The Genesis Plague - Michael Byrnes [104]
‘Smooth sailing,’ Flaherty said. In close quarters, he noticed Stokes was wheezing. And the crisp overhead lighting highlighted a film of perspiration that masked the preacher’s face.
‘Are you CIA or FBI?’ Stokes asked.
‘Neither,’ Flaherty replied truthfully.
Stokes gave him an appraising stare. ‘I’m not surprised. Feds love to travel in pairs and wave their credentials around. Makes them feel special. You’re not the cowboy type. So let me guess … You’ve got a Boston accent’ - he thought aloud - ‘Bostonians prefer to stick to their own.’ Simple deduction led to only one conclusion: must work for the same outfit as the mercenaries who’d found the cave. ‘Therefore, I’d guess you’re with Global Security Corporation.’
‘Lucky guess,’ Flaherty replied flatly. ‘Agent Thomas Flaherty.’
‘All right, Agent Flaherty. Now we’re getting somewhere.’
The elevator came to a stop and the doors whispered open. They stepped out into a cosy antechamber trimmed in cherry wood and with modern leather furnishings and an empty reception desk.
Stokes led them around the desk and through a double door that brought them into his office.
‘Please, have a seat,’ Stokes said, indicating the wingback chairs on the guest side of his desk. ‘Something to drink? Soda, coffee, tea, water? Got the hard stuff, too, if you so desire.’
‘No, thanks,’ Flaherty said.
‘Ms Thompson?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, trying to reconcile how this charismatic televangelist had sent an assassin to kill her.
Stokes sat behind his desk and folded his hands over his chest.
‘You actually would make a handsome couple,’ Stokes admitted. ‘But why are you really here?’
Flaherty got to the point. ‘Our intelligence shows that during the past twenty-four hours you’ve been communicating with US Marine Colonel Bryce Crawford. He’s been making encrypted calls to a landline in this building. That phone there, perhaps?’ He pointed to the phone on Stokes’s desk.
‘Perhaps,’ Stokes replied.
‘So you’re aware that Colonel Crawford’s platoon is assisting an extraction effort currently under way in the Iraqi mountains?’
‘I am.’
Stokes’s candour surprised Brooke.
‘I assume you’re also aware that Frank Roselli was killed in a freak car crash today. Not far from here, in fact.’
Stokes paused before replying. ‘Very unfortunate.’
‘Funny thing is, the coroner suspects foul play since Roselli died of asphyxiation behind the wheel before careering into a telephone pole.’
‘Not a heart attack?’ Stokes said.
‘No. But I’m sure that’s what you’re gunning for,’ Flaherty said. ‘You don’t seem too broken up for a man who just lost a close friend.’
‘I’ve seen plenty of death in my day, Agent Flaherty. After a while, one gets numb to it.’
‘Seems you’ve killed plenty in your day too.’
Keeping his composure, Stokes responded with, ‘I killed lots of bad guys so kids like you could eat McDonald’s, drive SUVs and have 3.2 children. Liberty comes at a price. The only thing I’m guilty of is being a diehard patriot.’
‘But why did you try to kill me?’ Brooke asked.
Not ready to completely tip his hand, Stokes grinned.
‘Hold on, Brooke,’ Flaherty said. ‘You see, Stokes, at roughly the same time Frank Roselli was killed, an assassin tried to kill Ms Thompson in Boston. But he died trying.’ He noticed that this titbit made Stokes’s jaw muscles ripple. ‘Our office had a tough time working through the guy’s multiple identities. Naturally, his fingerprints and dental records were non-existent too. He did, however, have a marine tattoo on his arm. A tattoo common to most guys in 5th Marine Regiment, 1st Division Expeditionary Force, in fact. So we tried running his prints through the CIA database instead. Lo and behold, we found that Corporal Lawrence Massey trained at Camp Pendleton. And wouldn’t you know it … he served under Bryce Crawford.’
‘Go on,’ Stokes encouraged, intrigued by Flaherty’s apposite deconstruction. He steepled his hands under his chin.
Flaherty was amazed how Stokes could be so cavalier given the seriousness of the accusations. ‘In 2003 Ms Thompson was hired by one Colonel