Free Tommy Carmellini 02 - The Traitor by Stephen Coonts Page B

named Abu
    Qasim."
    Goldberg looked skeptical. "Where did they get that tidbit?"
    The admiral shrugged. "I wasn't told the source."
    "If my memory serves me correctly, Qasim is one of the aliases of a top Al Queda guy, who also goes by the name of Abdullah al-Falih." Goldberg made a face. "Getting a name from some illiterate holy warrior doesn't make it so."
    "You think that's where they got it?"
    "Probably. The Egyptians, the Pakistanis and even the Saudis torture those guys, who will say anything to stop the pain. That kind of information is worse than worthless, and the fools in Washington take it for gospel. 'Let's raise the security level to yellow this weekend—a guy in a Cairo prison said his pals are going to blow up Washington.'"
    Grafton sat lost in thought. Finally he sighed and spoke, on a different subject. "This DGSE agent who was killed last night, Claude Bruguiere—any whispers on who might have killed him?"
    "I haven't heard any."
    The G-8 conference? What are the French authorities doing about security?"
    Everything they can, and I mean everything. Rodet is chairman
    'i the security committee. They are making life uncomfortable for
    e French Muslim communities. The trick is to keep track of the
    suicidal fanatics without triggering more rioting. They are tighten-
    ln g border security and shifting police and army units here from all
    v er the country. By the day the G-8 leaders arrive at Charles de
    aulle, the lie de France—that's the heart of France, Paris and the
    rounding area—will be an armed camp. The French have ab-
    solutely no intention of giving terrorists any cracks at all to exploit. While the foreign leaders are on French soil, Paris and the surrounding area will be the most heavily policed area on earth."
    They talked over the G-8 security arrangements for several minutes before Grafton moved on to another subject. "I'd like to go over the past year's DGSE intercepts and summaries with you, if that's possible."
    "Certainly," George Goldberg said. "We'll use the Intelink." He swiveled to the computer beside him and began to type.
    Two minutes later he said, "Here's your name."
    "What?" Jake looked at the screen. His name wasn't on the Intelink this morning. The folks at NSA must have just posted it. As he read the entry he saw another name he recognized: Tommy Carmellini. Let's see ... this was an interception of an encrypted landline data transmission . ..
    So the French knew that Jake Grafton and Tommy Carmellini were in Paris and both were CIA.
    "There's a leak somewhere," Goldberg muttered.
    "Yes, but where?" Jake Grafton shot back.
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Jean-Paul Arnaud cooled his heels in the director's outer office while he enjoyed the presence of the secretary, a tall, stately woman who owed her position more to the boss's appreciation of beautiful women than to her professional accomplishments. She smiled wanly, as if apologizing for Rodet's uncharacteristic tardiness. Arnaud tried to swallow his churlish mood. He didn't appreciate being kept waiting.
    Twenty minutes after the hour, he was ready to stomp off with orders to call him if and when Rodet arrived. He managed to stifle himself—a good decision, he concluded when Rodet came marching in five minutes later. The director ignored the secretary, who stood ror The Arrival, and motioned to Arnaud with a jerk of his head. Inside the director's office with the door closed, Rodet said, "Sorry m late. Traffic becomes more and more impossible." The director is of medium height, a fit, trim, vain man who spent an hour a day 1 a tennis court and a half hour a week in a tanning bed. He was ^art, a shrewd judge of character and an even shrewder politician, ychotically ambitious and absolutely ruthless. Arnaud suspected at m his heart of hearts Henri Rodet wanted to become the first
    president of the European Union. Of course, if this were true, Rodet was wise enough to have never mentioned it to a living soul.
    Arnaud made a sympathetic noise.