Free Exile Hunter by Preston Fleming Page B

botching your meeting with Eaton, you’ve compromised the
Department’s entire campaign against Eaton’s network of offshore
financiers? And by forcing us to move in and grab Eaton and his
family, you’ve also stirred up a diplomatic incident with the
Lebanese government?”
    As Bednarski spoke,
flecks of spittle spewed from his mouth, his face turned crimson, and
his dull red eyes bulged from their sockets. He had never seen
Bednarski so close to hysteria. It was true that Linder had taken an
unorthodox tack by not refuting Eaton’s suspicions of Joe Tanner’s
story, and one could argue that he had implicitly admitted to being
connected with the DSS, but the admission had been essential to
eliciting Eaton’s surrender offer.
    No matter how Linder
looked at it, Denniston’s and Bednarski’s reasons for storming
the apartment, seizing everyone in it, and continuing to hold Linder
captive did not add up. The stated goal of the operation had been to
neutralize Eaton as an insurgent financier and seize his assets.
Rather than allow Linder to persuade Eaton to surrender and return
those assets voluntarily, Denniston and Bednarski had taken it upon
themselves to grab him. So, whose fault was it now that Eaton’s
money still eluded their grasp? And what could possibly justify their
locking him up beneath the Embassy and pressuring him to sign a false
confession?
    “It seems to me that
the choice to take Eaton by force and piss off the Lebanese was all
yours, Bob,” Linder replied evenly. “So why blame me? And what’s
up with the phony confession? Listen, you can shout at me till you’re
blue in the face, but I won’t lift a finger for you until I get out
of here.”
    Linder’s measured
response seemed to check Bednarski. The Base Chief’s posture and
facial expression relaxed palpably before he resumed speaking.
    “Wrong as usual,
Linder,” the chief replied. “Once you admitted a government
connection and offered to go to bat for Eaton, we had no choice but
to seize the lot of you. If we hadn’t, they would have bolted and
we would have lost the chance to block their funding for the
insurgency. Unfortunately, some neighbors saw our team enter the
building in Lebanese uniforms and come back out carrying victims on
stretchers.”
    Linder gave a bitter
laugh.
    “So I’m to blame
for everyone else’s screw-ups, too?”
    “No, but we need your
confession to sort things out with the Lebanese government,”
Bednarski replied. “You see, they’ve accused the Embassy of
violating Lebanese sovereignty and using violence to intimidate
Americans holding legal residence here.”
    “Don’t look at me,
Bob,” Linder retorted, folding his arms across his chest. “I
didn’t give the order to storm the place.”
    “That’s irrelevant
now,” Bednarski answered with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “The
point is, the Ambassador has already approved a plan to placate the
Lebanese by showing that our team stepped in to rescue Eaton from an
assassination attempt by a rival exile faction. This gives the
Embassy grounds for keeping the Kendalls in protective custody until
they can be safely repatriated to the United States. Since the
Lebanese have identified you as Eaton’s would-be assassin, it would
be very helpful if you would sign the confession that we’ve
prepared for you.”
    “And if I do?”
Linder inquired.
    “We slip you out of
the country on a rendition flight and you get off with maybe a letter
of reprimand and a year’s delay in your next promotion. If, on the
other hand, you refuse to play ball, we fly you straight to a
stateside interrogation center and put you on trial for whatever
charges our lawyers care to throw at you. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Clear enough,”
Linder replied. “But say I decide to go along. How do I know that
the Department will follow through with its end of the deal?”
    Bednarski looked down
his nose at Linder and scoffed.
    “You’re in no
position to be demanding