True Faith and Allegiance

Ryan said, “I’m glad you’re glad, but if I lose you as the good angel on my shoulder, then I’m in trouble.”

Arnie said, “We’ve both been up here too long. I wanted to resign on the spot, grab the mic from you, then tell Juliet she could fly to Raqqa and try turning the other cheek herself.”

Jack Ryan gave half a smile, his first laugh in days. “You are irreplaceable, but it would almost be worth it just to get a front-row seat to watch that.”

Arnie said, “You and me, two old guys talking about what we would do if given half a chance.”

“Right,” Ryan said. “Better we focus our time on what we can do to make a difference around here.”

66

Alex Dalca sat in the Jeep at the far end of the tarmac in the airport in Craiova, and he watched the Gulfstream land. He was surprised the Albanians had such a nice airplane, and it gave him hope his temporary conditions in Macedonia wouldn’t be so bad.

It was afternoon, but the airport wasn’t busy. He’d been here an hour and he’d seen only one turboprop domestic commercial flight and a couple smaller cargo jets from other European countries in all that time.

He imagined this luxury jet was orders of magnitude more posh than the average aircraft to land at this backwater airfield.

He climbed out of his vehicle, hefted the backpack onto his shoulder, and walked straight between the two outbuildings, directly up to the runway, as instructed by his Albanian contact that morning. In light of last night’s attack by the Chinese, he’d had to cancel meeting Luca Gabor at the prison and call his daughter instead, and he had some concerns Gabor would demand more money for the change in plans. But apparently the man was happy enough to be robbing him for the three million, and just relayed a phone number to call through to the girl.

According to what he’d learned on the phone from the Albanian, it was just as Gabor had promised. They ran a casino in Skopje behind the scenes, and they agreed they could use Dalca to harvest information on guests, either while they were on the premises gambling or before they came to the hotel. The Albanians would use the information to know how much money the guests had, and any valuables, vices, or other tidbits of information that would give the house even greater odds.

Dalca imagined nobody got out of that casino with money, and if they did, they stood odds of getting waylaid and robbed on the street massively disproportionate with crime statistics in the capital.

The Albanians were a tough bunch, it was obvious from the phone call, and Alexandru Dalca would be their newest secret weapon. He figured the work would be easy, and they would pay him fairly. And on top of that he’d be safe, because there were, easily, fifty armed security in the casino at all times.

Just as promised, the plane turned at the end of the runway, then taxied back in his direction. Three minutes later, it stopped, and the air stairs opened. A swarthy-looking short, stocky man in his forties with black hair flecked with gray stood in the doorway, and beckoned him forward.

The man held a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

Dalca smiled. “Nice.” He was feeling better by the minute.

* * *

Alexandru Dalca climbed the stairs into the Hendley Associates G550 with a satisfied smirk on his face, and as he entered the cabin he reached out to shake the hand of the man he presumed to be Albanian.

He spoke slowly and clearly. “Hello. Do you speak English?”

Ding Chavez took his handshake and clamped down. “’Bout as good as any other East L.A. Chicano, ese.”

“I’m sorry?”

Dalca turned now, and he saw three more men in the cabin. One was older and heavy, but he sat in the back. The two men in cabin chairs feet away were bearded, muscular, closer to his age, and armed with handguns.

“Wait. Who are you?”

Chavez put the champagne and glasses in the galley, and then he spun Dalca to his knees, pushed him facedown into the aisle between the armed men.

Behind him, Country came out of the cockpit. “All cargo loaded?”

Chavez said, “Loaded. Time to make a trash run.”

Ding handed off the backpack to Jack, who immediately started going through it. As soon as he pulled the black hard drive out of the bag, he waved it at the stunned man with Chavez’s knee in the back of his neck.

“What’s this?” Jack asked.

With as much insolence as he could muster, Dalca said, “What does it look like?”

“It looks like something that will get you killed, if your smart mouth doesn’t do it first.”

Jack nodded to Country, who immediately closed the hatch and returned to the cockpit.

Chavez frisked the man carefully, zip-tied his arms behind his back, and then blindfolded him tightly and securely. He yanked Dalca into a seat, and then sat down in front of him. “The good news is, we aren’t the Chinese. The bad news is, you didn’t fuck over the Chinese as badly as you did the Americans.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”