The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [156]
7:20 A.M.
White lifted his BlackBerry and punched in Carlos Branco’s number.
“Yes,” Branco’s voice came back.
“Where are you?”
“Just leaving the Ritz. Congressman Ryder’s suite is ready for him. We are on our way to the airport to meet his flight.”
“I need a car and one of your men for a driver, a guy who knows his way around the city and knows what’s going on with Marten and the congressman.”
“When and what?”
“A limousine of some kind with UN plates, parked outside the U.S. Embassy. I need it fast. How soon can you have it?”
“Not so simple a request. It will take a few calls.”
“How soon, Branco?”
“Within the hour.”
Conor White glanced at his watch. “We’ll leave here at eight twenty and arrive at the embassy by eight thirty. If there is a problem, let me know before that.”
“There will be no problem.”
“Good.”
With that White clicked off and went into the bedroom Irish Jack and Patrice had shared. The covers on the twin beds were thrown back. Irish Jack was just out of the shower, towel-drying his hair. Patrice walked in from the bathroom doing the same. Both were in undershorts and nothing else. Despite their physical differences, both men were built like stone and carried the tattoos and body scars of the longtime combat veterans they were.
“You look like fucking lovers,” White said impassively.
Irish Jack grinned broadly. “That towel does wonders for you, too, Colonel. Standing here with us pretty boys makes you look like some kind of chap who wants to join the party but hasn’t been invited.”
For a moment a boyish sparkle came into White’s eyes. “My dick’s too big for you pussies, you couldn’t handle it.” Immediately the playfulness vanished and his eyes narrowed. “Business garb today. Suits, shirts, and ties. Ready to move out at oh eight twenty.”
White headed into the other room to get dressed himself. As he did, his BlackBerry signaled a text message. He looked at it and saw it was from Loyal Truex, still in Baghdad, and went into the kitchen to take it.
He read it once, then again.
This arrived five minutes ago from Washington with copies to Arnold Moss in Houston and Jeremy Moyer, COS/Lisbon. I forwarded it to you and to Anne, in the event she can, and would want to, read it. As you know, Washington can be purposely terse and ambiguous, so I’m not sure if it’s a reprimand, a compliment, or if they just want us to know. It reads like a newspaper brief tied to a world geography narrative.
“The 585-mile-long Tagus River rises in the mountains east of Madrid, then flows northwest through the mountains and across central Spain to form part of the Spanish-Portuguese border. Afterward it runs southwest into the Atlantic Ocean at Lisbon. It is here, between the cities of Paço de Arcos and Carcavelos, where the river meets the sea, that the body of Striker Oil chairman Josiah Wirth was discovered by fishermen just after dawn this morning floating in a tangle of debris and seaweed.”
I forward, too, a second message. It was encrypted and sent to me and Moss only. Use your laptop to read it. It’s self-explanatory. You will find it extremely disturbing. Know you will take immediate and appropriate action upon reading. Am returning to Washington within the hour.
White sat down at the table and pulled his laptop around, then booted it up and pressed the pound sign on the keyboard. Immediately a marker popped up asking for his personal code. He typed it in. A second marker called for a password, which he entered as well. The screen registered a number of symbols and, beside them, a time and date code. He moved the cursor to the most recent entry—barely twelve minutes earlier. The message was brief.
XARAK Protocol, file accessed, 4 June, 1717 EDT. Access ceased 1720 EDT. Access code AZ101P-22-0LX5-8.*.8.*.2.
Instantly White signed off and shut down the laptop. The access code belonged to Loyal Truex. The time 1717 through 1720 EDT was 2217 through 2220, Lisbon time. The exact same time