The Cabal Read Free

encrypted cell phone and speed-dialed a number that was answered on the first ring.
    “Hello,” Remington answered, his British accent cultured.
    “The meeting has taken place.”
    “We’re you able to record their conversation?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is there damage?”
    “Yes, sir. Just as you suspected, our subject handed over a disk.”
    Remington was silent for several beats, and although Kangas had never had much respect for anyone, especially anyone in authority, he did now have a grudging respect for Admin’s VP. The man knew what had been coming, and he’d been prepared.
    “The situation must be contained,” Remington said. “Are you clear on your mission?”
    “Both of them?”
    “Yes. And they must be sanitized as thoroughly and as expeditiously as possible. This afternoon, no later than this evening.”
    “Give us twenty-four hours and we can cut the risk by fifty percent,” Kangas said. Running blindly into any sort of a wet operation was inherently dicey, even more so in this instance because of who Van Buren was; his background was impressive.
    “This is top priority,” Remington said. “All other considerations secondary. Are we clear on that as well?”
    Van Buren was coming down the stairs.
    “Standby,” Kangas said, and he avoided eye contact as the CIA officer passed by and left the restaurant through the hotel lobby to the valet stand.
    Kangas got up, and left by the front door, which opened on the street, just as Mustapha pulled up in a dark blue Toyota SUV with tinted windows.
    “We’re in pursuit now,” he told Remington. “But with the weapons we’re carrying this won’t look like a simple robbery.”
    Remington chuckled, which was rare so far as Kangas knew. “You’ve been out of the country too long to understand what the average bad guy carries.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Call when you’re finished.”
    Van Buren was waiting at the curb, and as Kangas broke the connection, pocketed his phone, and got into the Toyota, a valet parker brought a soft green BMW convertible around and got out. Van Buren handed the man some money, got behind the wheel, and took off.
    “Don’t lose him,” Kangas said.
    Mustapha waited for a cab to pass, then he pulled out and, keeping the cab between them and Van Buren, started his tail. “Is it a go?”
    “Yes, but right now this afternoon. Both of them.”
    Mustapha gave him a sharp look. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
    “That’s what the man said. ASAP.”

THREE

    Lunchtime traffic west on Constitution was even heavier than normal because of a huge art show on the Mall. Todd had to pay attention to his driving until he passed the National Museum of American History and turned south toward I-395, which would take him across the river to I-95 and the two-and-a-half-hour drive to the Farm. Because of the sunny weather, tourists seemed to be everywhere, most of them without a clue where they were going.
    Across the river, the Pentagon off to the right, traffic thinned out enough for him to phone his father-in-law in Florida, but after the fourth ring he got his mother-in-law’s soft West Virginia voice on the answering machine.
    “Hello. We can’t take your call now, but after the beep please leave a message and number and we’ll get back to you. Have a nice day.”
    “Hi, Mom, it’s Todd. Have Dad give me a call on my cell. I came up to Washington to meet an old friend for lunch and I’m on my way back to the Farm now. It’s quarter to one.”
    Ten miles later, through Alexandria, traffic thinned out even more as the highway branched off to I-95. Todd took the disk out of his jacket pocket and looked at both sides, but Givens hadn’t written anything on the disk itself or on the jewel case. Whatever was really going on had no business being in the
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, especially not any sort of a connection to McCann’s death. That was one can of worms that would probably never see the light of day. Some things were much too dark even