The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [193]
“Coming out, Marten?”
He checked the clip in the Glock, then felt in his pocket for the backup. The magazines held fifteen shots. Four had already been fired from the clip in the gun—one by Kovalenko when he’d killed Hauptkommissar Franck, the other three by himself as he fought against the men in the Jaguar. That meant he had eleven shots left before changing magazines.
“I’m waiting, Marten.”
He pulled up his sleeve, touched the KEY TO TALK button on the radio unit, and spoke into its tiny microphone.
“You first.”
123
Marten saw the four step into the light just inside the platform entrances. Two at either end. One of them wore a stylish black suit, had gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard, and was clearly the leader. Unsuprisingly he looked like the man in the Hawaiian shirt and jeans who had pretended he was Anne’s brother at the Hotel Lisboa Chiado the night before. There was little doubt he was Carlos Branco. The others, his compatriots, were armed with submachine guns, Uzis it looked like, and were clearly cut in the mold of the gunmen he had encountered in the Jaguar the night before. Curiously they did nothing but stand there. Maybe that was their intent, simply to block the exits and make certain he didn’t get away. The fact that they were there and armed meant they had the blessing of the GOE. Something that, in turn, suggested that they, too, were somehow connected to the CIA.
Suddenly he realized something else: White knew Anne and Ryder had gotten out on the last train. That Branco was here meant he and White had communicated. In the process Branco would have learned that Anne and Ryder were gone.
“Marten . . . ” White’s voice rattled through his earpiece.
Marten stuck the Glock in his belt and took out the cell phone. He prayed that it would work in here and that Anne was somewhere where she could take a call. Fearfully he punched in the number she’d given him. He let out a breath as he heard it ring through. An instant later she clicked on.
“Where are you? Are you alright? We’ve just left Baixa/Chiado station and are in a taxi to the airport.”
“Don’t go near Ryder’s plane,” he said emphatically.
“Why?”
“White’s people are here. The police let them in. It means the Agency knows you and Ryder are out and is assuming you’re on your way to his plane. Can you arrange for another aircraft? You, not Ryder. They’ll have his phone bugged. Maybe yours, too. Use a pay phone. Call somebody you know in the oil business or some other deep-pockets people you travel with. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I think.”
“Then do it. Go somewhere, a park or something, and stay there until it’s ready. When it is, get the hell to it and out of Lisbon.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know about me. It doesn’t matter.” Marten glanced around. Branco and his men hadn’t moved.
“Marten.” Conor White was beginning to sound impatient. “If we have to come get you we will.”
“Anne, do as I told you.” Marten was resolute. “We had a lot of fun together. Maybe sometime we will again.” With that he clicked off and slid the phone into his jacket. Then he lifted the Glock, hit the KEY TO TALK button and spoke into the microphone.
“Like I said, Colonel, you first.”
Conor White glanced across the tunnel entrance at Patrice, or what little he could see of him in the dark. Suddenly there was the glint of a light on the rails behind them. Two pinpoints of light were coming down the tunnel in their direction. The automated Metro car Branco had promised. White looked at Patrice, then back down the tunnel. Something didn’t feel right, but he didn’t know what it was. Again came the feeling of impending doom. The otherworldly sense of Marten as a demon come to destroy him came flooding back. He had to be crushed and crushed now. A foot put on his neck and a bullet through his brain.
Marten saw the approaching lights too, then heard White’s voice.
“I’m coming out, Marten. A big fat target for you. Come get me.”
Marten could hear the icy confidence in his voice, the professional soldier anxious to do his murderous