Fallout by Jeff Rovin

Author:Jeff Rovin [Rovin, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

P Street NW, Washington, D.C.

March 23, 6:11 P.M.

Jaz Rivette looked up from the computer screen.

“Yeah, it’s like you said,” the lance corporal told Jay Paul. “The part of your plan that’s actually a plan is pretty simple.”

In a way, Rivette was relieved. Major Breen had been Black Wasp’s go-to officer for tactics and logistics. His schemes, whether for training or on missions, were always somewhat detailed, even if events never quite played out the way he had explained them. Rivette and Lieutenant Lee were always the first to admit the left turns were usually their fault.

As in China.

They were still on the bar stools, Rivette with his grip at his feet. It was beginning to get dark outside and they were illuminated. Though the shades had been drawn, their silhouettes made good targets. If someone came after them, he wanted to be ready. To his right, Grace was seated so she could look at Paul, the computer, and the window. A streetlamp had come on outside; shapes there cast shadows too. She tried not to let passersby and bicyclists distract her.

Paul took down the schematic of the embassy, which had been furnished to Trigram by one of the members of the architectural teams. He was seated to the left of Rivette, closest to the window. He did not seem concerned about a surprise attack.

“I will take you to the site in the van,” Paul continued to discuss the mission. “When you leave the embassy, I will be waiting for you.”

“Just to be clear, whatever happens inside is our call?” Grace said.

“That’s right,” Paul said.

“We do what we decide to do to Kebzabo and then you give us a lift back here,” Rivette said.

“Also right.”

Grace’s expression did not reflect the deep concern she felt. “I haven’t been around the intelligence community very much, but isn’t that uncommon?”

“Which part?”

“Agents helping people they barely know and not expecting a quid pro quo. Helping for the sake of what you said—justice?”

“You are hardly people we don’t know,” Paul corrected. “You work for Chase Williams, and Mr. Williams and Mr. Berry go back a way.”

“Then you’re saying this is personal?” Grace pressed.

“In a way that relates to what I just said,” Paul told her. “Admiral Williams.”

“Listen, mumble gums, you lost me back at the blueprint there.” Rivette cocked his head at the laptop. “Can you just cut to the bone here?”

“Sorry, I thought you were a step ahead of me.”

“We’re not even on the same street,” Rivette said.

“Hold up, Jaz,” Grace said. Like most operatives and politicians, Jay Paul was accustomed to speaking around topics. Not committing himself so that if there was a slipup, he had plausible deniability. “You want to use the assassin to help us get Chase Williams out.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Paul said.

“Not as a hostage, because he does not have that kind of value to Beijing,” the lieutenant went on carefully, methodically, as though she were crossing Potomac ice. “Even if Kebzabo pinned Major Breen’s murder on them, there’s nothing anyone in our government could do about it.

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