Termination Orders (13 page)

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Authors: Leo J. Maloney

BOOK: Termination Orders
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C
HAPTER
17
B
oyle shut the door to his office and almost bumped into the Deputy Director for HUMINT, or Human Intelligence, Julia Carr.
“Boyle,” she said, “I was just coming in to see you.”
Carr was an ex-Marine and had been a HUMINT handler herself, in her earlier days. She had a face that was both ordinary and attractive, which, with the right makeup and hair, could even be called beautiful. But she downplayed her beauty as much as possible. Her hair was cropped short, she wore no cosmetics, and she donned clothes that, while not exactly ugly, made it plain that she refused to rely on her looks to establish her authority or to gain the respect of others.
“I’m on my way somewhere,” Boyle told her. “Can it wait?”
“I’d really rather talk to you right away,” she said.
“Then walk with me,” he said. “You have about a minute and a half.”
They started down the hallway together. He could tell that she was straining to keep up with his vigorous pace.
“Sir, I’d like to know what’s going on in Kandahar.”
“Just what do you mean?” he asked. “Kandahar’s a big place. There’s plenty going on there at any given time.”
“I think you know what I’m talking about, sir,” she said.
“What you’re meant to know will come to you through the appropriate channels.”
“Jeff, come on,” she said, lowering her voice. “Don’t bullshit me here. Something’s going on. I’ve got people in the field. I gotta know if they’re going to be in some kind of danger.”
“My answer’s still the same, Julia.”
She held out her arm for him to stop. He did and turned to face her.
“Throw me a bone here, Boyle,” she pleaded. “I can’t be left out of the loop like this.”
He sighed. “Rogue agent. Purpose unclear, whereabouts unknown. And that’s all I’m giving you.”
“Isn’t much,” she said.
“It’s as much as you need to know. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”
He gestured down the hall and walked on to his meeting. When he burst into the conference room, Kline and Plante were already waiting for him.
“One of you care to tell me what the hell is going on with the Cobra situation?” said Boyle.
“We have reports of gunfire and several dead at the Kabul Zoo,” Kline began. “Witnesses describe the shooter as a man who closely matches Cobra’s description. Witnesses also say—get this—that the man shot a lion during his escape.”
“Any idea where to?” asked Boyle.
“He flew out of Kabul under the identity of an Italian citizen named Antonio Bevelaqua,” said Kline. “He took off in a private jet at the Kabul airport eight hours ago, headed for Amsterdam.”
“So we—”
“The plane,” Plante cut in, “was forced to make an emergency landing in Istanbul. Where he went from there is anyone’s guess.”
“Then we need to focus on finding him, right away. Kline. Put together a task force. I want them concentrating exclusively on finding Cobra. Do what you have to, and make provisions to bring him in.”
“Sir,” interjected Plante, “do we need to treat him like a fugitive?”
Kline cut in. “As far as I’m concerned, this is what he chose, and we should treat him accordingly.”
“I know Cobra,” said Plante. “Probably better than anyone else here. He’s a good man. An honorable man. Whatever he’s doing, there’s got to be a reason. I think the best thing we can do is to bring him in quietly and just
ask
him what’s going on.”
Boyle seemed to think about it, even swayed. “In any case,” he said, “I want someone at the ready, in case this really is some kind of vendetta. I’m not going to have a highly trained ex-operative on the loose without a contingency measure. I want Wagner on standby.”
“
Wagner?
” said Plante, taken aback. “Sir, isn’t that a little drastic? I mean, Morgan used to be one of us, after all.”
“That’s exactly what concerns me,” said Boyle. “Kline, you have a problem with any of this?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get to it. I want this taken care of. And everything goes through me, understand? You make a move on him when I say so.” His voice became low and grave. “I don’t even have to tell you how dangerous it would be to have a rogue operative out there. Find him, gentlemen. Do whatever you have to, and find him.”
C
HAPTER
18
N
ickerson set the receiver down and sat motionless in his office, a deep frown on his face. Things were not going according to plan, and he did not like that at all. It was unworthy of his intelligence and cunning. He would, of course, be the first to admit that he was a vain, proud man. But he did not consider this a fault or a weakness. He knew his own worth, his own power. That was all. Except, when it slipped through his fingers, it was almost enough to make him dizzy, thinking of himself as fallible. All he could do was remind himself of his many superior talents and attributes—
He was brought back to the here and now by the ring of his intercom.
“Sir? Senator McKay is here to see you. Shall I send her in?”
“Please do.”
He’d almost forgotten about this appointment. It should serve as a pick-me-up, at any rate. He looked over himself in a small mirror mounted on his wall when he heard the knock on the door. He ran his fingers through his hair, flashed himself a winning smile, and, satisfied, said, “Come in!”
Senator Lana McKay walked in with quiet assurance. She had short, carefully coiffed brown hair, a strong and harmonious face, and fierce, determined green eyes. Her presence was enough to fill a room. Admirable, almost worthy of jealousy to Nickerson. She was quite a bit older than the women he usually pursued, but he toyed with the idea of making an exception, just this once.
“Hello, Senator Nickerson,” she said, extending her hand.
“Oh, hello, Lana. It’s good to see you,” he said warmly. “Thank you so much for coming. Please, call me Ed.”
“Well, thank
you
, Ed,” she said, settling down where Lamb had previously sat. “It’s always a pleasure to speak with you. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Right to business, then,” he said, with a broad smile. “The way I like it.”
“No point in wasting each other’s time when there’s work to be done, right?”
“Of course. So here is why I asked you to come. I’d like to discuss this new bill you’re pushing for.”
“I was actually hoping I could count on your support, Senator,” she said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “Tightening up the rules and oversight of government contractors in Iraq and Afghanistan is not only extremely urgent—it’s a no-brainer.”
“Yes,” he said, dragging the word out so that it sounded like it had three distinct syllables. “Undoubtedly, it’s an issue of some importance. I understand what has you fired up about it. But I favor a more cautious approach. Frankly, I believe it’s premature.”
“What do you mean, ‘premature’?” She drew herself back slightly, defensively.
“This is a sensitive point in the reconstruction effort.” The practiced words rolled smoothly from his tongue, designed, in tone and content, to elicit confidence and understanding. “Our contractors are out there helping to ensure the safety of our troops and to aid us in our efforts to reshape Iraq and Afghanistan. They are under a lot of pressure, and their success is our success. I’m afraid no good can come of our meddling with these companies. I believe that it would be in the best interest of the American people to table your bill for the time being.”
She was clearly taken aback. “Ed, contractor oversight is a vital issue. Some of these companies aren’t only working outside of the law, they’re doing evil things in our name, and with our money! They’re undermining the reconstruction and putting our troops in greater danger!”
“I’ve read all the media hysteria—”
“‘Hysteria’!” she exclaimed in disbelief. “We have incontrovertible evidence of serious criminal malfeasance!”
“—but the truth is more complicated than that,” he continued calmly. “It always is. Reform like this isn’t always possible without serious compromises. And politics, as you know, is the art of the possible. The timing just isn’t right for something like this, Lana. Perhaps in two more years, we can talk about it again.”
“This is an intolerable situation! Something needs to be done, and I’m going to do this with or without your support.”
“Are you certain about that, Lana? I have significant influence in the Senate. How far do you really think this can go without me by your side? You can’t do it without me. Right now, your choice is to have it die in committee or on the floor.”
“I will not abandon this issue,” she said.
He smiled gently. “I understand that you’ve committed yourself to this already and that there is a political cost to abandoning it altogether. But I believe we can come to a compromise on a . . . more
moderate
bill, one that will satisfy your constituency without causing potentially disastrous interference in the war effort.”
She jumped out of her chair. “I will not defang this bill for the sake of political expediency!”
“Lana, please calm down and listen to me. I know you are passionate and idealistic, and I know you feel strongly about this. But our legislative body is built on compromise.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, we’re going to pass an energy bill later this year. I know how important the coal industry is in your state. This is going to be a major issue with your constituents. Work with me on this, and I can guarantee that whatever bill gets passed will protect your interests.”
She laughed wryly. “I guess it’s true what they say about laws and sausages.”
“Why don’t you take a couple of days to think it over . . .”
“I don’t need to,” she said curtly. “The answer is
no
.”
“Lana . . .”
“I am not interested in compromising my principles for the sake of votes, Senator.” She got up to leave.
“I admire your moral courage,” he said, standing up as well. “Just remember, that can be a dangerous thing in this town.”
“I know what I signed up for. Good-bye, Senator.”
You have no idea
, he thought to himself, smiling as she stormed out of his office.
C
HAPTER
19
A
s she drove home, Jenny Morgan reached into her purse and cursed herself for forgetting her cell phone again. She had just spent hours going over swatches and fabrics with a client who had rejected option after option Jenny showed her with a slight, snobbish flick of the hand. To keep herself from saying something outright rude, Jenny had promised to come back with more samples the next day. And still, she would likely lose the client, anyway. But worst of all, another day had passed and she still had not heard from Dan.
Her instinct was to trust him, but his story about having to stay in DC was more than a little fishy and alarming even on the face of it. Jenny was not stupid. There was obviously more going on than her husband had told her. But as she neared home, she tried to push it out of her mind. She knew there was nothing she could do once Dan had decided something.
As she turned into their street, her eyes were drawn to a white van parked across from their house, marked
BALD EAGLE PLUMBING.
Strange, she thought. She seemed to remember seeing that van there that morning. Jenny looked at it suspiciously, then, in a moment of self-consciousness, laughed and shook her head. Living with Dan over the years had really made her paranoid. They were there for a big plumbing job, and that’s all; perfectly normal, nothing to be concerned about.
She parked in the driveway and went inside. Neika ran to greet her, panting and licking her hand. Jenny said hello to Alex, who was sitting cross-legged on the living-room couch, sullenly staring down at a book, her short hair concealing her eyes. Jenny wished she could tell her daughter that Dan hadn’t just gone away on business, that he was doing things of serious consequence. But it wasn’t her place. Dan would have to be the one to tell her. What’s more, Jenny knew about Alex’s new political inclinations and that, if anything, her daughter would probably be appalled if she found out. Dan at least deserved a chance to be there to explain his own side of things.
“Did your father call?” she asked Alex, who shrugged in response. Jenny walked to the kitchen counter and found her cell phone there, still attached to the power cord. Seven missed calls; three new messages. She flipped it open and clicked through to voice mail. One message was from a client who wanted a consultation, and there was another from her sister, who had just called to say hello.
The third was from Dan: “Hi, Jen, it’s me. I’m calling to tell you that everything’s fine here. I’ve been held up at the auction, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to call again. I’ll probably be home in a couple of days. I can’t wait to see you and Alex again. I hope your friend Clara’s surgery went well. I know how worried you were about her. Oh, and make sure you take the GTO out for a spin. You know how it needs a little air now and then. I love you.”
Her friend Clara
. She didn’t have a friend named Clara, and no one she knew was in the hospital.
What was this
—and then she remembered. It was their code, something her husband had made her memorize, along with emergency plans, in case anything happened. The meaning of the message was vivid in her mind:
Danger! Get away!
She had always thought this business with secret codes was a bit ridiculous, but now that she had gotten the call, she didn’t feel ridiculous. She felt afraid.
She walked into the living room, where her daughter was still on the couch. “Alex,” she said, “do you trust me?”
Alex looked at her quizzically, appearing slightly worried. “I . . . guess?”
“I’m serious, Alex. If I ask you to do something without asking me why, would you do it?”
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Alex asked, alarmed. “You’re scaring me. Are you okay? Did something happen? Is Dad okay?”
“As far as I know, your father is fine, and so am I. But I don’t have time to explain. I need you to pack a suitcase as quickly as you can. We need to leave home for a few days. Pack warm.”
Alex laughed in disbelief. “What’s going on? What is this about?”
“I don’t know. But please, Alex, trust me, and do it now. We could be in danger.”
The fear must have been obvious in Jenny’s voice, because Alex’s demeanor became completely serious, and she didn’t raise any further objections. She just asked, “When do we leave?”
“Right away.”
“Okay,” she said. “Are we taking Neika?”
“I’ll take care of Neika,” said Jenny. “Just hurry.”
Jenny rushed to the master bedroom and tossed together a bag as quickly as possible, filling it with comfortable clothes, a jacket, and some winter items in case the cold returned. She rummaged through her sock drawer and found the stun gun that Dan had given her years ago, which she hadn’t felt comfortable carrying around with her. She picked it up, checked the charge, and dropped it into her purse.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and her heart sank with foreboding.
Jenny breathed deeply as she walked downstairs, trying her best to calm her nerves and appear normal. Whoever it was, it would be better to dispatch them quickly and coolly, without arousing suspicion. With one more deep breath, she turned the doorknob. Standing at the door were two men in black suits.
“Mrs. Morgan?” said one of them, stepping forward. “I’m Agent Baird, and this is my partner, Agent Pace. We’re with the FBI.” They held up their badges. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband.”
Their badges looked legitimate enough, and if she had any doubts, she would have asked to examine them closely and take down names and numbers. But she knew immediately and instinctively that it wouldn’t have helped, because these men weren’t really from the FBI. “Is he in trouble?” she asked, hoping that her feigned apprehension was convincing.
“Not as far as we’re concerned, ma’am,” said the one who called himself Pace, who was skinny, had a shaved head, and spoke in a Texas drawl. “We’d just like to talk to him. And you might be able to provide us with information about an ongoing case.”
“Is this about the cars?” she said, doing her best impression of a worried, naïve housewife.
“No, ma’am,” said Pace.
“He isn’t in trouble, is he?” she asked again, wide-eyed.
“That’s not what we’re here for, Mrs. Morgan,” said Baird, who was short and stocky and had eyes that seemed too close together for his face.
“I don’t know what I could help you with, then. Dan’s the one you really want. I’m afraid he’s out of town, but I’ll certainly let him know you came by next time I talk to him.”
The two men exchanged a look. “Actually, Mrs. Morgan,” said Baird, “you’re the one we want to speak to. May we come inside?”
She hesitated before saying, with all the cordiality she could muster, “Yes, yes, of course. Come in.” She stepped aside to admit the two men into the foyer. “Can I offer you gentlemen anything to drink?”
“No, thank you,” said Pace.
“So how can I help you?” she asked, obligingly. “I don’t know what
I
could possibly tell you that might be of any—”
“Mrs. Morgan,” Baird cut in testily, “do you know the whereabouts of your husband?”
“Yes, of course!” she said. “He’s in Seattle, advising a client at a car show.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Why, yes, as far as I know. When you’re married to a man, Mr. Baird, you do tend to know these things.”
“I’m sure, Mrs. Morgan,” said Pace. “Now, has your husband attempted to contact you in the past two days?”
“He called me, if that’s what you’re asking. He left me a message this morning telling me he might be away for a few more days. Do you want to hear it? It’s right—”
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Morgan,” said Baird.
“Could you tell me what this is all about?”
“We can’t reveal too much,” said Pace. “This is an ongoing investigation. But your husband might have key information about a murder case. Our chief suspect is a client of his, you see.”
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I hope it’s not anyone I know. I couldn’t bear to think I knew a murderer.”
“Do you know of any way we can contact him?” asked Baird.
“Not if you’ve already tried his cell phone. You can leave a card if you’d like, and I’ll have him call you as soon as he’s available.”
The two men looked at each other and then back at her. “Actually, ma’am,” said Pace, “we’re going to need you to come with us.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, feigning outrage, her increasing alarm showing through her façade.
“You heard us, ma’am. Just cooperate, and everything will be fine.”
Jenny looked at the men, not knowing how to respond. At that moment, Alex walked into the foyer with her backpack, holding Neika on a leash.
“Were you going somewhere, miss?” said Baird.
“Who are these people, Mom?” she said. Neika was straining gently at her leash, growling under her breath at the two strangers in her territory.
“Ma’am. Come with us now, please,” said Pace. “You, too, miss,” he said to Alex.
“Me?” asked Alex. “What is this? Mom, what’s going on?”
“She’s not going,” said Jenny. “If you need me to go, I’ll go, but she stays.”
“It’s for her own safety, ma’am,” said Pace.
“Mom?” insisted Alex.
“We’re not asking, Mrs. Morgan,” said Baird.
“Okay,” said Jenny. “We’ll come. Alex, darling, these gentlemen are from the FBI. We’re going to go with them so they can ask us a few questions about your father.”
“What about Dad?” asked Alex. “What about what you told me five minutes ago—”
“Alex, it’s okay. We should cooperate with them.” She turned to the two men. “Let me just grab my purse.”
Pace nodded in assent, and Alex just stood there with a perplexed look on her face. Jenny picked up her purse and walked back toward them. As she drew within an arm’s length of them, she slipped her hand into her purse and clutched the rubber handle of her stun gun.
She flicked the switch and jabbed Baird with the twin electrodes; he fell backward with a startled yelp. She turned to do the same to Pace, but before she could, he grabbed her arm and twisted it. The stun gun zapped ineffectually in the air and fell to the floor. Neika was now snarling and tugging at the leash. Alex let go.
Barking and growling savagely, Neika bounded toward Pace, knocking him onto his back. Jenny looked at Alex and shouted, “Garage!” Both of them dashed for the door, and Jenny grabbed the keys from the kitchen on the way. Alex followed her into the garage.
“Mom, your car isn’t in here!”
“We’re not taking my car.”
Jenny pulled the tarp off a hulking shape on the opposite side of the garage to reveal her husband’s classic 1967 Pontiac GTO. As Alex clicked the button to open the garage door, Jenny got into the driver’s seat. She turned the ignition, and the muscle car rumbled to life.
“Neika!” Alex cried out, and a couple of seconds later the German shepherd came galloping from the kitchen. She jumped in through Alex’s open door and onto the backseat.
As the outside door rattled open, Jenny looked toward the kitchen and saw Pace storm into the garage, his suit jacket ripped wide from Neika’s attack. She looked back at the garage door, just open enough now for them to make it out. Jenny stepped on the gas pedal, and they lurched forward and stalled.
“Mom, can you even drive this thing?” Alex exclaimed.
Jenny turned the key. In the rearview mirror, she saw Pace draw a gun.
“We’ll see.” She stepped on the gas pedal, and the GTO roared down the driveway past her SUV and onto the street.
The wheel was a lot stiffer than she was used to, but, man, the thing could go! They tore down the road, soon leaving their street and the unmarked white van behind, and headed for I-93. They didn’t speak for several minutes, sitting quietly except for their heavy breathing, the atmosphere in the car laden with tension, fear, and exhilaration. Even Neika panted restlessly in the backseat. After a few minutes, Alex broke the silence.
“Mom,” she said, still breathing heavily. “Who the
hell
were those guys?”

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