Critical Exposure Read online

  Penzak turned toward Willham and said, “I have to admit your taste in location is impeccable.”

  Willham nodded at Penzak. “I appreciate your remarks. I take it as a compliment.”

  “As you should,” Penzak said, taking a seat next to Ryzkhov. “It was meant that way. But it goes without saying that the good comrade general is correct. Gastone’s dealings with your contact show he’s not above killing any of us if he thinks we’re standing in the way of the best interests of the Council.”

  “Some would call that kind of loyalty admirable, gentlemen,” Willham said. “And after all, isn’t our very conversation now much the same thing as Gastone’s been doing? How right is it that we would condemn him for something in which we ourselves are complicit?”

  “That’s hardly the point,” Penzak said. “We didn’t start this. If there had been an actual leak within the organization, Gastone should have come to us immediately about it. Instead he assumed that one of us was responsible and took matters into his own hands.”

  “But we all know that Quon Ma was responsible for the bloody leak,” Willham said with splayed hands.

  Ryzkhov shook his head. “That’s hardly the point. We all knew about it and we could have all dealt with it as one. Gastone made the decision on his own, which would imply he thought it was his right to do so despite any agreement to the contrary. If you ask me, we’ve given him too much of a free hand up to this point, and he’s taken advantage of that.”

  “But he’s done most everything else with the blessing of the Council,” Willham said. “I just think we’re being a bit hypocritical. Especially since we’re going solely off information we received second-hand when it comes to Ma’s treachery. Have we even bothered to convene and ask him pointedly if he did betray us and leak information about our operations in the U.S.?”

  “We didn’t have to,” Penzak said. “It was a mere process of elimination. Mikhail and I didn’t even know about the station in Colorado until after we were informed it had been discovered by the agent out of Washington. That left only you, Gastone and Ma. You have since proved beyond any reasonable doubt that you weren’t the source of the leak, since you came to us with incontrovertible evidence Gastone ordered the hit on Quon Ma. And since it would not make sense for Gastone to risk arranging Ma’s assassination unless he knew with certainty that the leak had originated with Quon Ma or one of his people, Ma had to be the guilty party.”

  Willham couldn’t argue with that logic, although he knew the truth. He’d been the one to arrange all of it. He’d offered the information to Amocacci about putting Savitch in place as a sort of failsafe. Willham had been the first one to take up Amocacci’s offer in forming the Council, and he’d acted as Amocacci’s strongest supporter through every phase of their projects. Hence, he’d be the last one in the world Amocacci would suspect of any such treachery, particularly since the Italian had no idea about Willham’s long-standing relationship with Savitch. In fact, Amocacci didn’t even know Savitch’s identity, and Willham had pretended he didn’t know, either. At least, Willham hadn’t offered the information and so couldn’t be responsible for any assumptions on Amocacci’s part.

  “It doesn’t sound as if we’re left with much of a choice at this point,” Willham said. “If Quon Ma’s still alive, then I think it’s better that we attempt to locate him rather than implement an alternate protocol.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Penzak asked.

  “I’m suggesting that maybe we shouldn’t stick our bloody necks out on this one for Gastone. Maybe we should ally ourselves with Ma, send whatever aid and resources we can to Kirklareli. Show that we’re going to rally around him and do whatever it takes to find out who attempted the assassination. If he sees this, he’ll likely take it to mean that we had nothing to do with it and he’ll show himself. This way, we’ll be able to keep an eye on him and truly verify that he’s the source of the leak.”

  “And if it proves that he didn’t betray us?” Ryzkhov interjected.

  “Then we’ll know that the treachery is Gastone’s, and we’ll deal with him in an appropriate fashion.” Willham did his best to look subjective and nonthreatening. “My friends, we agreed long ago that the Council of Luminárii could only be effective if we operated with honesty and equality. We should hold fast to that because it’s all we have.”

  “Save the philosophy for those who can make use of it, my friend,” Ryzkhov said. “In our world today there is no fantasy. We face a harsh and uncaring existence, and if we aren’t diligent we will face it at the hands of someone else. I don’t know about you, but I would prefer to control my own destiny rather than turn it over to those who care only for themselves. Otherwise, there is no more point to our continued association and we should disband.”

  Penzak and Willham watched with surprise as Ryzkhov rose and headed for the door. When he was near it, he turned and said, “I will leave this in your hands. Call it...call it a show of good faith. I hope that it turns out to be to the advantage of the Council. For all our sakes.”

  With that, the Russian GRU agent left.

  Penzak and Willham sat in stunned silence for a time before Penzak spoke up. “I think there’s a significant amount of external pressure being placed on Mikhail. I know that I’ve been doing all I can to stave off suspicions from my own government. I imagine you face very similar issues.”

  “I would love to say that’s something I can appreciate, Lev, but it’s not,” Willham said. “Honestly, I think my government has all but forgotten about me down here. I file my regular monthly reports and life just goes by in London. I receive no orders, no real directives to speak of. You see, Her Majesty doesn’t consider the financial heart of Bulgaria to be of any consequence to British interests. And why would they? The country has only been a member of NATO since 2004. It has no strategic military or political value, at least not to my country, and it is not an exporter of any goods we couldn’t live without. Its geographical location is the most important aspect of its existence, and the sole reason my government keeps a presence here.”

  “What’s your point?” Penzak asked with obvious boredom.

  “My point is that whether the Council succeeds or fails in foiling American military intelligence efforts, or the grand plan for our strike in the heart of U.S. territory, our position in this region remains the same. Our actions are not likely to have long-standing effects, which means our operation comes down to satisfying the personal whim and vendetta of a man who has not proved himself to be very trustworthy. It’s for those reasons I think we should seek some personal gain out of this.”

  “Weakening U.S. military intelligence infrastructure will pay huge dividends to my own country and the Mossad. America has done nothing but repeatedly declare its unwillingness to continue to support Israel in her own objectives, and they have done so in a very public way. If they are weakened, particularly in the Middle East, it may cause them to change their attitude toward us. There was a time they consulted regularly with our agents, and showed us full cooperation. It’s my hope that our efforts will restore that relationship. Despite its faults, the United States of America is a powerful ally.”

  “Oh, bloody bollocks!” Willham said with a dismissive wave. “America hasn’t showed herself to be a strong or powerful ally to anyone. They’ve sold their entire financial future to the Chinese and diminished the capacity of my government, a government that at one time was their greatest ally. So since they no longer take their relationship with us to be serious, I no longer see any reason to think they should care what happens between us. And if there’s any value to be had from this, it’s going to be in the profit.”

  “Materialism,” Penzak said. “It is the greatest weakness of an empire.”

  Willham snorted. “Empire—what empire?”

  “If you don’t know, then I pity you,” Penzak said, rising. “I really
do.”

  “Well, it would appear that Mikhail has left it to you and me to decide what to do about this situation.”

  “If you want to know my opinion, I think it’s high time we give Gastone a taste of his own medicine.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Penzak said. “I think you need to send him a very clear and direct message.”

  “I already tried that once, with the people you suggested,” Willham said. “It didn’t turn out too well, if you’ll recall.”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Penzak stated, pointing an accusing finger at Willham. “I told you to hit his interests directly. Instead you chose to go after the American.”

  “He was attempting to deceive Gastone,” Willham said. “We can’t bloody well let that happen. Period!”

  “The Americans are inconsequential in this,” Penzak said. “They will undoubtedly begin to look harder at Gastone, and they will most likely be looking for Savitch. You should have had Stone eliminated immediately as discussed. But because you didn’t, the man’s now walking the streets of Istanbul and the woman analyst has been freed. It’s turning into one big mess, a mess you started. So fix it. Once you do, you’ll have earned my trust once more and I will assist your future efforts including putting my full support behind you publicly to the Council. But not until you get this mess straightened out.”

  Penzak nodded with a grunt to affirm his words, then turned and left through the same door Ryzkhov had used.

  Willham sat back in his chair and folded his arms, contemplating Penzak’s words. It would definitely not do to have either of these men lose confidence in him. Success ultimately depended on keeping the Council intact until the end, when he had all the pieces in place. Then he could divide and conquer, and his victory would be ultimate. There would be nothing to stop him if he could achieve this one final victory. To do that, he needed every single one of them alive until he could maneuver them into their proper place.

  He would have to start with extending an olive branch to Quon Ma. He thought he knew how to do that. They had a mutual acquaintance, a woman of some beauty and who was renowned for her ability to facilitate communications between Chinese agents and those representatives from other organizations. Yes, he could reach out to her to see if she could make contact. If Ma was alive, as his informants suggested, the possibility existed Ma would respond to the inquiry. That would also take Willham out of the list of potential suspects, assuming he crafted his message very carefully.

  Yes, perhaps the entire thing was salvageable after all.

  * * *

  A WARM, LIGHT mist rolled through the air surrounding the docks. In the distance, the horns of ships and ferries traveling across the Bosporus reached the ears of the trio keeping vigil in the Citroën sports coupe, the fastest and latest model Grimaldi had managed to round up on such short notice. It wasn’t exactly what Bolan had in mind when he’d requested it, but it would do. At least it would be more comfortable given Serif was with them.

  Bolan raised a night-vision scope to his eye and scanned the front of the warehouse for at least the fifth time in the past hour. So far there hadn’t been much activity that looked out of order for a business in exports. Forklifts and pallet haulers moved among a variety of trucks parked at the docks, and another group handled the conveyer that led out to a ship on the dock.

  “Awfully busy for this time of night,” Grimaldi remarked.

  “Not really,” Serif said. “The Bosporus is one of the busiest waterways in the world. Operations run around the clock, so activity like this would be normal. In fact, this is probably the skeleton crew operating. During the day, it’s hopping at least three times as much as you see right now.”

  “This is going to make a soft probe next to impossible,” Grimaldi said, looking at Bolan.

  The Executioner shook his head. “There are all kinds of ways to get inside. I’ll just have to improvise.”

  “Dressed like Batman?” Serif said.

  “I’ll leave analysis to you,” Bolan said with a grin. “And you can trust me with breaching a hard site.”

  Bolan went EVA before Serif could respond, crossing toward the warehouse at an angle. He nearly disappeared from view, becoming one with the night as if merging with the shadows. He was like an inky specter or dark vengeful wraith against the blackness of the night. And it was for this reason the occupants of the truck that entered the perimeter didn’t see him as he lay prone in the high grass, and why the sentries didn’t see him rise and leap onto the back of the truck.

  As it neared the docks Bolan scaled the truck to the roof and kept low so he couldn’t be seen. Even at a distance, the blacksuit made him nothing more than a shadow and nobody noticed—not much of a surprise given the harried activity going on all around him. The truck came to a halt and Bolan had to dig his hands into the roof to keep from being tossed off. The grinding of gears and lurch as the truck backed into one of the dock spaces made it evident the driver wasn’t all that experienced.

  Bolan had to admit to a sense of relief when the truck finally came to a halt.

  The Executioner didn’t wait for the driver or passenger to get out. Instead he crawled on hands and knees to the rear and immediately vaulted the lip to land undetected on the dock. He quickly located a standard access door, one of several spaced at regular intervals between sets of bay doors, and slipped inside.

  He was thankful to discover the particular place he entered wasn’t well lit, and near the door were metal stairs that led to the second floor. Bolan ascended them without anyone noticing and eventually reached an enclosed catwalk with massive windows that looked onto the main warehouse floor. He proceeded up the hall and eventually came to a T intersection. He peered down the corridor to his left and saw nothing but offices. A quick inspection toward the right appeared to contain much the same layout.

  Bolan opted to go left and traversed the hallway until the end. If he didn’t find what he sought in that location, he could start to work his way toward the exit. At least he wouldn’t be pressed for time. He got to the last door on his right and noticed the stencil on the burnished wood: AMOCACCI, G., PRES. Could it really be that easy?

  Bolan suddenly got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach but he didn’t have time to react to that because his sixth sense suddenly rang warning bells. He cocked his head and immediately heard the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs. Had he actually been spotted and all they had done was let him walk right into a trap? If that was what had happened it would remove any doubt that someone was tracking them or watching them; somehow Bolan would have to deal with that.

  The soldier tried the door handle to Amocacci’s office and it turned smoothly. He pushed through and eased the door closed behind him, then crouched against the low wall just below the massive glass window that afforded a view into the office. Bolan waited, keeping his breath measured and steady. Eventually he saw the brilliant beam of a flashlight sweep across first the hall outside, glinting ever so briefly on the plate-glass window and then eventually fully shining into the room.

  Bolan hunkered as low to the floor and close to the wall as his large frame would allow. The door swung open and the Executioner froze. He didn’t move a muscle as a shadowy form stepped into the room—the newcomer had a flashlight and he swept it across the office against the back wall. A moment later the silhouette eased out of the office and secured the door behind it.

  Bolan let out a long, low breath and let the tension of the moment fall from his shoulders. Probably a night watchman just on his normal rounds, which put Bolan’s mind at ease. No point having to take the guy out, even if on a temporary basis. He probably wasn’t the only guy on the security team for a place of this size. Any prolonged absence might bring others to investigate and that was something the Executioner definitely didn’t
need right now.

  Bolan waited another minute before rising and heading straight to the file cabinets along one wall. He found them locked, which he was able to bypass with a red-lensed flashlight and lock-pick set. In less than a minute he had access to the files and was riffling through them. All standard fare: shipping manifests and purchase orders or receipts. File after file, organized by companies with which Amocacci did business, contained more or less the same documents. It all looked legit and that’s probably because it was. Amocacci was probably too smart to keep any incriminating files.

  He went through a couple different drawers in the course of five or ten minutes and found exactly what he’d thought he would. In fact, the files were almost too perfect. Every file was complete with meticulous detail and utterly organized. There wasn’t one scrap of paper out of place and every document was the same.

  Bolan replaced the last of the files. He’d seen enough. It was plainly obvious Amocacci wasn’t using his business to front Council activities, although he was doing his best to make sure it looked as if he was. That was exactly what Bolan had expected based on what he’d told Serif. It was very similar to a game of bait-and-switch, although Amocacci was obviously getting some advice on how to play his hand. Everything he’d seemed to tell Serif about this being a way to lead her by the nose into “discovering” the Council of Luminárii was the complete vision of legitimacy, which was exactly why Bolan believed just the opposite case to be true.

  Bolan stepped into the hallway and walked to the next office in line. The stencil on this door was in Turkish. Obviously a name, but in the Turkish script he couldn’t read. Bolan didn’t bother to go inside and search the files. He knew he’d find exactly the same thing: a meticulous record of their entire financial portfolio. Bolan continued up the corridor until he reached the hall that led to the stairs.