Dead Edge: the gripping political thriller for fans of Lee Child. Jack Ford
Читать онлайн книгу.
That was the title of the game.
It often played out that it was the most principled of colleagues who would turn and end up working for the other side. Then, sometimes, it was just the mundane, insider politics of the CIA who ordered the eyes and ears. But that’s what made them good. That’s what kept the field agent alive. Because you never knew. Never knew who wanted to bring you down.
The secret was to believe everything and to believe nothing. So if it meant getting a Goddamn water feature the size of which even the White House would be proud of, to stop ears listing to conversations by distorting the pick-up on their listening devices with the sound of the water, then that was something he just had to live with.
And it was here, in front of this monstrosity of a garden feature, where he had every conversation which was longer than a hello.
Chuck sipped his glass of iced tea as he watched his housekeeper bring Arnold Willis, an ambitious thirty-something CTC case worker with thick blond hair and eyes as green as the trees of Wisconsin.
Waiting an appropriate time for his non-English speaking Peruvian housekeeper to go back inside the house, Chuck snarled, ‘Take your clothes off.’
Arnold Willis stepped backwards. Hit the side of his leg against the fountain wall. Almost fell right in. ‘Sorry, sir?’
‘I said, take your clothes off, Willis.’
‘Sir, I don’t understand.’
‘What the hell is there to understand, Oklahoma boy? The point is I like to cover all eventuality. No ears, no wires and no possibility of them. And before you ask, no I don’t trust you. But don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone. So take off your clothes and put them over there by the bench.’
*
Arnold Willis tried and failed horribly to stop himself feeling self-conscious as he stood in front of Chuck in the mid-afternoon on what was clearly a chilly day.
‘What I want to know, Willis, is who the hell okayed the polygraph test on the bomber?’
‘On David Thorpe?’
Rubbing the side of his head, and throwing the rest of the iced-tea away on the lawn, Chuck snapped, ‘Yes, of course, David Thorpe, who the hell do you think I meant?’
‘Sir, it was the President, sir.’
‘When? Because I was with him just this morning and he didn’t mention anything then.’
‘The call came through around mid-day. We did try to get hold of you.’
‘And when you didn’t, you thought it was just okay to send orders through to Turkmenistan for them to go ahead and do it?’
‘Sir, I wasn’t anything to do with it. It was the deputy director who took the decision. The President’s office wanted to get it done as quickly as possible. Marked urgent.’
‘You got the results?’
Willis nodded. Wanted to scratch his chin. Decided against it if it meant revealing his modesty.
‘I have sir, they’re in my jacket.’
‘Have you shown them to anyone else?’
‘No, sir. Absolutely not.’
Guardedly, Chuck enquired. ‘Anything out of the usual show up on the test?’
‘Yes, sir. The strange thing is although David Thorpe is clearly shown on the CCTV footage driving the lorry before parking it and walking away, as well as the coffee staff IDing him, along with the fact that he had traces of ammonium nitrate on his clothes and hands, the polygraph test isn’t clear cut at all. It was rendered inconclusive. All the tests were.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, after the first test was inconclusive they redid it two more times. It’s odd because when he says it wasn’t him who built the bomb or drove the truck or even went for an Eggnog latte, even though he’s clearly there on the tape footage, the test results are still reading inconclusive rather than pointing to him lying, which you would’ve thought it would. The only thing he does admit, is that it was him on the tape and the test shows a pass for that.’
‘Even he couldn’t deny that one.’
‘I realize that, sir, but off the record the guys in Turkmenistan say he does sound very convincing when he says he doesn’t know anything about the bomb. And don’t forget, sir, only 5 to 10 percent of people’s tests are found to be inconclusive.’
Chuck took a step towards Willis. Narrowed eyes. Mouth held tight. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Nothing… I… I just mean it sounds like he’s telling the truth.’
Fingers jabbed into Willis’ bare chest. ‘You ever say that again and you’ll be sorry. You understand me? That kind of talk, there’s no place for. The guy’s a terrorist. Simple. I don’t want you repeating that crap to anyone.’
‘Yes, sir, it was just… it was…’
‘Just what? You think polygraph tests are infallible just because the CIA use them all the time?’
‘No.’
‘Didn’t you read the National Academy of Science report on them? Casting doubt? Reasons why you may get an inconclusive test include inadequate question formulation, based on bad case facts. Questions that are compound or ambiguous. The absence of care by the examinee of getting caught in a lie. The matter of not giving a damn about the consequences. It’s the job of the examiner to determine the proper psychological set for the polygraph examination. Did you know all that?’
‘No, sir, I didn’t.’
‘Then maybe you should. And apart from anything else, if he didn’t know anything about it, tell me why the hell he was driving a truck with false plates which were registered to a vehicle that’d been crushed six months ago… Now put your clothes on… And Willis?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Like I say, I don’t want you mention the results to anyone else.’
‘What about the President? Shouldn’t I get them to his office?’
‘I don’t think you’re listening. I said, no-one else. I’ll sort out the President’s office, okay? So now we’re all good… But Arnold.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Just one other thing. If you want to continue working for the CIA, don’t ever let me hear you refer to this again…’
SCOTTSDALE, ARIZONA
USA
ab4 Nh5
Cooper sat in his ’54 Chevy watching the heatwaves rise up from the engine, mixing with the heatwaves of the day. He’d parked on the cactus-lined dusty road where he could see the small airstrip belonging to Onyx Asset Recovery. A company which specialized in tracking down high value boats and planes, mostly for banks, leasing companies and on occasion governments.
This was where he worked. Onyx. The remote office he’d been operating out of for the past six years. It was built in the middle of four hundred acres of wilderness. Hot desert land based just outside North Scottsdale, Arizona, with God-given views.
He hadn’t stepped foot in the actual office in a while. Last year he’d returned from a job in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and he’d come back messed up. More messed up than when he’d gone.
The breakdown of his marriage hadn’t helped, but in truth, when it had been up and running, it hadn’t helped him either.
His