“Mr. Hamilton”—Mack had leaned across the table, and Maggie could see the barely leashed temper ticking away in his eyes—“I have not done one thing wrong, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let some shady branch of the government blackmail me so that I can get my basic civil rights.”
“Basic civil rights in this country aren’t worth a pig’s ass,” Hamilton said. “If we wash our hands of the situation, you’ll be tied up in courts and trials for so long you’ll be senile by the time you’re free. And then Mancini and his friends will be waiting.”
He grinned, a savage semblance of a smile. “Maggie assures me Mancini won’t have to wait that long.”
“Probably not. The CIA doesn’t owe you anything, Pulaski. You’ve caused us a great deal of trouble, but we’re willing to overlook that and help you if you’re willing to help us.”
Mack managed an obscene snarl, and Maggie decided it was time to intervene. “Exactly what do you want us to do, Mr. Hamilton?”
“We want you to meet with Jeffrey Van Zandt and find out what he wants from you. And then we’d like you to kill him.”
Dead silence reigned in the climate-controlled room. Maggie looked at Jackson, but he showed no surprise. Hamilton still had that bland, nondescript expression on his face, and Mack merely looked cynical.
“Why?”
“He’s a traitor,” Hamilton said promptly. “God only knows what disasters he’s been responsible for during th
e last few years. He’s been arranging drug sales between the rebels and the mafia and then raking off most of the profits. But he hasn’t been doing it alone, he’s been answering to somebody. We want to find out who that somebody is, and we suspect that whatever Van Zandt wants you for has something to do with it.”
“I hate to bring reality into this Le Carre fantasy you’re living,” Maggie drawled, “but I must point out that your organization is equipped to handle this sort of thing. Why don’t your people track him down, find out what’s going on, and then take him out? All in a day’s work for you guys. We’re sort of new at this stuff.”
“Don’t you think we would have if we could?” Hamilton said, irritation breaking through his determined blandness. “Jeffrey Van Zandt is one of the best. No one’s going to get near him unless he wants them to. We’ve been working on this for months and we’ve had no luck whatsoever. For some reason he wants the two of you in Switzerland, and you’re our only chance.” He leaned back, a faint smile playing around his thin lips. “And I might add, we’re your only chance.”
“And if we don’t choose to take it?” Maggie said.
“Well, then I’m sure Mr. Jackson will do his best for you. But when the government doesn’t care to be helpful, things can take a very long time.”
Maggie looked at Jackson. He was a beefy, balding man in his early fifties, with soulful eyes and the instincts of a barracuda, coupled with an intellect Wallace had once termed frightening. When he shook his head Maggie knew they had no choice whatsoever.
Mack had clearly come to the same decision. “I go alone or not at all,” he said suddenly.
Before Maggie could protest, Hamilton shook his head. “That won’t do. He wants you both there. If you show up alone, he won’t come near you.”
Mack’s fist clenched, and his eyes met hers across the table. She smiled, a rueful, faintly triumphant smile. “You’re stuck with me, Mack,” she murmured. “Listen, you never know when a Mata Hari might be useful.”
“She’s very good with a gun,” Jackson offered. “And she thinks on her feet. You couldn’t do much better—”
“Thanks,” Mack broke in. “But I’ve been traveling with her for more than a week now. I know how good she is. I also know that I don’t want any more deaths on my conscience. I’ll take jail.”
Maggie controlled her temper with a great effort. “Then I’ll just have to go alone,” she said sweetly. “He may or may not refuse to see me. He may decide to have me killed if he doesn’t get what he wants, but that’s all right, you’ll be safe in jail. Until Mancini gets you.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would. And you know it, Pulaski.”
Hazel eyes glared into the famous Bennett aquamarine eyes, and the two men sat by, watching. Finally Mack sighed, leaning back. “You would, wouldn’t you?” he snarled. “Okay, Hamilton. I guess we go to Switzerland. When?”
“Seven-thirty tonight. You’ll arrive in Zurich tomorrow morning around eight. We’ve made reservations, gotten your passports, clothes, luggage—”
“My passport blew up in my apartment three weeks ago,” Mack interrupted.
Hamilton held up a restraining hand. “Please, Mr. Pulaski. We’ve taken care of that. You have three hours before departure, and I’ve made arrangements at one of the airport hotels where you can bathe and change and have something to eat. But I suggest we hurry. If you miss tonight’s flight, it’ll be another twenty-four hours.”
“Why don’t you just send us over on Air Force One?” Mack snapped.
“It’s in use,” Hamilton replied, unfazed.
“What about guns?” Maggie broke in. “Can you arrange to have us carry our own through customs or at least find us some once we arrive?”