Free The Bancroft Strategy by Robert Ludlum

things to be clear and specific. What’s the specific nature of the bequest?”
    A slow blink. “Twelve million dollars. Is that specific enough?”
    The words vanished like smoke rings in the wind. What had he said? “I’m not following.”
    â€œWith your authorization, I can wire those twelve million dollars into your account by the end of the banking day tomorrow.” He paused. “Does that make things clearer?” He removed a set of documents from his briefcase, arrayed them on the table.
    Andrea Bancroft was dizzy, almost queasy. “What do I have to do?” she choked out.
    â€œServe as a trustee of one of the most admired charitable and philanthropic organizations in the world. The Bancroft Foundation.” Horace Linville let a moment of silence elapse yet again. “Not everyone would find this terribly onerous. Some might even regard it as an honor and a privilege.”
    â€œI’m stunned,” she said finally. “I don’t know what to say.”
    â€œI hope it’s not inappropriate for me to make a suggestion,” the lawyer replied. “Say yes.”
    Washington, D.C.
    Will Garrison ran a hand through his steel-gray hair; in repose, his basset eyes and jowly face might have seemed kindly. Belknap knew better. Anyone who had encountered the man did. There was an earth-science logic to it: The hardest rock was born of pressure over time.
    â€œWhat the hell happened in Rome, Castor?”
    â€œYou got my report,” Belknap said.
    â€œDon’t bullshit me,” the older man warned. He stood up and twisted closed the blinds that hung over the interior glass wall of his office. The room had the bolted-down look of a ship captain’s office: no loose articles in sight, everything squared away, secured. A tidal wave could have rocked the office and shifted nothing. “We’ve sunk God knows how much in resources and personnel into three separate Ansari ops. The directive was clear. We get inside, we see how it works, we follow the tentacles where they go.” A display of tea-colored teeth. “Except that wasn’t good enough for you, was it? Instant gratification takes too long, huh?”
    â€œI don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Belknap replied, wincing involuntarily. It hurt when he breathed: He had cracked a rib when he vaulted over the brick wall outside the villa. His left anklehad been strained and sent up shooting pains when it had to bear any weight. But there had been no time even for a visit to a medic. Hours after his escape from Ansari’s men, he was in the Rome airport, boarding the first commercial flight to Dulles that was available. It would have taken longer to secure transport from one of the U.S. military bases in Livorno or Vicenza. Belknap barely gave himself time to brush his teeth and finger-comb his hair before he raced to Cons Ops headquarters on C Street.
    â€œYou’ve got brass ones, I’ll give you that.” Garrison returned to his chair. “Showing up here like this with that concerned expression on your face.”
    â€œI’m not here for tea and cookies, okay?” Belknap replied testily. “Start talking sense.” Though he and Garrison had a reasonably functional working relationship, they had never clicked personally.
    Garrison’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. “The regs—they must annoy the hell out of you. You’re like Gulliver and the little people are tying you down with dental floss, right?”
    â€œGoddammit, Will—”
    â€œFrom your perspective, the shop must be getting more tight-assed every year,” the aging intelligence officer went on. “The way you figured it, you were just serving justice, right? Instant, the way you take your coffee.”
    Belknap learned forward. He could smell the Barbasol shaving cream Garrison used, a sharp menthol fragrance. “I hustled my ass over