“Sure,” Kennedy replied, not buying a word of it. “Care to guess where this photo was taken?”

Hurley glanced at his watch. “We don’t have time to play Twenty Questions, young lady, so let’s get on with it.”

“Hamburg. A certain bank that drew a lot of interest yesterday. Any idea why one of Mikhail Ivanov’s top deputies would show up yesterday, of all days?”

Hurley shook his head.

“He threatened the bank’s president about some missing funds.” Kennedy searched his face for some recognition. “And if your answer is still no, I won’t bother playing you the tape of your old friend Ivanov talking to a certain terrorist that we’ve been looking for.”

Hurley frowned. He didn’t like being forced to answer this kind of question by someone so junior.

“Thomas told me,” Kennedy said, “that you would be reluctant to talk about this, but nonetheless, I have been ordered to get an answer from you.”

“What kind of answer?”

“How many people did you piss off yesterday, other than the ones we know about?”

“It was a thick file.” Hurley shrugged. “Some accounts had names attached to them … others were just numbers.”

“So your earlier estimate might be a little light?”

“Get to your point.”

“It looks like you’ve pissed off some people in Moscow, and you know how they can be when they’re upset. The don’t play nice. If they get so much as an inkling that we were behind any of this…” She shook her head. “We’ll be in serious trouble.”

“So you want me to confirm what you don’t want to hear?”

“I just want to know the facts so I can go back and brief Thomas. He needs to tell our embassy people, if they are in danger of reprisals, and anyone else who might get stuck in Ivanov’s crosshairs.”

Hurley swore under his breath and finally said, “Yes, I took some of the bastard’s money, and with any luck it’ll be the beginning of the end of him.”

Kennedy took the news without comment and placed a small tape player between them. “Now … you will be very interested to hear this brief conversation.”

Kennedy pressed play and the slurred voice of Mikhail Ivanov could be heard asking, “My package … Is it ready? You haven’t decided to negotiate with the Persians, have you?”

“I am standing by our deal.”

Kennedy pressed the stop button. “You recognize the first voice?”

Hurley nodded. “Ivanov.”

“Correct. The second voice?”

“No.”

“Colonel Assef Sayyed.”

Hurley was impressed. “What the hell are they doing talking on an open line?”

“They weren’t, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Then how’d you get it?”

“I can’t say.” Kennedy pressed play again.

“When can I expect it to be retrieved? I assume you are still sending someone.”

“Yes … although I am considering coming myself. … You did offer … didn’t you.”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I will be there in three days. Maybe sooner.”

Kennedy hit stop. “There’s more. Tapes of Ivanov and Sayyed and others as well. You’ll want to listen to all of them, but Thomas does not want you bringing the tapes into Beirut.”

“Understood. Did you happen to pick up Badredeen or Mughniyah?”

“Unfortunately, no, but we have a few others that I think will please you.” Kennedy retrieved another folder from her briefcase and laid it before Hurley. “Tarik al Ismael.”

“Music to my fucking ears. Please tell me you IDed the prick.”

“Hiding right under our noses a few kilometers down the road.”

“Where?”

“He’s been working at the UN office in Geneva. Attached to the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, if you can believe it. He lost a few pounds, cut his hair and beard, and ditched his contacts for eyeglasses. You have to admire his tradecraft.” Kennedy fingered the old photo from his days when he was running operations for the Libyan intelligence service, and then the new photo. “It’s a pretty good effort.”

“You sure it’s him?”

“Ninety percent on the photo and ninety-nine point nine on the voice ID. And he was calling about money missing from his account. If we hadn’t had the big ears focused on these banks, I don’t think we would have ever caught him.”

Hurley thought of their conversation last night and frowned. “So you want to send Rapp after him?”

“Not just me. Ismael is near the top of Thomas’s list.”

“I don’t know, Irene,” Hurley said with obvious reluctance. “Ismael could bite back. He’s not some fat arms dealer. He’s a real killer.”

“In a perfect world, Thomas would send all three of you after him, but we don’t have that luxury right now.”

“Why? Let’s put Beirut off for a few days.”

Like a Vegas dealer, Kennedy slid the gray file off to the side and moved the manila file front and center. “In the transcript, you heard Ivanov ask if his package was ready?”

“Yeah.”

“He asked Sayyed if he was going to negotiate with the Persians instead…”

“Yeah.”

“Remember what they did to Buckley?”

“Remember—I think about it all the time. I was just telling Mitch and Bobby Richards about him.”

“Well, Thomas thinks the Schnoz is the package they are referring to.”

Everything stopped. Hurley didn’t so much as twitch for a good ten seconds. He’d known the Schnoz for close to twenty years and there was a running shopping list in his head of all the operations he’d been involved in. After a quick assessment of the potential damage, he leaned back and dropped the F bomb. Cummins had worked in Moscow before Damascus. If the Russians got their hands on him, they would be screwed in some of their most sensitive operations. He shook his head to get over the shock and said, “We can’t let that happen.”

“Thomas agrees. He has a source that says Schnoz is still alive. Emaciated and battered, but still alive.”

“Shit.”

“That’s why he wants you and Richards to get to Beirut ASAP. As we discussed last night, Rapp will join up with you tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime, you two start poking around. If you can’t find anything in forty-eight hours, Thomas wants you to use some of the new funds to negotiate for the Schnoz’s release. Very quietly, though.”

“Of course.” Hurley was still trying to calculate the damage. “What about backup?”

“He’s agreed to send a SOG team, but doesn’t want to put them in-country until you have something solid.”

“Understood.” SOG stood for Special Operations Group. There was a good chance Hurley would know the men. “Air cover?”

“If you need it he’ll get it. Last resort, though.”

Before Hurley could comment, there was a banging on the side of the plane and he realized it was time to go. Kennedy passed him two files. “Those are for you. This one,” she said as she handed him a third, “is for Mitch. Make sure he knows to destroy it before he makes contact with Ismael.”

“Will do.” Hurley stood. “Anything else?”

Kennedy joined him in the aisle. She didn’t want him to go, but he was a good soldier, so there was no stopping him. So much of their shared sorrow revolved around that once-beautiful city on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean.

Hurley could see that she was concerned, and he knew why. He gave her a hug and said, “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

“Yeah,” she said, not really believing it herself and holding back the tears. “Beirut’s still a nasty place.” She stayed strong for him. There was no turning back now that he knew. The only thing to do was support him. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Be careful.”

CHAPTER 45

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

WHEN it was all done Rapp would swear that he felt the zip of the bullet as it passed his left temple. It was that close. The only thing that saved him was the awkward movement that the Libyan made as he drew his pistol. The fake was weak. He looked over his left shoulder a bit too dramatically and then swung back to his right, drawing his gun, his long overcoat flaring like a matador’s cape. The other reason Rapp didn’t fall for it was that mean old cuss Stan Hurley. It was the first time Rapp could honestly say he was grateful for all the shit Hurley had heaped on him. All of that damn methodical, shitty training paid off in the split second it took Ismael to draw his gun and turn on him.