“Last seen around four a.m. in the Marais,” said McGee.
“Nothing from the police?”
“We’re keeping Mac’s identity under wraps,” said McGee. “They think they’re looking for Robert Steinhardt, Swiss national. Unless you wish to instruct us to do otherwise?”
“Not at the moment,” said Elkins. She smiled. “Don just informed me you worked together, you and Mac.”
“Did a few hops downrange,” said McGee. “That would be 2005 or 2006. Post surge. Yeah, we had our share of adventures. He went back to Bagram after that, then Syria.” He caught himself. “Oh, you don’t care about the past. You’re wondering if I might have seen him lately.”
“Well?” said Elkins, with an edge. Took you long enough.
McGee colored. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but until ten o’clock last night, local time, I believed that Mac Dekker was dead. Out of the blue we receive a flash transmission that Mac is, in fact, Robert Steinhardt, Swiss citizen, wanted by the police here in Paris for the murder of two Saudi diplomats and that his capture is a level-one priority. An hour after that you issued a red flag for Mackenzie Dekker. Don, here, was good enough to fill me in on some of the particulars. Given the timing, I understand your concern. But I hope you’ll excuse me if I say that my head is still spinning.”
“Fair enough,” said Elkins. “But it had better stop spinning now. Mac Dekker is alive and well, and God knows what he’s up to. But he’s here in Paris, and his consort, Ava Attal, who I’m not pleased to inform you is a decorated officer of Mossad—is also in Paris. On this weekend. Now if you’d be so kind, Mr. McGee, please tell me if you’ve seen him.”
“No,” said McGee.
“Good,” said Elkins. “Happy to have that out of the way. Let’s move on. Do we have any further communication from the contractor? I’d like to read the full transcript.”
The identity of contractors was kept secret for purposes of compartmentalization and plausible denial. One department vetted them. Another hired them. The head of station or equivalent in rank monitored their activity.
“Did the contractor speak with this man, Gerald Rosenfeld?” she asked, studying the hard copy.
“Not that we know,” said McGee. “The contractor broke off pursuit after the police arrived at Rosenfeld’s residence.”
“You have an address?” she asked. “Might be worth a visit.”
“As a rule, we avoid getting involved in local law enforcement matters,” said McGee.
“This is hardly local,” said Elkins. “Any other time, I’d concur. But as you know ...” She let the words die off as she glanced in Baker’s direction.
“I’ve known Don a minute,” said McGee. “I think it’s safe to read him in.”
“Hold on,” said Elkins. “First tell me if you did that check on the safe houses.”
“Three are in use,” said McGee. “Two have been occupied for several weeks. One was reserved last night.”
“By whom?”
“Rita Campbell. Field officer.”
“One of yours?”
“She’s out of Berlin,” said McGee.
“You’re kidding!” said Baker.
“What is it?” said Elkins.
“Jane McCall’s in Berlin.”
“Who’s Jane McCall?” asked Elkins.
“His daughter,” said Baker. “Jane Dekker McCall. He calls her Jaycee.”
“I don’t give a crap what he calls her,” said Elkins. “Get her on the line.”
McGee contacted his assistant and asked him to find Jane McCall. He came back momentarily and reported that she was away on business and that he had left a message for her to call back immediately.
