“This is about saving the senator, Morgan. We have to do something. Not everyone in there can be compromised. Even with the mole, they can still protect her. They have resources that we don’t.”
“I don’t know, Conley,” he said, looking away.
“I’m not willing to gamble with the senator’s life. I hate this just as much as you do, and I trust them about as far as I can throw them. But it’s our best shot at stopping Nickerson.”
“Fine,” said Morgan, gritting his teeth. He didn’t like it at all, but Conley was right.
“Here, give me the phone. We’ll call Boyle directly.”
“No,” said Morgan. “We shouldn’t let anyone know you’re alive. I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” said Conley.
“You mean, am I going to lose my temper and tell him to go to hell?”
“I mean, you’ve been beaten and deprived of sleep. I don’t mean to have this conversation all over again, but are you sure you’re up for anything right now?”
Morgan glowered at him. “Yeah, I can handle myself. Just tell me how to get his direct line.”
Conley dialed for him instead and handed the phone back to Morgan. It rang twice, and then he heard the voice on the line.
“Boyle.”
“You son of a bitch. This is Cobra. I have some information for you. Now listen closely, and if for a second I think you’re stalling to keep me on the line, I’ll hang up.”
“Cobra, you need to turn yourself over to us right now,” Boyle demanded. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll send someone to get you.”
“Like you sent that sick bastard to get me and my family?” said Morgan acerbically.
“Wagner veered off mission. He was supposed to bring you in, that’s all.”
“Bullshit. But that’s not why I called you, Boyle. I have information. I want to tell you who really killed Eric Plante and Zalmay Siddiqi. It was Natasha Vasiliyevna. Now she’s plotting to assassinate Senator Lana McKay at her rally on Saturday.” He decided against mentioning Nickerson. Morgan knew how it would sound, and there was no need to make it less believable.
“That’s impossible,” said Boyle incredulously. “She’s not even in the country.”
“You’re being played. She’s here, and she’s been after me ever since I was in Afghanistan.”
“If that’s all true, Cobra, then it’s all the more reason for you to turn yourself in and let us take care of the investigation.”
“Damn it, Boyle, there’s no time for an investigation! You need to find her now, before she kills the senator!”
“Just come in, and we’ll discuss this calmly. You can present everything you have, and we can determine whether it’s credible here at headquarters.”
“No. I told you what I know. What you do with this information now is your problem.”
“I can’t act on your word alone,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
“Why don’t you just turn yourself in . . .”
“Why don’t you go to hell?” Morgan threw the phone hard onto the dashboard, and it bounced back, landing on Conley, who turned it off and popped out the battery.
“No luck, then?” he said glumly.
“Looks like we’re on our own.” Morgan glanced at him. “What now?”
“Like I said before,” said Conley, “we check into a hotel so we can both get some sleep. Tomorrow morning we begin planning. It looks like we’re running this solo.”
“Maybe not entirely,” said Morgan. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
CIA Director Boyle laid down the receiver, thought, and then picked it up again.
“Get me Kline.”
“Yes, sir?” came Kline’s voice, after a few seconds.
“It’s Cobra. He just called me.”
“Did you record the call? Did you trace it?” asked Kline.
“No, it happened too quickly, and I wasn’t fast enough. But what he told me was concerning. He raved about some sort of conspiracy against him and talked about a rally that Senator McKay is holding on Saturday. I’m afraid he’s planning something and that it’s happening there.”
“Sir, what do we do?” asked Kline. “Deploy another operative?”
“No. Alert Homeland Security. I want every officer in that stadium to have a photograph of Cobra. Give them a story about him being some kind of anti-government extremist. And tell them he should be considered armed and dangerous. If he is spotted, orders are to shoot on sight.”
CHAPTER 39
The rain poured mercilessly as Morgan sloshed through the streets of Prague on a dark spring evening, a briefcase in his hand. It was an ancient city and looked older still after enduring decades of Soviet rule. That night, however, there was electricity in the air, and the city buzzed with an atmosphere of vibrant youth and new possibilities.