The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [169]
Then came the second three-shot burst from Irish Jack’s machine pistol. There was no need for her to look at what had happened.
“It’s your card to play, Ms. Amaro,” White said calmly. “One way or another I will find the people I am looking for. Whether you or your last employee is still alive when I do is in your hands.”
Raisa gaped at him. Any sense of who she was, or had been even minutes earlier, was gone. “Hospital da Universidade,” she murmured. “Hospital da Universidade.”
“Thank you.” Conor White stood and turned toward the door. As he did Patrice stepped behind the last man, slid his own Beretta from inside his jacket, and shot him the head.
White reached the door, then turned back. Raisa had managed to stand. She used the edge of her desk for balance. Numbed beyond reason, her eyes still managed to find his.
“You are a criminal of the worst order. May your seed roast in hell for eternity.”
White smiled gently. “This is one day you should have stayed home.” He nodded at Irish Jack, then walked out the door.
Behind him he heard a three-shot burst. There was a dull thump as Raisa’s body hit the floor. For a moment there was silence. Then he heard the distant, thunderous bellow of a ship’s whistle, and Irish Jack and Patrice followed him across the laundry, past the A Melhor Lavanderia, Lisboa delivery truck in the loading dock and out into the Lisbon sunshine.
10:41 A.M.
107
10:42 A.M
RSO Special Agent Tim Grant, the near-spitting-image of Congressman Joe Ryder, stepped out of a taxi on Rua Ivens, paid the driver, and watched the cab drive away. At the far end of the street he could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. A wisp of black smoke rose skyward just past them; the cause of which he didn’t know. Immediately he turned and walked off in the direction of Rua Serpa Pinto. By his estimation, it was a block, two at most, to the Hospital da Universidade. He wore jeans and a light, baggy jacket and had a small backpack slung casually over his shoulder. Inside it were his wallet and diplomatic passport, a map of Lisbon, and an MP5K submachine gun with two fully loaded magazines. For all intents, he looked like a tourist.
10:43 A.M.
Carlos Branco sat waiting in a five-year-old Fiat on Rua da Vitória. He’d made the call at ten fourteen, seconds before he notified Conor White that Ryder and his RSO detail had vanished from the Ritz.
“You asked me to tell when I might have an apartment available for lease for your daughter,” he’d said. “I have one now, but it’s being shown this afternoon to another interested party. Perhaps you could come right away. I will meet you at Rua da Vitória just back from where it meets Rua dos Fanqueiros in the Baixa. The sooner you see it and make up your mind the better.”
10:45 A.M.
A gray Ford with a fading paint job pulled up next to the Fiat and stopped. Branco glanced briefly around, then got out and climbed into the Ford’s front passenger seat.
“What is it?” Jeremy Moyer asked without emotion as he pulled the Ford into traffic.
“The wheels are starting to come off,” Branco said, telling the CIA/Lisbon station chief what he couldn’t tell him over the phone. “Ryder and his RSO detail are gone from the hotel. Somehow they got out without being seen. The same thing happened with Marten and Anne Tidrow. They got help and slipped out of the apartment building using the cover of an electrician’s van. I had an asset follow them on a motorcycle. He’s dead. Maybe an accident. Probably not.”
Moyer flared. “You’re telling me with the all the talent under your control, you lost—”
“White found out where Marten and Anne Tidrow are headed.” Branco cut him off. “Hospital da Universidade on Rua Serpa Pinto. It’s either a stopping point for them or a place for them to meet Ryder. White’s on his way there now. So far there’s been no communication from Ryder or his RSO detail at all, so somebody on the outside has to be coordinating all this. Who it is, or where it’s coming from, we don’t know. What we do know is where they’re going. If we have to take them down in the hospital