The Teeth of the Tiger - Tom Clancy [52]
"-they develop video games." Hendley finished the sentence. The government had never paid people well enough to attract the best-and that would never be fixed. "So, just an itchy nose?"
Rick nodded. "Until they're dead, in the ground, with a wood stake through the heart, I'm going to worry about them."
"Kinda hard to get them all, Rick."
"Sure as hell." Even their personal Dr. Death at Columbia couldn't help with that.
CHAPTER 6-ADVERSARIES
The 747-400 touched down gently at Heathrow five minutes early at 12:55 P. M. Like most of the passengers, Mohammed was all too eager to get out of the Boeing wide-body. He cycled through passport control, smiling politely, availed himself of a washroom, and, feeling somewhat human again, walked to the Air France departure lounge for his connecting flight to Nice. It was ninety minutes to departure time, and then ninety minutes to his destination. In the cab, he demonstrated the sort of French that one might learn in a British university. The cab driver corrected him only twice, and on checking in to the hotel he surrendered his British passport-reluctantly, but the passport was a secure document which he'd used many times. The bar-code strip found on the inside of the cover page of the new passports troubled him. His didn't have that feature, but when it expired in another two years he'd have to worry about some computer tracking him wherever he went. Well, he had three solid and secure British identities, and it was just a matter of getting passports for all three of them, and keeping a very low profile so that no British police constable would check into those identities. No cover could ever stand up to even a casual investigation, much less an in-depth one, and that bar code could someday mean that the immigration officer would get a flashing light on his panel, which would be followed by the appearance of a policeman or two. The infidels were making things hard on the faithful, but that was what infidels did.
The hotel did not have air-conditioning, but the windows could be opened, and the ocean breeze was pleasant. Mohammed hooked up his computer to the phone on the desk. Then the bed beckoned him, and he succumbed to its call. As much as he traveled, he had not found a cure for jet lag. For the next couple of days, he'd live on cigarettes and coffee until his body clock decided that it knew where he was at the moment. He checked his watch. The man meeting him would not be there for another four hours, which, Mohammed thought, was decent of him. He'd be eating dinner when his body would be expecting breakfast. Cigarettes and coffee.
It was breakfast time in Colombia. Pablo and Ernesto both preferred the Anglo-American version, with bacon or ham and eggs, and the excellent local coffee.
"So, do we cooperate with that towel-headed thug?" Ernesto asked.
"I don't see why not," Pablo replied, stirring cream into his cup. "We will make a great deal of money, and the opportunity to create chaos within the house of the norteamericanos will serve our interests well. It will set their border guards to looking at people rather than at container boxes, and it will not do any harm to us, either directly or indirectly."
"What if one of these Muslims is taken alive and made to talk?"
"Talk about what? Who will they meet, except some Mexican coyotes?" Pablo asked in reply.
"Sí, there is that," Ernesto agreed. "You must think me a frightened old woman."
"Jefe, the last man who thought that of you is long dead." That earned Pablo a grunt and a crooked smile.
"Yes, that is true, but only a fool is not cautious when the police forces of two nations pursue him."
"So, jefe, we give them others to pursue, do we not?"
This was potentially a dangerous game he was entering into, Ernesto thought. Yes, he'd be making a deal with allies of convenience, but he was not so much cooperating with them as making use of them, creating straw men for the Americans to seek after and kill. But these fanatics didn't mind being killed,