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Ivanov looked at him with unblinking focus, but did not respond.
"If that was the case," Sayyed said, "then that was your right."
Ivanov shook his head. "If he was stealing from me I would have known, and I would have killed him. But he was not stealing from me."
"So it was the Jews."
"No ... I don't think so."
"Who then?"
Ivanov sat brooding for a half minute and finally said, "I would like to speak to the American rat you are keeping in that basement in Beirut."
He had not told a soul in Damascus where he was keeping the CIA man, which meant either that Ivanov had obtained the information from one of Sayyed's supposed allies or that it was a good guess. Whichever was the case, he would need to move the American as soon as he got back. "You are more than welcome to speak to him. You are welcome in Beirut any time. You know that."
Ivanov began shaking his head at the mention of Beirut. "I cannot. There are far too many things happening here in Moscow. Things that need my urgent attention."
Sayyed tried to deflect by saying, "So you think the Americans are trying to get back in the game?"
"I don't think so, I know so."
Sayyed looked skeptical. "How?"
"Because Thomas Stansfield is finally in charge of their clandestine activities."
"You think one man is capable of turning that mess around? They don't have the stomach to get back into Lebanon. This man I caught..."
Ivanov pounded his fist on the table, cutting him off. "Let me tell you something about Thomas Stansfield. I had to go up against him early in my career. The man plots on more levels than you or I are capable of comprehending. He is a master of deception operations. He gets you running around like a dog chasing your tail." Ivanov circled his hand around his wine glass faster and faster. "You become obsessed with traitors in your midst and you forget to do your job. You see shadows everywhere you turn, and you become completely defensive, and that is just one facet of the man. There is another side, where he is more Russian than American."
Sayyed had no idea what he meant. "More Russian than American?"
"He is the last of a breed of Americans who knew how to be every bit as dirty as the dirtiest enemy. Don't let his grandfatherly image deceive you. The man is a street fighter with a big set of Russian balls."
Sayyed wasn't sure why the man's balls were Russian. Beyond that, he thought Ivanov was overreacting. "The Americans haven't bitten back in years," Sayyed scoffed.
"I know, and that was because we had the CIA in a box and Stansfield didn't have the power. But he is in charge of their clandestine service now, and I'm telling you he is going to stick his nose in our business, and we can't allow that to happen. Trust me. If he gets so much as a toehold, we will be in for the fight of our lives."
Sayyed still wasn't convinced.
Ivanov leaned forward, then grabbed the Syrian's hand. "I am asking you this one time. I will only ask it once. Will you give me the American, so I can find out what he knows? I know your Iranian friends want him, but I will make sure you are compensated."
This was why Sayyed did not want to come to this godless frozen city. There was nothing in it for him, especially since he was not done dissecting the mind of Agent John Cummins. Unfortunately, there was no way out. If he did not bend to Ivanov's wishes, he might not make it out of the country in one piece. With a heavy sigh he told Ivanov that he could have the American.
CHAPTER 30
HAMBURG, GERMANY
THE Hamburg operation was significant for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that certain people began to take notice. A single murder can be an accident or an ab
erration. Two murders in as many weeks, separated by time, but connected by relationships, is a tough one to swallow for people whose job it is to be paranoid. The second reason it was significant was that Rapp finally realized Stan Hurley was extremely good at what he did. Hurley had given them five days to get their affairs in order. They were going on the road and would not be coming back to the States for several months.
The old clandestine officer announced with a gleam in his eye, "We've been kicked out of the office by management. They don't want to see us back in Washington until we have some results to show for all the money and time that's been spent on your sorry asses."
Rapp was not given all the details, but he got the distinct impression that Langley was upset about something. Hurley's attitude had changed even before they left the States. They were to engage the enemy and make them bleed, and the prospect of finally getting back in the game had transformed Hurley. This time Rapp and Richards went in together. Or at least their flights arrived the same afternoon. Rapp arrived second. He saw Richards waiting for him on the other side of Customs. Rapp was carrying an American passport on this trip, and he handed it to a nice-looking older gentleman, who flipped through the pages with German efficiency. The backpack, jeans, and beat-up wool coat must have been enough to tell the man he was not here on business, because he didn't ask that standard question, "business or pleasure." He applied the proper stamps and slid the passport back. Not a glance or a question. Rapp laughed to himself. If only it was always this easy.
The two men shook hands and made their way to ground transportation, where they took a cab to the harbor promenade or Landungsbrucken, as it was known to the locals. A big cruise ship was coming into port. Tourists lined the sidewalk gawking at the massive ship that looked completely out of place so close to all the old brick buildings. Rapp and Richards did not gawk. They were on the move toward the warehouse district, where Hurley was waiting for them.
They passed a prostitute working the riverfront. Richards turned to Rapp and said, "Isn't this where the Beatles got their start?"
