A Raging Storm

Despite Jones’s litany of reasons, Storm could read between the lines. Clearly, Jones wanted to help Petrov, because Barkovsky was a dangerous loony tune. What better way to get rid of him than to have one of his former friends bring him down? Et tu, Brutus? Using the Communist Party’s own wealth to destroy a pro-Communist president only made the entire scheme sweeter.

“If you aren’t going to help Petrov,” Storm said, “then why tell me about the gold?”

“Because you’re dead, remember? No one can be held responsible for the actions of a dead man, can they?”

“But I’m only one man.”

Jones gave him a sly look and asked, “Are you sure? Do you really believe you’re the only man who has gone off the grid? Do you think you’re the only man who has disappeared?”

“Project Midas,” Storm said, putting two and two together. “That thick file locked in your safe — it has the names of other ‘dead’ operatives just like me, doesn’t it? You want me and the other ‘dead’ operatives to help Petrov because our country can’t afford to leave any fingerprints behind.”

“No fingerprints, no footprints,” Jones said. “No prints at all.”

Jones pulled a large envelope from a desk drawer and said, “I need you to go to London and talk to Petrov. First, try to find out who killed Windslow and why. Second, tell him that I’ve assembled a team to help him. All we need to learn is where the gold is hidden.”

He emptied the envelope’s contents onto his desktop. “Here’s a passport, cash, credit cards, a cell phone, and airline tickets. Agent Showers is booked on a six o’clock flight to London. She’s being sent to question Petrov. She’ll be your ticket in to meet him. You’ll tag along. I’ve already arranged it.”

Storm’s mind was swirling. “What about the mole?”

“If the mole is in Petrov’s camp, there’s nothing we can do. Just be careful.”

“And what if it is on our side — someone inside this agency?”

“I know who you are, but you always worked in the field. No one else here in headquarters knows you or that you’re still alive. I’ve also compartmentalized Project Midas.”

“Meaning?” Storm asked.

“Meaning that only you and I know that you are involved in it. That’s it. To everyone else, Derrick Storm is still a ghost.”

The last time that Jones had been so confident about a covert operation, he’d sent Storm to Tangiers. Look how that had turned out.

Jones continued, “Be careful when you meet Petrov. Just because he showed me the gold doesn’t mean we can trust him. I want you to find out what you can about the gold, but I also need for you to help Agent Showers solve the kidnapping and murders. Maybe Agent Showers is correct and Petrov killed Dull and Windslow because the senator had gotten cold feet about Project Midas. Maybe Barkovsky is behind the killings because he wanted to stop Windslow from pushing Project Midas. Or maybe Windslow was trying to extort a bigger share of that sixty-billion pie than what Petrov wanted to give him. Trust no one.”

“Just like old times,” Storm said.

“I’m still running covert operations,” Jones said, “because I trust only a handful of people.”

“Does Agent Showers know about the gold?” Storm asked.

“No. Only one handful of people know about it, and she isn’t one of those fingers.”

“She won’t like having me tag along with her to London.”

“She doesn’t get a vote. Everything has been arranged — although your role will be strictly advisory.”

Storm imagined Showers’s reaction. This was not a minor case. A U.S. senator and his stepson had been killed. She wouldn’t want him interfering. She was shrewd enough to know that Storm would be Jedidiah Jones’s eyes and ears. She’d be suspicious of him.

“Weapons?” Storm asked.

“None for you. You’ll be traveling on a diplomatic passport as Steve Mason. You’ll be posing as a liaison officer from the State Department.”

“Some paper pusher in the State Department told you that I couldn’t be armed?”

“It wasn’t a paper pusher. It came directly from the secretary of state. Tangiers. Remember? Ever since that fiasco, other agencies have been reluctant to let any of our people pose as one of their own, especially if they are armed.”

Tangiers. Even in death, it continued to haunt him.

“How about Agent Showers?”