Pandora's grave

It took them an hour to reunite on the other side of the multi-layered security checkpoints. When they did, Tex was holding up his phone. “Langley called,” he announced grimly.

“Yes?” Harry asked, shouldering his carry-on bag.

“Ron finally went through all the phone records from yesterday’s op.”

“What did he find?”

“Hamid was right. His TACSAT was used to place two calls to an unrecognized satellite phone. Carter traced the number to Kosovo before losing it in a maze of Eastern European networks.”

“So, we essentially have nothing.”

“Davood’s TACSAT was used to call a phone with the same prefix hours before the launch of TALON.”

Harry’s lips compressed into a thin line. “I see. Is that all the information he was able to pull?”

“Not quite,” the Texan replied, falling in behind Harry as they exited the terminal. “He’s got a location on Asefi.”

“Already?”

“He arrived two hours early.”

“Figures. Imaging?”

“Carol was able to hack into the airport CCTV,” Tex continued, referring to the closed circuit television network so common at airports. “The cameras last have him entering a cafe garden about a mile from here. No sign that he’s made an exit.”

“He’s probably armed. Coming in on a private jet, he’d be able to carry,” Harry observed, thinking of his own.45, disassembled and concealed in his luggage. Still coming through security and well out of reach.

A rare smile crossed the Texan’s face and he palmed a Glock, holding it beneath his jacket, out of the sight of passer-by.

“Where’d you get that?”

“A guard this side of the checkpoint has an empty holster,” he replied simply, passing it to Harry with the dexterity of a trained pickpocket. “Go, check on our friend. I’ll take up position.”

Alcohol was a vice. His vice. Alcohol and boys, two of his transgressions against the sacred teachings of the Quran. Perhaps it had been fated to end this way.

Asefi took another long draught of the vodka, coughing as the liquor slid down his throat. It was a taste he had acquired in Chechnya, fighting against the Russians.

Fate. The end of every man. What will be, will be. There is no changing the will of Allah.

Perhaps.

He tipped the bottle back once more, his mind turning over the options left to him. There was a possibility…

A man appeared in the door of the cafe garden, moving in without hesitation. Tall, slender, dressed in the garb of a Westerner, there was nothing to attract attention about him.

It was him. Asefi knew it at once. The caller. The man moved with a grace that was at once both beautiful and terrible to look upon. The subtle ease of a killer.

The Heckler amp; Koch semiautomatic pistol seemed to tremble under his jacket as the stranger approached his table, the man’s movements at the same time purposeful and casual. A mad desire to draw the gun and shoot his antagonist seized him. Shoot and be done with it-but there was no end but death in that action. This man was not acting alone.

“Dobroe utro,” the tall man greeted in perfect Russian, sliding into the seat opposite. Good morning.

“You’re not a Russian,” Asefi observed abruptly, his eyes meeting with the stranger’s in a coolly appraising glance.

The man chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Your speech is that of a Muscovite, but your face betrays you.” He leaned forward on the table, willing his hands to stop their trembling. “What do you want?”

Harry smiled. “It has come to the attention of my friends that your government has come into possession of a deadly toxin. A toxin which may be used in an attack on the West. What do you know of this?”

“I have heard of this-this toxin of which you speak. Rumors. I know very little that I would consider substantive.” The bodyguard spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “Nothing that could be of help to you. I am sorry that you have come so far to hear so little.”

Pushing his chair back, Harry rose to his feet. “As am I,” he replied. “Still, I am sure you can appreciate the delicacy of this situation-we cannot have it known that there were inquiries made.”

“I can assure you of my discretion.”

“I am assured of it,” Harry nodded. “A sniper rifle is aimed at your chest as we speak. Two minutes after I leave, you will die. If you move, you will only die sooner. You see, a man who knows nothing is of no use to my employers.”

“I don’t believe you,” Asefi snorted, contempt in his tones.

Never taking his eyes off the bodyguard, Harry reached up, carelessly smoothing his dark hair with his fingers. The next moment, the red dot of a laser beam sprouted on the collar of Asefi’s shirt.

“Goodbye, Achmed,” he smiled, turning to leave. The sound of Asefi’s voice arrested his footsteps.

“No. Wait!” There was fear in those words, fear mixed with dangerous rage.

Harry looked back. “You’ve wasted a great deal of my time, Achmed. Is there something else you have to offer?”

“Da, da.” The bodyguard’s eyes darted fearfully around the perimeter of the garden, to the high roofs surrounding. Looking for the sniper. “Your employers will protect me?”