The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [35]
“I don’t understand,” the president said.
“I think his brother forwarded the photos to him. He may have them in his possession and be planning to do something with them himself or he may have them and not know it. If Father Willy sent them by mail, maybe they haven’t even arrived. I don’t think the others have considered Berlin yet because he and Haas have different last names and there would be no reason to make a connection. It means I have a head start. At least by the few hours it takes until they figure it out and get moving.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Who else do you have?”
There was silence, and Marten knew the president was considering the ramifications of what might happen if he asked for the help of the CIA or other security agencies and because of it Hadrian or Striker or both learned what was going on and where and why.
“I will get you the Haas telephone number.”
“Good. Now there’s more,” Marten pressed him. “Haas may or may not have learned about his brother’s death. Either way, he doesn’t know me, so there’s no reason for him to trust me. But he does know and trust Joe Ryder. Ryder needs to call Haas right away and tell him to expect to hear from me. He doesn’t need to tell him what it’s about, just say I’m the person who met with his brother in Bioko and I want to meet with him as soon as I get to Berlin.”
“Nicholas, Ryder is with a congressional group in Iraq looking into the Striker/Hadrian situation. I don’t know how quickly I can reach him or how soon he can get in touch with Haas.”
“I know you’ll do the best you can. In the meantime I need Haas’s phone number.”
“Call me back in thirty minutes.”
8:14 A.M.
Marten clicked off and turned from the window. As he did he saw a familiar face watching him from a balcony on the floor above.
Anne Tidrow.
Instead of feigning surprise, or turning away in the hopes he wouldn’t recognize her, she smiled and waved easily, as if they were old friends. When he’d last seen her she had been on her way out of the airport with her gray-haired companion. Now she was back, apparently alone. If she was following him, this was the time to find out.
He smiled genially, then motioned for her to come down and join him.
19
8:17 A.M.
Marten watched her as she came down the escalator. Still in the dark slacks and tailored jacket she’d worn on the plane, she seemed slimmer, less severe, and more athletic than when they’d met at the Hotel Malabo. For the first time he noticed the long taper of her neck and the muscular strength of it. Clearly she kept in good physical condition and, from the way she held herself, was proud of it.
“I was on my way to the railway station for a train into the city when I saw you,” she said as she reached him. “I wondered how you were after the long flight.”
“Anxious to get home and back to work,” he said lightly. “I have a flight that leaves in less than an hour.”
“To England. Manchester, isn’t it?”
“Yes. How do you know?”
“I also know where you work. The landscape design firm of Fitzsimmons and Justice.” She smiled. “Conor White told me. He has access to information most people don’t.”
“Why would either of you be interested in where I live or work?”
“Because, Mr. Marten, neither he nor I felt you were being completely honest with us when we talked in Malabo. We are concerned about our employees in Equatorial Guinea, and you seemed to have had some other reason for being there, aside from collecting information on plants, that is. So Mr. White did a background check on you and—”
“Found I was telling the truth,” he said, finishing her sentence, “that I was in Bioko to look over native flora for clients at home.” He paused, taking the slightest moment to study her. She was intelligent and equally bold and clearly used to getting whatever it was she was after. “I have to assume it’s why you were on the plane, out of concern for your employees, following me to make sure Mr. White’s background check was accurate. And why, instead of leaving the airport with your friend,