“But what does this priest have to do with what happened in Africa? I understand Jason’s connection to the university professor, but this?” He slid the photo back to Painter. “It makes no sense.”
“The field agent in Italy—Commander Gray Pierce—has recovered and protected a vital piece to that puzzle. A piece that someone was willing to destroy the Roman Coliseum to acquire.”
“And we have it.”
Painter nodded.
“What is it?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out. It’s an old artifact with possible ties to an excavation site in England. I’d rather keep the details quiet for now. Limited to a need-to-know basis.”
“And you don’t think I need to know?”
Painter stared at him. “Do you really want to know?”
Metcalf’s eyes had at first narrowed angrily, then edged toward some dark amusement. “Good point. After what happened in Rome, maybe not. Plausible deniability might be the best course for now.”
“I appreciate that,” Painter said. And he meant it. It was the widest degree of latitude he’d ever gotten from the man.
And yet he needed more.
“Whatever is going on stretches far beyond the borders of Italy,” Painter continued. “And the best way to root out the truth is to keep our involvement quiet.”
Metcalf nodded, agreeing.
“Before events transpired in Italy, I had come to the conclusion that we needed more information about the genetic project being conducted at the Red Cross camp.”
“The farm run by the Viatus Corporation.”
“So far the deaths of the two Americans—Jason and his professor—are tied to that project. How and why we don’t know. But that’s where we need to extend the investigation. We need more details. Information that can only be found in one place.”
“You’re talking about Viatus itself.”
“There’s a conference starting tomorrow in Oslo. The World Food Summit. The CEO of Viatus, Ivar Karlsen, is speaking at the conference. Someone needs to corner him, get him to talk, to open up about the true nature of the research that was under way in Africa.”
“I’ve heard about Karlsen’s reputation. He’s no pushover. Strong-arming him will get you nowhere.”
“I understand.”
“He also has powerful friends—including here in the U.S.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
Painter had a complete dossier on the man and his company. Viatus had made vast inroads into the United States: financing a biofuel consortium in the Midwest, partnering with a major petrochemical company that produced fertilizers and herbicides, and of course sharing several lucrative patents with Monsanto for genetically modified seed strains.
Metcalf continued. “In fact, I already know about the summit in Oslo. A mutual friend of ours will be attending. Someone who’s been riding DARPA for answers to his son’s murder.”
“Senator Gorman?” That surprised Painter.
“He’s already in Oslo. Despite the circumstances surrounding his son’s death, he remains a close associate of Ivar Karlsen. You don’t want to make either man angry. Any interrogation of Karlsen will have to be done with the greatest discretion.”
“I understand. Then that further supports the second reason I asked for this meeting.”
“And what’s that?”
“Due to the delicate nature of the matter and the threat of international ramifications, I’d like to conduct Karlsen’s interview myself.”
Metcalf hadn’t expected that. He took a moment to digest the request. “You want to go out into the field? To Oslo?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who will oversee Sigma while you’re gone?”
“Kathryn Bryant. She’s been acting as my second-in-command. She has a background in Naval Intelligence with ties throughout the international communities. She’ll be perfectly suited to maintain command and coordinate any field op.”
Metcalf leaned back as he pondered this plan.
Painter knew the man had a firm code about personal accountability. It was why he had climbed so swiftly up the ranks in the Armed Forces. Painter pressed that very issue now.
“You’ve already explained how thin the ice is under Sigma,” he said with conviction. “Give us this chance to prove ourselves. And if this blows up, let it be by my own hand. I’ll take full responsibility.”
Metcalf remained silent. He again fixed Painter with that steely gaze. Painter matched it, as firm and unyielding.
A slight nod and the man stood up. He held out his hand this time. Painter shook it across his desk.
Before Metcalf let go, he squeezed a notch harder. “Tread lightly over there, Director Crowe. And speak just as softly.”
“Don’t worry. It’s what my ancestors are known for. We’re very light-footed.”
This earned a small crooked smile as Metcalf let go and headed toward the door. “Perhaps. But in this case, I was referring to Teddy Roosevelt.”
As the general left, Painter remained standing. He had to give the guy credit. He was right about Teddy. The motto was fitting for any agent heading out into the field.
Speak softly—but carry a big stick.
4:10 P.M.
“And those were the words Director Crowe used?” Kat asked.
Monk stood in front of her. She was seated on the sofa in her office. “His exact words. He needs a big stick.”
“But do you have to be that big stick?”
Monk crossed to her and dropped to one knee, getting eye-to-eye with his wife. He knew this was going to be a hard sell. He had spoken to Painter thirty minutes ago. The director had offered Monk a field position, to accompany the big man himself to Oslo, Norway. Still, it had taken until now to get up enough courage to broach the subject with Kat.
“It’s really nothing more than a glorified interview,” Monk promised. “Like I’ve been doing here in the States these last months. This assignment’s only a little farther away.”
She wouldn’t meet his eye. She stared down at her hands, which were clenched together in her lap. Her voice was low. “Yeah, and look how easy your last assignment ended up being.”
Monk scooted closer and pushed between her knees. “We all made it out safely.”
In fact, he had just checked on Andrea Solderitch. She’d already been moved to a guarded location, protected by Homeland, personally watched over by Scot Harvath, an agent Monk fully trusted to keep her safe.