Alex threw off the sheets and sat up. “Did you get a match?”
“Quite an exceptional person you decided to kill. You should count yourself lucky to be alive. His name is Luc Lambert, thirty-five years of age, nine years in the Légion Étrangère, a sergeant. He fought in Africa and the Middle East. Decorations for valor and bravery. For fun, I ran his name through all our databases. We like to keep track of these guys. Someone like Lambert, with that kind of record, has to have a reason to leave the légion before putting in his twenty.”
“Shoot.”
“Ever hear of an outfit called Executive Outcomes, based in London?”
Alex searched for a notepad and a pen, then scribbled the name and underlined it several times. “Can’t say I have.”
“Professional soldiers. Mercenaries. Recruiters for that kind of thing.”
“Nice guys.”
“The nicest, if you get my drift. It seems they put together a team a few years back to overthrow the government of Comoros, a small oil-rich nation off the southeast coast of Africa, in order to get their hands on sizable offshore reserves. The coup was led by a mercenary named Trevor Manning and was backed by a group of international businessmen.”
“When was that exactly?”
“Two thousand five.”
“March?”
“March third,” said Eyraud, surprised. “You know it?”
“Lambert had a tattoo on his arm with that date. I figured it stood for something.”
“The coup was a failure. Everyone knew they were coming before they even set foot in the country. Manning and his team were arrested as they landed to refuel in Zimbabwe. The lot was flown to Comoros and put on trial. Most of them were released after a month or two, but Lambert did a full year. In the trial, it was revealed that he was Trevor Manning’s right-hand man.”
“A year doesn’t sound long for that kind of thing. I’d have thought they’d have been taken out at dawn and shot.”
“It took a lot of strings to get them out. One of the sponsors was the son of a former English PM. We all know about him.” Eyraud gave a cynical chuckle.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to fill me in.”
“He was a front for your boys, of course.”
“What do you mean, ‘our boys’?”
“The CIA. Who do you think?”
“Are you saying that Lambert worked for the CIA?”
“I’m not saying anything. You can connect the dots yourself.”
Alex stood and paced the bedroom. Eyraud’s revelations, true or not, had turned the investigation on its ear. The mere possibility that Luc Lambert, an experienced and battle-tested mercenary who had been involved in an operation backed by the CIA, was assembling a team on U.S. soil elevated the threat level by an order of magnitude.
“By the way, Alex, you didn’t tell me what Lambert was doing in your part of the world.”
“Getting ready to put his skills to use.” Alex explained about the raid at Windermere, the deaths of Malloy and the others, and the trove of weapons discovered beneath the house.
“I don’t like the sound of it,” said Jean Eyraud. “Any idea where or when?”
“We found maps of Manhattan. There was fresh food in the refrigerator for Lambert and a half-dozen accomplices. I’d say sooner rather than later. Days. A week at most. We’re frightened that we may be looking at a Mumbai-style attack.”
“Not good.”
No, thought Alex, definitely not good. If what Eyraud said about the CIA’s being involved in any way with the failed coup was true, they would have managed it through the directorate of operations or, more likely, a shadow organization funded off the books that did not officially exist. Knowledge of the affair would have been compartmentalized at the highest levels of the Agency. Sadly, Alex knew no one with access to such information.
“Jean,” she began uncertainly, “you mentioned something about a recruiter for mercenaries based in London.”
“Executive Outcomes.”
“They still around?”
“I haven’t seen their name recently, but you never know.”
“London, eh?”
“Yes, London.”
“Merci, Jean. We will keep you in the loop on this one.”
“Before you go, Alex, may I tell you something? I served alongside many legionnaires when I was in the army. Men like Lambert. Tough. Smart. Maybe a little crazy. Some even work for me today.”
“What are you trying to say, Jean?”
“These men are not terrorists. This guy Lambert, he didn’t want to die. Whatever he was planning to do, he was planning on getting out of it alive.”