Part 17 (1/2)

”So together they had the whole financial picture,” Judd said.

Eva nodded. ”Six a.s.sa.s.sins. Six financiers. Six dead financiers.”

”You've nailed it,” Bosa said. ”Each of us took out one financier. That left Saddam as the only person to know the location of every piece of his wealth.”

”They did one h.e.l.l of a job hiding it,” Eva said. ”As I recall, even after Saddam was toppled, the U.S. government could find only a few billion dollars.”

”Right again,” Bosa said. ”Somewhere between forty and seventy billion dollars are still missing. Saddam's family, bankers, and governments have been searching for years. It's turned into the biggest-and quietest-treasure hunt the world has ever seen.”

”I wonder where all of it is?” Eva mused.

”Not in one place,” Judd said. ”It's probably still spread around. Imagine the power of the person who finds the various hidey-holes.”

The pilot's voice sounded on the cabin speakers: ”The ambulance is waiting at the airport. Prepare for landing.”

”We'll be back,” Eva told Bosa.

With her in the lead, she and Judd returned aft. Tucker was as they had left him, motionless, an oxygen mask on his face and an IV in his arm. They strapped themselves in. There was a light jolt and a sense of drag on the plane. The wheels were down.

Eva reached for Tucker's hand. It was warm but limp.

Judd leaned close to him. ”This is just sayonara until the next time, old friend. We'll miss you in Marrakech.”

Eva looked out the window as the plane stopped. ”We've arrived, Tucker. There's a staircase rolling toward us. Your ambulance is waiting.” She smiled at him as if his eyes were open and he could see how much she cared for him. She had to try one last time: ”Tucker, flex your hand. Please.”

A tendril of cold air touched her cheek. She peered down the aisle and saw Jack had opened the craft's door.

Judd saw it, too. ”We don't have much time. The paramedics will come for him soon.” He took Tucker's other hand.

Eva leaned close, her lips almost touching the old spymaster's ear. ”You've been shot in the head. Do something-anything-we're asking. It'll mean you can still think, understand speech, and move on purpose. Come on, Tucker, you need to know for yourself.”

”I'm going to squeeze your hand again, Tucker. Then you squeeze mine.” Judd compressed it.

They waited.

”Did I feel something, Tucker?” Eva asked, excited.

Very slowly the index finger of Tucker's left hand straightened, held a second, and collapsed.

Eva closed her eyes. ”Thank G.o.d.”

Judd heaved a sigh of relief. ”Congratulations, you old SOB!”

42.

Aloft, on the way to Marrakech, Morocco Climbing to 27,000 feet, the Carnivore's trijet approached America's coastline. Judd watched out the window as the winking lights of civilization ended and the black Atlantic Ocean spread before them. The only sound was the muted strum of the craft's engines. He was alone in the cabin with Eva: Bosa was in the galley with Doug, while Jack and George were in the c.o.c.kpit, the door closed.

Eva was resting her head back against her seat. She looked tired, but then all of them were. It had been a long day.

”I'm puzzled, Judd.” She sat up, folded her hands in her lap, and peered down at them. ”You told me you couldn't be with me because you hadn't liked what you'd become in Iraq and needed a different life for yourself-different from all of the reminders you'd have with me. But just a few hours ago, you killed Chapman and two of his guards when they weren't a threat to us-at least for the moment. Are you happy you did it?”

”Happy isn't the word I'd use. I'd say a weight was lifted from me. It was as if time stopped. The noise receded. I felt at peace.”

”I don't like the sound of that. Peace.”

”If it's any comfort, it was a cold peace, almost as if I was removed from the world. Why won't you look at me?”

She lifted her head. ”Four months ago you told me you didn't want to kill again, and now you've just erased Chapman. That was personal, right?”

He frowned. ”If he'd had the chance, he would've killed us. I traded his life for ours. Doing Chapman was necessary.”

She hesitated. Then: ”Do you have flashbacks about the black work you were doing in Iraq and Pakistan?”

”No. Why?”

”If you had them, would you tell me?”

”Of course,” he said. ”Sure.”

Her expression said she did not believe him.

Then he understood and felt a pain close to his heart: ”You're afraid of me. You're afraid I'll hurt you.”

Her expression was unforgiving. ”I didn't know you'd done clean-up work in Iraq,” she reminded him. ”You waited until I'd fallen in love with you to tell me. That was bad enough. Now you say you found a 'cold peace' wiping Chapman. You felt 'removed from the world.'”

”Eva, please. Those were just my emotions in a very special set of circ.u.mstances. They're not who I am. Certainly not the way I think about you. I'd never hurt you.”

When she said nothing, he changed the subject. ”How do you feel about being kicked out of the CIA?”

”Terrible. My career as an intelligence officer ended before it could begin. And I hate that it looks as if it's my fault. How do you feel about it?”

”Relieved. You're free now.” He wanted to tell her he loved her, to hold her in his arms again. He took a deep breath. ”Do you at least trust me enough to work with me again?”

She seemed to think about it. ”We were a good team last time,” she decided.

It was a start. ”Then we'll keep it at that. Partners. Nothing personal.”

43.

Marrakech, Morocco Francesca Fabiano had come to Marrakech again, drawn back by a dream of something she could not name, something good. Pyotr Azarov told her he did not trust dreams, but she forgave him. She knew dreams had power, especially when one paid attention.