Free Tommy Carmellini 02 - The Traitor by Stephen Coonts

key to Europe, and we need Europe on our side."
    "They said much the same to me in Washington," Jake said mildly- "We'll try to keep the terrorists and spies out of your way."
    "This summit had better not be torpedoed by anyone. You understand about torpedoes, don't you, Admiral?" Lancaster was of an age and station in life that meant he didn't have to be polite. These days he rarely bothered.
    "I do."
    "I want a promise, sir. In Russia you charged off to tilt windmills without informing me of your activities. Fortunately it worked out, but that was just shit-house luck."
    Jake was shocked—he didn't know that Lancaster had that kind of language in him. Ms. Hempstead didn't turn a hair. Lancaster steamed on. "I don't want to be blindsided by any shenanigans this time. I'm not a babe in the woods—I've been in the middle of more international crises than you've ever read about. Talk to me before you kick over anyone's applecart."
    "I'll do my best, sir."
    "I need more assurance than that," Lancaster snapped.
    Jake Grafton had had enough. "That's the best I can do. Take it up with Washington."
    On that note the interview ended. Clad in his new shoes, department-store suit and made-in-China tie, the admiral was ushered out of the ambassador's office.
    When Agatha Hempstead returned from escort duty, Lancaster was standing at the window with his arms folded across his chest, looking out.
    You knew CIA was going to replace their European chief," she said. "What is so remarkable about Admiral Grafton?"
    He isn't a career man—he's a shooter. With the G-8 summit just
    ound the corner . . ." Lancaster sighed. "Washington is obviously
    worried." He held his hands out and looked at them. "I feel as if the
    ''orld I know and love is dying." He balled up his hands into fists.
    jlv nization is mortally wounded, and something truly evil is being
    bor n to take its place."
    George Goldberg, the CIA's Paris station chief, was a large, balding man with a serious paunch who moved slowly and deliberately. He had a square jaw and heavy brows on a face that was usually expressionless. He never smiled or frowned, looked excited or disappointed. On first meeting him most people thought he was stupid. They couldn't have been more wrong. He had attended college on a football scholarship, playing tackle, and been drafted by a pro team but refused to sign. Instead, he stayed in school to complete his PhD in economics.
    He and Jake Grafton sat in the SCIF in the basement of the American embassy chatting about their careers as they got acquainted. "Perhaps I should have gone to the NFL, just for the heck of it," Goldberg told the admiral, "and after a couple of years returned to school. There were days in Moscow when I wished I had done it that way."
    "Ah, the road not traveled ..."
    "At the time the London School of Economics looked more interesting than the Cleveland Browns. I'd been to Cleveland, the Mistake on the Lake." Watching the way Goldberg said that, with his deadpan face, Jake Grafton was reminded of Buster Keaton. "How well do you know the folks at the DGSE?" "Very well. We have a liaison officer, of course, but when he goes to the Conciergerie, he talks to some guy in a tiny office. To get any cooperation I have to go over there. I get to see Arnaud any time I want. Occasionally Rodet." "Tell me about Henri Rodet."
    "He's a smart, ambitious survivor," Goldberg replied thoughtfully. "He's built his career in the Middle East. I would bet he knows the Arabs better than anyone else in Europe—well, better than any other intel pro. Nobody knows more Middle Eastern scumbags than he does. He speaks fluent Arabic and Farsi, and he's got a GI system that's as impervious to germs as sewer pipe."
    "So he can talk the talk and grab the goat."
    "You got it. He spent twenty-five years listening and connecting the dots."
    "Arnaud, Rodet's number two?"
    "Shrewd, smart and unscrupulous. There's another guy looking out for number one."
    "So what was your