Название: Dead Edge: the gripping political thriller for fans of Lee Child
Автор: Jack Ford
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические детективы
isbn: 9780008204563
isbn:
Lyndon P Clarke smiled. Wide. It hit his eyes so hard they sparkled. ‘One of your heroes?’
‘What?’
‘Just that it’s good to hear you quoting Malcolm X, Chuck. Who would’ve thought?’
Woods, not even attempting to hide his own smile, said, ‘Lyndon, are you still going out to Turkmenistan?’
‘I am.’
‘I can’t see any need for that,’ Chuck said.
To which Lyndon answered, ‘No, I’m sure you can’t. But I’ll see you there.’
A hush. A breeze of tension settled in the air before Woods asked, ‘Have we got anything on the other bombers yet, Chuck?
‘We got nothing, Mr President, but the odds are they didn’t come from the US. No doubt smuggled in just for this purpose. It’ll take longer to find out who they are – or rather who they were – because they’re only kids. Terrorist kids, but kids nevertheless.’
‘They were somebody’s children, Chuck. They didn’t wake up one day and decide to get involved with this on their own. Take their life. Someone, somewhere got them to do this. But the point is they’re dead when they should be in high school or college. They were somebody’s babies. I’d say they were as much a victim as everyone else.’
Chuck Harrison clenched his teeth. Hard. It was bullshit. And hell, he was going tell Woods just that. ‘Bullshit.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Bullshit, Mr President. Those kids. Those victims as you call them, well, let me tell you, a lot of them are more radicalized than any adult. Not a day goes by when somewhere in the world, there isn’t a kid strapping on his or her suicide vest to cause the most damage and the most casualties. Why? Because they believe they’re going to get the pleasures and blessings of paradise. They’ll leave behind their crippling poverty and a life less lived with one push of a button. That’s all it takes. One push for them to reap their rewards in paradise.’
Woods said nothing.
‘And the problem you have, Mr President, is that you can’t give a definitive answer and say their beliefs aren’t true. And because you can’t, you will always have the threat of suicide bombers happy to go to paradise, no matter what the age.’
‘But you must see they start off as victims, even if it’s a victim to their environment.’
Chuck gave a small smile. ‘No, what I see is terrorists.’
‘Chuck…’ Woods paused.
Tried again.
‘Chuck…’
Winced.
Then said, ‘Excuse me, everyone, I just need to use the bathroom.’
VIRGINIA, USA
Nb5 ab4
Chuck Harrison took the call in his car on the way back to Langley, where the HQ for the CIA was based. He listened. Turned up the radio and simply said, ‘Meet me at my house.’
*
Forty-five minutes later, Chuck stood by his large, newly installed glass and steel water fountain. He hated the damn thing. God knows what the designer thought he was doing. But then, he supposed his instructions had been more than just a little ambiguous.
Tall.
Wide.
Don’t care if it’s round.
Don’t care if it’s square.
His only specification: it needs to produce jets of water. Lots of jets. As noisy and as vigorous as possible.
So after a dozen men and two weeks of work, and several complaints from neighbors in the private gated community, and a visit from a balding noise control officer to come and measure the output of sound, and a big-ass bill, he’d got what he’d wanted… Needed.
He’d never taken chances. Didn’t trust anyone. Went hand in hand with the job. Nobody trusted anybody. They said they did, but he knew damn well that wasn’t the truth. Truth didn’t play a part. That was the title of the game.
It often played out that it was the most principled of colleagues who would turn and end up working for the other side. Then, sometimes, it was just the mundane, insider politics of the CIA who ordered the eyes and ears. But that’s what made them good. That’s what kept the field agent alive. Because you never knew. Never knew who wanted to bring you down.
The secret was to believe everything and to believe nothing. So if it meant getting a Goddamn water feature the size of which even the White House would be proud of, to stop ears listing to conversations by distorting the pick-up on their listening devices with the sound of the water, then that was something he just had to live with.
And it was here, in front of this monstrosity of a garden feature, where he had every conversation which was longer than a hello.
Chuck sipped his glass of iced tea as he watched his housekeeper bring Arnold Willis, an ambitious thirty-something CTC case worker with thick blond hair and eyes as green as the trees of Wisconsin.
Waiting an appropriate time for his non-English speaking Peruvian housekeeper to go back inside the house, Chuck snarled, ‘Take your clothes off.’
Arnold Willis stepped backwards. Hit the side of his leg against the fountain wall. Almost fell right in. ‘Sorry, sir?’
‘I said, take your clothes off, Willis.’
‘Sir, I don’t understand.’
‘What the hell is there to understand, Oklahoma boy? The point is I like to cover all eventuality. No ears, no wires and no possibility of them. And before you ask, no I don’t trust you. But don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone. So take off your clothes and put them over there by the bench.’
*
Arnold Willis tried and failed horribly to stop himself feeling self-conscious as he stood in front of Chuck in the mid-afternoon on what was clearly a chilly day.
‘What I want to know, Willis, is who the hell okayed the polygraph test on the bomber?’
‘On David Thorpe?’
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