A Touch of Greed (5 page)

The perimeter of the room was lined with computer stations where techs would decipher data they’d received from the field and analyze their level of validity, then their level of threat. More than a third of the staff there were multilingual and many more were pure interpreters.

A weekly department head meeting was held there strictly for discussion of terrorist threats on US soil. Even though it was Walt Jackson’s home office, he was there early to mitigate any animosity between his boss, FBI Director Louis Dutton, and CIA Director Ken Morris.

Dutton and Morris sat across the round table in the center of the room, pretending to be occupied on their tablet computers, while Walt and Defense Secretary Martin Riggs waited for the final member of the group to arrive.

Riggs was an ex-Marine with little patience for politics and seemed to sense the tension around the table. He waved a finger between Dutton and Morris and said, “You two know each other?”

Walt said nothing, while Dutton and Morris maintained their fascination with their tablets. The elevator chimed and out stepped Secretary of State, Samuel Fisk. He was a large man with a slow methodical gait. He held a plastic cup full of trail mix and placed it on the table as he took his seat next to Walt.

Fisk patted Walt’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Walt said, lamenting the loss of two of his men. “Me too.”

Fisk popped a handful of trail mix in his mouth and looked around the table. “Are we ready?”

Morris and Dutton both shoved their tablets aside and nodded.

Fisk looked at the CIA Director first. “Ken, what’s going on with Templeton in Cairo? I thought that was taken care of?”

“It is,” Morris said.

“Then why am I getting e-mails from Interpol stating he’s still able to recruit as a detainee?”

“Recruiting is a strong word,” Morris said. “He’s been able to send messages through a courier acting as his attorney. We’ve got it under control.”

Fisk seemed satisfied, then roamed the table until his eyes landed on Walt. “What’s going on with the border? How did Garza get to our men?”

Walt glanced at Morris briefly before he said, “There was a mole in our Homeland Security division. We figured out who it was, but apparently there’s been more penetration than we’d anticipated.” He looked at Morris. “We could use a little help.”

Fisk swiveled his head back and forth between Walt and Morris. “Is there a problem guys?”

FBI Director Louis Dutton glared across the table. “Apparently there’s a plant inside the Mexican border, yet we’re not able to use him because we’re not receiving any data.”

Fisk raised his eyebrows. “Ken, what’s the deal?”

Morris seemed prepared for that and didn’t take the bait. “We’ve contracted with a private firm to infiltrate Garza’s circle. Apparently, the operative has made contact with Garza and has actually been inside the compound. That’s as much as we know.”

Fisk looked at Dutton who gave him a “see what I mean?” expression. The Secretary of State dipped his large fingers into the plastic cup and came out with some nuts and raisins. He placed them in his mouth and chewed with a thoughtful stare.

“Do you know who this plant is?” Fisk asked.

Morris remained stoic. “I’m not jeopardizing this operation, Sam. There’s too much at stake. Besides,” Morris looked down at his hands, “he’s missed a couple of scheduled communications.”

“So what does that mean?” Fisk asked.

“It means he’s either dead or worse,” Walt finished for him.

“Worse?” Fisk squinted.

Walt let Morris take that one. The CIA Director tapped a finger on the table.

“He may have turned,” Morris said, with a disgusted tone.

Fisk rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Boy, you guys have all kinds of good news for me, don’t you?”

“It gets worse,” Morris said, taking in everyone at the table. His subdued demeanor made Walt’s mouth dry. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher in front of him.

“Our intelligence has confirmed the transport of a dirty bomb to within a mile of the Arizona border,” Morris said.

Fisk reached for more trail mix, then stopped mid-dip. “What?”

“Yes,” Morris seemed to take it head on. “It’s true.”

Fisk looked at Walt and must’ve caught him nodding. He pointed to Walt. “You knew about this?”

“Yes,” Walt said, and Morris couldn’t keep the surprised look from his face.

Fisk seemed to notice the same thing. “Ken,” Fisk said, “did you know Walt was aware of this?”

Morris looked dejected. “No.”

Fisk looked at Walt. “Did you know Ken knew about this?”

Walt shook his head.

Fisk leaned over the table and craned his neck. “Are you telling me, both of you knew about a nuclear threat and neither of you spoke to each other about it?”

Walt pursed his lips, but said nothing. Morris kept up his fascination with his hands.

Martin Riggs had been listening intently to the proceedings, but his laconic personality kept him from entering the discussion. He’d always found a way to utilize the smallest amount of words to accomplish his thought.

“After Navy SEAL Team Six took care of Osama bin Laden,” Riggs said, “the Navy’s forecasted budget was increased by thirty-two percent.”

Riggs said it matter-of-factly, as if reciting a baseball player’s batting average. There was no accusatory tone. Just the facts.

Fisk stopped. His face tightened and his hands clenched into fists. “Are you shitting me?” Fisk glared at Ken Morris, then Louis Dutton, then Walt. His mouth curled up into a nasty scowl. “Is this what we’ve become?” he asked. “Keeping intelligence from each other to gain budgetary dollars?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Sam,” Morris said.

Fisk ignored Morris. He looked to his left with disappointment on his face. “Walt?”

Walt took a breath. “Sam, if you saw the intel which came across my desk every day, you’d never leave your house. The enemy uses diversion and disinformation as a tactic to keep us occupied. Agents Hernandez and Braden were on the verge of verifying the legitimacy of this lead when they were ambushed. They’d been imbedded in one of Antonio Garza’s crews for six months before their murder. Did I know for certain the threat was legit? No. But we’ll find out.”

“And that’s why Dennis isn’t here?” Fisk said, commented on the absence of the Director of Homeland Security.

“We can’t afford any more leaks,” Riggs said. “The smaller the circle, the less chance for an ambush.”

Fisk turned toward the CIA Director. “Ken?”

Morris drummed his fingers on the table waiting his turn. He seemed to consider his words. “Well, I agree with Walt. We’d heard through our Mid-East operatives there was a delivery coming into Mexico so we contracted with a private firm which already had active contacts within the cartels. They were doling out information sparingly as we negotiated terms for payment.”

“You mean we were paying them for information?”

“Yes.”

“And how far along did we get?”

“Like I said, we were in negotiation—”

“Negotiation?”

Morris looked to Martin Riggs for help and the Defense Secretary nodded.

“Yes,” Riggs said. “Sometimes these firms will become aware of a huge source of information and raise the price. Like paying someone to mine for copper, then they strike gold and want to renegotiate.”

“Only we can’t see the gold until we pay them,” Morris finished for him. “We have to take this lead seriously though. There’s too much buzz out there.”

“How much money are these guys asking for?”

“Two million,” Morris said.

“And?” Fisk held out his open hands and looked at Riggs.

The Defense Secretary shrugged. “That’s more money than we had available for this operation. It puts us in a position to bring it to a Senate Committee for approval.” Then Riggs gave Fisk a curious expression. He seemed to be looking for a tacit answer to an unasked question.

Fisk gazed around the table at the group of department heads staring at him. “You want me to ask the President if we can use black ops money to fund this thing?”

Everyone knew Fisk was the second most powerful man in the world. He’d grown up childhood friends with President Merrick and had gained Merrick’s confidence almost to a fault. Merrick had allowed Fisk to run foreign affairs on his own terms, even against Merrick’s own policies, but Fisk had never let him down.

Fisk sighed. “Okay, who’s our enemy here? And how are we going to proceed?”

“They’re a group of militants out of Syria,” Walt said. “Former members of Hamas who were displeased with the passive direction the organization was headed. They want to make a name for themselves and this seems to be the quickest route.”

Fisk tapped a fist over his mouth. “Who do we have down there right now?”

“Nick and Matt are running the operation,” Walt said.

Fisk blew out a breath. “Thank goodness.” He glanced around the table. “You need to understand something. President Salcido is in a tough battle for reelection down there. We’ve spent years on an agreement to work with the Mexican Army on their side of the border. We could have access to information we’ve never been able to see before. But if Salcido loses the election and Rodriguez takes over . . . well, he’s practically owned by the cartels.”

Fisk examined his audience as if to determine how much further he needed to go. “So if we step one foot inside their border to attack anyone, even a known assassin—it will give Rodriguez all the ammunition he would need to show how Salcido is owned by the US. And we can’t afford for that to happen.”

Fisk made eye contact with each department head. “Understood?”

Everyone nodded.

Walt waited until Fisk was finished before he said, “I’m not sure we can wait for this shipment to cross the border, Sam.”

Fisk maintained an even stare. “Let me rephrase this,” he said. “We cannot be caught in Mexico doing anything antagonistic, period. If someone crosses that border, they may as well be on the moon. We can’t help them.”

That’s when Walt realized they were on their own. His team would have to operate without support from any other agency or department. Politics had been a dangerous component of his job, but now he was practically given orders to confiscate a nuclear weapon inside another country while offering the executive branch complete deniability.

“Don’t worry,” Walt said. “No one will get caught.”  

Chapter 7

Nick and Matt were in the parking lot, leaning against the wheel well of Matt’s SUV watching the sun lower in the western sky, while Homeland Security employees made their way to their own cars, beginning a procession of vehicles south toward Tucson’s suburbs. The only people who made eye contact were the ones who parked nearby and only for a moment, maybe to get a look at the jerks who had messed up their office.

“I don’t like it,” Nick said. “This is messier than I expected.”

“No shit.”

Nick looked at Matt who was eyeing the exiting employees like he was profiling their trustworthiness.

“You have any hunches?” Nick asked.

Matt shook his head. “They all look guilty to me.”

“We have to treat it that way. There’s no one here we can trust. Just the three of us.”

Nick pulled out his cell phone. “I’m getting the girls out of Payson and into a safe house.”

Matt nodded while examining the parking lot. “Yeah. We’re not exactly making any friends here, are we?”

Nick called the Phoenix field office and spoke with the Hostage Rescue Team. When he was done, he told Matt, “They’re sending a crew in a chopper to get them. Call Jennifer and let her know what’s going on.”

It was Matt’s turn to talk on his cell while Nick shaded his eyes and searched the sky. He heard Matt trying to convince Jennifer Steele she would need help.

“Baby,” Matt said, “there’s some real dirt going on down here. I don’t trust anyone.” Then there was a silence while Agent Steele made her case for staying put. “It’s only for a few days until we get to the bottom of this,” Matt pleaded.

Nick spotted something above them in the distance. It was the size of a large hawk and seemed to be gliding on the breeze, until it made an erratic turn, signaling to Nick it was manmade. As it came closer, Nick could hear the hum of the electric motor as the device whizzed overhead, just twenty feet from where they stood.

“Okay,” Matt said into the cell phone as he spied the mechanical device buzzing by. “I’ll tell him.”

The device was configured like a stealth bomber and circled around to make another pass. This time it dove sharply toward the two agents gaining speed as it zeroed in on them. At the last moment it pulled up, but not before it smacked Matt on his shoulder.

“Jeesh, Stevie,” Matt screamed. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Stevie yelled from across the parking lot, holding the controls for the mechanical drone. “I’m trying to get it calibrated.”

Matt said his good-byes, then stashed his phone back into his pocket. “I hate this shit.”

“What?” Nick said.

“When we were back in Baltimore, the world seemed a lot smaller. Everything was nearby.”

“You mean help was nearby?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Nick looked up at the drone now back in the sky making bank turns like a bird, soaring higher and higher. “I know what you mean,” Nick said, rubbing the side of his face. “I’d go out of town and there were ten FBI agents within five minutes of home. Now I have to call Phoenix to have a helicopter fly into Payson.”

Matt folded his arms across his chest. “Let me ask you something,” he said. “When you proposed to Julie, how did you do it? Did you do the whole get-on-a-knee thing?”

Nick grinned. “Really? You think you’re ready for this?”

“I know I am.”

“Well,” Nick said, “if you really want to know, when I first proposed to Julie, we were having dinner at Flemings, and I actually did get down on my knee.”

“And?” Matt asked, his eyebrows raised. “How did it go?”

“She said no.”

Matt laughed. “Are you serious?”

Nick nodded. “You bet. We’d only been dating four months and she thought it was too soon.”