The Lost Codex by Alan Jacobson

directors. It was a nice irony, but in truth he selected Dempsey because it gave the impression of a fighter. And he liked to think of himself in that light.
    While his contact knew his true identity, it was safer to use aliases in conversation so the prying ears of the NSA or FBI could not make an easy identification.
    But if they were smart, and careful, they would not arouse suspicion.
    Prideux approached the vehicle—and was frisked a dozen feet away by Dempsey’s personnel before being cleared to approach.
    The back door opened and Prideux sat down heavily.
    Dempsey, staring straight ahead, said, “What the hell are you people doing?”
    Prideux, a slight man whose English was well practiced and near-flawless, tilted his head. “We’re doing what’s necessary.”
    “You’re working against me. That’s not the arrangement. And it’s counterproductive, to say the least.”
    “You move too slowly. And you’re restricted in what you can do and when you can do it.”
    Dempsey laughed—not out of humor but because of his “partner’s” audacity.
    “Did you or did you not tell me there are limits to what you can do?”
    “At times, yes. But we have a plan and we’re executing according to that plan. Setting up sleeper cells in DC? Are you out of your mind?”
    Prideux snorted. “We’re quite sane, I assure you. There is a method to what you perceive as madness.”
    “Perceive? Perceive ? Federal agents raided your cell, found bomb-making components and goddamn it, your man blew himself up in the middle of the city!”
    “Yes, well, that was unfortunate. But …” He shrugged. “So what? We have others that will gladly take his place.”
    “I’m not worried about losing a man. Or two, or three. I’m worried about the FBI getting close. If they figure out—”
    “No, no, no,” Prideux said slowly, shaking his head. Calm, cool. “There is no risk here. Remember, we have a man on the inside.” He smiled broadly. “Don’t we, now?”
    Dempsey turned away. He did not feel like the fighter he pretended to be. He felt controlled—when the opposite should have been the case.
    “You’re moving too slowly,” Prideux said. “It’s been two years.”
    “I’m laying the groundwork. It takes time. We discussed this. There are a lot of considerations.” He faced Prideux. “You just have to trust me.”
    “Trust is not the issue. We do trust you. But we want results.”
    “And I said I’d deliver. I didn’t say when because I couldn’t. Things are fluid.”
    “Yes, things are fluid. And that’s why we decided to take a more active role.”
    “A lot of good that did. Your bomb-making factory and safe house are gone.”
    Prideux turned his entire torso and leaned against the door, facing Dempsey. “Lucas, my friend, do you really think we would go into a war with only one weapon?” He smiled—deviously.
    Dempsey was certain the man was studying him, reading his expression. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean we’re well prepared. I mean we know what we’re doing. I mean that you should not worry about us, about our end of things. We have it all under control. Let the FBI think they’ve scored a major victory.”
    “You’re just making it more difficult. Give me time to sort this out. Let things settle down. Let the media find something else to cover.”
    Prideux frowned and turned to look out the rear window.
    “I thought you people take the long view, the long war. Decades, centuries.”
    “I don’t subscribe to that model. I’m an impatient man. I’m selfish. I want to see this to fruition. I want to taste the olives of my labor.”
    “You will. But don’t fight me.”
    Prideux laughed. “And why not? We fight everyone else. And we win too. Look at Europe, Lucas. Look at what we’re doing. We are taking over. Some may think it’s a slow process, but it’s happening very quickly. In twenty-five, thirty years Belgium will be ours. Brussels, the headquarters of the European