The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [170]
Moyer ground his teeth and looked at the traffic in front of him. Suddenly he was riding a whirlwind. In the next seconds a thousand thoughts crisscrossed. CIA Deputy Director Newhan Black had personally given him the order to put a trusted freelancer like Branco in charge of the operation in order to set up a terminal action by Conor White. For a moment it appeared those best-laid plans were coming apart. But then, in a sudden turn, they began to come together again, never mind that the venue was a hospital. His choices were simple: either go back to the embassy, try to get Black on a secure phone, and ask him for a further directive; or take charge himself and do what Black had intended he do from the beginning—let White put the matter to rest. Career-wise, the second choice was extremely risky, especially if it ended in disaster. But considering the time constraints, and how long it might take to make a secure contact with Black, it seemed best that he act now and on his own. Besides, if it came out as it should, it would greatly improve his standing within the organization.
“Take your assets and back up White at the hospital,” he said to Branco, then swung the Ford around and headed back into the Baixa.
“The rest of the embassy RSO detail is waiting at the Ritz for further instructions. What about them?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Moyer slowed for traffic, then abruptly pulled to the curb and stopped. He looked at the freelancer. “Compreenda?”
Branco nodded, “Sim.” Yes. Then opened the door and got out. Moyer drove off, and he walked back toward his car in a gaggle of tourists knowing he’d just been given carte blanche to do whatever was necessary to bring the entire episode to a suitable end.
10:50 A.M.
108
HOSPITAL DA UNIVERSIDADE. 10:52 A.M.
Marten reached the rear entrance and hesitated. He had no idea what to expect when he went in. A Lisbon police car had come down the alley from the opposite direction just as he’d started toward the entrance, and he’d had to draw back and wait. It had stopped at the door, and a uniformed officer had gone inside. It was a full ten minutes before he came out again and drove away past Marten. Why the police had stopped there, what had happened inside that had taken so long, he had no way of knowing. Conor White and the others aside, he’d had to remember that he was still wanted for the murder of Theo Haas. And, as the president had told him, both he and Anne were the prime suspects in the murder of Hauptkommissar Franck. The Portuguese police knew they had been in the Algarve the day before and might well suspect they were in Lisbon now. For all he knew the police visit to the hospital was one of many, giving the staff their description and instructions on what to do in the event either of them showed up. Still, he had little choice but to go ahead as planned, hoping that he was wrong about the police and that Anne was safely there and that Ryder and his RSO detail were either with her or on their way for the eleven o’clock encounter. With great trepidation he took a deep breath, then pulled open the door and went inside.
What he saw was a relatively small city hospital with corridors leading this way and that and people coming and going in any number of directions. A sign guided him toward the front of the building and to a waiting area where about a dozen people occupied its twenty-odd chairs. On the far side was a walk-up booth with two people behind it. One was a balding man, who fit Raisa’s description of Mário Gama, the hospital’s director of security. He was maybe fifty, wore a white shirt and a tie, gray slacks, and a dark green blazer, and was working at a computer terminal. Marten approached him.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for a Mário Gama.”
The man looked up. “You found him, sir.”
“My name is Marten. Has a Ms.Tidrow or a Mr. Ferguson arrived? I’m from the American Insurance Company. We are to