“Mia confirmed it’s the same man,” he said. “The one from Port de Sóller.”
Westcott shot his Office of Special Projects director an angry look.
“What you meant to say is that he’s the same man who killed Verena’s crew. One of the two operatives who escaped your trap in Turkey, and the same man you’d promised me was no longer a threat.”
“I’m aware, sir,” Mpassi said, meeting his gaze. “I ... misjudged them.”
“No,” Westcott said, shaking his head. “You underestimated him and the woman who he’s with.”
This time, Mpassi didn’t reply, knowing better than to argue.
But Westcott wasn’t just worried about the operative; Blackstone Security was now a concern too. Their leader was dead, and their structure was compromised, which meant their deniability was obliterated. He had known this reckoning would come and that, eventually, he would have to sever all ties between Hearts United and Blackstone. But he’d hoped to be further along in the DRC initiative before doing so.
Westcott’s hands curled into fists. Since losing one of his key assets in Tanzania, he’d been reluctant to deploy them without backup. Even in Aruba, he’d insisted Mpassi send Henry to support Mia. Valencia, however, had been pitched as a simple reconnaissance mission, a quick in-and-out intel-gathering operation. And it had turned into a goddamned firefight.
“Scrub everything,” Westcott said. “All ties to Blackstone. I don’t want a single thread left behind.”
“What about the employees?” Mpassi asked. “What kind of severance are we offering?”
It wasn’t really a question about benefits. They both knew that. What Mpassi was asking was if they were going to silence them permanently. Truth was, with most of his operational assets already committed in Africa, Westcott didn’t have the manpower for that. And even if he did have the manpower, hunting each Blackstone Security employee would be logistically impossible without raising flags.
“Have legal prepare NDAs. Let’s do six months’ salary,” Westcott said. “For all of them.”
Mpassi nodded. “Understood.”
“Where’s Mia now?”
“Still in Spain. She’s recuperating. She’ll be fit to travel tomorrow. You need her somewhere?”
Westcott shook his head. “She’s done enough, don’t you think? Cancel Budapest and Dubrovnik. Let her go home. Tell her to take a week to herself.”
“A week?” Mpassi asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really think she’ll sit still that long?”
“If she ends up doing it or not is up to her,” Westcott said. “But I want her to know it’s fine if she wants some time to herself.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the Escalade and the horns coming from angry drivers filling the void. After a while, and while still ten minutes from his office, Westcott began to walk Mpassi through his conversation with President Mutombo and the UN secretary-general.
“And now you’re wondering how to take down Prime Minister Bongonda,” Mpassi said when Westcott was finished.
“I am,” he admitted. “But we can’t eliminate him. We need a scandal, one big enough to fracture the Assembly. One juicy enough that Mutombo could regain the ground he lost among the Assembly members.”
“How fast do you need this to be done?”
“As soon as possible. Every day Bongonda gains more influence.”
“Budget limitation?” Mpassi asked.
Westcott frowned at the question. “Why do you ask?”
“Because getting to him physically inside the DRC would be complicated. But—”
Westcott snapped. “Aren’t you listening to a word I said? I specifically told you I don’t want him killed. I know how difficult it is to get to these assholes inside the DRC. That’s why we waited until Tchangana and Mpanga were abroad. For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you?”
“Sir, I wasn’t about to suggest we take him out,” Mpassi said. “What I was going to say is that we’ve gained access to the DRC’s internal network infrastructure. We can plant whatever we need, including emails and financial records.”
That was news to Westcott. He didn’t know they had this kind of access. He’d given Mpassi a lot of latitude on how to manage the DRC operation, but Westcott was starting to feel that he might have given the man a bit too much autonomy. Still, he considered what he had just learned.
“Okay ... what do you have in mind?” he asked.
