“I’m not going to ask you if we’re looking for him, because it would be pure insanity not to,” Kurt began, “but why don’t you let Joe and I help? We’re very motivated to find him and bring him back to justice.”
The President looked at his silent team. They would have kept silent until the end of time if he didn’t give them permission to talk. Finally, he nodded toward the CIA director.
“We don’t think Ahab is going to be a problem for very long,” the director said.
Kurt narrowed his gaze.
“We have verified intelligence that suggests he’s dying,” the DCI elaborated. “The bodies of his conspirators that were pulled from the sea around that freighter two years ago were contaminated withradioactive materials. It was in their skin, in their blood, in their organs. The boat itself was virtually glowing. Ahab was on that boat, covered in his own toxins. That he’s still alive is honestly surprising, but he won’t be for long.”
There was a smug certainty to the statement, the kind Kurt hated to hear from government officials. “Even if that’s true, it just makes him more dangerous. A man with nothing left to lose.”
The confidence that Ahab was not a problem continued. “Ahab is a smuggler, a terrorist, a murderer, and a traitor to at least three countries,” the DCI said. “What he’s not is an engineer, a scientist, or a specialist at fabricating high-tech devices. He would need significant technical help and a substantial amount of time to turn the parts he’s stolen into a working weapon. With the Chinese and Russians out of the running we don’t see anywhere he can get his hands on the expertise, and in any case, we don’t think he has the time.”
Kurt wasn’t sure he agreed with the assessment. Ahab had proven to be incredibly resourceful. He was not a man who did things halfway. “He has plans for this weapon,” Kurt insisted. “And if we don’t find him first, we’re only going to learn what those plans are when things start blowing up.”
“Of course we’re looking for him. But we think he’s likely to run out of time before we find him. Either way,” the DCI insisted, “we’ll handle it from here.”
The room fell quiet once again. The hum of the air filters in the background the only sound.
Kurt let it go. They’d given him more than he expected, he appreciated that, but the final words were the type that didn’t allow for another round of questions.
“Sorry, Kurt,” Sandecker chimed in. “As usual you’ve done a hell of a job. Time for you to rest up. You and your whole team are goingon extended paid vacations. I’ve already cleared it with Dirk and Rudi. They agree that you’ve earned it.”
And that was that. An hour later Kurt was back at his townhouse on the banks of the Potomac, sitting on his deck overlooking the river. It was a crisp November afternoon. The trees had lost all their leaves. Thanksgiving was a week away. From his vantage point, the river looked like a painting, a silver path running through a land of gray and brown. He put his feet up, tipped back a glass of whiskey, and watched as a formation of Canada geese flew overhead, honking loudly as they got a late start for warmer climates.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Forget this,” he said, getting to his feet.
He stormed back into his house, nearly pulling the door off the track as he threw it open. Heading to his study, he sat down at the glass-topped computer table, and after another sip of the whiskey, he opened his laptop.
After logging into his NUMA account, he opened a folder called NUMA FILES CLAS X-1. It was the classified reports he’d filed when chasing Ahab two years prior. He read through everything he’d written, supplemented by information developed and attached by other sources. Finally, he went over the information shared by Gushan and the Chinese. It was almost hard to believe how much things had changed since that brief moment of cooperation.
He switched from whiskey to coffee and was brewing a second pot when the doorbell rang. A check of the security camera revealed Joe’s smiling face. “Avon calling.”
Kurt laughed and pressed a button to unlock the door remotely.
Joe came in, shut the door behind him, and walked through the townhouse and up the steps to the top level. He was surprised to see Kurt’s desk covered in papers, photos, and Post-its. The computerscreen had at least nine different windows open. “You look like a detective trying to solve a crime on late-night TV.”
“I am trying to track someone down,” Kurt said.
Joe looked down at one of the printed photos. It was of Ahab and an accomplice, loading weapons into a shipping container. It had been taken a couple of months before they caught him on the freighter.
“Oh no,” Joe groaned. “Tell me you’re not…”
“I was ordered to take a vacation,” Kurt replied. “No one specified where I should go or what I should do while I was on that vacation.”
The glee in Kurt’s voice was a combination of caffeine, sugar, and the always uplifting feeling of being productive.
Joe looked down in the dumps about it. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what they had in mind.”
“Who knows what they had in mind?” Kurt said. “This might have been their plan all along. I mean, do they not know us by now?”
“Us?” Joe asked.
“You don’t have to join me,” Kurt said. “But you will.”
“You sound awfully confident,” Joe replied.
