Something else." Dumond hadn't touched his coffee. His two index fingers were busy tapping keys.

Kennedy's stoic gaze s.h.i.+fted to Rapp. "What about our Belarusian friend?"

"Nothing yet. Hornig says she needs a little more time to soften him up."

"When?" Kennedy asked impatiently.

"She thought maybe she could start in the morning." Rapp could sense her frustration. "I didn't think we were operating under any time constraints."

"In two days we're going to have a new president and vice president who might be guilty of murder and treason and G.o.d knows what else. Based on how Ross has been acting, I don't think he's going to waste any time getting rid of me. We need to get to the bottom of this while we still have the power to."

"Yes," Dumond said triumphantly. He looked up smiling. "That little b.a.s.t.a.r.d took me longer than I expected."

"What little b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" Rapp asked.

"T-Mobile's firewall. They must have brought in some new hot shot. It normally takes me a minute or less. This time it took me a full ten minutes."

"What are you looking for?"

"Garret has two phones. One is a BlackBerry that he has with Verizon, and then he has a Motorola that he has through T-Mobile." Dumond spun the small computer ninety degrees so Rapp and Kennedy could see the screen. "Here's all of his calls."

Kennedy looked nervous. "Marcus, I a.s.sume there's no way this can be traced back to you."

"Huh," Dumond laughed. "Anyone with half a brain can hack into a system. When I do it, there's no trace I was ever there."

"Anything to Switzerland?" Rapp asked as he bent over to look at the screen. All it showed were the numbers that he had called or had called him. No names. There appeared to be no international calls. "Can you get us a reverse directory on these phone numbers?"

"No problem." Dumond spun the computer, made a few keystrokes, and then spun it back. "Here's the names a.s.sociated with numbers he dialed and the time and date."

Rapp leaned in close so he could read the tiny print. The calls were listed in descending order with the most recent one at the top of the screen. Rapp scanned the column, and halfway down the first page a name jumped out at him. "Why, I'll be d.a.m.ned."

"What?" Kennedy asked. She didn't have her reading gla.s.ses with her.

"Our little buddy Tom Rich from the Times Times called Garret right in the middle of your press conference this afternoon." called Garret right in the middle of your press conference this afternoon."

"That seems like a bit of coincidence," Kennedy replied.

Rapp scrolled down to the previous day's calls. "Look here. Garret called Ross three times yesterday. And Ross called Garret five times. Look here. He called Garret at seven-oh-nine last night. I remember looking at my watch when we were in your office. It was seven-oh-four. He got off the phone with us and must have called Garret right away."

Rapp grabbed his phone, opened it, hit talk, scrolled down to the number he wanted, and hit talk again. A few rings later Agent Rivera was on the phone. "How are the logs coming?"

"Slowly."

"Have yesterday's logs been filed?"

"Yes, but I don't have them in front of me."

"Can you get them?"

"Yes. I can pull them up on the computer."

Rapp backed away from the kitchen table and waited.

"I've got them up on the screen. What are you looking for?"

"Who did Ross meet with yesterday?"

Rivera started reading a long list. Within fifteen seconds, Rapp lost his patience and asked, "Did he meet with Tom Rich?"

"The reporter?"

"Yes."

"Mitch," she said uncomfortably, "I'm not sure I should be giving you that kind of information."

"I don't have time for this right now, Maria. Trust me when I tell you it's important."

There was a long moment of silence, and then Rivera said, "They met yesterday evening in Ross's suite at the Willard."

"Thanks. I'll call you later." Rapp closed his phone and pointed at Dumond's computer screen. "These calls match up perfectly. Garret set up the interview and Ross was the high-level source who fed Rich the story. Look."

Kennedy bent forward and squinted, but before she could begin reading a new screen popped up and covered the T-Mobile page. Some type of ominous law enforcement s.h.i.+eld sat in the middle of the screen. "Whoa," Kennedy said, fearing their unlawful intrusion had been discovered. "Marcus, you'd better take a look at this," she said as she backed away.

Dumond quickly set his coffee down and grabbed the computer. He spun it around, studied the screen for a split second, and then began hitting keys.

"What is it?" Rapp asked with no real worry in his voice. Dumond was the master of his own little universe. He would never initiate an incursion that could be traced back to him.

"Customs and Immigration web site. When I was in their database earlier today I put a flag on Garret's pa.s.sport."

"A flag?" Kennedy said in a slightly alarmed voice.

"Not the normal kind of flag. I set it up so I would receive an alert if he tried to leave the country. I also tapped into the airline's reservation system while I was checking his travel." Dumond typed in several commands. The screen changed as quickly as his fingers flew. "Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned." Dumond stopped typing and stared at the screen.

"What?" Rapp asked.

"Garret just checked in for an Air France flight from Dulles to Geneva."

Rapp and Kennedy looked at each other, their thoughts pa.s.sing without words.

"When does his flight leave?" Kennedy asked.

"Twelve twenty."

"I'll call Jose and have him put his best people on it," Kennedy said.

Rapp checked his watch. "There's a chance I can get there first. Besides, I don't think we want to use emba.s.sy people for this. Tell him I want NOCs only."

"You're probably right." Kennedy watched Rapp punch numbers into his mobile phone. NOC stood for Non Official Cover. They were Langley's most coveted operatives. "Are you sure you should go?"

"You have any better ideas?"

"Not at the moment."

Rapp could tell she still wasn't sold on the idea. "Like you said, Irene. We have less than two days. If these guys were involved in any way in that attack, I'm willing to bet the answers are in Switzerland." Rapp looked away from Kennedy and spoke into his phone. "Scramble the boys. We need to be in the air by midnight." Rapp listened for a second and said, "Across the pond. Mostly surveillance, but you never know. I'll see you in thirty." Rapp closed the phone and looked at Kennedy. Her expression radiated concern. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Kennedy frowned and said, "I'm not worried about you."

"Then who in the h.e.l.l are you worried about?"

"Stu Garret." Kennedy shook her head. "I know how you think, Mitch. I don't want you slapping him around."

"Irene...come on," Rapp said as if he was complaining.

"Well...at least not until he gives you a reason."

48.

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND.

G arret was in a supremely foul mood. He'd boarded his flight convinced he would sleep his way across the Atlantic. He had it all planned out. He'd have a vodka on the rocks before takeoff and two or three gla.s.ses of red wine with his meal, and then he'd kick off his shoes, recline his seat, put on the little mask they handed out, and he'd snooze until the sun was gleaming off the snow-capped Alps. Unfortunately, he didn't account for his enlarged prostate. An hour into his slumber he awoke to make his first of three trips to the head. When he landed in Geneva, he was tired, grumpy, and more than a bit out of whack. He was at least happy, though, to be out of Was.h.i.+ngton. No one bugging him for photographs and advice. arret was in a supremely foul mood. He'd boarded his flight convinced he would sleep his way across the Atlantic. He had it all planned out. He'd have a vodka on the rocks before takeoff and two or three gla.s.ses of red wine with his meal, and then he'd kick off his shoes, recline his seat, put on the little mask they handed out, and he'd snooze until the sun was gleaming off the snow-capped Alps. Unfortunately, he didn't account for his enlarged prostate. An hour into his slumber he awoke to make his first of three trips to the head. When he landed in Geneva, he was tired, grumpy, and more than a bit out of whack. He was at least happy, though, to be out of Was.h.i.+ngton. No one bugging him for photographs and advice.

A driver was waiting for him at the airport. The man took him to his hotel and on the way showed him where he would be meeting Mr. Speyer for dinner at 8:00. Garret was immediately put off that they were going to make him wait for six and a half hours to discuss business, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Speyer wasn't answering his phone, and he wasn't about to call Green.

He checked in to his hotel a little before 2:00 in the afternoon and asked for a 7:00 p.m. wakeup call just to be safe. When he got up to his room the jet lag hit him hard. He turned off both mobile phones and hit the Do Not Disturb b.u.t.ton on the hotel phone. He must have been dehydrated from the flight because he slept straight through to his 7:00 p.m. wakeup call without disturbance from his prostate. Garret showered and shaved and put on a blue sport coat, white dress s.h.i.+rt, and dark gray slacks.

When he arrived downstairs a car was waiting for him. Garret walked outside with his puffy down coat and stopped for a moment on the sidewalk. Across the street was Lake Geneva. The city lights flickered on the surface. As a political consultant, Garret had a keen sense of awareness when it came to people. He liked Geneva. It was a city of scoundrels, many of whom tried to portray themselves as aristocracy. It was a voyeuristic heaven. You got to watch the charade of social pretense that masked insatiable appet.i.tes for food, drugs, drinking, gambling, and s.e.x. It could be a very fun place to visit.

Garret stuffed his hands in his jacket and climbed into the back of his waiting Mercedes sedan. The driver said h.e.l.lo in French, and Garret nodded to his reflection in the rearview mirror. The car eased out into traffic and rolled down Quai du Mont-Blanc, toward the finest restaurant in all of Geneva. Garret was looking forward to the meal, but he was not looking forward to the company. He decided he would have to order the most expensive thing on the menu. He didn't have to worry about the wine. Speyer would take great care to make sure something extremely expensive was selected.

49.

M itch Rapp sat in the backseat of the car and studied Garret through the opaque gla.s.s of the backseat side window. The fingers on Rapp's right hand clamped down on the cuff of his black leather jacket. The entire team was carrying miniaturized encrypted radios with wireless earpieces. Rapp pressed the Transmit b.u.t.ton sewn into his cuff and said, "He's on his way." itch Rapp sat in the backseat of the car and studied Garret through the opaque gla.s.s of the backseat side window. The fingers on Rapp's right hand clamped down on the cuff of his black leather jacket. The entire team was carrying miniaturized encrypted radios with wireless earpieces. Rapp pressed the Transmit b.u.t.ton sewn into his cuff and said, "He's on his way."

He released the b.u.t.ton and looked at Hacket who was behind the wheel. "You know the routine, Kevin. Hang back for a second and make sure no one else is following him."

The black Mercedes sedan began to roll. The flight from DC had taken six hours and eleven minutes. They were wheels up at 11:47 p.m., and with the time change they were on the ground in Geneva a few minutes before noon; a full hour before Garret's plane was due to land. No one slept on the way over. There was too much work to be done. Dumond went online and hacked into the networks of seven different hotels before he found out where Garret was staying. He was booked at the Beau-Rivage on Quai du Mont-Blanc overlooking the lake. If he had business at Speyer's bank, the hotel made sense. It was a short walk.

After a.n.a.lyzing the Rivage's reservation system, the best they were able to do was get a room on the same floor as Garret two doors down. There was no adjacent hotel with a direct line of sight to Garret's room so they would have to bug his room instead. After they cleared customs, they found two identical black Mercedes sedans with heavily tinted windows and a white Volkswagen cargo van waiting for them. In the trunk of each sedan they found a full complement of silenced weapons, and in the back of the van a surveillance kit. Everyone was dressed in business attire, except Coleman and Stroble, who were wearing pilot's uniforms. Coleman and Stroble took one of the sedans and parked out in front of the Air France terminal. Rapp, Dumond, and Hacket took the white van and followed Brooks and Wicker, who were in the other Mercedes, to the Rivage. Brooks and Wicker checked into the room at the Rivage while the rest of the team went to the D'Angleterre a few blocks away. Rapp and the other two waited outside until the newlyweds finished bugging Garret's room.

Dumond in the meantime managed to insert Garret's mobile phone numbers into the National Security Agency's Echelon system. The CIA worked closely with the NSA on overseas matters. Neither wanted to be embarra.s.sed over the discovery that they were intentionally targeting U.S. citizens abroad, so they'd developed a system where numbers could be monitored for a brief period, a day or two, and then they would be purged from the system as if they'd never been looked at in the first place. Garret's e-mail addresses were also added to the list. So far the hardest part of the op had been getting a reservation for Brooks and Wicker at Le Bearn. Wicker slid the concierge at the Rivage a hundred-dollar bill and the guy barely batted an eye. It took two more C-notes before the guy could guarantee a table.

A laptop was sitting on the seat next to Rapp. The screen was divided into four pictures. Wicker and Brooks had already arrived at Le Bearn and had planted several miniaturized cameras and listening devices in the bar, restaurant, and bathroom. Dumond was monitoring everything from the back of the van which was parked a half block away from the restaurant. The screen currently showed a picture of the street outside the restaurant, the front door of the restaurant from the inside, and two more interior shots of the dining area. Dumond was recording everything.

50.

G arret stepped through the front door a few minutes early and was immediately cut off by three men wearing tuxedos. Le Bearn wouldn't let you into the bar if you didn't have a reservation for dinner. The shorter of the three men greeted Garret in French. He was polite but unyielding. Garret ignored the greeting and told the man he was meeting Joseph Speyer for dinner. Their att.i.tudes changed immediately. One man grabbed his coat, the third disappeared, and the other began singing the praises of one of Geneva's most well-respected bankers. arret stepped through the front door a few minutes early and was immediately cut off by three men wearing tuxedos. Le Bearn wouldn't let you into the bar if you didn't have a reservation for dinner. The shorter of the three men greeted Garret in French. He was polite but unyielding. Garret ignored the greeting and told the man he was meeting Joseph Speyer for dinner. Their att.i.tudes changed immediately. One man grabbed his coat, the third disappeared, and the other began singing the praises of one of Geneva's most well-respected bankers.

The man himself showed up just moments later. Next to Garret, with his frumpy demeanor and ill-fitting clothes, Speyer looked as if he'd just stepped out of a GQ GQ ad. His two-b.u.t.ton, blue-gray flannel suit had a faint light gray pinstripe. The fabric hung from his thin frame perfectly, the pants breaking at the perfect spot above a pair of handmade light brown Italian shoes that matched the frame of his gla.s.ses. Speyer's thinning light brown hair was cropped short and styled slightly forward. ad. His two-b.u.t.ton, blue-gray flannel suit had a faint light gray pinstripe. The fabric hung from his thin frame perfectly, the pants breaking at the perfect spot above a pair of handmade light brown Italian shoes that matched the frame of his gla.s.ses. Speyer's thinning light brown hair was cropped short and styled slightly forward.

They had just made it to the bar when four men came through the door. Two of them were huge. Standing well over six feet tall and weighing upwards of three hundred pounds, everything about them screamed bodyguard. bodyguard. The two older men sandwiched in between them were Cy Green and Aleksandr Gordievsky. They were opposites of sorts. Green had a relaxed air of confidence about him. His permatan, slicked-back hair, open-collared s.h.i.+rt, gold necklace and watch, and double-breasted blue sport coat was the uniform of the ultra-wealthy. Compared to Green, Gordievsky looked a bit pasty. His brown hair was mostly gone, except around the sides and in back, where he grew it a bit too long. His suit was a bit too s.h.i.+ny, and the mock turtleneck sweater that he wore under the jacket screamed Eurotrash. The two older men sandwiched in between them were Cy Green and Aleksandr Gordievsky. They were opposites of sorts. Green had a relaxed air of confidence about him. His permatan, slicked-back hair, open-collared s.h.i.+rt, gold necklace and watch, and double-breasted blue sport coat was the uniform of the ultra-wealthy. Compared to Green, Gordievsky looked a bit pasty. His brown hair was mostly gone, except around the sides and in back, where he grew it a bit too long. His suit was a bit too s.h.i.+ny, and the mock turtleneck sweater that he wore under the jacket screamed Eurotrash.

Handshakes and greetings were exchanged, and the restaurant staff made a great production out of taking care of the group. They were escorted to their corner table where Green and Gordievsky insisted on sitting with their backs to the wall. The two hulking bodyguards were given the table next to them. Water and bread were left, and drink orders were taken. A special wine list was brought to the table and offered to Green, who quickly declined and gestured for it to be given to Speyer.

While Speyer perused the list Green looked across the table and flashed Garret a devilish look. "You have picked a good time to visit. Tonight is going to be great fun. When we are done with this exquisite meal we are going to hit some fabulous clubs and then we will head back to my place for some truly unique late-night entertainment."

Garret hadn't flown all the way from DC to party. He wanted to get the nasty stuff out of the way, so he said, "We have a problem."

"May we at least eat before we talk business?" Green said.

"I'd rather get it out of the way. You guys promised me that you were going to tie up all the loose ends over here."

"And we have," Green smiled at a pa.s.sing woman.

"Didn't you see the president's press conference yesterday?"

Green dismissed Garret's worries with an unconcerned look. "I'm not worried."

"They found the the guy." guy."

"There is no way they can trace the Bosnian back to any of us," Green a.s.sured him.

"How can you be so sure?"