The Black Widow (Gabriel Allon #16) - Daniel Silva Page 0,85
secretly negotiating with the Iranians, did you, Adrian? After all the work we did together to delay the program, you blindsided us.”
“I didn’t blindside you, my president did. I don’t make policy, I steal secrets and produce analysis. Actually,” Carter added after a thoughtful pause, “I don’t do much of that anymore. Mainly, I kill terrorists.”
“Not enough of them.”
“I take it you’re referring to our policy regarding ISIS.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. First, you failed to see the gathering storm. And then you refused to pack a raincoat and an umbrella.”
“We weren’t the only ones to miss the rise of ISIS. The Office missed it, too.”
“We were preoccupied with Iran at the time. You remember Iran, don’t you, Adrian?”
There was a silence. “Let’s not do this,” said Carter after a moment. “We accomplished too much together to allow a politician to come between us.”
It was an olive branch. With a nod, Gabriel accepted it.
“It’s true,” said Carter. “We were late to the ISIS party. It is also true that even after arriving at the party we avoided the buffet and the punch bowl. You see, after many years of attending such parties, we’ve grown weary of them. Our president has made it clear that the last one, the one in Iraq, was a crashing bore. Expensive, too, in American blood and treasure. And he has no interest in throwing another one in Syria, especially when it conflicts with the narrative.”
“What narrative is that?”
“The one about how we overreacted to nine-eleven. The one about how terrorism is a nuisance, not a threat. The one about how we can absorb another strike like the one that brought our economy and transportation system to its knees, and be stronger as a result. And let us not forget,” Carter added, “the president’s unfortunate remarks about ISIS being the jayvee team. Presidents don’t like being proved wrong.”
“Neither do spies, for that matter.”
“I don’t make policy,” Carter repeated. “I produce intelligence. And at the moment, that intelligence is painting a dire picture of what we’re up against. The attacks in Paris and Amsterdam were but a preview of coming attractions. The movie is coming to theaters everywhere, including here in America.”
“If I had to guess,” said Gabriel, “it’s going to be a blockbuster.”
“The president’s closest advisers agree. They’re concerned an attack on the homeland so late in his second term will leave an indelible stain on his legacy. They’ve told the Agency in no uncertain terms to keep the beast at bay, at least until the president gets on Marine One for the last time.”
“Then I suggest you get busy, Adrian, because the beast is already at the gates.”
“We’re aware of that. But unfortunately the beast is largely immune to our dominance in cyberspace, and we have no human assets in ISIS to speak of.” Carter paused, then added, “Until now.”
Gabriel was silent.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were trying to get inside?”
“Because it’s our operation.”
“You’re working alone?”
“We have partners.”
“Where?”
“Western Europe and the region.”
“The French and the Jordanians?”
“The British crashed the party, too.”
“They’re a lot of fun, the British.” Carter paused, then asked, “So why are you coming to us now?”
“Because I’d like you to avoid dropping a bomb or firing a missile into an apartment building near al-Rasheed Park in downtown Raqqa.”
“It’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
Carter smiled. “It’s good to have you back in town, Gabriel. It’s been too long since your last visit.”
35
N STREET, GEORGETOWN
IT WAS DEEP SUMMER in Washington, that inhospitable time of year when most well-heeled residents of Georgetown flee their little village for second homes in Maine or Martha’s Vineyard or the mountains of Sun Valley and Aspen. With good reason, thought Gabriel; the heat was equatorial. As always, he wondered why America’s founders had willingly placed their capital in the middle of a malarial swamp. Jerusalem had chosen the Jews. The Americans had only themselves to blame.
“Why are we walking, Adrian? Why can’t we sit in the air conditioning and drink mint juleps like everyone else?”
“I needed to stretch my legs. Besides, I would have thought you’d be accustomed to the heat. This is nothing compared to the Jezreel Valley.”
“There’s a reason why I love Cornwall. It isn’t hot there.”
“It will be soon. Langley estimates that because of global warming, the south of England will one day be among the world’s largest producers of premium wine.”
“If Langley believes that,” said Gabriel, “then I’m sure it won’t happen.”
They had reached the edge of Georgetown University, educator of future American