Thorn knew who one of the men was. “Samuel Walker Cox,” he said. “The oilman.”
Jay nodded. “Yep. The other one is Andre Arpree, of the International Chamber of Commerce, based in Paris. The award is for fostering business relations between Europe and the U.S.”
“And what is our man Natadze doing there, watching such a thing, do you think?”
“He works for somebody connected to the event.”
Thorn nodded. “Yes, that would be my guess, too.”
Jay didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked nervous.
Softly, Thorn said, “But you aren’t guessing, are you, Jay?”
Jay sighed, then seemed to come to a decision. “I figured that Natadze worked for Cox or for Arpree. The thing is, neither of their corporate records are, um, accessible without a federal warrant.”
“Uh huh.” Thorn had an idea where this was going.
“And getting a warrant based on a picture of a guy standing in the background of an award ceremony is likely to be, um, difficult.”
Thorn nodded. “Yes. If it was my company, I’d have a platoon of lawyers screaming bloody murder, trying to convince a judge that Net Force didn’t have anything, they were just fishing and hoping.”
“That’s what I figured. We can’t really make this guy into a terrorist, so the country isn’t really at risk. Opening up the records of two major corporations, one of them French? Not likely.”
Thorn’s expertise was in computers, and he had been a hacker before he started selling the software that eventually made him rich. He knew where this was going.
“And even if you got it, we couldn’t use it in court, Jay.”
“I know.”
“Legally, they’d fry us.”
“Yeah.”
Thorn took a deep breath, let half of it out. There was the law. And there was justice.
“So, okay. Who does he work for?”
Jay couldn’t suppress a slight smile. “Cox. Our hitman Eduard Natadze is head of Special Security for Samuel Walker Cox.”
Thorn stared at the holoproj. Wow. Wasn’t
that
an ugly can of worms?
31
Net Force HQ
Quantico, Virginia
General John Howard was not surprised that Gridley had come up with the information; nor was he surprised that Thorn was being very circumspect about how such knowledge had come into their possession. Howard lived by a moral code based on the Ten Commandments, he was a religious man, and he knew that morality and Caesar’s Law sometimes diverged. When in doubt, he followed God’s laws—come Judgment Day, those would be the ones that counted the most. The wicked should be punished, and this man Natadze, and whoever set him upon his immoral chores, would certainly be among them.
On the other hand, if he and Net Force could be the instrument of that punishment in this world, he had no problem with that.
“The government will need a lot more evidence before this gets turned over to the AG for prosecution,” Thorn said. “You don’t kick in a billionaire’s door and arrest him without a case as solid as a block of depleted uranium.”
The others in the room—Jay, Abe, and Julio—nodded.
“So, here is the situation. We know who the shooter is, and we know—but can’t prove—who holds his leash. We’ve done what we were supposed to do. What we should do now is turn it over to the FBI and let them run it down.”
Every man in the room must have heard the unspoken but implied word.
Abe got to it first. “But?”
Thorn looked around. “This is tricky. For one thing, we have a personal stake in it—”
“Amen,” Gridley said.
Thorn continued without speaking to that: “—and it would be nice if we could package it up neatly before handing it off to the FBI and the locals in whose jurisdiction these events took place. The fed gets first whack at it, but the city and county will have felony charges, too.”
“And is our personal involvement enough reason
not
to turn it over?” Abe said.
Howard spoke up: “Well, I see where the Commander is going. It’s not that we don’t trust the feebs and the locals to do a good job, it’s just that we don’t trust them as much as we do our own people.”
Abe didn’t say anything, but it was obvious he had some problem with the idea.
Thorn said, “So, we can hand it off, or . . . gather a little more information ourselves first.”
Howard smiled. Alex Michaels would have made the latter choice, and he’d have suited up and gone out into the field, too. Howard said, “You’re the Commander, and it’s your choice, but if my opinion counts, I’d say we collect a little more data on our own.”
He saw Julio and Jay nod. Abe kept his face carefully neutral.
Thorn said, “There’s more to it, as well. This guy, Natadze, came after Jay for a reason. What’s more, the guy he works for sicced him on Jay for a reason. That means that they knew what Jay was working on, and that means that somehow they have access to information they shouldn’t.”
Again, heads around the room nodded.
“You guys have worked with the regular FBI more than I have,” Thorn went on, “but I haven’t seen anything in the files to indicate they could be the source of a leak.”
“They’ve always been solid, if not quite as good as our own people,” Howard said.
“Still, once this goes over to them, there will be records. In short, people, once this gets out beyond us, it becomes more likely that the guy we’re after might just learn that we’re on to him. And if that happens, he’ll crawl into some deep dark hole and hide. We’ll never get him, then.”
“So we keep it, then?” Howard asked.
Thorn nodded. “For now. We know the players. We know where they live. The shooter isn’t likely to go home and just let us collect him, but if we can put the two men together, that will give us something substantial. Why don’t we see if we can do that much?”
East Suffolk, Long Island
Their van was disguised as a plumbing truck, parked not far from the front entrance to the rich man’s estate. The vehicle smelled like pizza, which is what the driver had gotten for lunch on the way there. Not as luxurious as the RV they’d used before, but a better fit for this area.
They had been on-site for an hour, in an upper-class neighborhood on Long Island far enough away so Cox’s security patrol company wouldn’t bump into them, but close enough and in position to see what they needed to see. The local police had been advised there was a federal operation in place, but not told the details, and nobody ought to bother them. If the Georgian showed up, he would have to pass them to reach the front gate. If he came from any other direction, to the back or side entrances, for examples, other units were in place to pick him up before he reached them. Even if he arrived by helicopter, they should be able to track that with the radar the RV carried to the south of them. It was possible he could arrive on foot and sneak past, but not likely. It was a long way to town.
“What do you think, General?”
Howard looked at Abe Kent. “It’s your show, Colonel. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Bull,” Colonel Kent replied. “Sir.”
Howard smiled. “I think you’ve covered all your bases, Abe. Approach, fields-of-fire, good use of cover and concealment. Your strategy is good, tactics appropriate.”
“Anything you would do differently?”
Howard looked through the mirrored windows of the van. “Offhand, I can’t think of anything. The trap is set. All you can do now is wait.”
Kent nodded. “Yes.” He paused, seemed about to say something, but didn’t.
“Go ahead,” Howard said, “spit out the rest.”
Kent gave him a tight smile. “I’m still not entirely comfortable with this procedure. We ought to be letting the FBI or the locals handle this. This doesn’t fall within our purview.”
“Technically, no. But you’re covered, since I’m still officially running things. Buck stops with me—and Thorn, of course.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. I’m just saying it.” Howard thought about it for a second, then said, “Net Force runs on different rules than the Corps or the Regular Army, Abe. Sometimes, to get the job done, we have to . . . push the boundaries a little. Stretch the rules to cover the situation.”
“I understand. I don’t like it, but I hear you.”
“Just like I understand that when the hot steel is flying and the bombs are going off, you do what you have to do and worry about defending your decisions later. The thing is, this bastard-unit of the National Guard kind of has to make it all up as we go along. Computer crime would seem pretty cut and dried, geeks in thick glasses pushing buttons and rearranging electrons and photons, but in my experience, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We’ve come across lots of guys who would just as soon shoot you as diddle a keyboard, and the problem with trusting the locals or even the regular feebs to handle them is just that, trust. There are local PDs that can knock a bad guy in the dirt faster than the Flash on speed, and some of the FBI field guys can run with the best, too, but when you’re working with others you just don’t know that you’ll
get
the A-team. With your own people, you know what you have, and your troops are first-class. You have leeway to operate, given the Guard status, that you don’t have in regular service units.”
Howard paused, thinking about his words. “This guy Natadze is sharp,” he said after a moment, “and from what little we know about him, he’s skilled. His boss has more money than ten banks, and lawyers out the wazoo, so you have to be careful. If he shows up and gets spooked, he might be able to wade through the local police like an NBA star in a kiddie pool, so you don’t want to take that chance.”
“I understand the theory,” Kent said.
“We’re like Special Forces, SEALs, Gray Fox, Rangers—but our mission statement and defined responsibilities are, in practice, just general guidelines. There are times when we have to cross the border and thump the bad guys, and justify it afterward. It might not stick to the letter of the law, but it achieves justice, and that’s what you have to keep in mind.”
“I’m more comfortable following the rules,” he said.
“Yeah, I hear you. Then again, I also remember hearing from a Ranger I knew about a certain major who, against the rules of engagement, took a volunteer squad and went deep into enemy sand to bring back one of his Marines who had been captured by a band of cutthroat fanatics. And when the bad guys resisted, they got handed a short cut to Paradise.”
Kent shook his head. “Stupid, that major. Lucky, too.”
Howard chuckled. “Davy Crockett’s motto: ‘Be sure you’re right, then go ahead.’ This guy we’re after shot one of our people, killed at least one other person we know about, and has probably done worse. If we get him, the lawyers can sort it out.”
“Yes, sir.”
The com clicked on: “Big Bird, this is Baker Leader.”
That was Julio, who was sitting on the estate’s side entrance, using the command-only opchan.
Kent picked up the com mike. “Go ahead, Baker Leader.”
“My people on the back gate tell me we have company. Cadillac limousine with New York vanity plate O-I-L-Y- 2, approaching the gate. About a block away.”
“Copy that, Baker. Can Baker Team give us a passenger status?”
“Negative, Big Bird. There is a driver reported in front, but the rear windows are opaqued. BT can’t tell if there are passengers.”
“Copy that.”
Kent turned to Howard, raised an eyebrow. Howard nodded.
“Baker Leader, tell BT to detain the limo and ascertain if there are any passengers who might be federal fugitives inside.”
“Roger that, Big Bird. Baker Team, you heard the man, stop ’em. I’m heading over there now. Sitrep as soon as we can. Discom.”
“It’s a risk,” Kent said to Howard. “If he’s not in the car, we’re screwed. If the Georgian is elsewhere, Cox will warn him off.”
“True. But if he is in it, we have him. That’s one of Cox’s cars, and according to what we know, he and his wife and their company usually come and go via the front gate.”
The next few minutes seemed to crawl by as slowly as a year.
Then: “Big Bird, this is Baker Leader. We have a negative on our target here. No passenger. Driver says he is here for a pick-up. We checked the trunk, too.”
Kent frowned and keyed the mike. “Copy, Baker Leader. Cut him loose and back off—if he comes back out your gate, have your team stop him again.”
“Copy.”
“Return to your station, Baker Team Leader, in case somebody tries to leave that way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Howard and Kent looked at each other. “Maybe he’s already inside,” Kent said. “And this is his ride.”
“It doesn’t stand to reason that he’s just going to get into the car and leave with a bunch of armed troops pulling limos over.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. If he’s even in there.”
Cox cradled the phone’s receiver and said, “The limo driver just pulled through the back gate. He was stopped and searched by men in military uniforms.”
Seated on the couch, Natadze nodded. “Net Force troops. They put it together. I am sorry.”
“It was not your fault,” Cox said. “Somehow, they figured out that you work for me.”
Natadze said, “My presence here is a risk for you. I must leave.”
“Won’t they be watching all the exits?”
“I will wait until dark. I will create a diversion, and leave while they deal with it.”
“A diversion,” Cox said.
“Something bright and noisy,” Natadze said. “It will draw their attention. I will take the cook’s son’s dirt bike and walk it across the fields to the north until I am well away from here.”
“What will you do?”
“Go home. They don’t know about my New York condo—it has not been under surveillance, I have made certain of that. I will release an electronic evidence packet I have to show that I have left for one of the Middle East countries with whom the United States does not have an extradition treaty. It will not be obvious, they will have to look for it, but they will come across the false trail soon enough. I will sit tight for a few days until they are gulled, then I will use a disguise and get back to dealing with the problem.”