The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [99]
A short while earlier they had passed into Portuguese airspace and were hugging the coastline, where the sunrise was providing a stunning view of the numerous beach communities dotting the Algarve region. Faro would be one of them. By his calculation, ten to fifteen minutes ahead at most.
“Mr. Marten—” Brigitte said over the drone of the engines.
“Fuel, I know.”
“We have to put down, and soon.”
“I understand,” he said, knowing they were lucky to have come as far as they had. He was still concerned about giving Brigitte their destination too soon for fear she would somehow signal ahead and operatives would be waiting for them when they arrived, but unless he wanted to land on one of the beaches along the way, he had no choice but to tell her now. “Can we make it to Faro?”
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
“Then do it.”
“Faro?” Anne said behind him.
He turned to look at her. “Yes, darling, Faro,” he said, smiling warmly. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Good.”
There was a roar of engines as Brigitte swung the Cessna out over the sea, radioing the Faro tower with a request to land. Seconds later she looked to Marten. “Portugal has no passport control for flights originating inside Europe.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Once we reach the terminal you’ll go directly inside, pass through the Nothing to Declare door, and walk into the arrivals hall. Then you’re out and gone, and I refuel and fly back to Germany. It’s as simple as that.”
So Brigitte did know something of their situation. At least enough to know Marten might be concerned about having to show identification when they landed and be thinking what to do about it when they did. The question was, was she being helpful? Or purposely trying to lull him into a sense that he had nothing to worry about after they’d landed, and in doing so throw him off guard for whoever might be waiting to follow them?
“I hope it’s as simple as that,” Anne said.
Marten looked over his shoulder. “So do I.”
6:22 A.M. PORTUGUESE TIME
63
STRIKER OIL GULFSTREAM G550. NEARING MÁLAGA.
AIRSPEED 470 MPH. ALTITUDE 28,300 FEET.
7:35 A.M. SPANISH TIME.
Sy Wirth had slept soundly for an hour, then suddenly woke with a start and immediately picked up his BlackBerry, trying to reach Korostin. He got only the Russian’s voice mail. Angry, he started to call Conor White, then decided against it. There was no reason. If Korostin knew where the Cessna was, he would have alerted him. If he didn’t know, there was little chance White would either. If he did, he would have already been in touch. So there was nothing to do but wait; one of the things he hated most.
Finally he got up and went to the lavatory. Afterward, he came back and sat down, then abruptly took a yellow legal pad from his briefcase, picked up a freshly sharpened number 2 Ticonderoga 1388 pencil, and scrawled a brief memo to himself for a dialogue later in the day with Striker’s chief counsel, Arnold Moss.
1: Prepare to quickly and publicly disavow any connection to Conor White, Marten, and Anne once the photos are recovered. Whatever happens, White acted wholly on his own, or—(check with Arnie) as previously discussed re: separate clandestine Hadrian/SimCo relationship—with no involvement by Striker whatsoever. White should immediately and very publicly be terminated (he will go to jail anyway) and SimCo reorganized for continued operation in E.G. (Side note: SimCo’s a good operation with personnel already in place in E.G. No need to completely dismantle it.)
2: As above, prepare quick, smart, well-placed public relations spin, esp. in D.C., to make Striker look like the victim in the White/Hadrian debacle.
3: Prepare to dissolve all business in Iraq. Or ga nize legal defense team against any and all ensuing actions by White, Loyal Truex/Hadrian, and the Ryder Commission.
4: Analyze Striker worldwide operations, prepare to reconfigure to make E.G. and the Bioko field the centerpiece within 6–12 months.
5: Prepare—
Suddenly his everyday BlackBerry chimed. Immediately he picked up.
“Faro, Portugal,” Dimitri Korostin’s voice spat