Black List (22 page)
“What?” Craig Middleton snapped as he answered on the fourth ring, having been roused from a deep sleep.
“It’s Kurt.”
“What time is it?”
“Four thirty.”
“A.m.?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why can’t you work during the day like everyone else?”
“I’ve been working around the clock. You told me to keep at it until I found something,” said Schroeder.
“Did you track down the data that Caroline Romero stole?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, whatever you have, it better be worth waking me up again for. What is it?”
“I think I found something.”
“You
think
you found something?” replied Middleton. “I
think
I’m going to get in my car, drive to the office, and throw you out a window. How about that for
thinking
? Get to the point, idiot. Why’d you call me?”
“A Google search.”
Middleton waited for the man to elaborate and when he didn’t, said, “I’m starting to look for my car keys, Kurt.”
“Somebody did a search for Caucasian Ovcharka.”
“What the hell is
Caucasian Ovcharka
?”
“It’s a breed of dog,” replied Schroeder. “A breed of very big dog. The type of dog we believe the Troll owns.”
“So what? There’s probably a lot of people in the world who Google that dog breed.”
“Maybe. But how many people go from Googling Caucasian Ovcharka to a search on primordial dwarfism.”
Middleton was wide awake now, and his tone of voice changed instantly. “Where?”
“Texas. The search is a couple of days old.”
“Where in Texas?”
“South Texas. Closest point on the map is an unincorporated community called Agua Nueva.”
“Shit,” stated Middleton. “How close is that to a city called McAllen?”
Schroeder zoomed out on his map and made the calculation. “It looks to be about eighty miles. Why?”
“That’s where the half sister is.”
“Caroline’s?”
“No, Wayne Newton’s, moron. Of course Caroline’s.”
Schroeder absolutely hated his boss. “If I knew more about what was going on, maybe I could help figure out what data Caroline had stolen and where she’s hidden it.”
“You know all you need to know.”
“Which is next to nothing except that we’re hunting down some private group of treasonous mercenaries and a pile of data of indeterminate size, allegedly stolen by Caroline.”
Middleton was pissed off and it was obvious in his voice. “You don’t like being in the dark, Kurt?”
“No. It hampers my ability to do my job.”
“Well, join the club. This isn’t about what we like or don’t like. This is about national security. All you need to know is that we’re looking at the biggest domestic terrorist plot ever mounted against the United States, and the Carlton Group is behind it. Caroline Romero was a traitor about to divulge critical data that would have assisted in that attack.”
“And she just happened to get hit by a car as she was leaving Pentagon City Mall.”
“You’ve seen the footage,” Middleton replied. “She rushed into traffic all by herself. No one pushed her. She had committed treason, she knew we were on to her, but instead of facing the music, she committed suicide. If there was ever an admission of guilt, that was it.”
“God works in mysterious ways.”
“God had nothing to do with it. If God were even remotely involved in all of this, he’d help us find what Caroline stole in order to protect this country. You keep your mind focused on that and maybe we’ll be able to help save this nation.”
Schroeder relented, “What do you want me to do?”
“I want an address and full workup on anyone and everyone associated with where that Google search took place.”
“Okay. And then what?”
“Then get some sleep. You’ve earned it,” said Middleton.
“I’m not tired. What else do you want me to do?”
“You’ve done enough, Kurt. After you’re done, go home.”
There was something about the way his boss told him that he’d “done enough,” that made him uncomfortable. “I’ll open a file and pull everything I can. You’ll have it within the hour.”
“Good boy,” said Middleton, and then the line went dead.
Middleton swapped one of his dummy NSA Crypto Cards into the slot of his STE and dialed.
Several seconds later Chuck Bremmer answered, “Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked.
“I think we’ve got the midget.”
“Call me back when you
know
you have him.”
“We’ve got him,” Middleton repeated. “Coffee in forty-five minutes. Don’t bother brushing your teeth. I’m not in the mood for heavy petting.”
∗ ∗ ∗
They met at the Pentagon and neither man spoke a word until they were inside the SCIF.
Middleton handed him a file. “You need to launch a team right away.”
“Don’t tell me what I
need
to do. Where is he?”
“Texas. About eighty miles northwest of McAllen.”
“You want me to send a team back to Texas? We’ve already been on one wild-goose chase looking for that vet tech woman who dropped off the grid. Which, by the way, you claimed was impossible.
No one drops all the way off the grid
, you said.
Don’t worry. We’ll find her.
”
Middleton didn’t like having his words turned back on him. That said, he didn’t have time for a dick-measuring contest. He tried not to let the man get to him. “We believe the Troll has been helping her.”
“What kind of confirmation do you have?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s
bullshit.
That’s what it is,” Bremmer replied. “Has anyone actually had eyes on the target?”
“No, not yet, but trust me, he’s there. And when we find him, I think we’re going to find her too. Now, how soon can you get a team back down there to pinpoint them and take them out?”
The Colonel shook his head.
Middleton looked at him. “Don’t you shake your fucking head at me, Chuck. How long?”
“These resources don’t exactly grow on trees.”
“No, they don’t. They grow on military bases and get packaged into nice little off-the-books kill teams that are overseen and
tasked
by you.”
“
After
the President’s black panel reviews and makes a determination.”
“Are you suddenly having second thoughts?” Middleton asked.
“You’re damn right I am. We lost four operators in Paris.
Four
. How the hell do I explain that?”
“You don’t. You’re Colonel Chuck fucking Bremmer. You head one
of the most sensitive covert programs the U.S. has ever stood up. I don’t care if the Secretary of Defense himself walks into your office and demands answers. He doesn’t need to know. No one does. That’s why we influenced getting it set up. It’s why administrations come and go, and yet
you
remain at the White House. This thing is a fucking stovepipe on purpose.”
Bremmer was well aware of how the program was constructed. DOJ lawyers consulted with the President and key members of the black panel to review each case before a kill order was issued. It was the process by which American citizens Anwar al-Awlaki and Samir “Sammy” Khan, one a senior al-Qaeda figure and the other coeditor of al-Qaeda’s terrorism magazine, were placed on the kill list and taken out in Yemen. No one in the administration had any idea that Bremmer had been padding the list. Need-to-know, especially when colored with the patina of ongoing counterterrorism operations, was an amazing tool for shutting down any questions in a city like D.C.
“So how soon?” Middleton repeated.
The Colonel looked at his watch. “Probably by this time tomorrow. They’re going to need imagery, though. Either drone or satellite.”
“No problem. I should have a preliminary file in about an hour. I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
“I’ll watch for it. Anything else?”
“What about the job in Spain? Do we have any confirmation yet?”
“Negative. Nothing yet.”
“Why the hell not? It’s already daytime there,” said Middleton. “The operation should be complete by now.”
“They’re professionals and they’ll follow the protocol. They’re not going to make contact until they’re safely out of the country.”
Middleton wanted to inquire as to whether they were more professional than the first team the Colonel had dispatched to Paris, but he let it go. The word
protocol
made him wonder what the protocol at the White House would be when Blue Sand kicked off. He knew they had enough supplies on hand to weather things for a bit if they wanted to, but they wouldn’t. It would take them about ten minutes to really figure out what had happened, and once they did, there’d be a rush for the doors. The Secret
Service would want to enact the continuity of government plan and move the President right away.
The President would fight it at first, of course, but as soon as the reports started feeding into the situation room about the panic and the chaos, his resolve would begin to leach away. The death counts were what would really unnerve him. That’s when he’d realize that he needed to gather up the first family and go.
For a moment, Middleton thought about filling Bremmer in the rest of the way, of giving him a warning and thereby a chance to make preparations for his own family, but as quickly as this spark of altruism was ignited inside him, it was extinguished. He didn’t care if Bremmer and his family survived what was coming.
Taking out Carlton and his people was a sensitive assignment that required highly specialized labor. There were very few people who could handle the job. Until the list was closed out, Middleton had no choice but to put up with Bremmer. But as soon as Blue Sand launched, everything would be different.
Smiling as he rose from the table, Middleton looked at him and gave him a final word of caution. “Just make sure your people haven’t screwed the pooch in Spain.”
“Don’t worry about my people,” the Colonel replied as he stepped over and unlocked the SCIF door. “One way or another, they’ll get him.”
M
ONTERREY
, M
EXICO
S
ATURDAY
P
adre Peio’s airline contact made all Harvath’s travel arrangements and booked the tickets under the name on his Italian passport.
Using the car Eyebrows and Scarface had been driving, Harvath navigated his way back to Bilbao and abandoned it near the train station. He caught public transportation to the airport, where a ticket was waiting for him at the counter for the first leg of his journey.
He flew from Bilbao to Madrid, where Peio’s contact, an older man named Gomez, met him at the gate. He escorted Harvath to the “Sala VIP” lounge, checked him in and then led him to a quiet corner to finish transacting their business.
Gomez provided Harvath with forms and two padded FedEx shipping envelopes, then left him alone while he fetched them each a coffee. When he returned, Harvath had the packages ready to go.
The first envelope contained Gomez’s fee. Harvath had sealed the cash inside and scribbled down an imaginary address in Barcelona. The second envelope contained his real passport, as well as Riley Turner’s, along with the handful of other personal items that had been in her backpack. Harvath addressed it to one of his aliases in care of a fly-fishing
resort in Alaska owned by a buddy of his. The man had received packages for Harvath before. When he saw the name on the label he would simply take it and put it in his safe until Harvath contacted him for it.
After accepting the two mailers, Gomez handed over a small wheelie bag that had been packed with clothing in Harvath’s size and a small toiletries kit. Traveling from Bilbao to Madrid with a small backpack was one thing, but traveling all the way to Mexico City without any real luggage would definitely arouse suspicion and added scrutiny. Gomez had agreed to supply the bag, probably liberated from the airline’s lost luggage department, as well as to handle Harvath’s FedEx drop-off for an additional fee.
Peio had vouched that Harvath could trust Gomez completely, which was good, since Gomez was the only man who could provide what Harvath needed.
When their business was concluded, the Spaniard wished Harvath a pleasant flight and left the VIP lounge. Harvath finished his coffee and then took his newly acquired luggage into one of the private shower rooms, where he unpacked the entire thing and stripped it all the way down. He wasn’t about to board an international flight and then attempt to clear customs in Mexico, of all places, carrying a bag someone else had given him.
Satisfied that there was nothing in it that could get Harvath in any trouble, he turned on the shower and cleaned himself up.
When his flight to Mexico City was ready to board, he shuffled out of the lounge with a Spanish daily newspaper tucked under his arm and attached himself to a group of businessmen as they made their way to the gate.
Onboard, Harvath studied the passengers around him in the business class section as he stowed his bag. No one appeared the least bit interested in him, which was just the way he liked it. Informing the flight attendants that he didn’t want to be awakened for the meal, he donned the headset from the seat pocket.
