Hard Target (23 page)

Coulter held up a hand to silence Uzi. “Save it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” Uzi said, “but how about our side of the story? Since when does the FBI kowtow to an attorney whose client slithers into his office crying harassment?”

Coulter stood from his seat. “Since I became attorney general. And since I decided to clean up our image. And since it’s
my
decision to make.”

“Sir, the second time we were there, we never stepped foot on their land. We stayed outside the fence and—”

“And nothing,” Coulter said. “Victor Ripclaw isn’t a hack. He’s a powerful and influential lawyer, and I don’t want him on my back. We’ve got enough important work to do in this office without fending off lawsuits from attorneys who know how to bury my people in paperwork. But most of all, Agent Uziel, he gives scum like Nelson Flint credibility. If he’s Flint’s mouthpiece, we’ve got problems. He knows how to play the strings of public opinion. And I don’t want to see anything in the papers about trampling citizens’ constitutional rights.” He turned to Shepard. “Did you know anything about this?”

Shepard’s gaze was still locked on Uzi. “No, sir.”

“Why the hell not?”

Uzi turned away. He could feel the perspiration beading down from his sideburns.

Shepard took the smart way out, treating Coulter’s question as if it were rhetorical. Like a suspect in handcuffs, he remained silent to prevent further damage.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Coulter continued: “Do us all a big favor, Douglas. Rein in your people. Make sure they stay away from Nelson Flint unless I authorize it.”

Uzi knew this was an extraordinary measure; the attorney general did not usually micromanage FBI affairs. In fact, any directive from Coulter would normally flow directly to Knox, who would then deal with Shepard and/or Uzi.

“Agent Uziel, we’re through here.”

So much for getting an opportunity to ask the attorney general about overriding Knox’s blocking of the NICS database. Any inquiry regarding Knox’s political interference in the investigation would have to come from someone else.

As Uzi turned to leave, he caught the frowns of Shepard and Knox. He felt he should apologize, but what could he say—especially in front of Coulter? Instead, he put his head down and moved between the two men, parting the sea of anger and walking clear out of the room without looking back.

6:07 PM

115 hours 53 minutes remaining

“I heard all about your meeting,” DeSantos said as he and Uzi strolled along Pennsylvania Avenue.

Ninety minutes after leaving the Department of Justice, Uzi received a call from DeSantos telling him they needed to meet. Now, walking along the district’s main drag, the air was crisp and their breath sent vapor trails snaking behind them.

“Sorry you had to face it alone.”

Uzi waved a hand. “It’s over. I’ll get past it. Hopefully my boss will.”

“I wish it were that easy.”

A taxi roared by them, the wind ruffling the bottom of Uzi’s overcoat. He looked at DeSantos, his partner’s last comment taking a moment to register. “What do you mean?”

“Some shit going on behind the scenes. This is DC, boychick. You know how it goes. What you see ain’t what you get.”

The meat of rush hour had passed, the mass of people pouring out of government buildings slowing to a trickle. Uzi dodged a couple of women in business suits scurrying to hail a cab. “So what’s the rest of the iceberg look like?”

“Knox wants you to keep investigating ARM.”

Uzi stopped and watched as DeSantos took another few steps before realizing his partner was not keeping up with him.

He came back to Uzi and shrugged. “C’mon,” DeSantos said. “We need to keep moving.” He glanced around, then nudged Uzi with a shoulder. They turned and began walking.

Uzi waited a moment for DeSantos to elaborate. He knew Knox was the preeminent spy master, operating behind closed doors in ways no one else would dare dream, but he never expected to be part of his inner circle. Nor did he want to be. He needed rules and structure.

“Knox asked me to deliver a message,” DeSantos finally said. “But he needs to know you’re on board.”

“On board with what?”

“He wants you to continue looking into ARM, but Coulter and Shepard can’t know.”

Uzi knew what this meant: he was, indeed, being invited in. Perhaps not to the inner circle, but he was being asked to dip his feet in the water. Get them wet, feel the temperature. Then make a decision as to whether to go in all the way. Or not. “Santa, the attorney general is the FBI’s ‘boss.’ I may not like the guy, but he specifically told me to back off Flint. If I keep poking around...”

“Knox will insulate you.”

“Knox answers to Coulter. How’s he going to insulate me?”

“Technically, he answers to Coulter, but he’s... Don’t worry about it.”

Uzi looked up at the sky, as if it held answers. “I don’t get it. First your buddy Knox plays political games by blocking us from getting into the NICS database—something that could help our investigation. Now he wants us to ignore the AG’s direct order and go after ARM.”

“Don’t try to make sense of Douglas Knox’s actions. I can tell you that if he’s blocking you from something, there’s gotta be a reason. Other than politics, would be my guess.”

“We need the access. I was hoping to convince Coulter to override Knox’s order, but I never got the chance.”

“What do you need gun records for?”

Uzi explained the link between Wheeler and Ellison. “And Vasquez probably knew about it, but kept his mouth shut. Any idea why? Does Knox have some secret relationship with Vasquez or someone else in the Marines? Maybe one Marine killing another would be bad PR, so this way, he prevents us from getting at the truth.”

DeSantos slowly perused the surrounding street, chewing on what Uzi had just told him.

“This guy could be a key to our case, Santa, but without gun records we don’t have shit. We need them to get a warrant. I wanna put this guy in the box and sweat him out.”

“He’s a Marine. Be a waste of time. But I’ll talk with Vasquez and see what he knows.” DeSantos was silent as they crossed 6th Street NW. Finally, he said, “Doesn’t matter what’s going on behind the scenes. Knox still wants us looking into ARM. Just you and me. We’ll keep Shepard out of the loop.”

Uzi hesitated, then shook his head. “Shepard’s my friend. I don’t like keeping stuff from him. He’s stuck his neck out for me a lot of times, especially when I needed a job—”

“Exactly. You’re helping him here, not hurting him. Deniability. The less he knows, the better. He can’t get into any serious shit if he doesn’t know about it.”

Uzi wanted to say that if this insulated Shepard from “serious shit,” it implied that Uzi would be stepping
into
the smelly stuff himself. Ultimately, Knox would make a choice: him or Shepard. And the lower ranks always took the heat first. But he chose a different tack. “That’s not what happened today. Coulter made a point of implying that even if Shepard hadn’t known what we were doing with ARM, he should have.”

DeSantos waved a hand. “Just a show of power. Nothing will come of it. Trust me.”

“Santa, I’ve got enough to handle running this investigation without pushing the envelope any more than I already have. It’s not like Shepard asking me not to do something. He’d get pissed, let off some steam, and everything would be okay. But Coulter is the boss of all the bosses. Despite what you think, if Coulter wants my ass, there’s nothing Douglas Knox is going to be able to do to save it.”

DeSantos’s pace had quickened. “You can make a lot of mistakes in life, Uzi. But the biggest one any of us can make is underestimating Douglas Knox.”

Uzi felt DeSantos’s gaze bearing down on him. He didn’t want Shepard hurt again, and if this went sour in any way, the fall guys would be himself and Shepard, he was sure of it. Still, if the FBI director wanted this done and ordered him into secrecy, who was he to object—or disobey?

“There’s something else you should think about. This order Knox imposed, preventing you from accessing the NICS. I think you’re poking around the wrong neighborhood.”

“Don’t try to defend Knox.”

“Hear me out,” DeSantos said, holding up a hand. “A good chunk of the guns bought by militia members come from gun shows. You know why?” DeSantos didn’t wait for Uzi’s response. “Because there’s a loophole in the Brady Law. The law says you can’t sell a gun to someone without a background check, without paperwork being filled out. But see, the interesting thing is that the law doesn’t apply to hobbyists.” Uzi started to say something, but DeSantos continued. “And you know who sells guns at gun shows?”

“Hobbyists,” Uzi said.

“No, professional gun dealers. They only say they’re hobbyists so they can avoid the law.”

“Okay, so the law sucks—”

“You know who created that loophole? A simple clause quietly added to the bill at the eleventh hour.” DeSantos smiled. “Winston Coulter. Senator Winston Coulter.”

Uzi sucked on his bottom lip. “That’s interesting.”

“Thought you’d think so.”

They stopped walking at the intersection of Pennsylvania and 10th Street.

“So Knox isn’t the bad guy. He always has reasons for what he does. You hear what I’m saying? Do what he says. There’s a bigger picture here, I’m sure of it. You need to trust him.”

Uzi sighed. He looked out at the red taillights of the cars in front of him. “It just doesn’t feel right. And I don’t want to be responsible for ending a friend’s career.”

The light changed and the pedestrians started to cross the street. DeSantos leaned close to Uzi and said, “Knox knows about your time with the Mossad.”

Uzi’s brow crumpled. He stopped in the middle of the street. “You told him?”

DeSantos held up his hands. “I didn’t tell him anything. He told me.”

“But how—”

“The real question is, ‘How’d you get into the Bureau in the first place?’”

Uzi turned and they continued walking across the street. He understood DeSantos’s point: the FBI would not have approved Uzi’s application if they knew he had worked for a foreign intelligence service. Avoiding DeSantos’s gaze, he said, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

DeSantos stopped walking and grabbed Uzi’s arm. “Bullshit. They do ask.”

Uzi shrugged off his hand. “Okay, they asked. I didn’t tell. I needed the job. Right or wrong, I didn’t disclose it, and no foreign intelligence service discloses the identities of its operatives.” Uzi looked away. He felt awful about having deceived the Bureau—and even worse about having to admit it now to his friend.

“Knox knew you lied on your app. He said I should tell you it’s a federal offense. He also wanted you to know your secret is safe with him. But he wants you to do this in return.”

Uzi looked out at the oncoming headlights and thought he knew how a deer felt. “What choice do I have?”

DeSantos took him by the crook of his elbow and led him toward the sidewalk. “I guess if you wanted to throw away your career and do prison time, you could say no.”

Uzi nodded. He figured as much. Before he could launch into a complaint about being blackmailed, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw that the call was from a blocked number. “Uzi.”

There was a second of silence before the caller spoke. “This is the person who met with you last night. Your colleague’s friend.”

Uzi recognized the voice as Tad Bishop’s. “What can I do for you?”

DeSantos moved closer, clearly tuned into the fact that the call was related to their case. He leaned close to Uzi, who tilted the Nokia so both could hear.

“I need to meet with you. Now. Wolf Trap Park, do you know where it is?”

“It’ll take me a bit to get there.”

DeSantos motioned with an index finger to indicate that he was going to come along.

“There’ll be two of us coming.”

“Agent Koh?”

“No, but it’s someone you can trust.” Uzi knew this was not going to be an easy sell, but he had to give it his best shot. Perhaps meeting Bishop would help convince DeSantos there was merit to his claims about Knox.

“I’m not comfortable with that,” Bishop said.

“I understand. But he can help us. He’s my partner, and I trust him.”

Bishop was silent for a moment, then said, “Fine. Thirty minutes?”

“Maybe forty. We’ll do our best.” Bishop gave Uzi the exact location of where they were to meet. Uzi ended the call and turned back in the direction from where they came. “Looks like I’m gonna be late to my dinner with Leila.” He pulled out his phone to text her about the delay.

“This that Bishop guy? The paranoid schizophrenic?”

Uzi frowned at DeSantos. “Let’s go see what the problem is. He seemed uptight.”

“He’s paranoid. Being uptight goes with the territory.”

THE DRIVE TO FAIRFAX, Virginia, took them longer than Uzi thought it would. But they drove around, surveilling the area like all Special Operational Forces did. Looking for routes to E & E—evade and escape—should it be necessary. Assessing risk, evaluating the terrain.

Satisfied as to the meeting place, they parked and waited. A car pulled up behind them, half a block away. Its headlights flashed twice; Uzi looked at DeSantos, who was stifling a laugh.

“Go on, flash your brake lights,” DeSantos said.

“What’s so funny?”

“This guy thinks he’s one of us.”

Uzi popped open the door and got out, then headed into the park with DeSantos a few paces behind him. Bishop waited while the two of them walked down the path, then stopped and faced one another as if engaged in conversation.

“Now what?” DeSantos asked.

“He likes to make sure the area’s secure before he’ll come over here.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not.”

DeSantos turned and looked at Bishop’s car.

“Don’t stare,” Uzi said. “It’ll just make him nervous.”

“And you said this guy wasn’t paranoid?”

“I’m saying I understand his situation. He digs into volatile issues. There’s a lot of money at stake, a lot of power. He pisses off a lot of people in Washington.”

DeSantos shrugged. “So do I.”