Clamping his jaws together, Robert looked at his hands, then at Hatch. “Rebelia is still pretty volatile these days.”
“You can handle it.” Hatch’s eyes narrowed, sharpened. “Can’t you?”
After an interminable moment, Robert nodded. He could handle it. But he sure as hell didn’t like it. Not because of the civil war, but because of the ghosts.
“All right,” he said. “I’m in. What do you need?”
“Your mission is twofold. Your first priority is to set up a base of operations for what will be the third leg of the mission. While you’re there I want you to find out everything you can about Bruno DeBruzkya.”
The sweat on Robert’s neck turned to ice at the mention of DeBruzkya. He could feel the muscles bunching with tension. “You mean aside from his being a ruthless son of a bitch?”
“Intelligence tells us he’s been stealing gems.”
“I know about the gems.”
“Then I’ll recap what we know so far. We have substantial evidence telling us that he’s behind at least four heists. The Stedt Museum in London. The Legvold collection in Stockholm. A private collector in Frankfurt.”
“The Gala Summit.” Robert had been there as part of the surveillance team. He knew what had gone down. And he knew Hatch had nearly lost one of his agents. “Do you have any intelligence as to why he’s amassing gems.”
“Could be any number of things. Maybe he’s financing weapons. Maybe something worse. I want to know.”
Robert didn’t even want to think about what a sinister man like DeBruzkya could do with weapons of mass destruction.
Hatch frowned at him. “We need to know what he’s up to. The gems are secondary, but some information would be nice at this point.”
Robert’s nerves coiled a notch tighter. He stared at Hatch, wondering if the other man knew how much he hated DeBruzkya. If Hatch knew Robert held the dictator responsible not only for an injury that had left him permanently maimed, but for the death of a woman he’d once loved more than life itself. He knew that wasn’t the most objective mind-set for a field agent about to embark on a deep-cover mission, but Robert never claimed to be a good agent.
“What’s my cover?” he asked.
Hatch handed him a slender manila folder with the name PHOENIX typed in bold letters on the tab. “Your papers are inside. French passport. Medical degree. You’re part of a team of medical doctors traveling to Rebelia from Paris to administer medical aid to sick and injured children. Your meeting point is in a small village outside Rajalla. It’s all there in the file in French. Your initial contact will meet you at a pub on the outskirts of the city and take you to your source, who will give you enough information on DeBruzkya for you to get started.”
Robert took the file and paged through it, seeing that, as usual, Samuel Hatch and his team had been very thorough. “I guess I’ll need to brush up on my French.”
“And your Rebelian dialects. All communication will be via the ARIES satellite. I’ve got new encoding set up. Your code name is PHOENIX.”
“When do I leave?”
Hatch glanced at his watch. “Two hours. I’ve got a jet waiting at Annapolis that will take you to La Guardia. From there you’ll take the Concorde to Paris then hop on the train to Rajalla.”
Robert slid the folder into his briefcase and rose. “All right.”
Hatch stood, regarding him with intelligent green eyes that invariably gave the impression he could read not only one’s body language but thoughts, as well. “Watch yourself.” He extended his hand. “You know what DeBruzkya is capable of.”
“I can handle DeBruzkya.” As he shook the other man’s hand, Robert knew the real question was whether or not he could handle the ghosts.
At eight the next evening Robert sat in a greasy booth in an obscure little pub called Ludwig’s and nursed a stein of watered-down beer. The pub was crowded with weekend revelers. The booze was cheap, the cigarette smoke was thick and talk was of the old days and revolution.
Robert sipped his beer, wishing he were anywhere but this dank little bar in a country he wished to God he’d never set foot in. He’d been in Rebelia less than two hours, and already she dominated his thoughts. The last hours they’d spent together, making love on the narrow bed in her room above the pub. The fight they’d had over her refusal to leave with him. The violence of her death. The black months that followed.