Chapter Fifty-Five

Ben was frisked and ushered briskly into one of the choppers by big, silent men in dark suits and dark glasses. He watched through a window as Callaghan put Alex and Zoë on the second chopper and boarded with them.

The flight took a long time, and it was evening when the helicopters touched down at a private airstrip where black SUVs stood on the runway together with men with guns. Ben was escorted across the tarmac to a sleek jet. The guards kept him away from Alex and Zoë.

Some time later, the jet landed at what looked like a military airfield. More black cars were waiting for them. Ben was marched across to one of them, a door held open for him, an agent sitting either side of him. Callaghan climbed into the front passenger seat and the car took off at high speed, leading the way for a procession of vehicles. Nobody spoke.

But Ben could guess where he was being taken.

Langley, Virginia, CIA Headquarters. As the cavalcade of cars approached the vast sprawl of buildings, he saw his guess was right. Armed security personnel guarded the tall steel gates that bore the eagle-and-star seal of the Central Intelligence Agency. Callaghan flashed a card as they went through, and a series of gates glided open for them. They drove through building complexes with thousands of windows, illuminated like starships in the dusk, past floodlit lawns where rows of US flags fluttered in the breeze. Everything was immaculate, a monument to unflinching national pride and self-possessed superiority.

Then the car stopped and Ben was led inside a building. The place was milling with activity, more layers of security to pass through and hundreds of workers swarming through the wide corridors. Callaghan walked briskly, and Ben followed, aware of the men in black suits right behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he spotted Alex fifteen yards behind. She was being escorted along by more of the same dark, taciturn men. She smiled at him, but it was a nervous smile. Zoë was nowhere to be seen.

Ben followed Callaghan through an open-plan labyrinth of operations rooms that were heavily cluttered with desks and computer terminals, staff and security personnel swarming everywhere. The place looked like the London Stock Exchange. Rows of clocks displaying the times in different countries. Hundreds of monitors flashing and blinking, giant screens on the walls showing news broadcasts from all over the world. Brightly lit electronic political maps of the globe, animated to show movements and developments that Ben could only guess at as he walked by. Everywhere he looked, scores of people were glued to the screens as though American national security would collapse into rubble and anarchy if they glanced away for just an instant.

At the far end of the last operations room they walked through was a set of glass sliding doors. The room beyond was hidden behind vertical blinds. A security guard rose from a desk as they approached. Callaghan handed him a card. The doors glided open with a slick whoosh, and Ben followed Callaghan into a long conference room.

In the middle was a glistening table, surrounded by leather chairs. Three walls were panelled with wood, the fourth was a large mirrored window flanked by a pair of flags, the US Stars and Stripes on the left and the emblem of the CIA on the right, embroidered in white and gold thread. The ceiling was low and studded with spotlights.

The silent agents ushered Alex into the room and left. The doors glided shut and clicked. She glanced at Ben, clearly full of things to say but feeling compelled to stay quiet. He held her gaze for a second, putting reassurance in his eyes.

Seated at the head of the conference table was a large, broad-shouldered black man in his early sixties, wearing a sombre suit and a navy tie. There was an air of gravity about him, like a judge. Callaghan walked around the table and took a seat to his right, straightened his tie and looked to him for the first word. It was obvious who was in charge here.

‘My name is Murdoch,’ said the big man. His voice was deep and mellifluous. Ben could clearly see the intelligence in his eyes. He gestured at the chairs on his left, calm and slow in his movements. ‘Please. Take a seat.’

Ben sat, and Alex sat three feet away. She coughed nervously.

Ben was determined to seize the initiative here. The place was designed to intimidate. That wasn’t going to happen. ‘Where’s Zoë?’ he demanded.

‘Miss Bradbury is in very good hands,’ Murdoch replied calmly. ‘Agent Callaghan here is in charge of her protection.’

‘She’s in CIA custody?’

‘She’s safe,’ Murdoch said. ‘That’s all you need to know.’ He pursed his lips, formulating his thoughts. He leaned heavily on the table and gazed at Ben with penetrating eyes. ‘This is a very ugly situation. For all of us,’ he added meaningfully. Then his eyes darted across and the steady gaze landed on Alex. ‘Agent Fiorante, you realise you’re in a lot of trouble here. Before we get started, have you anything to say?’

Ben could feel the tension in her, like a crackle of electricity next to him. She clearly knew what he’d already guessed, that on the other side of the mirrored window there were people watching and listening, filming and transcribing every word that was being said in the room.

‘Nothing that isn’t already in the statement I made on the way here,’ she said coolly.

‘Let’s run through it again, for the record,’ Murdoch said.

Callaghan smiled coldly.

Alex spoke carefully, measuring every word. ‘I was part of Jones’s team, under the impression that we were taking part in authorised operations. However, during that time I witnessed a number of incidents that I found highly suspect, to say the least. I can testify that Jones personally executed the two Georgia police officers as well as Dr Greenberg at the facility near Chinook, Montana. It all happened right in front of me. I will further testify that Jones and his associates were using the Montana facility to imprison, and, if we hadn’t intervened, to torture and murder Zoë Bradbury.’

‘And you didn’t think to report any of this to your superiors at the time,’ Callaghan cut in from across the table, staring aggressively at her.

‘Sir, Agent Jones was my immediate superior. And I was concerned for my safety. That said, I regret my actions.’

Murdoch’s face was impassive. He nodded gravely. ‘This is an issue we can address later on.’ He turned to Ben. ‘Let’s talk about you. I’ve seen your military record. We know exactly who you are. So there’s no point whatsoever in pretence.’

Ben returned his steady gaze. ‘I had no intention of concealing anything from you.’

‘You were hired by Miss Bradbury’s family to locate her.’

Ben shook his head. ‘I was helping a friend. I had no professional involvement.’

‘Whatever you say. But the body count is beginning to look like one of your old military operations. First Greece. Then Georgia. Then Montana. Our investigation team is still pulling dead men out of the Mountain View Hotel. All either active or former government agents. The farm where we found you resembles a war zone. From what I can see, Major Hope, you leave a trail of devastation and mayhem in your wake everywhere you go.’

‘Only when people stand in the way,’ Ben said. ‘And you can call me Mr Hope.’

‘Right. I see you’re retired.’

‘I’m a theology student.’

Murdoch’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. ‘So would you mind telling me what exactly has been going on with this Bradbury kidnapping?’

‘It was never really about Zoë Bradbury,’ Ben said. ‘She’s only an incidental part of it. It’s about something bigger. Much bigger.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like war,’ Ben said. ‘The war to end all wars.’

‘This is making no sense to me,’ Murdoch rumbled. ‘Let’s take it from the top. You’re claiming that Special Agent Jones was part of some kind of ghost organisation, working from within the Agency.’