Point Of Betrayal. Don Pendleton
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“Reasonably so. I changed clothes, walked several blocks and took one of our standby cars. Switched papers so I look like a Russian national. That’s why it took me so long to get here.”
Stone nodded, apparently satisfied.
Doyle turned and uttered a curt greeting to Archer, a small, bald man whose skin bunched in heavy folds at the base of his skull. Archer grunted, tamped down his tobacco with the tip of his tongue. The little man stood off to one side, splattering the floor with thin, brown streams of tobacco juice and swirling them with the toe of his boot so they made odd patterns in the dirt. At first, Doyle had considered Archer disengaged, perhaps even stupid. Just like everything else Doyle seemed to encounter, it all was an act. Archer could read and explain complex research reports issued by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology or defuse a nuclear warhead without taxing his mind.
Doyle carried his equipment bag on his shoulder. Slipping it off, he set it on the floor carefully. An uneasy feeling in his gut told him something was wrong.
“What’s the extraction plan?” he asked.
“Washington says it’s a go,” Stone said.
“What the hell?”
Doyle whirled toward Stone, found him standing less than eighteen inches away, arms crossed over his chest. Stone coiled and uncoiled his steroid-enhanced pectorals, biceps and triceps, causing them to writhe under his shirt like a bag of snakes. Consciously or unconsciously, it was his way of telegraphing his physical power, an intimidation tactic he employed regularly.
“Simmons says it’s a go,” Stone said. His expression seemed to dare an argument and Doyle was only too happy to comply.
“Is he crazy? We’ve been compromised. We’re as good as dead if we go through with this.”
Stone shrugged. “We don’t know we’ve been compromised. There could be a logical explanation as to why he pulled a no-show.”
“Like what?”
Stone grinned. “He likes the ladies. Maybe he was getting laid.”
“I planned to hand him thirty thousand in Iraqi dinars. I think he could keep it in his pants until he got the money.”
“Calm down, Doyle. You sound like a damn old woman.”
Anger burned hot in Doyle’s cheeks and forehead, but he kept his voice even. “You tell Riyadh that our contact disappeared?”
Popping his gum, Stone stared at Doyle for a minute. “I don’t talk to Riyadh about anything unless I think it’s a good idea. These people are spooked enough without me scaring them some more. They’re about ready to overthrow their leader, upend their country. A handful of guys against a man with an army at his disposal. You know what Saddam does to traitors?”
“I know.”
“He kills their whole family. Wife, kids, parents, even distant relatives. He tortures them, rapes the women. Scorches their skin with branding irons. Like cattle. Cuts off their—”
“Goddammit, I said I know.”
Doyle suppressed a shudder. Maybe it had been a trick of the light, but he swore a glazed look settled over Stone’s eyes as he’d discussed Saddam’s atrocities. Doyle never had trusted Stone, had balked at the notion of working with him. Stone was as unstable as hell. He always made missions happen, nearly always got results. That seemed good enough for Simmons and James Lee, the CIA director.
Stone continued. “We spent a year building up these guys. They hate Saddam and that’s good. But they used to fear him too much to do anything about it. Half these guys figured he was invincible. That any move against the man would cost them their families. We finally got them over that. Now you want me to scare them again just because one guy disappears?”
“Yes.”
“Forget it,” Stone said with a gesture. “I want these people to have their heads where it should be. Same goes for you.”
Doyle scowled, clenched his jaw until it hurt. He stepped a couple of inches closer to Stone and spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m here because I believe in this mission. If Washington says ‘go,’ I’ll go. But if you want blind obedience, forget it. I’m loyal, but I’m not stupid.”
Deep creases formed in Stone’s forehead and anger glinted in his eyes, but he nodded. “Suits me. I don’t give a shit why you do it, as long as you do.”
“We go to our second alternative,” Doyle said.
Stone’s face flushed red. “We can’t change now,” he said, his voice a growl.
“They may know what we have planned. The alternative is audacious enough that it might work.”
Archer spoke up. “He’s right, Stone. If we’re going to do it, we might as well stick it up their ass. Hit ’em where they least expect it.”
Stone whipped his head toward Archer. “You just stick to your motherboards and let me handle the strategy,” Stone said.
Archer held up his hands in appeasement, flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Just sticking my two cents’ worth in, okay? You’re the strategy genius. I mean, hell, look at where we are so far.”
Doyle sensed the tension crackling between Stone and Archer, watched it with morbid interest. The two men, equally deadly, always seemed a step away from killing each other. Doyle often prayed for that day, but didn’t want to be there when it happened.
Stone turned back to Doyle. “Make these girls get their damn gear on. Let’s make this shit happen.”
“THERE’S BEEN a change of plans,” Jon Stone said.
The words caused a film of perspiration to break out on Tariq Riyadh’s forehead and a cold splash of fear to roll down his spine. A change? At this point? It was unthinkable. What the hell were the Americans trying to pull so close to the moment of success? Perhaps it had been a trick to expose Riyadh and his people. Perhaps Stone and his crew were double agents and the whole plan, the promises of American cooperation, an elaborate ruse to flush out traitors. Saddam was just paranoid enough to try such a thing.
“Did you hear me?” Jon Stone asked. “There’s been a change.”
“Yes, of course I heard you. Tell me more.”
“Forget it. Just send your little brother and his people over here. We need to go to Plan B.”
“Why?”
“Dammit. Just do as I say. It’s not safe to talk.”
“You said these phones were secure.”
“They are.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You think I owe you an explanation? I don’t owe you shit.”
Though he did his best to control it, Riyadh’s fear had turned to anger. He’d tried being diplomatic with this bastard, but to no avail. He wanted his country to be free, wanted to enjoy the power that came along with it. But every man had his limits. He leaned against the bar, lit up a cigarette and waited.
Stone broke the silence. “Riyadh, when this is all over, you and I are going to go round and round.”
“When this is all over, I will eject you from the country.”
To Riyadh’s surprise, Stone laughed. “Well, you little bastard,” Stone said, “you really do have a spine underneath those expensive suits. Look, it’s like this. We lost a source tonight.”
“Lost how?”
“Didn’t show up.”
“We’ve been discovered.”
“Settle down. We don’t know that. Stop jumping at shadows, for God’s sake.”
Sandwiching