The Sniper and the Wolf by Scott McEwen, Thomas Koloniar Page B

meeting fell apart?”
    Peterson noticed that Hagen was in no way acknowledging that it was his backwater op that had caused things to go wrong in Paris. “Our people in Rome tell us that Kovalenko went to Malta to eliminate the crew of the Palinouros . We’re still waiting to hear how it went.”
    Hagen gulped the remainder of his drink. “Let’s hope he took out Captain Miller while he was there. We sure as hell don’t need that fucking pedophile coming back to bite us in the ass.”
    “I’m sure Kovalenko was thorough.”
    Hagen sat back, clearing his throat. “Can we get at Pope?”
    Peterson pursed his lips, thinking it over. “Anyone can be gotten to. Depends on how bad you want to get at him.”
    “I want him dead. Is that bad enough?”
    “Hitting Pope is a risky move, but I’ve got an ex-Delta operator on standby for domestic ops. Now that I think about it, it might actually be a worthwhile investment . . . considering.”
    “Considering what?”
    “Well, Pope took a meeting with the president a while back, and it’s still making people nervous up in Langley because nobody—and I mean nobody —has been able to find out what was discussed.” Peterson saw an opportunity to rub salt in Hagen’s ever-festering wound: “And who knows better than you how odd it is for Pope to be seen around the White House?”
    Hagen let the baiting remark pass, some of his confidence returning. “I can control the president’s reaction if Pope is taken out. I was with him on the campaign trail during his first run for office, and there’s a lot the first lady doesn’t know about his nighttime campaign activities.”
    “So the rumors are true?”
    “I’ve got the footage to prove it.”
    “Does he know?”
    Hagen leaned into the table. “He had his drunken face so far up that Korean hooker’s snatch, he couldn’t even see daylight.”
    Peterson snorted. “You think that’s enough to blackmail him?”
    “Not into starting World War Three,” Hagen said, “but more than enough to make him look the other way on the demise of a pain in the ass like Bob Pope. Very few people know what the first lady’s like when she’s pissed, and, trust me, you do not want to be there when that storm hits.”

10
    SICILY
    Gil and Dragunov arrived on the Sicilian coast near the small town of Sampieri about twenty-five minutes behind Kovalenko and his men. The Maltese P21 patrol boat was already sinking by the stern in thirty feet of water and would disappear long before the sun came up.
    Gil killed the engines on the Palinouros and dropped both bow anchors. “You up for another swim? If we leave the skiff on the beach, it’ll be obvious somebody came ashore.”
    Dragunov pulled on the hood to his wet suit, saying grimly, “Let’s get wet, Vassili. In two hours the sun rises.”
    They weighted Brody’s body with a scuba tank and watched him sink beneath the surface at the stern before stepping into the water and swimming the hundred yards to land. The two of them came ashore on a stretch of empty beach concealed from an adjacent village by a long wood running the length of the cove. They ditchedtheir wet suits and moved east through the trees parallel to the road.
    “Will they move inland on a direct route to Messina?” Gil asked. “Or stick to the coastal road?”
    “They will steal the first car they can and take the coast road. We’ll have to do the same if we want to catch them before they make it to Italy. Are you prepared to kill Sicilians?”
    “Only to stay alive and out of prison,” Gil answered. “Not to steal a car.”
    “What if stealing a car is the only way to stay alive and out of prison?”
    “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”
    They moved into the village and found a small black Fiat with the keys in the ignition. Dragunov slipped behind the wheel, and Gil pushed it down the dirt road away from the house before Dragunov started it up. Soon they were riding along the coastal road,