At least in the area covered by the cameras, Pierre reminded himself. There was a lot of ground the cameras couldn’t see, but he didn’t worry about that now. He had to work with the information he had. The last six feeds came from the cameras inside the wine-making facilities. The lights were turned on in all the buildings, but he only saw movement in one of them. The newly renovated tasting room. He tapped on the thumbnail, enlarging it to full screen, conscious there were no events planned at the vineyard that evening.
Pierre’s eyes widened. He had found Clayton White.
He took a series of screenshots. The quality of the video wasn’t optimal, but it would do.
He composed a text to Hammond and attached the screenshots. He pressed send.
Pierre had no idea what Hammond was going to ask from him next. Maybe that was it for him. Hammond had tasked him with finding White, and he had.
Could it really be the end of the road? He certainly hoped so. He was done with this spy shit.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Fort Worth, Texas
Upset and distraught about his meeting with Veronica, Alexander Hammond felt his mood take a turn for the worse. He didn’t know what to think. She’d threatened to wreck his vice presidency before it had even started if he didn’t bring White home. Hammond closed his bloodshot eyes and rested his head against the headrest of the Suburban’s back seat.
“Everything okay, sir?” asked the Secret Service special agent seated to his left.
Hammond waved him off dismissively. They had a thirty-minute drive to Dallas for his meeting with an influential donor, and he wasn’t inclined to spend it discussing his personal life with one of his bodyguards.
He thought of how Veronica had looked at him just before he left the house. His own daughter had stared at him with an expression of revulsion, and she hadn’t even tried to hide it. It had been a crushing experience, one that broke his heart. Hammond hadn’t realized until now how deep Veronica’s love for White ran. He was her rock; she’d made that crystal clear.
He’d promised her that he’d choose White over Oxley, but he’d known when he said it that it was a promise he might not be able to keep. If she knew the truth about CONQUEST, about Maxwell White, about the attack on SkyCU—and God willing, she never would—she’d know that what he was doing wasn’t just to protect himself but to protect her too.
No matter what it took, Roy Oxley had to die.
The ding of an incoming text message brought Hammond back to the here and now. His heart rate spiked. He read Pierre’s message and looked at the screenshot the Frenchman had attached. Hammond’s mind raced for a solution. Then it dawned on him. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for him to come out of this unscathed on all fronts.
He ordered the driver to pull over to the side of the road as soon as it was safe to do so.
“Yessir,” was the driver’s reply.
To Hammond’s left, the Secret Service agent spoke into the small microphone in his sleeve to advise that the motorcade was about to stop. Hammond told him he didn’t want anyone else outside the vehicles. The Secret Service agent made a face but nodded. As soon as the Suburban came to a complete stop, Hammond climbed out of the vehicle and walked away from the motorcade. He didn’t want the Secret Service agents to hear the conversation he was about to have with the CIA station chief in Pretoria. Not that he didn’t trust them, because he did, but since the odds that this whole thing would turn to shit were high, he didn’t want them on the hook.
“It’s Alex,” he said once his old combat buddy picked up. “Is this a good time?”
“For you? Always.” The man’s voice was rough and tight, just above a whisper. It had been like that since his friend had been shot in the throat during a CIA covert operation in Central America a decade ago.
“Is the team you put together ready to go?” Hammond asked, knowing this was way outside the original time schedule.
“Like, now?”
“Yes. Now.”
“The team leader checked in with my 2IC at the consulate in Cape Town earlier today. They’re on standby. Why has the timetable changed?”
“New intel,” Hammond said, tightening his grip around the cell phone.
“Is this a sanctioned op?” his friend inquired.
“Does it matter?” Hammond asked. “Because if it does, I need to know now.”
“I see,” the CIA station chief replied.
Hammond held his breath, aware his friend was pondering his options.