Blindside (18 page)

‘Game on,’ Cahill said, rubbing his hands together.

The air con was on full all the way in from the airport and Logan felt gooseflesh rise on his skin. Both agents wore aviator-style sunglasses like
in the movies and Logan swallowed an urge to laugh. The journey along the interstate was uneventful and the traffic fairly light. The city looked compact to Logan, the real centre of it probably no bigger than Glasgow. High-rise buildings stretched up with the mountains looming in the background.

Logan did not know the geography of the city centre or the outlying suburbs so he was content to watch the world go by outside. They stopped at a set of traffic lights and two city cops on horseback stopped beside the car. Logan looked up at the men and saw that they wore dark-coloured Stetsons to match their uniforms. One of the officers looked down at Logan and raised a hand in greeting.

‘Welcome to the wild west,’ Logan said quietly.

‘What?’ Cahill asked.

‘Talking to myself.’

They drove on for another few minutes before the driver, Ruiz, indicated to turn left and slowed the car. Logan looked out of his window as they drove through the entrance to an underground garage that lay below an eighteen-storey office block.

The agents said very little after parking in a bay next to an elevator and going round to the back of the car to retrieve the bags. Logan pulled at the handle on his door but it was locked.

‘We’ll have to sit tight and wait for them,’ Cahill said.

Logan looked out into the garage and saw Martinez and Ruiz carry their bags over to another agent who had emerged from a door to the right of the elevator. He took the bags from them and went back through the door.

‘They took our bags,’ Logan said.

Cahill glanced out of his window as the agents walked back towards the car. Logan stepped out when the door opened and asked what they had done with the bags.

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Ruiz told him. ‘We took them for safe keeping.’

His overly polite and officious language was beginning to grind on Logan.

‘You don’t have permission to open and search the bags. You know that, right?’

Ruiz said nothing for a moment.

‘Is there anything in the bags we should know about?’

‘No.’

They stood looking at each other.

‘Follow me please, sir.’

Ruiz walked towards the elevator while Martinez waited behind them.

Cahill motioned with his head for Logan to follow Ruiz, which he did. Martinez stayed five paces behind them until they got to the elevator. Inside, Ruiz pressed the button for the eighteenth floor and the doors slid shut quietly. No one said anything and there was no horrible muzak playing. Talk about uncomfortable silences.

The reception area of the FBI field office was decorated in muted earth tones with a representation of the shield on the wall behind a desk. A young black woman sat at the desk and smiled when they approached.

‘Where are we, Martha?’ Ruiz asked the woman.

‘Meeting room four.’

‘They in there already?’

‘Sure are. Go on ahead and I’ll let them know you’re coming.’

Logan had no idea who ‘they’ were, but was intrigued to find out.

He and Cahill dutifully followed behind Ruiz again as he used a swipe card to open a secure, frosted-glass door and walked along a narrow corridor past a series of meeting rooms.

They stopped outside a room near the end of the corridor and Ruiz knocked on the door before swiping his card to open it. Inside, two men sat at the far side of a long table. The sun shone in through high, narrow windows.

Both men stood as Ruiz held the door open and motioned for Logan and Cahill to enter the room. When they were in, Ruiz pulled the door closed leaving the four men alone.

One of the men took the lead, walking around the table and holding out his hand. He was a fit-looking black man just under six feet tall. Logan found it difficult to judge his age. Looked like he ran a lot, his smooth skin tight against the contours of his face. Logan stepped forward and shook his hand.

The other man stayed on the far side of the table. He was taller, probably six-two, with greying hair and small, frameless glasses. He clearly
kept himself in shape too and his black suit was cut to fit his long frame just so.

‘Gentlemen,’ the shorter of the men said when he shook Cahill’s hand. ‘I’m Special Agent in Charge Randall Webb, head of the Denver field office.’

Logan nodded at him.

‘And this is Special Agent Cooper Grange. He leads the Joint Terrorism Task Force out of this field office. Have a seat.’

Logan wondered if Webb’s use of the word ‘Terrorism’ was supposed to scare him. It was working.

8

‘What brings you to Denver for the first time, Mr Finch?’ Randall Webb asked.

‘Tim Stark,’ Cahill answered.

Webb’s eyes flicked to Cahill but the smile stayed on his face. Grange continued to stare at Logan. Webb leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him on the table.

‘You prefer the direct approach, Mr Cahill, is that it?’

Cahill nodded.

‘I do.’

‘Fair enough.’

Webb sat back and turned to Grange.

‘It’s all yours, Coop.’

Grange took his time, showing them that he was in control of the room and would dictate the pace of the conversation. He reminded Logan of Tom Hardy in the power that clearly lay behind his languid surface.

‘Gentlemen, I’m sure you will appreciate that there’s very little information that we are able to disclose concerning matters under inquiry.’

‘So there
is
an active FBI inquiry underway into Tim Stark’s death?’ Logan asked.

Grange regarded him like a lizard does an insect it’s considering for breakfast.

‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your trip if you came to find out what’s going on.’

‘Is that what we tell Tim’s wife?’ Cahill said, his tone even. ‘I mean, that his death is not important enough for anyone even to tell her about it?’

‘You keep talking about his death …’

‘That’s because he’s dead.’

‘… but no one here has confirmed that.’

Logan was concerned that Cahill would use the information they had got from DHS and land his contact in a disciplinary process. Or on the receiving end of a prosecution for revealing sensitive material.

‘Why don’t you confirm that now for us?’ he said. ‘Clear everything up, you know.’

‘Like I said—’

‘I get it. You can’t say.’

Cahill stood and pushed his chair back. Grange watched him but did not move.

‘I guess’, Cahill said, ‘that if we’re not under arrest and you’re not going to tell us anything, there’s no reason for this meeting to continue. We’re free to go.’

‘Any time you like.’

Logan looked at Webb, noticed a tension in his body language that had not been there before.

‘Look,’ Logan interrupted. ‘Why don’t we all save some time and effort and talk about why you pulled us in. I mean, Alex and I are tired and pretty cranky after being on the go all day. I know I need a good night’s sleep. So why don’t you come out and say what you’ve got to say without all the dancing.’

Webb put a hand on Grange’s forearm.

‘You’re a lawyer back in Britain, Mr Finch. Is that right?’ Webb asked.

‘I’m sure you know it is.’

Webb smiled and nodded. Cahill sat back down.

‘And you’ve done some business with our government?’

‘Yes.’ He was cautious now.

‘So you know how we like to operate. Take our time. Check all the angles.’

Logan nodded.

‘So why not let us get on and do that without upsetting everything? We do have a plan, you know.’

‘I’m certain you do. But Alex here lost a good friend and that man’s wife can’t start the grieving process until she knows what happened. I mean, right now she thinks that her husband is mixed up in some bad business. And this was a man of the highest integrity as I understand it.’

Webb steepled his fingers and glanced at Grange.

‘You are correct about that. He was a man of the highest integrity. Right to the end.’

‘You’re confirming that he is dead?’

Webb closed his eyes slowly and nodded.

‘Thank you,’ Cahill said. ‘I know I can be a hard-ass, but I respect that you told us.’

‘Now, can we agree that you leave well enough alone and let us get on with our job?’

Logan was about to say yes when Cahill cut across him.

‘I want to know what this is about. Was Tim still on the government payroll? Did you have him undercover in something?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

Cahill jabbed a finger at Grange.

‘Why is the head of your terrorist team here for this meeting? Did someone bring that plane down on purpose?’

Webb sighed. ‘I really can’t say any more.’

‘Can’t? Or won’t?’

‘Take it any way you like,’ Grange said.

Logan felt his shoulders sink. Jesus, why did it always have to become a dick-measuring contest with these guys? Cahill invariably won when they got slapped on the table.

‘Coop …’ Webb said softly.

‘If you won’t tell us, we’ll find someone interested enough to take this public,’ Cahill said.

‘You mean the press?’ Grange snorted.

He was trying
way
too hard to be cool about this, Logan thought.

‘Sure,’ Cahill answered. ‘The press.’

‘We could have you arrested right now for making that threat. Both of you.’

Grange and his adherence to the rules.

Webb interjected. ‘We know your background, Mr Cahill, and it’s very impressive. There’s no need for you to demonstrate your allegiance to this country any more than you already have.’

‘So play straight with me. I know the rules of the game. What you tell me here does not go outside these four walls.’

‘What about Mrs Stark?’

‘I’ll tell her that Tim is dead. That the FBI confirmed it. Beyond that, I’d like to be able to tell her that he was still the man she loved right to the end. How we do that, I’m willing to try to agree with you. I have no desire to compromise an ongoing investigation.’

‘I appreciate what you say. But …’ Webb opened his hands, palms out.
What can I do?

‘Freedom of information and all that,’ Logan said.

‘National security overrides any public interest,’ Grange said.

‘Interesting debate we’d have if we took it to the courts here. Quite big on free speech, I hear.’

Grange dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

Logan turned his attention to Webb.

‘Maybe there’s a middle ground that will allow us all to leave here content,’ he said.

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘I’m sure that you could draw up some official papers which we could sign. Undertakings of confidentiality in the interests of national security. Under penalty of … whatever, if we breach it.’

‘I could do that,’ Cahill added. ‘I’ve signed my fair share of gag papers working for the flag.’

Webb turned to look at Grange. Looked at Logan.

‘The paper’s only worth the integrity of the man who signs it.’

Logan looked at Cahill and back at Webb.

‘You have any doubts about this man’s patriotism or integrity? If so, it would be news to me.’

‘And you?’

‘I’m a lawyer.’

‘He wants to be convinced, Logan,’ Cahill said.

That brought a smile from Webb. Grange was impassive.

‘This is really need to know, sir,’ Grange said. ‘I can’t agree to what he’s proposing.’

‘Well, it’s my call ultimately.’

Grange looked like he’d been slapped.

Webb stood.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘let me have a few minutes to consider this.’

9

After Webb and Grange had left the room Logan asked Cahill if he thought they would tell them what had been going on with Tim Stark.

‘Unlikely.’

‘Why?’

‘You heard them. All that national security stuff. Plus if this has anything to do with terrorists—’

‘Then why is DHS not involved?’

‘The Feds like to keep things tight. All law enforcement agencies do. Inter-agency cooperation is something that gets talked about more in the abstract than anything else.’

Cahill got up from his seat and went to the window.

‘You weren’t serious about going to the press, were you?’ Logan asked.

‘No. And they knew it.’

‘So if they decide that they won’t tell us anything else, where do we go from here?’

‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

Cahill turned back to Logan and leaned against the window sill. Logan shook his head.

‘I love it when a plan comes together.’

Cahill laughed.

They had been waiting for a half-hour – Cahill starting to get restless – when Webb came in on his own. Logan took this for a good sign.

Webb made them wait, pouring a glass of water and flicking through a legal pad with handwritten notes before speaking.

‘Mr Cahill. I checked with your former boss in the service.’

‘Scott Boston?’

‘Yes.’

‘Scott’s a good man.’

‘That he is. And he spoke highly of you.’

Cahill nodded but didn’t say anything. Webb toyed with a pen on the table, as though he were still trying to decide how much he was going to tell them.

‘I’ll try to answer some of your questions. But I can’t reveal anything of operational sensitivity.’

‘Sounds fair enough,’ Logan said.

Webb leaned forward and looked at Cahill.

‘I’m doing this out of respect and as a professional courtesy to someone who has a proud history of serving this country. Nothing more. I don’t respond well to threats.’

Cahill met Webb’s gaze.

‘Do we understand each other?’

‘We do,’ Cahill answered.

Webb appeared to relax, sat back in his seat.

‘The plane Tim Stark was on crashed due to an engine malfunction. That will be made public in the next day or two, which is why I can tell you.’

‘Did you think originally that it might have been brought down?’ Logan asked. ‘Is that why Agent Grange was involved?’

Webb considered Logan for a moment in silence.