Incitement Page 15

  He waited for Wallace to explain this departure from the norm.

  “I’m worried we’re losing our way, that we’re no longer controlling the situation.”

  “The different elements have engaged each other, exactly as we planned?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, how are we ‘losing our way’?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a problem that we’re still planning new operations, with no definite end in sight? I’d never envisaged it going on so long.”

  “We can’t be sure yet that the conflict is self-sustaining. Madrigal’s still showing signs of reluctance.”

  “We’ve already had more than twenty-five individual missions going back over two years. When will we be able to say ‘enough’?”

  Wallace could see the other man was reflecting on where he was going with this.

  “We haven’t deviated substantially from the revised projections,” Larsen replied. “This isn’t an exact science; we have to be flexible with the timescales.”

  “Look at how far things have escalated,” Wallace said, abruptly changing tack. “You only have to pick up a newspaper or switch on a television to see the effects of what we’ve done. Does it really need to be fuelled further?”

  “I don’t think we can read too much into how things are being presented in the media,” Larsen replied calmly. “I believe we need to focus on keeping the Alliance and the Kosovars motivated.”

  “And what they’ve done over the last few months isn’t enough proof of commitment for you?”

  There was an accusatory hint in the question.

  “The objective is to ensure they damage one another irreparably, dragging as many of the other players as possible down with them. So far, despite the damage they’ve incurred, if the conflict ended now they could still recover.”

  Wallace noted that he did not bother to point out the obvious, that if this were to occur everything they had worked for and all the bloodshed would have been in vain.

  The older man began pacing, annoyed that Larsen’s arguments were preventing him from building any momentum in the conversation, momentum necessary to say what needed to be said. He had felt much surer before Larsen had arrived.

  “I’m not sure the focus isn’t too narrow,” he said, trying another approach. “The reports Brewer and you have filed recently deal only with what’s happening in the immediate environment. They’re insufficient basis for a decision on further action.”

  “What is it you expect?” Larsen asked, his annoyance obvious now. “We have a long-term goal and a roadmap for achieving it. Nothing’s changed. The reports have always focused on the one or two missions that are going on at the time. Why are you making this an issue?”

  “We need to take stock. We need time to evaluate the broader picture.”

  “Are you saying we should stop?” Larsen asked incredulously.

  One word now and it would all be over. Just say it, Wallace remonstrated to himself while trying to avoid Larsen’s gaze. He started to form his answer a number of times but each time his nerve betrayed him.

  “Proceed with Cartagena but that’s it for now,” he said at last. “Use the protocol to contact me when it’s done. I’ll have had time to perform a proper review by then.”

  “And the submissions for the subsequent two targets? We need to begin preparations, recruitment, training.”

  “Everything bar Cartagena is on hold. That’s it, that’s my decision!”

  Knowing Larsen’s history, if Wallace had been in the Dane’s shoes he would have shouted in frustration at this retreat, but Larsen merely nodded and headed back to the lift.

  Left alone, Wallace cursed himself for not having the courage to finish what he had started.

  THREE YEARS EARLIER.

  This is insane, he thought once again.

  The middle of the night, sitting in a tiny rental car on the West Side of Chicago. Waiting for someone he had never met before. The only streetlight in the vicinity flickered intermittently, struggling to illuminate the rain-drenched night. Occasionally, other sounds broke through the din of the rain hitting the car. Sometimes it would be an excited good-natured shout from those still out at this late hour and willing to brave the downpour, but most of the time there was no hint of good humour. This was the roughest of neighbourhoods and his uneasiness grew with each passing moment.

  He considered leaving. Perhaps the person he was waiting for was not going to show. Maybe he had just been set on a wild-goose chase for most of the day and it was time to cut his losses. But he could not give up just yet. A small group of people, huddling up against each other to combat the rain, walked by his car and peered in. He was sure he had seen them pass by at least once before.

  A tapping on the glass disturbed him and when he looked up he could see one of the men bent over, gesturing for him to roll the window down. After waiting so long, he didn’t want to leave, so he complied with the request and immediately caught the strong odour of alcohol. The malicious grins did not bode well. To remain seated looking up seemed too vulnerable and seeing as how it was probably too late to drive away with them looming so close, he opened the door and got out. The atmosphere was tense but he hoped if he seized the initiative, he could avert any trouble. There were three of them, each physically intimidating, eyeing him hostilely.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Why you sittin’ there in the car?” one of them sneered. “You cruisin’? You some kinda faggot?”

  The others laughed.

  “Last time I checked, I wasn’t breaking any laws,” he replied. “So why don’t you just mind your own business?”

  Wallace had not been in a fight since high school and part of him felt as if he was outside himself, disconnected from events.

  “Mind my ...” said his inquisitor and, without warning, lashed out with a kick aimed at Wallace’s groin. The blow grazed his hip, numbing his leg, and would have done much worse had he not stumbled back in time. Another step back and he felt himself crash into a chain-link fence. They fanned left and right of him and he braced himself for the onslaught.

  “Leave him alone.” The voice came from a man who had approached unnoticed while they were occupied. Two of them turned toward him and wavered momentarily, as if they were not quite sure what to do. A couple of exchanged glances seemed to bolster them and they resumed their advance on him.

  Wallace could see, though, that despite their greater numbers, they were taking an altogether more careful approach than they had with him. With a clearer view now, he recognised the newcomer as Larsen and could see his total ease was unsettling them. One of them drew a knife and stepped up to him.

  “Gonna’ teach you a lesson!”

  When Wallace replayed the scene later, it ran as if in slow motion. Larsen reached out, grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted. An audible crack was followed by the blade being dropped. The man battled to remain standing while his knees buckled from the pain. A small smile played at the edges of Larsen’s mouth and with his free hand he drew a handgun from under his jacket.

  “Get going.”

  The two others couldn’t move quickly enough and scrambled away, leaving their spokesman kneeling in pain while Larsen retained a hold of his injured limb. He released his attacker with a final twist and watched him set off in pursuit of the others. There were a few half-hearted threats shouted from distance, detailing what would happen when they returned. Larsen ignored them. He headed to a car across the street, and called over his shoulder for Wallace to follow.

  Wallace found the setting Larsen chose for their meeting to be totally off-putting. A small, dingy, all-night restaurant, specialising in the greasy fare so many people loved. One look at the menu and his cardiologist’s instructions from the last physical came to mind. He made do with a black coffee and took a seat by the window. The dirty late-night rain that continued to pelt against the pane only added to the gloom. At 3:00 a.m., the place was virtually empty, still too ea
rly for the first work shifts of the new day.

  Larsen ordered an unappetising pile of food and proceeded to shovel it down his throat, oblivious to his companion. Wallace compared his first close-up look at the man to the photographs he had studied. If you looked for it, the slight cast his Mediterranean heritage gave him was just discernible. The face itself was not very engaging, spare features and intense auburn eyes creating a slightly feral aspect. Once he had worked his way through his food, he sat back slurping his coffee and gestured for Wallace to begin.

  “You’d been watching, hadn’t you? Why did you wait until the trouble started?” Wallace asked.

  “I had to be sure you had no one else watching.”

  “You took quite a risk back there with such a nonchalant approach, didn’t you?” Wallace asked, the recent scene still playing over in his mind. “What if they had a gun?”

  “They didn’t.”

  It was only then that Wallace realised what had actually occurred.

  “You arranged that whole scene?” he said indignantly.

  “It saved a much longer wait.”

  “What if it hadn’t worked out? What if one of us had been hurt? Are you some kind of lunatic?” Then, more to himself, he added, “What am I doing?”

  “Relax, they were low lives, not serious at all. They were simply trying to renegotiate. Stupid, all they had to do was follow some simple instructions.”

  Wallace shook his head.

  “Obviously not simple enough; they assaulted me and pulled a knife on you. Was this meant to be a demonstration of the kind of judgement you normally show?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t meant to be a demonstration of anything,” came the matter-of-fact reply. “I couldn’t care less what you think. You asked for this meeting; remember that. As for back there, it was manageable. End of story.”

  Wallace could understand why Larsen had rubbed the occasionally pompous Brewer up the wrong way. The indifferent tone would not have sat well with him at all.

  It had not been the original intention for either him or Brewer to meet directly with Larsen. They had needed someone who could translate their broad strategy into direct action, someone with a proven track record who would operate autonomously. To find such a person, Brewer had engaged an experienced team of researchers to compile a list of candidates with experience matching particular criteria. The researchers worked on a contract basis and were never given any hint of the final objective. The profile they looked to match included extensive experience in Central and South America and a knowledge of all aspects of covert operations from initial recruitment to final debriefing. Brewer and Wallace had scrutinised each person the researchers proposed and when they felt it was merited, the candidate had been approached for further evaluation via a series of cut-outs. They followed this procedure without a hitch three times but unfortunately on each occasion an obstacle came to light that ruled out the prospect.

  Then Larsen’s name was put forward. From first opening the dossier, Wallace had gotten a sense he had not with the others. He was intrigued.

  Michael Larsen had been working as an independent contractor for almost ten years, displaying an equal aptitude in both urban and non-urban environments. The information they had about his formative years was sketchy. Born in Hirtshals, Denmark, his birth certificate stated only his mother’s name. The researchers believed his father was probably a Portuguese man who had died before he was born. It was assumed he had a decent childhood in forward-thinking, liberal Denmark, although one of the profilers on the team had wondered to what degree his mixed heritage and lack of a father would have figured. Early school report cards showed a reasonable aptitude for languages but otherwise he had been a largely unexceptional student. Denmark was one of a number of European countries that maintained a system of conscription, but rather than wait to see if he would be called, Larsen had enlisted in the army directly after leaving school. Subsequently he qualified for the Jægerkorpset, an elite Danish unit that was well respected internationally. It was common practice for Jægers to train with the British SAS and the US Rangers. Individual Danes had finished top of the ranger class on more than one occasion and while Larsen had not achieved this distinction, he had comfortably completed the training.

  It was difficult to find out much about his subsequent career with the Jægers given the Danish military’s secrecy regarding the unit. Eventually, though, the researchers managed to locate some men who had served with him and were willing to talk. Apparently, Larsen had shown an affinity for individual missions involving long-range reconnaissance and other specialist skills. Although it was not explicitly stated, the interviewers were convinced Larsen had been used to remove individuals identified by the security forces as hostiles. His ex-comrades remembered him as friendly enough, willing to share an off-duty beer, but no one recalled him forming any especially close friendships. It had come as a surprise when he had quit the military after almost ten years and, despite the researchers’ best efforts, it had proved impossible to find out what he had done for the next couple of years.

  The first record of him working as a mercenary had been in Africa and then a short while later the Middle East. After this he had come to Latin America where, except for a few stand-alone missions, he spent all his time. He had seen action in Ecuador, Guatemala, Colombia, Peru and Venezuela. During one of the Ecuadorian-Peruvian border disputes he had come to the attention of US intelligence who had employed him to carry out a series of assassinations. It didn’t take long for prospective clients, state and private, to realise his talents. Not only could he be counted on to eliminate difficult-to-reach targets, he also had the tact and imagination for more intricate, subtle tasks. Larsen’s opinion was that money was money, regardless of the source. At some point the CIA had grown unhappy with this, particularly when he was engaged by parties whose interests ran counter to theirs. The subject of his elimination was tabled briefly and had it been okayed, the task would have fallen to the Colombian CIA station chief to arrange. The man in question, now retired, had worked with Larsen extensively and told one of Brewer’s researchers that, for as long as the matter was under consideration, he had been a nervous wreck. For whatever reason, the order was never given and the relationship between the Dane and the Agency was subsequently patched up when he once again went to work for them.

  Then, a crisis.

  Atypically, he took a contract in Africa. An English mercenary there had launched a military campaign aimed at reinstating a President who had been forced into exile. His efforts were meeting with such success that powerful interests had begun to worry. The country was oil rich but, while the military dictatorship was happy to play ball with the foreign multinationals, the president-in-waiting had made it clear that investigations and reforms of the oil industry would be his first order of business. Plainly the mercenary had to be eliminated but his security was so good, his men so loyal, that no one had been able to get close. Larsen somehow managed to gain the soldier’s trust and found a way into his inner circle. He spent many hours in the Englishman’s company and even gained direct access to the deposed president. Larsen’s paymasters couldn’t believe their good fortune and as far as they were concerned he could name his fee if he took both of them out.

  Instead, inexplicably, he had walked away and left disaster looming for his clients. It didn’t matter that the mercenary’s efforts ultimately failed, Larsen’s reputation was left in shreds. That had been his last assignment; since then, even when people who were willing to overlook his transgression had approached, he had turned them away.

  Brewer had real reservations about using Larsen in light of what had happened in Africa, but at Wallace’s behest and because of the difficulty they had experienced locating a suitable operative, he agreed they could try. He set about the normal procedure of setting up an approach and this was where they ran into difficulties.

  All attempts by Brewer’s intermediaries to engage Larsen in contract discussions met with fai
lure. At first no reason was given and then when the go-betweens persisted, he had said that he would only deal with the principal directly. Brewer wanted to walk away, but Wallace, worried at their lack of progress, convinced him to meet with the Dane. Brewer had been beside himself with rage on his return and said they had to forget Larsen and move on. When pressed by Wallace, all he would say was that Larsen had been deliberately disrespectful and confrontational, refusing to believe he was the principal. Brewer said he believed Larsen had lost the vital respect for the command structure and was consequently too much of a risk. Perhaps Africa had unhinged him after all.

  Weeks passed but, despite their efforts, no other candidate strong enough in all of the necessary areas emerged. Wallace, frustrated at seeing the whole project grinding to a halt, had insisted Brewer set up a meeting between him and Larsen.

  The instructions for the rendezvous had duly arrived two days ago. Wallace was booked on a commercial flight from Chicago to New York and instructed to listen for his name on arrival. The PA system had directed him to one of the airline ticket desks where he was given a ticket for a flight to Philadelphia, leaving in less than fifty minutes. After a mad dash, he made it to the flight and on to Philadelphia. The sequence had repeated itself twice more over the course of the day, until finally an exhausted and frustrated Wallace found himself back in Chicago. This time, rather than an airline desk, he had been directed to a car rental desk and was soon leaving the airport in a Toyota Yaris. He had followed instructions issued to him via a cell phone, which had been left in the door compartment, until he had arrived in the run-down section of the city where the altercation had occurred.

  “I think we should get down to business?” Wallace suggested.