Maitland continued: “Iran does sound like the most likely, their mullahs, their military, they are so fanatical, many of them don’t care what happens to their own country, their own people, so long as we—the West—are destroyed in the process.”

She nodded, told them about her conversation with Ari from the Mossad. “To remind you, there’s possibly someone else in Damari’s sights, and that means we need an alert to the other governments involved in the talks, just in case.”

Temp said, “I’m more inclined to think it’s somebody right here in the U.S., someone high up.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“Regardless of motive, regardless of whether it’s Iran behind this contract or their Hezbollah enforcers, we will not let Damari kill you, Callan, we will not let it happen.”

McGuiness said, “We will step up your security, immediately. Ma’am, I suggest you move into your West Wing office instead of the EEOB, and we can arrange for more agents to—”

Callan shook her head. “Maureen, all of you, I appreciate your concern, but you all know as well as I do that moving, or changing my schedule, wouldn’t stop Damari. He’s a master assassin, and with his skills and contacts, he could find out whatever he wanted to know.” She shook her head at the irony of it. “If he wants me, he’ll kill me.

“We must also try to find out who else he’s after. Ari was concerned. So I put my trust in all of you, that your people hunt him down before he pulls the trigger. Now you’ve got him on your radar.”

She looked at each face. Would all the battles, all the turf wars, the endless pettiness—would they take a back burner with her life on the line?

Who knew? Perhaps they would. None of them said a word.

“That is all,” she said. “Of course, you’ll want to keep this to yourselves or those you involve, specifically to prevent Damari from succeeding. And, people, don’t let COE bomb anything else, or it will be all our heads.” She pressed the small button on her phone. Quinn Costello came quietly into the room. She stood aside as all of them filed out, and Callan heard them arguing about who should take the lead on finding Damari.

Quinn watched Callan sink into her chair, put her head down on the desk. “Hmm, how did it go?”

Callan banged her forehead three times against the ancient wood.

“That good? Well, this might cheer you up. Hmm, at least it will cheer up the president.”

Callan raised her head, looked up at her chief of staff’s big smile.

“Ari called. He talked the government into returning to the table in Geneva.”

Callan said, “Will wonders never cease? Looks like he’s trying to save my job.”

“And he sent this.” She handed over a slim blue file folder. “Now, who is Zahir Damari? And why don’t we like him?”

Callan sighed. “Quinn, come here and sit down. I have something to tell you.”

•   •   •

In the hallway, Temp watched McGuiness and Maitland walk ahead, McGuiness still trying to tell Maitland what he should do, Maitland looking straight ahead, probably so he wouldn’t slug her. Then, as if Maitland sensed him watching, he turned around. McGuiness waved them both off and kept walking.

Maitland said, “Anything I can do for you, Mr. Trafford?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Anything I can do?”

“Other than handing over everything you have on Damari? We need to do a full assessment on the Bayway bombing. Who’s your best bomb guy? Or girl?”

Because Trafford was experienced at never showing anything, he gave Maitland a warm smile and said, “We’ve got some of each variety. I have a few stateside. Or do you want a whole team?”

“I want whoever you have available immediately. And I want my guys to meet with yours.”

“Sure. Of course. We’ve got lots of possibles in our database, lots of bomb info from COE’s overseas work. Anything the CIA can do to help.”

Now, why don’t I believe you, you little prick? But Maitland nodded. “I’ll also inform my team about Damari’s confirmed contract on the vice president. Both of our groups should dig, see if we can find out exactly who’s behind it.” He gave Trafford a final nod, a handshake. “I’ll be in touch.”

Oh, yes, I’m sure you will. Trafford walked out of the EEOB to his waiting car. McGuiness had said more or less the same thing. Yeah, like that would happen even if there was a snowstorm in Hell.

Neither of them had any clue that he would get to the finish line first. He was already on the final lap.

34

BISHOP TO E6

Chelsea

Mike’s cell rang. Since she was driving, Nicholas put it on speaker. “Go ahead, Louisa. You find anything?”

Louisa sounded tired. “There’s nothing here helpful to us. Obviously someone was thorough when they set the fire. The second floor collapsed into the first, taking all the evidence with it. Everything’s soggy. It’ll take a week to go through it all. I did call the ME—Janovich got the body from the building. Said he was pretty crispy, but he could tell us the guy had been shot in the chest. Nothing else as yet. I’ll tell you, Mike, they did some job on this building.”

“Maybe we need to add firebugs into the profile.”

“That’s a good idea, Mike. Arsonists have as distinct a signature as serial killers.”

Nicholas said, “Louisa, please send the chemical makeup of the accelerant into our Uniform Crime Reporting database. Though arson is wildly underreported in the UCR, perhaps we’ll find a hit.”

“I can do that. I’ll also take a look in ViCAP, see if there are any arson fires near where our confirmed explosions have happened. Hey, I’m willing to try anything that will help us track down these murderers.”

Nicholas said, “Louisa, another thought. Why not a second search with the parameters extended to violent crime in the week leading up to each explosion—homicides, especially. Who knows what sort of patterns may emerge.”

“Okay, can do. I’ll tell you guys, talk about finding a soggy needle hiding in a wet haystack, we’re going to have to get out the metal detectors to find any bullet casing in this mess. But I’ll do a rush analysis on the accelerant. Since we already know it’s petrol, and we’re at an auto shop, chances are it was taken from this location, but one never knows. I can probably have something for you within the hour.”

“The moment you do, Louisa.” He hung up, turned to Mike. “Now, as soon as we find the owner of the Suburban, hopefully we’ll find the redheaded woman.”

“Vida Antonio’s sketches of the group staying at the body shop should come in soon,” Mike said, as she swerved around a taxi. “But you know, Nicholas, there’s something off here. I mean, a Middle Eastern recruit to COE?”

“It does fly in the face of everything COE stands for. Who could this man be?”

Mike hated it, but she gave in and stopped for a red light. She looked over at him, opened her mouth to say something, and what she saw made her blood freeze. She cleared her throat.

“Nicholas, you know how very elegant you looked when you came to work this morning?”

“Why are you speaking in the past tense?”

“Your beautiful suit coat has a bullet hole in it. Nigel is going to shoot you, if I don’t shoot you first for getting yourself hurt. Again.”

He cocked his head at her. She slapped the car into park and grabbed his arm, running her hands from his shoulder to elbow. “You lamebrain, look at this.”

In the upper sleeve of his jacket, there was a small tear in the fine wool. He cursed, lots of animal body parts that made Mike laugh. The light turned green, but Mike ignored it. “You really don’t feel anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Mike, we have lots of pissed-off drivers behind us. Best hit the gas.” He looked back at the dozen cars, drivers waving their fists, horns honking.