Silent Assassin(73)

Morgan went back to Boston early the following morning and spent the better part of the day at a deli, pretending to read a newspaper and watching the doors of the building that housed the Zeta Division headquarters. And he waited.

He moved when he saw Bloch emerge. He couldn’t help smiling lightly at his luck. The day had turned out warmer than expected, and Bloch had worn a bright red blouse under her coat. She walked out holding her coat folded in her arms, and the red of her blouse was like a beacon to Morgan. He managed to keep his eye on her as she maneuvered around the people on the Common, toward Arlington Station. He hopped the train after her and followed her to North Station. There, he slinked after her, until he saw the man she was there to meet. Smith, the man who had recruited him.

The two talked, but both were well trained in avoiding lip-readers, subtly shielding their mouths and keeping their lips from giving away their words. He waited behind a pillar and took out what looked like a regular ballpoint pen, but was in fact a spy camera. The image projected lightly on his sunglasses. He zoomed in on Smith’s face and snapped a series of shots.

Not two minutes after they had met, Bloch and Smith nodded to each other and parted ways, Bloch walking back in his direction. Morgan hid behind the pillar so she would not see him, blending in with the people waiting for their trains. Now, he just had to wait a few minutes to be sure that she’d be gone, and—

“Hello, Cobra.”

Smith was facing him and looking into his eyes with humorless triumph. If being unflappable hadn’t been part of his training, Morgan might have jumped back in alarm. As it was, he managed to remain mostly unruffled.

“Mr. Smith,” he said in greeting.

“How very nice to see you again, Mr. Morgan. A real pleasure. What a surprise, seeing you here.”

Morgan had been caught. There was no use denying it anymore, or pretending that there was any other reason why he might have been there. “Tell me who’s behind Zeta Division,” he said.

“I am behind Zeta Division,” said Smith.

“And who’s behind you?”

Smith stared blankly in response.

“How many other divisions are there?”

“I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Morgan. You try my patience simply being here. You have the chance to make a graceful and repentant exit. I suggest you take it.”

Morgan wasn’t having it. “What is the Aegis Initiative?”

For a split second, Smith’s expression changed into something that Morgan might even have called surprise, but he immediately masked it with the slightest gloating smile.

“It’s only natural to be curious,” he said. “And, to be perfectly honest, we can’t expect, in this line of business, that our operatives not try to snoop.” He moved in closer so that Morgan could smell the menthol cigarettes on his breath. “So here’s the deal: you get one. This one. I walk away, and we never speak of this again. You shut down your line of inquiry completely, and accept that there are some things that you are simply not meant to know. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Morgan?”

There was nothing else to say, Morgan supposed. “Yeah, we have an understanding.”

“Good,” said Smith. “Go home, Morgan. Take some personal time. Think about what you want for your life. Like, for instance, if you wish to continue living.”

Morgan just fumed silently at the threat.

“Now,” continued Smith, “you will remain here for five minutes as I walk away. Do not attempt to follow me. It will get you nowhere, and I will know. There is no quicker way of getting on my bad side than following me. And you do not want to be on my bad side. Five minutes, on the clock. Good-bye, Mr. Morgan.”

And Morgan watched as Smith walked away, blending into the crowd, and out of sight.





CHAPTER 38


Turkish Countryside, February 10





Dr. Vogt was sweating profusely as he looked into the microscope at the brain tissue he had collected from an infected rat. They had mere days to do the work of months although Vogt had to confess that the armed men were a pretty strong incentive. He had managed to grow a colony under carefully controlled conditions. The colony had formed a puffball, which was a ball of spores that would eventually burst, releasing spores in every direction. He had kept the colonies in glove boxes, so that they never had any contact with the air they breathed.

He was startled out of his work by the Russian barging into the laboratory.

“What is happening, Herr Doktor?” he demanded. “What is taking so long?”

Vogt tried to avoid looking at the Russian’s bandages, which were crusted with dried blood. He looked at Julian, who was standing frozen and white in the corner, holding a clipboard in his bandaged hand.