The Teeth of the Tiger - Tom Clancy [75]
"Here I leave you, se, " the driver said to Mustafa. "You will join the man by the tan Ford Explorer. Vaya con Dios, amigos," he said in that most charming of dismissals: Go with God.
Mustafa walked over and found a tallish man wearing a cowboy-type hat. He didn't appear very clean, and his mustache needed trimming. "Buenos dias, I am Pedro. I will be taking you the rest of the way. There are four of you for my vehicle, yes?"
Mustafa nodded. "That is correct."
"There are water bottles in the truck. You may wish to have something to eat. You can buy anything you like from the shop." He waved to the building. Mustafa did, his colleagues did much the same, and after ten minutes they all boarded the vehicles and headed out.
They went west, mostly along Route 2. Immediately, the vehicles broke up, no longer "flying formation," as it were. There were four of them, all large American-made SUV type vehicles, all of them coated with a thick coating of dirt and grit so that they did not appear new. The sun had climbed above the horizon to their rear, casting its shadows onto the khaki-colored ground.
Pedro appeared to have spoken his piece back at the plaza. Now he said nothing, except an occasional belch, and chain-smoked his cigarettes. He had the radio on to an AM station, and hummed along with the Spanish music. The Arabs sat in silence.
"Hey, Tony," Jack said in greeting. His workmate was already on his workstation.
"Howdy," Wills responded.
"Anything hot this morning?"
"Not after yesterday, but Langley is talking about putting some coverage on our friend Fa'ad again."
"Will they really do it?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. The Station Chief in Bahrain is saying that he needs more personnel to make it happen, and the personnel weenies at Langley are probably batting that back and forth right now."
"My dad liked to say that the government is really run by accountants and lawyers."
"He ain't far wrong on that one, buddy. God knows where Ed Kealty fits in that, though. What does your dad think of him?"
"Can't stand the son of a bitch. He won't talk in public about the new administration because he says that's wrong, but if you say something about the guy over dinner, you might end up wearing your wine home. It's funny. Dad hates politics, and he really tries hard to keep his cool, but that guy is definitely not on the Christmas card list. But he keeps it quiet, won't talk to any reporters about it. Mike Brennan tells me the Service doesn't like the new guy, either. And they have to like him."
"There are penalties for being a professional," Wills agreed.
And then Junior lit up his computer and looked at the night traffic between Langley and Fort Meade. It was a lot more impressive in its volume than its content. It seemed that his new friend, Uda, had "Our pal Sali had lunch with somebody yesterday," Jack announced.
"Who with?" Wills asked.
"The Brits don't know. Appears Middle Eastern, age about twenty-eight, one of those thin-well, narrow-beards around the jawline, and mustache, but no ident on the guy. They spoke in Arabic, but nobody got close enough to overhear anything."
"Where'd they eat?"
"Pub on Tower Hill called 'Hung, Drawn and Quartered.' It's on the edge of the financial district. Uda drank Perrier. His pal had a beer. And they had a British ploughman's lunch. They sat in a corner booth, made it hard for whoever was watching to get close and listen in."
"So, they wanted privacy. It doesn't necessarily make them bad guys. Did the Brits tail him?"
"No. That probably means a single-man tail on Uda?"
"Probably," Wills agreed.
"But it says they got a photo of the new guy. Not included in the report."
"It was probably someone from the Security Service-MI5-doing the surveillance. And probably a junior guy. Uda isn't regarded