Free Retribution (9781429922593) by David Hagberg

the files on anyone else associated with her? Without making noise?”
    Wolf nodded. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “But maybe you should come to Berlin to speak with the director.”
    Mac glanced at Pete, who shrugged. “Marty has closed us down, so we’re not going to get any help from the agency. Not unless we come up with something concrete.”
    â€œWill your colonel agree to talk to me?”
    â€œAs long as it’s not official,” Wolf said. “I can arrange the meeting.”

 
    TWELVE
    Warsaw’s Zoological Garden was situated on the Vistula River almost directly across from the Royal Castle, the old Market Square, and other attractions including churches and museums in the ancient part of the sprawling city. The early summer evening was lovely; a lot of people were out and about. The zoo was anonymous.
    Pam Schlueter was a somewhat husky woman in her late thirties, with a pleasant round face, a short no-nonsense pixie haircut, and expressive eyes that, like the set of her mouth, showed her anger and impatience. She was dressed plainly in a short-sleeved yellow shirt, jeans, and Nikes, a brown leather bag over her left shoulder, leaving her right hand free to withdraw her subcompact Glock 26 pistol, the same weapon as everyone on her team carried.
    She’d left Berlin this morning before lunch for the four-hundred-mile drive, taking a great deal of care to make certain that she wasn’t being followed. Twice she’d gotten off the E30, once to fill up the tank of her Volvo and the second to have a beer at a small Gasthaus and look over her shoulder. But if she had a tail they were very good. Coming into the city she made several abrupt turns, but each time she came back on her original track she’d detected no one following her. Which in itself was disturbing after the mess Zimmer had made in Florida.
    She made her way directly back to the Hippopotamus House where ISI Major Ali Naisir was standing in front of the glass wall, watching two of the big animals swimming underwater. He was a short, slightly built man of about forty, dark with a thick mustache, dressed in khaki slacks, a white shirt buttoned at the collar, and a dark jacket. As she walked up to him she could see that he was watching her reflection in the glass.
    That he had come here to Warsaw and had asked for the meeting in public was extraordinary in itself, but when he turned, gave her a big smile, and pecked her on the cheek before offering his arm, she was blown away. In the months Naisir had been her handler, he’d never smiled at her, nor had he ever made any physical contact, not even a handshake.
    â€œCongratulations in Florida,” he said as he led her out of the house and down the broad walkway in the general direction of the elephant exhibit.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about. It was a disaster. My operator was shot to death.”
    â€œYes, but he managed to achieve his objective.”
    â€œAt a very high cost.”
    â€œThe cost doesn’t matter,” Naisir said, looking at her. “It’s the same with collateral damage. If he had used a bomb to wipe out the entire museum and every living soul within a half-mile radius, still the price would not have been too high.”
    There was nothing to say in reply. It was one of the many things she did not understand about the Pakistani males, especially those who could trace their lineage back to the Pashtuns, primarily from Afghanistan. They were an ancient people who loved poetry and dance above everything else. But they were short of temper, never forgave a sin against them, and would go to the ends of the earth for retribution. Their potential for cruelty was all out of any normal proportion. A perceived slight at a wedding ceremony could result in the deaths of the entire party.
    â€œNegotiating terms was not the reason I called you here,” he said. “You must hurry