The Phoenix Affair by Dave Moyer (e book reader pc TXT) 📖

Randy Anderson sipped the rapidly cooling coffee, his second cup today and probably his last, as he scanned through his inbox looking for urgent email that must have his attention. Others he would get to later. He worked from oldest to newest, which was relative, because he received new ones at the rate of several per minute.

He was looking for any news of Cameron, who should be in Paris today, since this morning local time. He looked at his watch again: it would be five-thirty in the afternoon there now, eleven thirty in the morning Langley time. He reached the emails that came in around eight this morning, just after two p.m. Paris time. Nothing so far.

There was a message about another operation going down in Yemen, nothing fancy, just a little spying on someone who was nominally an ally of the United States, but you could never be sure these days. Some allies, like the French, didn’t seem to be able to figure out how to act like one most of the time, or so it appeared to many Americans. He scrolled up. There was an email about some information for the President’s Daily Briefing, or PDB. He read it, thought for a moment, approved the inclusion and directed that the Briefing also include some related info, along with the file name where it could be found. Further up he found a note about his meeting this afternoon with the director of the National Security Agency. Another about a personnel matter he’d been working on, a promotion he was arranging for one of his favorite field operatives. There, a note from Mr. Jones. He opened it and read:

For DDO Langley:

Phoenix arrived in Paris on schedule, but lost his minder somewhere enroute into downtown. Probably slipped through a hotel lobby near l’Opera. Unexpected touch. Present whereabouts unknown. He checked in by email two hours ago, nothing since then.

Falcon has also checked in by email, and he received instructions for the contact with Phoenix. Unknown whether contact has occurred, but Falcon’s check-in was also nearly two hours ago. Fortunate timing, both subjects at machines at approximately the same time. Assume that contact has been made but do not know if a meeting has occurred.

No opposition in play that we’ve seen.

Anderson thought for a moment. “Lost his tail? How’d he do that, the sly bugger? Who’s he worried about, us or someone else? Well, guess it serves us right trying to tail him in the first place, can’t blame him for losing us. That’s actually good news, our boy can take care of himself. Still, I’m going to have some ass for our guy getting lost. No opposition—of course not you hack, you haven’t seen him since he hit town ten hours ago” He typed

Understand, appears our boy knows how to play. Suggest you check to see if he’s used one of our credit cards, find his hotel, pick him up again. Use Intel if you need them, my authority. Let me know when you have something, direct.

He stabbed the “Send” button. “That’ll cause shit to fly down in Intel.” He chuckled. Normally, he was careful not to get directly involved in field ops. He had good people who did it for a living now, he was supposed to let them do their jobs. “Well, what good is it being the Big Cheese around here if I can’t sail some excrement around once in a while.”

Two floors down and at the other corner of the building, Jones sat back from his screen and looked up at the ceiling. “Great” he mumbled to the tiles up there. “DDO knows I’m alive, which could be great for my career, except he also thinks I’m a complete fuck up, which I am. Jesus.” Jones was his real name, a source of some humor among his colleagues. He was not a hack, though. He was a seasoned field agent, had proven he could be resourceful and unpredictable, the kind of agent the Agency had a reputation for, but didn’t actually have many of. He thought for a few minutes. “What’s Phoenix know, and what does he not know?” He didn’t have a clue. He considered forwarding the DDO’s message to the guys in Intel along with his request for a scan of Paris hotels for a credit card. Maybe the DDO’s hand would get him some cooperation with those guys. He re-read the email, “not good.” “No use anyone else knowing the Boss is pissed at me” he observed. Instead, he killed his screen and got up, headed for the Intel desk and a guy who owed him a favor. “This will go better face to face.”

*****

Cameron and General Fahd walked quickly and talked little, needing to put some distance between them and the scene of the crime. They circled around the block and were now headed south one street east of where they’d left the mugged short man, and they would soon be several blocks south as well. Cameron was betting that if he could follower would try to continue north toward the river searching for them, and he wanted to be well away, in the other direction.

“Abu-Sean” Fahd said quietly in Arabic when he began to feel composed. “You amaze me. What was that all about, who were those men? When did your Arabic become so good? You sound like you were born in Riyadh!”

“Hold on, slow down” Cameron said in English. “It’s not really that good, but thanks for the compliment about the accent. I’m OK with phrases here and there, but I only got about a third of what you just said. English is fine, if we keep it quiet. What did you say, again?

Fahd repeated, a little mollified. “OK, one at a time” Cameron replied. “You were followed, right? So, someone is a little too interested in you, and maybe me if we’re together, and that’s not going to be healthy for either of us. So, we had to do something about that. I paid those guys to mug the short guy, in case we should pass by there with him in trail. He was, they did, unlucky for him, he shouldn’t have signed up. Any idea who he is, or why he’s following you?”

“No idea who he is,” Fahd admitted, “some idea why he’s following me, although I don’t know how, and I don’t want to talk about it here in the open. What was that language you spoke to them?”

“Spanish. I don’t know any French, and it helps to communicate with Parisians in something besides English, makes them more hospitable for some reason.” Cameron shrugged his shoulders as he walked.

“So Spaniards can be hired in Paris to do a mugging? Are they so bloody-minded? I would never have known.”

“No, not especially bloody minded. It was a practical thing. I don’t speak any French, I figured it’s gotta be tough to do that kind of deal in English here in Paris, so Spanish was my only choice. I got lucky and found a bar with those guys in it, and they needed the money. Otherwise, I’d have had to do it myself, which would have been messy.” Cameron blessed his luck again, quietly. “If the guy’d been armed we’d have been in big trouble. Not a good risk, so this was better. If the little guy hadn’t got on the boat, you and I would simply have walked another way, and these guys would have come out for nothing, except for my thirty euros, that is. Anyway, a hundred eighty euros is a small price to pay to have us both clear of that guy so we can talk in peace.”

“Where are we going now?” asked Fahd. The walk was making him warm in his coat despite the chill in the air, and he noticed for the first time since the internet café that he was hungry.

“I’m not sure, really” said Cameron, looking at his watch and then ahead on both sides of the street. “I vaguely remember a restaurant in this general area when I was here in 2005. It’s here somewhere, we’ll find it. You hungry? I’d offer a mosque, it’s going to be Isha in a few minutes, but if you permit me, I think it would be best if we avoid mosques until we sort things out a little. This restaurant, if I can find it, is kosher, so it’s OK for you.”

“You amaze me, Paul” Fahd said again. To himself he wondered how the man could remember little details like that. Muslim rules for food are identical to kosher rules for Jews. “Yes, I could eat a horse as I believe the expression goes in your country. How far do you think? Can we talk there?”

“Yes, that’s the plan and it’s not far. I recognize that hotel over there now, the restaurant will be another block this way, and then a half block to the left. Are you here alone, abu-Mohammed?”

“No. I brought Fadia and little Aziz, on the pretext that the boy needs treatment for his stomach. Nothing serious, but it was an excuse. Also Miriam to help Fadia, and Mohammed to watch them when I’m out. They’re at the hotel, but they should be OK.”

Cameron frowned in the dim light of the street lamps, and shook his head a little. “Not OK, Fahd. Whoever had you followed probably picked you up from your hotel, so they know the family is there and they know you’ll come back. We’ll have to do something about that, but with shorty down for the count back in the alley, we have some time. First, we need to talk and see where we are. How are Fadia and the children? They are all well, I hope?”

“Splendid” said Fahd as they turned left and he saw that Cameron must have spotted his restaurant. “And how is Elizabeth, and Sean, and what is that pretty daughter of yours called?

Cameron smiled broadly. “Elizabeth is gorgeous as usual, and she’s taken a job last year. The kids are growing up. Sean still plays soccer, sorry, football, and started at his University this last fall. Lilly, is beautiful, and destined to cause me much worry and loss of hair. She’s in her third year, studying to be a teacher.”

“I am glad, abu-Sean. I hope I can see them again soon.”

Just then they arrived at the restaurant and stepped inside. It was typical of Paris. There were ten tables, close together, arranged along the walls of the narrow room on either side, with a small bar at the back and the kitchen beyond that through a door. There was dark wainscoting on the walls, and wallpaper above in a Provence color scheme. Curtains across the glass front covered the lower half of the windows to just above eye level on the walk outside. The lights were Paris-dim. There was nobody else dining yet, the only person visible was a tall, thin waiter at the bar who, seeing them, put on a smile and began to walk toward the door with two menus in hand.

They sat at a table midway down the left wall, Cameron facing the door. In a few minutes each had ordered half a roasted chicken with