Authors: Steve Richer
The rain downgraded to a drizzle.
Vanstedum, Westerbeck, and Peter took one car to Cleveland Burke Lakefront
Airport while Olivia and Rick were hot on their trail in her rental.
They parked so quickly that the security
personnel on duty didn’t quite know how to act. Everybody ran to the FBI
Gulfstream V jet and began climbing the steps. Vanstedum noticed there was an
intruder.
“Where does she think she’s going?”
Olivia stopped in her tracks. The
attitude infuriated Rick.
“You really think this is the moment for
turf wars?”
“She can be an observer but that’s it. If
she talks I throw her off the plane.”
She resumed her climb and everyone
boarded the aircraft.
It was just under 400 miles to Baltimore,
less than an hour of flight time. There was no time to waste.
~ ~ ~ ~
The Operational Diplomatic Security
Service Field Command Post was the official designation that was listed in the
assignment report. In reality, it was simply a hotel room at Baltimore’s Sheraton
Inner Harbor. DSS Agent Kosler always got a chuckle out of government speak.
The room had been transformed into a
high-tech surveillance area. There were computers, multiple monitors, and
wireless radios. Maps of the city and state were on the walls next to floor
plans of the hotel and the Baltimore Convention Center, which was connected to
the Sheraton. There were five DSS agents overseeing the operation and hundreds
more across the way for the international meeting.
And now he had to deal with this FBI
woman who’d just barged in.
Why couldn’t he be trusted to do his job?
He’d been doing it for 25 years, he knew what he was doing. People often forgot
that the Diplomatic Security Service was the most widely represented law
enforcement agency in the world because they operated out of every American
embassy. They were the elite.
“We got this, Special Agent…”
“Shoemaker. Nadine Shoemaker.”
“Okay, Agent Shoemaker. Like I told your
people on the phone, we have security wrapped up tighter than a bullfrog’s ass.”
“Look, I don’t wanna tell you how to do
your job. All I’m saying is that we have reasons to believe there is a threat
to the Secretary of the Treasury and those foreign ministers.”
Kosler looked at her and forced himself
not to groan. Who the hell did she think she was anyway? She had crooked teeth,
she walked with a limp, she wasn’t his idea of a perfect FBI agent.
“I have agents all over the place,” he
said. “I have counter snipers units deployed, K-9 units, bomb squad, the works.
We have security under control.”
It was the woman’s turn to take a deep
breath to calm down. Kosler didn’t know that she was good under pressure, that
she had recently survived an attack in Seattle. She was every bit as good as he
was.
She came closer to him. “Your principals
are the OWL’s next target, we have confirmation of this. Either you evacuate
them or my FBI people will do it. Make up your mind, you have one second.”
Kosler discovered that the room was
silent. All of his men were looking at him, wondering what his decision would
be.
~ ~ ~ ~
Naval Air Station Oceana was located in
Virginia Beach. It had the largest concentration of naval aviators on the East
Coast, the shore base for 19 strike fighter squadrons which in turn comprised
four air wings.
The men of VFA-105 – the Gunslingers –
were already in flight gear when they rushed into the briefing room to take
their seats. This had to be an exercise. Unless they were on the aircraft
carrier
USS Harry S Truman
, deployed somewhere in the Middle East, it
was always an exercise.
However, the fact that the CAG, Captain
Pizzi, was there in addition to the squadron leader put things in a different
perspective. The old man, as they called him even though he was only in his
40s, didn’t have his customary unlit cigar. This was never a good sign.
“Gentlemen, a threat’s been called in the
Baltimore area.”
There was a rumble of
holy shits
and assorted murmurs. The commander of Carrier Air Wing THREE let his men
absorb this before continuing.
“With the high-profile meeting in town,
several agencies are looking into it. It might be nothing and it might be
everything. We’ve been asked to provide them with an air cover unit. Your
mission this afternoon will be to patrol the shore and supply recon
information. Extreme measures will be taken against unauthorized aircraft.”
The CAG moved aside for the squadron
commander to list the mission parameters but there was one man who wasn’t
paying attention.
In the rear section was a lieutenant. No
one noticed the sweat on his forehead. No one noticed that he was wiping his
hands on a handkerchief. No one knew that he had recently returned from a trip
to Rome. He was nervous because he knew exactly that the threat was real.
The name embroidered on his breast was
Jackman
.
~ ~ ~ ~
The 300 level of the Baltimore Convention
Center was just at the right height to deliver a stunning view of the downtown
area and the Inner Harbor. It was a gorgeous day, the temperature just right,
and the Treasury Department couldn’t have hoped for anything better.
The outdoor terrace was filled with some
of the world’s most influential people. It wasn’t officially a G8 meeting, this
would have involved an entirely different protocol, but the people in charge of
finances of eight of the most important economies on the planet had gathered to
discuss debt ratios. And of course, eight finance ministers actually meant an
entourage of hundreds when advisers and secretaries and security personnel were
factored in.
There had been a conference in the
morning, followed by a working lunch, and later there would be one-on-one
meetings. But for now they were having cocktails in the sunshine as caterers
roamed between guests with trays of hors d’oeuvres and wine. This was often where
the most effective conversations took place.
DSS Agent Kosler stepped out from the
prefunction area and walked onto the terrace. His eyes were all over the place,
scanning every face he came across. It was a force of habit. He’d spent years
in Moscow and Beijing. He had even been part of the Secretary of State’s
personal security detail at one point. Looking for threats was second nature.
He spotted one of his men and headed to
the right. He went past him, straight to the Secretary of the Treasury. She
didn’t appear pleased to see him but she was too much of a professional to
mention it.
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”
“The talks are set to start again in a
few minutes,” she said.
Kosler leaned closer still, his lips
almost to her ear. “Ma’am, you have a call from the fire marshal.”
The emergency code phrase made her smile vanish.
“Oh, I understand.” She handed her drink
to an aide and turned to the Canadian Finance Minister. “Excuse me, please.”
Kosler gently put his hand behind her
back and ushered her toward the exit. At the same time, a dozen other DSS agents
and foreign security personnel hurried onto the terrace to get their principals.
The aides were left wondering what the
hell was going on.
Flying in a Gulfstream executive jet was
incredibly smooth. Rick wondered if he ever could go back to regular airlines,
especially the junker he’d been on a few days ago in Africa. Senior FBI
personnel sure got some nice luxurious perks.
He was sitting in the back of the
aircraft with Westerbeck who had his laptop balanced on his knees. The agent was
the consummate professional and he evidently didn’t want to relax on this
flight. He wanted to work and that meant learning more about Greenwood.
“All right, so you’re telling me you have
no idea where you were in Africa.”
“That’s what I’m saying. But Olivia says
we were in Zambia. She’s good, I would trust her word. I didn’t even know there
was a country called Zambia. Did you?”
Westerbeck wrote this in his notes. “Okay.
Can you tell me what kind of plane he has? Everything we can find out about the
man can help our investigation.”
“What investigation?” Rick asked. “We
know about Zambia, we know he’s a murderous nutjob. He confessed everything to
me.”
“You know what FBI stands for? Federal
Bureau of
Investigation
. That’s what I do, I investigate. Just look at
these pictures, tell me if you recognize anything.”
The federal agent punched a few keys on
the computer and a database of plane images popped up. He turned the laptop
toward the younger man.
Rick shrugged. “I don’t know, it was a
small private jet.”
“All right.”
“It had two propellers.”
The FBI man turned to Rick. “If it’s got
propellers it’s not a jet. Look at the pictures.”
“Well excuse me, I didn’t know I was
dealing with the grammar police.”
At the front of the plane, Peter was
sitting with Olivia. Vanstedum was standing in the aisle, his head bent so it
wouldn’t touch the ceiling.
“What was your assignment anyway?” the
Assistant Director asked Olivia.
“I was to keep tabs on Greenwood. First
goal of intelligence work is gathering information, that was my job.”
“You sure it wasn’t anything else?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I
like what you’re implying, Mr. Vanstedum.”
“You people are unbelievable. There’s
been a warrant on this guy for years. You find him, you catch him. That’s
my
job.”
Fuming, he walked away to make a phone
call.
Meanwhile, Peter turned to Olivia and
smiled. “I’d like to thank you though.”
“What for?”
“For keeping my nephew alive. I’m very
grateful for that.”
“You don’t give him enough credit,” she
said. “Sure, he needs some more training, but he’s got this in his blood. He
got us this far, didn’t he?”
“What’s this?” Rick asked as he walked
down the aisle to them. “You’re gossiping about me?”
His uncle Peter was startled. “Hey. I’m
just learning new things about you.”
“You never thought I could get this far,
did you?”
Rick said that with a soft laugh but
Peter nodded solemnly.
“No, I didn’t.”
“What, you’re serious? You thought I was
too incompetent to do this, Uncle Pete?”
“Come on, you never proved to me that you
could.”
Rick blinked. “What are you saying? You
really thought I was a screw-up?”
“Maybe I made a mistake, maybe you could’ve
been a good asset at the Bureau.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. What are you
talking about?”
Peter opened his mouth but decided not to
speak. Then he simply stammered. “Well, I…”
“Uncle Pete, what the hell are you
talking about? You recommended me to the FBI Academy, right? You pulled strings
to get me in. You told me you did.”
“Ah shit, kid,” the man said with a
defeated sigh. “You really believed I would ever push through your applications?”
Rick’s oxygen ran out. “You didn’t?”
“Let’s face it, Rick. Do you really think
you would have made an outstanding FBI agent? You’ve never stuck with anything
in your life. You’ve always been a slacker, never finishing anything.”
“Am I a slacker now? I found the world’s
biggest fucking terrorist on my own and you call me a loser?”
“You’re irresponsible, Rick! I couldn’t
call in favors to get you into the Academy. You wouldn’t have been a good fit
for the FBI. This would have reflected on me. Hell, I had to beg for you to be
rejected.”
“The fuck did you just say?” Rick
growled, coming closer.
“Yeah, you were accepted the first time you
applied. I made sure the board changed their minds before you knew.”
“Oh Jesus…”
Rick grabbed his head with both hands and
crashed on the leather sofa. He’d been lied to for years by his own uncle, the
person in his family he was closest to.
This was a betrayal.
“Let’s be real for a moment, Rick. Do you
really think you would’ve made a good agent? Honestly? You dropped out of law
school, you change jobs every month. You don’t take anything seriously. I did
this for your own good.”
“Like hell you did!”
“I swear it’s true. I didn’t want you to
end up like…”
At these words, Rick’s snapped up. “Like
what? Like my dad?”
“Rick, please understand…”
“You think I would have wound up like
dad? You think I would have botched an investigation, covered it up because I’m
a coward, and shot myself in the head?”
“I did this for you.”
Rick wanted to punch his uncle, to pummel
his face until nothing was left. The strange thing however was that he believed
Peter was sincere. There was no malice in his voice in spite of the deceitfulness.
This made things even worse because he couldn’t get the satisfaction of hating
him.
For a long time no one said anything.
Olivia, Vanstedum, and Westerbeck were watching silently.
“I changed,” Rick finally said weakly. “Once
upon a time I might’ve been a fuck-up but not anymore. Not anymore.”
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to convince
the other passengers or himself.
~ ~ ~ ~
The
USS Ponce
was a ship that
wouldn’t die.
Commissioned in the early 70s and decade
after decade earmarked for retirement, only to be constantly retrofitted, it
was now an amphibious transport dock. It had also been chosen to test the Navy’s
XN-1 LaWS, the very first operational laser weapon system in the world, which
it was still equipped with.
This month it was carrying out a series
of exercises in and around the Chesapeake Bay. One of these exercises involved
acting as the setting for SEAL Team 4 deployment and tubular assault training.
Titus Albarn was sick of training. After
the rush of actual combat which he had seen in multiple theaters by now,
training was a letdown. It was like a seasoned alcoholic only allowed to sip
half a glass of light beer.
It couldn’t possibly compare to the real
thing.
He was eating a burrito in the mess while
watching the news on the big flatscreen TV when a seaman in a blue uniform came
over to him.
“Uh, excuse me? Petty Officer?”
“Yes?” Titus asked, looking up at the beardless
teenager.
“I’ve been told to find you SEALs. You’re
being mustered on the upper vehicle deck. Apparently it’s not a drill.”
This last part made Titus stop chewing.
He thanked the kid, threw the rest of his food away, and rushed out of the
mess.
What was happening? How could he go
operational when he was still in American waters?