Free No Remorse by Ian Walkley

happens to him, I will give you the information your father wishes you to have on his death.”
    “Who is making these threats?”
    Ibrahim rubbed his chin. “As you know, your father has many secrets, and many enemies from the past. He believes that whoever is making these threats is so powerful that no matter how many guards he has, they could kill him if they wish. He wants you to know that if anything happens to him, I will reveal details about a special cargo that he wishes to be entrusted to you. This secret cargo is the reason he financed the construction of the underground fortress here.”
    “He told me as much. But he was waiting until he came to inspect the facility we’ve built here to tell me the details.” Khalid stopped at the end of the jetty and turned to face Ibrahim. “Why hasn’t father mentioned these threats when I’ve called?”
    “He believes his phones are monitored. And there is another reason he sent me to you.” Ibrahim lowered his voice. “He wanted me to warn you personally that there may be a traitor on your staff.”

13
    Mac stepped out onto the balcony of his room at the Negresco, overlooking the palms along the Promenade Des Anglais, beside the pebble beach and the Mediterranean Sea of Nice, on the Côte d’Azur. He handed Wisebaum the signed confidentiality agreement. The contract of engagement was inside on the table, still unsigned.
    “More paperwork here than enlisting in the army. You realize that just because I agreed to leave the army doesn’t mean I’m just going blindly along with some group I know nothing about. Even if you’re government, I’m not penning my name to any contract until I know what I’m signing on for,” he said. He had no reason to trust Wisebaum, given the circumstances.
    Wisebaum put on his round glasses. “Of course. And just for the record, Mac, I counseled against having you on my team. Nothing personal. Loose cannons are… loose cannons.”
    As if to emphasize the point, a squealing of tires came from the street and Mac braced for the crash that didn’t come. The men glanced at each other and chuckled. Wisebaum headed back inside and he followed.
    “So why am I here?” Mac asked.
    Wisebaum’s shoulders lifted a fraction. “For the chance to prove me wrong, for a start. You have… certain skills we could benefit from. Your field and weapons capabilities. And your olive complexion is easy enough to pass off in a crowd in the Middle East, where we mostly work. Your personality—slightly on the introvert side, I think. And the best spies are introverts, according to the experts at the Company. Anyway, the Director feels you have the qualifications he’s looking for to train our guys, who’re mostly a bunch of shiny pants.”
    “So you are CIA.”
    “Was.” Wisebaum checked the confidentiality agreement and witnessed the signature, then tossed the document into his briefcase. Sat down on the chair by the bed. “Okay, listen up. One of the first actions of the new Administration was to issue a Presidential Order establishing the Agency for Seizure of Terrorist Assets—ASTA. Our mission is to punish people who support terrorism by seizing their assets. The usual way is through DOJ and the courts. Takes forever, costs a fortune. Then you’re lucky if the assets haven’t been stripped. We don’t wait. ASTA takes money directly from bank accounts. That’s why we’re based outside the States, in Montreal. US laws don’t apply.”
    “You’re stealing from people who finance terrorists?”
    “Well, obviously they’re not going to pay willingly.”
    “Isn’t that illegal, even in Canada?”
    “When have we ever worried about what Canada thinks?”
    Mac shrugged.
    “Our targets use numbered accounts and Islamic banking. We’re authorized by the President to take up to twice what we can prove they’ve contributed to terrorist activity. We transfer it from their accounts to ours.”
    “Like a tax collector.”
    Wisebaum