"The Last Pope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rocha Luis Miguel)

14

The old man hung up, annoyed. “How stupid. Damned Americans!” he said to himself, getting up from the sofa with the help of his cane, and hobbling over to the small bar cabinet. He dropped two ice cubes in a glass and poured himself a drink. The death of an American agent about to complete his job brought to mind all sorts of questions, besides problems of logistics. Who knew about the previously and secretly planned proceedings? How did he know to arrive in time to save the victim? An unexpected participant had joined the game. From this, a second scenario arose. Who’s trying to interfere with our business? How did they get advance information on our plans? The two questions might have a single answer: an infiltrator. A traitor belonging to the CIA, the agency now responsible for the business of old Albion.

No doubt the best way to resolve this situation was to call in the Guard, his organization’s group with a well-earned reputation for never failing. Given the present circumstances, he should activate this select cadre and have Geoffrey Barnes stand by, pending new instructions from general headquarters, his Italian villa.

The old man had always favored direct action and quick decisions, but lately he preferred to consult with his assistant, though informally, at critical moments. All his life he’d chosen his collaborators well, but this assistant was a real find. The man was diligent, competent, persistent, and willing to be at his service 24/7, year-round. The old man, having no children and no relatives, felt reassured to know he could count on this man, down the line. When his own time came to abandon this world, there would be someone to shepherd his organization. His right-hand man was his natural successor, sharing his vision of the organization’s future.

His assistant would be coming to the villa within an hour by private plane. Although both of them had access to satellite phones, even in flight, there was no need to consult him about the present case. There was no doubt the assistant would agree with his decision. Besides, a call now from the old man might be interpreted as a sign of weakness, like begging for advice. If they were both already at the villa, things would be different. He would start a casual conversation and easily find out what his assistant thought about the situation.

Old age is a curse, he mused. For many years, he alone had made all the important decisions, but now the simple objective of doing away with one woman disconcerted him. Under normal conditions, he had to admit, she would have been dead by now. But a mole presented a serious problem. The Guard would resolve this problem in less than an hour. As for the infiltrator, he would take this up with Barnes once the target was neutralized.

His glass was now practically empty. He put it on the table and picked up the phone. It was time to start moving the pieces.

“Jack, the Yankees dropped the ball. We’ll have to solve the situation ourselves.” He brought the whiskey to wet his lips. “Rub her out!”