Patriots Betrayed (21 page)

He made it to his office parking lot in good time. As he closed his door, he sensed a presence immediately behind him, and turned quickly. Facing him was an extremely fearsome man with a cold expression on his face. “Ramirez?” he grunted in a strange accent that sounded Russian.

Ramirez wanted to bolt away and run for it. He probably could outrun the man, but feared he was armed, and you couldn’t outrun a bullet. “Yes?”

“I am in need of your services.”

“Umm, well, call and my receptionist will put you down for an appointment in a couple days. My schedule is full for at least that long.”

“You come recommended by friends south of the border,” the tall man said.

Ramirez’s eyes widened. “They shouldn’t be talking to everyone about that.”

“They didn’t,” the man said. “They talked to me, not everyone. You understand? They are business associates.”

“Uh. I’ll have to check that out. Give me your name and a number I can call. If our mutual friends say you’re okay, I’ll tend to it this afternoon as soon as I’ve taken care of my patients for today.”

The man stared down at him, expressionless for a second, then pulled out a card and scribbled a number on the back.

Ramirez took it and read the front. ‘Viktor Chuikov, security specialist.’ It was in Russian, but he didn’t have to read it to know this man was trouble and as dangerous as his usual employers. He swallowed and looked up.

Viktor stared down, this time his cold expression changed to a threatening scowl. “Make sure you call by at least five PM, or I’ll come to your home tonight.”

Viktor’s English was just good enough to add an electrifying surge of fear through Ramirez’s nervous system. His days of no worries about the occasional work he had performed for dangerous drug cartels seemed to be over. Now they were passing his name out to thugs from all over the world, and it scared the hell out of him. He was no longer so sure of his safety when it came to the drug cartels, either. In less than a minute, this man had changed his entire outlook on life. “If you check out, I’ll call before five and have the drugs packed and ready to go.”

Without a word, Viktor turned and walked away, sliding into the passenger side of a black Mercedes.

~~~

Raylan filled the tank on the van while Carla used the convenience store’s restroom. He topped it off and filled the plastic fuel cans also. They didn’t want to be forced to stop for gas in a major city, where they were more likely to run into street crime and have to defend themselves, attracting the attention of law enforcement officers. He noticed Carla carried a newspaper and seemed to be in a hurry to get back into the van when she came out of the store. He got in behind the wheel. “You know, it’s your turn to drive.”

Carla ignored him and read a short story on the front page, her face a lighter shade of white than normal.

“Something about us?” Raylan asked. There hadn’t been any news about them or the government’s hunt for the ‘rogue agents’ in weeks, and he hoped it stayed that way, until they had a chance to email the latest revelations to reporters.

“Remember Mitch, who worked with us at the company?” She didn’t mention his last name on purpose.

“Yeah.”

“There’s a morgue photo of his face here. His body was found in really bad shape. I’m guessing this report was printed before the company had time to squash it. They had no ID on him and are asking if anyone recognized his face in the photo.” She held the paper up for him to see. “He looks terrible, even for a dead man, but it’s Mitch all right.”

Raylan braced himself. Mitch was liked by them both. “It says he was found just outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Must have been working the cartel/Muslim terrorist connection. I worked a similar case a few years back, when druggies helped sneak Muslim extremists across the border for a price. They had the makings for a dirty bomb and were heading for New York. Mitch and I wound up killing the terrorists in Maryland, but several druggies got away.”

He hit the road, noticing that Carla didn’t want to talk. She kept looking out the window. After finding a place to stop where people couldn’t get a close look at them, he pulled over and read the report, keeping the engine running. The description of what Mitch must have been put through was cryptic, but Raylan could read between the lines. “He was bled for info. I doubt this has anything to do with us. Terrible way for him to end up. Mitch was a decent guy.” He handed her the paper. “That’s the last you’ll read about his death. The company will stop anymore releases, cold.”

“Santa Fe’s only a day’s drive.” Carla’s eyes locked with Raylan’s.

“So. What are you thinking?”

“Nothing. I wonder what the company will tell his family.”

Raylan examined her face, trying to read her emotions. “There’s nothing we can do for him, or his family.”

She flinched. “I know. I’m not so sure his death had nothing to do with us, though. It may even have been the company.”

Raylan thought about that for a few seconds. “No. But they had him tailed and all of his communications monitored. You can bet on that. He was enough of a friend they certainly were watching him close.”

“Which makes me wonder how anyone got their hands on him without the company knowing.”

Again, their eyes locked.

Raylan sighed. “You have a point. But even dead, he’s radioactive. We poke our nose into his death and the company will be on us in a second. We really should stay out of New Mexico and just forget it. We have a chance to find a place and hide out. We might even have a life, at least for a year or so.”

“He was a friend.”

Raylan could see where this was going but wasn’t about to give in yet. “Yes, and he’s dead, past help. What the hell can we do for him now?”

She raised her left hand and waved him off. “You’re right. I’m too caught up in this idea that people matter.”

Raylan lost his cool. “What the hell, Carla! You’re the one always calling me a Boy Scout. Up on the mountain you were whining about being hunted and wondering if we had a future together. Now you –”

She interrupted. “Whining? I was whining?”

“Sorry. Wrong word. But you know I’m right. There’s nothing we can do for a dead man.”

“I’m thinking of the word justice.”

Raylan said something he wished he hadn’t. “So, you two were closer than I thought.”

“Uh, no, Raylan, it wasn’t like that at all. As far as I know he was a devoted husband and father. We worked the same part of the world, Mexico and points south, while you worked Europe a lot, so I knew him better than you did.” She flung the paper over the back of the seat and into the cargo area of the van. “Damn it!”

“There must be something I’m missing here. What’s going on with you?”

“Mitch told me about a doctor in Santa Fe who had done work for the cartels. I know who he is and where he lives. We were moving in on the doctor when I quit. I always thought Mitch had finished the job after I left, but maybe he didn’t. Anyway, the doctor kept torture victims awake and alive with drugs. He also used drugs to torture before the cutting, drilling, and burning started.”

“So the number they did on Mitch is the kind of thing this doctor would be involved with.” He put the van in gear. “I guess we’re going to Santa Fe to kill a doctor.”

She cupped her ear. “I don’t hear anything.”

He laughed. “You just did. We’re going to New Mexico, and that’s certainly better than an apology. This thing is likely to turn bad, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve been at this as long as you have.”

Chapter 14

Jayden Becker swiveled his office chair around and leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands before grunting softly and rising. The office floor was scarred by his chair because the wheels were worn out and there was no pad for protection underneath. He made his one thousandth mental note to have the chair replaced, then scooped up a folder on his desk and headed out into the hallway. Jayden loved his work with the CIA, and derived satisfaction from the thought that he had his entire career already set out before him, and could count on fulltime employment for the rest of his life. No shortage of work here, and it was almost impossible to get yourself fired. He would never become obsolete, and the company would never run short of funds or business.

Kelly Fosilliow was waiting for him when he strode through the door of the conference room and sat at the rectangular oak wood table. Fosilliow was dressed in his usual tan suit and pale blue shirt with red tie, his kinky black hair thinning at the top, giving him a vaguely Herman Cain look, absent any of the good humor or Southern charm, and certainly absent the conservative talk show and former presidential candidate’s politics.

An analyst sat on each side of Fosilliow, their faces blank, like robots waiting to be switched on.

Becker waited patiently for Fosilliow to begin his questions, happy to know the day was ticking away and he was being paid to sit there and wait. Of course, he was also happy to actually do something that furthered the CIA’s efforts to protect the United States of America when it was unavoidable, but he didn’t mind sitting and waiting either. He was being paid either way.

Surprisingly, this time Fosilliow got straight to the point. “Jayden. The Mitch Swanson torture and killing. What do you make of it?”

Becker was momentarily surprised Fosilliow didn’t waste another fifteen minutes talking about the weather or a football game, as he usually did before asking a real question, but quickly recovered. “We’re still trying to figure out what happened. It looks like the cartels got him, but that’s so obvious, we had better look deeper than that. We also had better assume he talked and they now know just about everything he knew. We’ve already pulled some of our deep cover agents out of Mexico and South America. Only those agents and operations we’re sure Mitch had no knowledge of are still in place.”

Fosilliow skipped the usual lament about what a setback they had suffered and what a shame it was Mitch was lost to the company. “Other than it was most likely the cartels, have we been able to make any progress narrowing it down?”

Becker said. “I’m afraid not. It’s too early in the investigation. The local law enforcement agencies are, of course, clueless.”

“What would it take to get this done? Do you need more assets?”

“We have everything we need but the pertinent facts and are working on that at this moment.”

Fosilliow glanced at the analyst on his right, a hen-like woman right out of college with hair the color of a raven and darting, inquisitive eyes.

She cleared her throat. “Mitch Swanson and former agent Carla Baylor worked the terrorist/cartel connection together not long before she left the company. Also, Raylan Maddox knew him well enough that others say they were friends. He too once worked with Swanson on a case that involved the cartel/terrorist connection, successfully sanctioning the terrorists before they set a dirty bomb off in New York City. By all accounts, Baylor and Swanson were close. There may be a connection between the former agents and Swanson’s death. We only see a loose connection and have no idea why they would need information from him bad enough to…, well the chances they did it are almost zero. Still, the connection is there and we can’t ignore it.”

Becker didn’t like the direction the meeting was going. “This looks like a cartel hit to me. It’s too obvious, true, and that makes me want to really check it out and not assume anything, but I really do think it’s exactly what it appears to be. The Baylor and Maddox connection is so tenuous, I give it little weight. Hell, I knew Mitch too. I think most of us here knew him.”

“Jayden, you know I try to take a hands-off approach,” Fosilliow said in his best reassuring tone, “and I don’t want to be trespassing on your turf, but I’ve been getting orders from the new boss, and he’s been getting orders from the White House.”

Becker broke in. “We don’t just have a new boss; we have a new president, it seems. He’s changed his tune in many ways lately.” He leaned back in his chair. “Let me guess. He’s rescinded his orders to have Baylor and Maddox killed on sight.”

Astonishment flashed across the faces of everyone at the table.

“Not exactly,” Fosilliow said. “He
has
been sending down a flurry of direction-changing orders since he…uh lately. But the sanction orders stand.”

“Cut the shit.” Becker leaned over the table. “The president’s clipping our wings, reining us in. Him killing Dulling was the sea change. The page has been turned. I for one am glad to see it. Some of the shit that was going on under Dulling turned my stomach.” He shrugged. “Not that I’m complaining. I like my job. What I want to know is what’s the president’s interest in Mitch’s murder? Don’t tell me the president knew him in college or dated his sister or they had a gay affair back when they both had pimples on both ends in high school.”

Fosilliow’s face turned to stone. “That’s above your pay grade. What the president is thinking is classified beyond the reach of your eyes and ears, not to mention mine.”

Becker tapped the table with his left index finger twice. “Understood, but where do we go with the Mitch Swanson case? I hope wherever it leads, and I also hope we get to come down on the assholes that did it with all the might of the U.S. of A.”

“The answer is yes on both questions. If our two wayward ex-agents did it, well, we can only kill them once. And if the cartels were involved… Let’s say an airstrike is not out of the question. There certainly will not be any trial. We won’t be wasting time with any chickenshit narco governments or their bought-off judicial system.” Fosilliow almost smiled. “You see, the president may have reined us in, but he hasn’t pulled our teeth or our claws.”

Becker nodded. “Good. Then let me and my people get to work. It’s early, but I’ll have something for you soon. Believe me; we’re not dragging our feet on this.”

“Again,” Fosilliow said, “I’m not trying to get into your bailiwick here. What I am doing is following orders from above. Orders you have no clearance to be advised of. There is a chain of command, you know. Compartmentalization is standard procedure.”