Chapter 12
The safe house in Annapolis smelled like old coffee and the tang of stress hormones. Omar was running on caffeine and adrenaline, and he could feel his body starting to rebel.
But there was no time to rest.
He’d gathered every scrap of available information about the President and was methodically working his way through the thousands of pages. He’d been tasked with developing a psychological profile to use to make the most of the few minutes they’d have to convince him.
Ryan had the dining room table covered with printouts, laptop screens, and satellite imagery. Jake paced behind him, phone pressed to his ear, arguing with someone at the CIA. Trent sat in the corner, methodically cleaning and reassembling his sidearm.
“Listen to me,” Jake said into the phone, his patience frayed dangerously thin.
“I don’t care what protocol says. We have credible intelligence about an imminent attack on Canadian soil involving a U.S.
government official. Information we got by the way because the Agency sent us in to do its dirty work. ”
He listened for a moment, then slammed his phone down on the table. “Bureaucratic cowards. He had the nerve to tell me that since we didn’t actually get the information that sent us in to retrieve not to expect them to pay the invoice.”
“They’re posturing. I drafted the agreement, payment isn’t dependent on success.”
“That’s good, because I sure as heck am not telling them what Hanna gave Interpol. Who knows who we can trust over there anymore?”
“Right. And they’re scared,” Ryan said without looking up from the blueprint he was studying. “If they move on Hampton without ironclad evidence, it could trigger a constitutional crisis.”
“And if they don’t move, we could have a dead President and Canadian PM and a bombed convention center,” Trent said with a snarl.
“I’m aware of the stakes,” Ryan said mildly.
Then again, Ryan said everything mildly. He was unruffleable.
Omar rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. His vision was blurring at the edges from the hours of staring at documents. How did Ryan do this all day, every day?
“We have the evidence,” he said, standing and cracking his back. “Hanna’s testimony. The financial records. Cal’s confession about Hampton lobbying for the pardon.”
“All circumstantial,” Jake said. “A decent lawyer could shred it. Hanna’s a scorned ex-girlfriend. The financial records are complex enough to create reasonable doubt. And Cal’s testimony is tainted because he was cooperating under duress.”
“So we need something harder,” Trent said.
“We need a smoking gun,” Ryan agreed. “Something that directly ties Hampton to the coup plot.”
Omar thought about the problem from every angle. Hampton was careful. He wouldn’t communicate directly. Wouldn’t leave a paper trail.
“What about Brad?” Omar said. “Poppy said he talks. A lot. Especially after a few drinks.”
Ryan looked up. “You think Brad knows about his father’s plans?”
“I doubt the veep confides in young Brad. But he’s been crashing in the Vice President’s residence. Maybe he overheard something. He may know more than he realizes. If Poppy can get him talking again, really talking, maybe he’ll reveal something we can use.”
“That’s a lot of maybes,” Jake said.
“It’s better than nothing,” Omar told him.
Trent stood up. “I’ll call Olivia.”
The rest of them stared at him.
“Mann, are you feeling okay?” Jake asked. “We just went over this. The phones are compromised, remember?”
Trent grinned. “Boys, boys, boys. Do you think Liv and I only carry our Potomac-issued phones when we travel? Be serious. I’m not sexting my wife on the company phone.”
Jake rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think we need to know that you sext your wife at all, dude.”
Trent just laughed. On his way out of the room, he nodded at Omar. “Hope you’re taking notes, Khan.”
Omar looked at Ryan. “If you sext my sister, I never want to find out about it.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t.”
“Wait ….”
“I wouldn’t think too hard about it, Omar,” Jake advised.
Olivia’s pocket chirped while she and Marielle were in the back of the car Poppy had sent to ferry them to the concert.
Marielle blinked at her. “Do you have a bird?”
“Do I have a bird?” Olivia repeated slowly, as the chirping continued.
“Your pocket’s chirping.”
Olivia shook her head and pulled a cell phone out of her dress pocket. “Hey, babe.”
“What are you doing?” Marielle hissed, outraged. “Your phone is supposed to be in that aluminum foil cage thing.”
She covered the speaker with her palm. “Relax, these are the phones Trent and I use for personal business.”
Personal business? She figured she didn’t want to know. But she also figured she and Omar needed to get some personal business phones of their own.
“I’m gonna put you on speaker so Elle can hear this, too.”
“Hey, Marielle,” Trent said. “I was just telling Liv that according to Brad Hampton’s Instagram, he’s in Paris right now. We need Poppy to get a few drinks into him and see if she can get any more details out of him. Omar thinks he might know more than he realizes.”
“Huh, okay. Well, it worked with Hanna,” Marielle said.
“How so?”
“She knows the address where her father was shipping fireworks in Calgary.”
“Yes!”
She could almost see the fist pump on the other end of the phone.
“I’ll text it to you when we hang up.”
“Be good, Santos.”
“You be good, Mann.”
Marielle mimed gagging while they said their protracted goodbyes.
Olivia nudged her with her shoulder and laughed. “You’ll be doing the same, soon enough.”
Then she took out the napkin from Hanna and copied the address into a text.
After she sent it, Marielle asked to borrow the phone. “I want to text the guys a description of that woman from Le Coeur. Find out if she’s a known associate of the Tunisians or the Hamptons.”
“Good idea.” Olivia passed her the phone.
She typed in a description that she knew would be read aloud, wishing she could have a moment of private communication with Omar.
Soon enough.
As she returned the phone to Liv, the car came to a stop. “Here were are. Stade de France. Viva les Pop Tarts!” the driver said with a grin.
Trent returned to the dining room and cleared his throat. They all looked up.
“I told Olivia and Marielle what we need Poppy to do. And they gave us two things. One piece of intel and one task.” He looked down at his phone. “Hanna remembers sending a very large fireworks shipment to an address in Calgary. It appears to be a warehouse.”
“The plumbing supplies wholesaler?” Jake guessed.
“Nope. Although it’s located in the same industrial park.”
As Trent rattled off the address, Ryan typed it into a search bar.
“Metro Logistics,” he announced. “Hey, it’s literally next door to the plumbing company warehouse. They share a parking lot.”
Jake muttered a string of profanity under his breath.
“You okay, Jake?” Omar asked.
“I knew Cal McCloud didn’t suddenly reevaluate his life. You think it’s a coincide that he holed up in the warehouse next door? He wasn’t going to take those explosives to the authorities. He was waiting for the delivery.”
He scraped his chair across the floor and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Trent asked.
“To tell CSIS to lean harder on McCloud. He’s holding out on them.”
Jake walked out of the room with enough force to rattle the dishes in the china cabinet.
After a moment, Trent said, “The second thing is the task. Marielle said someone was watching them during their meeting with Hanna and Interpol.”
“Watching them? Idris’s guys?” Omar asked, his pulse ticking up.
“No, a woman. Marielle wrote: ‘ Someone watched us at café. Unknown female. White, 40s, professional attire, expensive jewelry. Blonde hair in a pixie cut. Confident. Saluted us with her espresso cup before leaving. Knew we knew she was watching. Please run records search for known operatives. Ryan knows how.’”
Ryan laughed. “I do, in fact, know how. I’ll add it to the never-ending to-do list.”
Don’t ask, Omar ordered himself.
Then he asked, “Did she say anything else?”
Ryan shook his head.
Trent gave him a pitying look. “No, bro. Sorry.”