Cobra Clearance (12 page)

The president shook his head, deep in thought. Finally he said, “I won't conceal the fact that I'm impressed.” He squinted at Levi. “Nor do I believe for one instant that you were trying to amaze me—or that you try to impress others, ever.” Cohen turned to Michael. “Life can be cruel to children. They sometimes suffer unutterable abuse.” He paused. “I'm told that Life was very unfair to you. But now you'll have a chance to get even. You'd like that, wouldn't you? An opportunity to fulfill any number of vendettas, unleash the Furies as it were?”

Michael shook his head. “Sir? I'll be blunt. Life can be a bitch but I harbor no resentments. This is all about the hunt. Nothing more. Sir.”

Cohen nodded, deep in thought. Presently he said, “I asked Mr. Baker to sell me on why Vanguard should pursue the investigative leads you developed. While I have absolute faith in his judgment, I have an obligation to play devil's advocate…push a few buttons.” He paused. “No, that's not it.” His face turned to stone and he said with iron resolve, “I wanted you to hear this from my own lips—I will back your team up one hundred per cent.” With that he stood, and after the others jumped to their feet he held out his hand to Baker, then shook hands with Levi and Michael. “I am honored to know both you men. Good night, and good hunting.”

President Mark Cohen waited until the men were gone before sitting at his desk and picking up the telephone. The White House operator answered instantly and he told her, “Get me the Director.” In official Washington there are many heads of various agencies, but there is only one
Director
, and he heads the FBI.

THE MOMENT LEVI WALKED
inside his hotel room he called Susan's cell. She picked up on the third ring and he asked, “Why did you follow me this morning?”

There was a long silence. Finally she said, “I'm afraid I really don't know what you're talking about. I—I'm way out here in L.A.—on a lay-over.”

He drew a deep breath. “Susan, we can't have friendship if there's no trust.”

Her voice turned hard. “What it is that you don't want me to see?”

“I won't discuss that, other than to say that I have professional obligations to honor.” He paused. “We'll discuss this tomorrow. Now if there's nothing else, I'll say goodbye.” When the phone remained silent, he ended the call.

BRENT KRUGER LOOKED UP
into the clear night sky, drew a deep breath and listened. The stillness was absolute. He could even hear the growl of tractor-trailers whizzing along the interstate miles away. Other than the sentries, everyone else in the forty-acre compound was in their assigned quarters for the night. He nodded; that was as it should be. He believed that orderliness must prevail at the risk of anarchy, and anarchy could only be circumvented when the population came from above-average bloodlines.

His soldiers were orderly. Some required discipline. He'd purged his ranks of those who had none. The men who did make the cut had shown courage, a capacity to learn, and an acceptable level of obedience. But only eight of his two dozen fighters were suitable for breeding. He needed more men of good stock. He regarded the women's dormitory at the compound's far end, perched at the confluence of two shallow gullies where sage and other brush grew near the fence line. Wild animals foraged nearby and he could smell them when they were upwind. The dormitory was crucial and he exercised strict control over the women. His selection criteria were simple: child-bearing hips, youth, and a modicum of attractiveness. He wanted kids; Kruger wanted a son.

He turned his face upward again. The lack of ambient light so far from cities revealed nebulae, star clusters, comets and an assortment of other Messier objects. The methodical transitions and movements, as ageless as his hatreds, had come full circle from the year past. May, as measured on earthly calendars, grew closer. Kruger frowned. He had laid a good foundation but he wanted to bring in new blood—and if a candidate also held promise as a brave soldier, he would move to the head of the bloodline.

DRAGON TEAM GOT THE WORD
at noon the next day. The president had ordered them into action and the Bureau, knowing that its resources
were strapped, welcomed Dragon Team's assistance. Levi's record as a certified undercover agent also carried weight, and the Director had signed off.

Tucker, Baker, Sawyer and Monica read up on Zurich while Levi, Dentz, Michael and Hacksaw studied the FBI dossier on Kruger. They committed aerial photos of the compound to memory and absorbed details on the gang members—where they came from, where they socialized, who they victimized. There were details about surveillance cameras and motion detectors surrounding the property, and unverified information about emission detectors that could detect cell phone activity within the compound.

Levi then began getting into character. Mastering the fractured English of an indigent drifter came readily enough. But unlike most skinheads, this gang used hard drugs and would expect him to indulge. Worse still, as misogynists who regarded women as chattel, they gauged masculinity by the number of offspring each man sired. The moral issues alone tore at his soul.
Damn
. Levi inhaled sharply.
But there're global issues here. Gotta do what I gotta do. Hmm, I'll talk it over with Michael
.

Turning a figurative page in his preparations, he began reading an informant's account of a video-taped incident in which Kruger suspected one of his men of treason. Kruger had him tied to a stake in the ground, and using a straight razor he sliced the guy's face, arms, chest and legs for hours before dousing him with gasoline. Despite the man's pleas, Kruger lit a wooden kitchen match and tossed it, burning him alive. The informant had seen the video, and told the agent that the victim's screams had haunted him for months after. A shudder ran through Levi.
This is one vicious hombre
.

He began forming a plan. As a student of history he was drawn not so much to dates and depictions of world-turning events, but to the reasons behind decisions made by men and women in positions of power.
Power
, John Adams once observed,
always thinks it
has a great soul and vast views beyond the comprehension of the weak, and that it is doing God's service when it is violating all His laws.
Kruger was an avowed racist. He wanted to infuse the population with white children. And he was ruthless in his use of power. Levi would exploit these traits. Then he would turn them against Kruger.

THE TIME DISPLAY ON
the cable converter box showed 8:59 p.m. Nadia Bailey reached for her cell. She wanted it in her lap, ready. A fire crackled and popped in the fieldstone fireplace, warming her and the boys on this chill night. While she waited she let her gaze wander to her sons. Levi mirrored his namesake. Quiet, self-contained, a thinker. Eleven-year old Nicholas, more rambunctious, had copied his father's habit of wearing nothing more than a pair of dark blue sweat pants at home. Nicholas lay on the carpet in front of the fire, his fingers working his iPhone's keyboard as he sent a text to a friend. Levi sat next to her on the couch, flipping pages of a Nat Geo magazine with a crisp snap. He glanced occasionally at the Johnny Depp movie,
Finding Neverland
, but it wasn't his thing. Nadia had put the movie on as a diversion and to fill the void left by her husband's absence, but she wasn't really watching either.

Her cell rang at 9:00 p.m. precisely. She put it to her ear. “Hello, my love.”

“Hello, sweetheart.” A pause. “Steak and eggs, please.”

Nadia's shoulders slumped with relief. He'd told her that Levi Hart would be in the hot seat this time—the high-protein steak—while Michael provided the low-residue “eggs” support. But the code had a secondary meaning. They were about to embark on a dangerous mission and Michael had put his affairs in order.

She said, “The boys are here waiting for you. Which do you want first?”

“Nicholas.”

Part of her wanted to tell the boys; to grab them by the shoulders and say,
Make this conversation last—pay attention and remember—because you might never have another chance
.

In the end she didn't. They were sharp. Instinctive. Either they would discern a change in their father's mood, or they would not if he chose to keep it light. If this were the last time, it was better they not know. “Here, honey.” She handed the phone to Nicholas and listened.

“Hi Dad.” A pause. “Nothing much.” He grunted. “Sure, I will.”

Nadia saw Michael in his face, caught the instant he went from being present in the moment to boredom.

Nicholas's eyes narrowed. “I know, Dad. See you soon, okay?” He thrust the phone at her. She held it a moment, then handed it to Levi.

“Hi, Dad.” After several seconds her older son said, “I understand. Tell Uncle Levi hello for me, and hey…Dad?” A hesitation. “Get your butt home quick, okay? You owe me some serious swim-partner time.”

Levi's eyes were unreadable when he tossed the phone back—and that told Nadia everything. He knew.

Now it was her turn. She spoke in soft murmurs to her husband, and when everything had been said, she told him goodbye and turned to her sons. “Okay, off to bed.” She swatted Nicholas on the rear and pecked his cheek when his radiant smile warmed her. Levi touched her shoulder, but he was halfway up the stairs by the time she reached out to him.

Michael picked up the remote and changed channels without seeing. He'd wanted to tell her about the White House visit and what the president had said.
Honey, guess where we went on our field trip today
? But instead he had spoken of times past and of the present, but
they'd made no mention of the future. Though neither he nor Nadia were superstitious, talking about things to come sometimes seemed to stir the gods awake. For now, he'd rather leave them sleeping.

Levi Hart stretched out atop his bed and scrolled through his cell's address book to Susan's number. It was time to end the relationship. He tapped the key but got her voice mail, so he left a message. “I wanted to see you tonight. We need to discuss some things. But it's late and I'm going out-of-state on a new job.” He paused. “We need to talk. If I don't hear from you, I'll try one more time. Okay, bye.” He ended the call and thought about his wife and child, then renewed his vow to get Kruger
and
Amahl.

ZAFIR AND HIS COLLEAGUES
gathered their weapons. He would carry an MP-5. The others would carry AK-47s to ward off police if necessary. They reviewed procedures, said their evening prayers and went to bed. Tomorrow afternoon they would perform a dry-run on the target, then return home and rest. Afterward they would pray and perform their ablutions, shaving all body hair to cleanse themselves before launching their attack.

T
ucker carried his briefcase into the conference room and promptly did a double-take when he saw Levi. “When the hell did you get those?”

Two thin silver rings sprouted from Levi's right eyebrow, a silver labret jutted from his chin just below his lip, and he had a silver stud in his left ear. The eyebrow was somewhat swollen and a chemical ice pack lay atop the table. “The rings and stud are from a previous assignment. But I haven't had 'em in for a while.” He gestured at the ice pack. “Hence the swelling.” Then he tapped the labret. “This is fake.” He tugged hard and it came off. “It's held in place by a magnet inside my lip.”

Tucker plopped into a chair. “We don't have much time. By the way, I'm still in shock at how fast the Bureau reactivated your covert identity. One day. Incredible.”

“Presidents have a way of making things happen.”

Tucker grunted. “This one does, anyway.” He opened the briefcase and retrieved three thick manila envelopes. He tapped the first one. “You'll find your points of contact, a credit card and a social security card inside.” Then he touched the next envelope. “Cell phones. And by the way, your DOJ Class One is officially active.”

Levi nodded. Undercover agents dealt with a cold reality—gangs use drugs, carry concealed weapons and commit burglaries, and agents must do likewise to be accepted. Therefore, the Department
of Justice can issue a Class One authorization to agents to use narcotics and participate in non-violent crimes such as burglaries. That much is public record. What is not discussed is that agents sometimes become addicted to the drugs they must use. They understand this going in, and their bosses get their players into rehab with a ‘no harm, no foul' mind-set.

An agency normally requires three to six months to approve an undercover op and obtain the Class One from Justice. During this time, support personnel are selected, surveillance apparatus allocated, per diems calculated and overtime budgeted. But the present crisis mandated a Herculean effort, and the Bureau accomplished a heroic task similar to the World War II effort made when the heavily damaged carrier USS
Yorktown
limped into Pearl Harbor. But with a decisive battle brewing at Midway, Pearl Harbor's damage control experts, welders and ship fitters swarmed aboard Yorktown and made six months worth of repairs in fewer than seventy-two hours.

Tucker tapped the third envelope. “Tickets and official passports for your split.”

Levi opened it and found his maroon passport and leafed through page after page of blue, red and purple stamps from the countries he'd deployed to. The green, silver and purple Schengen Visa required for
official
passports was pasted across page ten. The odds were remote that his split might have to rush to Zurich to aid the others, but Tucker was thorough and Levi endorsed this level of contingency planning. Both men embraced the theory that there were two ways to carry out a task—the right way or none at all. Their work left no room for half-measures or errors. Levi looked up. “Anything else?”