Endangered Species: PART 1 (3 page)

Christie’s anger began to rise. Deborah had
steadfastly rejected his explanation that she was suffering from a
form of the Stockholm Syndrome. Instead, she insisted that Whelan
and his men were kind and wonderful men who had saved her and the
children. And she seemed smitten with Whelan. While she had
steadfastly denied that anything had happened between them, he
sensed that she had begun to compare him to Whelan. Clearly, he
hadn’t measured up. After eighteen years of marriage and being
completely faithful to his wedding vows, how could she have done
this to him? It was Whelan’s fault. He must have seduced her. The
thought sent another agonizing bolt through his stomach. He grabbed
his abdomen with one hand and squeezed as tight as he could while
popping two more Rolaids with the other.

There was a light knock on his office door.
A moment later his boss opened it and walked in. Annette Wojakowski
was short and chunky with short dark hair and wire rim glasses. She
was wearing one of her usual business suits. Today it was navy blue
wool, a size or two too small, with a short skirt better worn by a
woman with more attractive legs. She walked over to one of his side
chairs and sat heavily on the edge of the seat, knees primly locked
together.

Skipping small talk, she said, “What are you
working on?”

Christie didn’t like the woman and knew the
feeling was mutual. The higher ups in the Justice Department and
Bureau had become disappointed in his failure to make progress in
the Case affair. Also, they couldn’t help but notice the effect his
marital problems were having on him. They decided he had risen as
high in his career as he was capable. There would be no further
upward mobility for him. Wojakowski, the Albuquerque SAC, had been
forced to reshuffle her personnel and procedures to accommodate the
transfer. She hadn’t liked it.

“
I’m putting together some
notes for this afternoon’s drug enforcement task force meeting,” he
said.

“
What time is the
meeting?”

“
One-thirty.
Why?”

Wojakowski looked at him for a moment. It
was a cold, unfriendly look. “You have other assignments that need
attention too. I wouldn’t expect preparing for that meeting would
require much effort.”

Christie shrugged. His stomach felt as if it
was filling with molten lava, but he didn’t want to pop a Rolaids
in front of Wojakowski. She would interpret it as a sign of
weakness. He knew she didn’t want him on her staff, and assumed she
was looking for excuses to get rid of him.

“
Don’t you have a cochair,
a sheriff’s deputy or something?”

Christie nodded. “A captain. Tom
Burkhardt.”

“
Whatever. Why don’t you
let him make these preparations?”

Now it was Christie’s turn to give
Wojakowski a hard look. “The Bureau has a terrible reputation with
local law enforcement agencies. Part of that has been caused by us
sloughing off the grunt work on them. I’m trying to improve on that
image.”

The SAC pointed an index finger at Christie
and began wagging it slowly back and forth. “Our work is much more
important than anything these local yokels do. I hope you
understand that.”

Christie gritted his teeth and nodded.

“
I didn’t ask to have you
assigned to my office, Agent Christie. Nevertheless, I’ve tried to
accommodate Washington’s wishes by finding things for you to do. In
addition to representing this office on the drug enforcement task
force, I had you join the Safe Streets Task Force and work with
Special Agent Carty, the
New Mexico
InfraGard Coordinator. Furthermore, I’ve tasked you with certain
personnel duties and providing assistance and training for some of
our younger members. But, frankly, I haven’t seen you doing much of
anything.”

He was silent for a moment,
struggling to ignore the insult. “
As one of
the two Assistant SACs in this office, my job description includes
supervising t
he ERT,” he said in reference
to the Albuquerque Evidence Response Team, which conducted crime
scene investigations and collected physical evidence using the
techniques of forensic science. The team was trained and equipped
to collect and record physical evidence in accordance with current
scientific standards and procedures so that the evidence could be
effectively analyzed in a forensic laboratory and stand up under
scrutiny in a court of law. “That’s an area where I have solid
experience, but, frankly, some of these jobs you’ve assigned to me
seem far less important and tend to interfere with my ERT
duties.

“
Look, Ms.
Wojakowski, I can appreciate your situation. You
didn’t ask for me to be assigned here. But I’m here and I bring
many years of valuable experience with the Bureau. With all due
respect, the work you’ve assigned to me is practically insulting. I
am capable of making a much more significant contribution to this
office.”

The SAC sat forward, hands folded in her
lap, knees still tightly locked. “Are you challenging my authority,
Agent Christie? You’re not a Supervisory Special Agent in
Washington, D.C. anymore.” Anger and disapproval smoldered in her
small, dark, widely spaced eyes.

“
No, Ms. Wojakowski,
I…”

“
It’s
Agent
Wojakowski,” she
snapped.

Christie stared at her for a couple of
seconds. Things weren’t going well. They rarely did where
Wojakowski was concerned. He started again. “Excuse me, Agent
Wojakowski, I’m not challenging your authority. I’m just suggesting
that I have a great deal of valuable experience that could be
helpful to the Albuquerque office.”

She pushed her wire rim glasses up the
bridge of her short, wide nose. It reminded Christie of a pig’s
snout.

“
Valuable experience? I
suppose you’re referring to how badly you handled the case
involving that gang of psychopathic ex-military killers? The ones
who tried to assassinate POTUS, but killed the AG instead; then
butchered Chaim Laski and 20 or so of his household staff? The ones
you couldn’t apprehend even though they appear to have been
operating under your nose? Is that the experience you’re referring
to, Agent?”

For one of the very few times in his life,
Christie felt a strong desire to knock a fellow agent senseless,
and a female at that. He struggled mightily to maintain
self-control. The fire in his stomach blazed to new heights.

“
Actually,” he managed to
say through clenched jaws, “the group you referenced was the finest
Special Ops unit this country, or any other, has ever produced. And
they didn’t attempt to assassinate the president. In fact, they
were trying to stop it from happening. Laski was behind the plot
and, as it turned out, was laundering money for a foreign power
whose goal was the destruction of our country from within. And his
‘household staff’, as you call them, were nothing more than
Ukrainian thugs in this country illegally to carry out Laski’s
dirty work.”

All but addicted to confrontation,
Wojakowski was warming to the fight. She slid her wide bottom
forward in the chair until she was barely balanced on the very
edge. The action slid her short skirt up, revealing a portion of
her heavy thighs. No fan of overweight women, Christie was
disgusted by it and kept his eyes locked with hers.

A smirk spread across Wojakowski’s round
face. “As I recall, you mishandled the matter so badly that you
actually sat next to the gang’s leader on a cross-country flight
without realizing who he was.” Proud of herself, she slid back a
bit in the chair and tugged modestly at the hem of her skirt.

“
Where did you hear
that?”

“
The entire Bureau and most
of Washington has gotten a good laugh out of that one.”

Christie shook his head and sighed. “No, it
wasn’t like that at all. The man’s name was Whelan, Brendan Whelan,
and we had no idea what he looked like or that he even was alive.
He and the others were supposed to have died in a plane crash off
Puerto Rico twenty years earlier.”

“
Really?” Her smirk was
bigger now. “And, while you were bumbling through the
investigation, this Whelan person kidnapped your wife. As I
understand it, shortly after that she left you.”

Christie was speechless. He sat and stared
at his boss.

Wojakowski stood up, rising to a full five
feet three inches including two-inch heels. “I’m of the opinion
that you mishandled every aspect of that investigation. That,
together with your inability to deal emotionally with the end of
your marriage, got you transferred out here. Now you’re my problem.
But let’s be very clear. This office is not a charity. It’s not a
refuge for failed agents.” She paused for effect then said,
“Understand this, you will do whatever I tell you to do, exactly
when and how I tell you to do it. Otherwise, I will do everything
in my power to have your career with the Bureau terminated.”

She paused again then added, “We won’t be
having this conversation again.”

She glanced at her watch and said, “I have a
lunch meeting.” With that, she turned abruptly and walked out of
the room leaving the door open. Just then another agent, Emory
Wallace, walked by. He stopped and turned to watch Wojakowski’s
retreating backside for a moment, then looked at Christie, winked
and gave him a thumbs up sign.

“
The Polish Viper strikes
again,” he said. “But don’t worry, it’s not poisonous.
Usually.”

Chapter 3—Dingle,
Ireland

If someone or some organization wanted
Whelan dead, they would leave no potential witnesses. That meant
his family members also were targeted. It also meant that the party
responsible knew who he was and what his physical capabilities
were. They wouldn’t have sent only two men to accomplish the task.
That would be like taking the proverbial knife to a gunfight. He
knew there would be more intruders in the house.

However many would-be assassins remained,
Whelan knew they had to be on the first floor. He intended to kill
all but one, saving that poor soul for interrogation using methods
that would shock even the CIA. He quietly approached the staircase
and peered carefully around the corner. There was a man with a
bulky build standing at the foot of the stairs looking up. He must
have heard the sound of the Makarov hitting the wooden floor and
was coming to investigate. With the inhuman quickness his rare
genetic gifts provided him, Whelan spun around the corner in a
crouch, the suppressed Makarov extended in front of him. The other
man didn’t have those genetic gifts. Before he could even raise his
own weapon, Whelan double tapped him; the first shot in the thorax,
the second in his head. His body bounced off the wall behind him
and toppled forward. This portion of the floor was carpeted. This
time there was minimal sound as the dead man’s weapon hit the
floor.

Whelan began slowly, cautiously descending
the stairs, still in a half crouch, sweeping the dead man’s pistol
from left to right and back like a metronome. An acrid smell burned
his nostrils. Someone was smoking in his house. That almost was
reason enough to kill the offender. The bottom of the stairs opened
into the foyer. He paused and strained to hear sounds that didn’t
belong in the house at night. After several moments, he heard
something that sounded like a metal object being dragged across
wood. It came from the kitchen.

The stairs emptied into the foyer. The
kitchen was located to his left, beyond the dining area that opened
off the foyer. He scanned the room. Seeing no one, he edged
cautiously to his left into the dining area. It was empty. He moved
silently across the room to the doorway that opened into the
kitchen and swiftly glanced in. There was a heavyset man sitting at
the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. His left hand was resting on
another suppressed Makarov. Moving the heavy gun across the top of
the wooden table must have made the sound Whelan had heard. There
also was a cell phone on the table. Whelan assumed the man was
planning to use it to report to someone when the job was
finished.

The intruder was sitting sideways to the
kitchen doorway taking long, frequent drags on his cigarette, and
flicking the ashes on the floor. Whelan wanted to strangle him on
the spot; but he didn’t know if this man was the only surviving
assassin or if there were others in the house. He was close enough
to the man to easily place a kill shot with his own Makarov.
Instead, he wanted to take him alive. If he were the only survivor,
Whelan wanted to interrogate him. He needed to know who had sent
these men and why. More might be coming in the future. Whelan got
the man’s attention by saying, “Pssst.”

The smoker slowly turned his head toward
Whelan. The last thing he expected was a target who turned the
tables on him. His eyes came to rest on the baleful eye of the
Makarov’s suppressor. He struggled for a moment to suspend
disbelief then his hand twitched involuntarily on his own pistol.
Whelan’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger of weapon. He
smiled a cold, menacing smile and shook his head slowly back and
forth. The man moved his hand away from the Makarov. Whelan
signaled for him to raise his hands and stand. As he did, Whelan
swiftly closed the gap until he was standing close to his
captive.

“
Do you speak English?” he
said.

The man gave him a blank look. Whelan asked
again in Gaelic. The blank stare continued. He switched to
Russian.

This time the man responded in nuanced
Russian, as if it was a second language but related to his native
tongue. “Yes, I can speak Russian.”