Uncivil Liberties (42 page)

Pug thought about that for a moment, accepting the possibility. “You’re confident of your sources in this, Kevin?”

Donahue shook his head. “No, it’s a secret world we deal in, lad, and information is always suspect. I’ve just admitted the fallacy of my prior information, but my source this time —an Irishman well-placed
inside
Washington, I might add—had no reason to exaggerate or mislead. He’s been accurate in the past. That’s the first story I’ve got for you this morning, my friend. Proving it’s up to you. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d misled you or put you on the wrong track. Wolff seems to have been a pawn to point in the wrong direction. They probably thought you’d kill him rather than take him prisoner. They wanted it to have the look of foreign origin. Al Qaida
is
your enemy and they probably
are
behind much of the turmoil, but someone else, someone
here
, in America, has taken it to new heights. Unless I read it wrong, Strategic Initiatives has simply tapped in to some of the netherworld of terrorist groups and used them to achieve
their
objectives,
and
SI’s objectives. Until I received this information, I had no reason to suspect that someone in America was working both sides of the street, so to speak.”

“Nor did I,” Pug replied. “You said that was the
first
story you had for me?” he added, standing up.

“The second story is shorter. I don’t know much. In fact, I know nothing of the details, but,” Donahue hesitated, again knocking his pipe on the heel of his shoe before standing up to face Pug. “Word is that someone from America has procured a nuclear device. A small, portable nuclear device, according to my source.”

“
Has
procured, or
will
procure?”

“Sorry, lad, has
already
procured,” Donahue repeated.

“Is it in America yet?” Pug asked.

Donahue shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Thank you, Kevin. It’s certainly not good news, but thank you.”

“When this is all over, General,
if
it’s ever over, come home and see the old sod the proper way. No business, no intrigue. I’ll personally take you down the Ring of Kerry, we’ll play a few rounds of golf, and you can see what your ancestors left when they ran away toward the American dream. God’s blessings on ya, lad. And sorry for the bad news. It seems that double dealing was not limited to Wolff. You’re damn lucky that Wolff is behind bars. You’ve got some ferrets under your own umbrella, it would seem. Given the furor over this new legislation, and what my inside source intimated, the links may go deeper than the security firm, even into the venerable halls of Congress or even the president’s cabinet. It would seem that all Americans are not . . .well,
American
.”

Donahue watched the younger man for a few moments, then smiled broadly and his voice grew lighter. “You remember how things turned out between our two Irish compatriots, Michael Collins and Èamon de Valera. Politicians switching sides or looking out for number one is nothing new. Never assume the enemy is over the
other
side of the barbed wire. He might be on
your
side of the barricade. Oh, and give my regards to your young associate, Carlos. If he’s listening,” he nodded toward the white van parked in the restricted zone about a hundred yards distant, “top ‘o the morning to you, Carlos.” Donahue grinned and gave a gentle wave.

Pug reached to shake Donahue’s hand. “Thank you, Kevin. I owe you another one. A
big
one, it would seem. Safe trip home.”

Pug reached to turn off the tape and the men in the room sat silent as they contemplated the information that had been provided in the audio and written transcript. Around the table were Pug Connor, Carlos Castro, George Granata, Director of the FBI, Paul Duffield, Deputy Director of the CIA, and President William Snow. The president spoke first.

“When was this meeting, Pug?” the president asked.

Pug glanced at his watch. “Seven hours ago, Mr. President.”

“George, have you or Paul uncovered any corroborative evidence to support this information?”

“No, sir,” Granata responded, “but we can’t afford to ignore it.”

“Granted,” the president nodded. “I want this given top priority, gentlemen. Pug, how confident are you about Strategic Initiative’s connection to the domestic attacks?”

“Mr. President, it’s all speculation at this point, but we can draw some valid assumptions. If only three cities were selected for the Domestic Tranquility pilot program, it seems coincidental that one of the ground attacks took place in one of those cities, San Antonio, and was thwarted, with
no
survivors among the terrorists. However, that’s pretty thin evidence to confirm their involvement. Mr. Castro has put two Trojan operatives on it and they’re checking with former military associates who now work for SI, supervising some of the troopers they have in the field. No information yet.”

“Do we have any reason to believe, I mean
any
reason, that the transfer of a nuclear weapon into the U.S. has occurred?” the president pressed.

The CIA director responded. “We’ve not had any intelligence to that effect, but again, we can’t afford not to take it seriously, Mr. President.”

‘Agreed. Take every measure you have to assure we cover every entry point. I know the difficulty. Thousands of containers arriving every day, tens of thousands of trucks on the road across the nation. Just find it, gentlemen. If it’s here, find it.”

“It may take care of itself, Mr. President,” Pug said.

The group went silent. Then the president nodded his understanding. “If SI
is
involved, they may
find
it like they uncovered the San Antonio attack to prove how well their program is working?”

“Yes, sir. But I agree with Mr. Duffield—we can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

“That will do it, gentlemen. I need to stay with Pug for a few moments.”

The other department heads left the room and the president took his seat again at the head of the EEOB conference table.

“Pug, I’ve had a heads up from DOJ about some court-ordered action that will transpire tomorrow. As you predicted, without any hard evidence of terrorist involvement, Jean Wolff is going to be released on Monday morning in Illinois.”

“I thought that might happen. I’ll handle it, Mr. President.”

“Do you need any further authorization?”

“No, sir. The Troy designation you gave for the initial capture covered all contingencies. We just need to be a bit more careful here in America.”

“Do you think he’ll leave the country immediately?”

Pug hesitated for a moment before answering. “No, sir. If he knows he was betrayed by Strategic Initiatives, he’ll be looking for payback. He’s not a foolish man, but he just might feel obligated to take revenge.”

“That’s in our favor, right?”

“I don’t know, Mr. President. It’s always helpful if two of our enemies decide to kill each other, but it’s rare. I’ll discuss it with Mr. Castro and my staff. But rest assured, sir, we’ll watch it closely.”

United States attorney Gail Masterton slid several manila folders into her briefcase, rose from her table in front of the judicial bench, and stepped through the waist-high swinging gate, departing the court room. Judge Marshall Alfred had just ordered the release of a federal prisoner, Jean Minards, AKA Jean Wolff, from his detention at Thomson Federal Correctional Facility, Thomson, Illinois.

The hearing, held in the United States Courthouse on South Court Street in Rockford, had lasted less than twenty minutes. Despite the federal government’s case for retention of a man whom Ms. Masterton claimed was a direct threat to the United States of America, Judge Alfred rejected all arguments, citing lack of substantial evidence and accusing the government of having detained Mr. Minards illegally. Ms. Masterton was grateful the judge had declined to address the method of Wolff’s capture.

Less than five minutes following the judge’s ruling, Wolff, dressed in a solid black suit, white shirt and red tie, had departed the courthouse, entered a black limousine, Illinois license plate VIP 6, and immediately disappeared.

Almost disappeared.

On the east side of the courthouse, Carlos Castro sat in the passenger seat of a black Suburban with Lieutenant Holcomb behind the wheel. Two other Trojan vehicles of different make and color, call sign Baker 2 and Baker 3, enveloped the courthouse, parked against the curb, one of them double-parked. As the limo pulled away from the front steps of the building, Castro’s vehicle fell in behind, radioing instructions to the two other pursuit vehicles who moved to parallel streets to enable switching of their chase vehicle as the limo proceeded.

Six blocks west, VIP 6 pulled into a large parking facility, driving up the ramp to the fourth level. Only one switch had been made in the prior six blocks, placing Baker 3 in close pursuit while Baker 1 fell two blocks behind. Baker 3 entered the garage slightly behind the limo.

At the next-to-top level, a parking attendant stood beside several orange cones, blocking further entrance. As VIP 6 approached, he removed two cones and the car swiftly entered the circular ramp, heading to the top level. The attendant waved off Baker 3, placing a No Entry sign in front of the up-ramp. Baker 3 immediately turned left, stopping in front of the stairwell where Lieutenant JG Gomez, a Navy Seal, exited the passenger side and raced up the stairs. As he arrived and opened the door leading out onto the uncovered parking area, he spotted seven limos parked side by side. VIP 6 pulled into an empty space, second from the end.

Immediately a medium-height male in a plain dark suit, white shirt, and red tie exited each vehicle. They all wore a black balaclava over their heads, and in an orchestrated move, they clustered together, then swiftly jostled between vehicles, one man entering a separate limo, which then departed the top floor, entering the down ramp and heading for the street. Gomez noted that the license plates
each
read a non-sequential pattern consisting of VIP 3, 5, 6, 9, 12, 13, and 15. All of the vehicles were black with heavily tinted windows.

Lieutenant Gomez raced back down one flight of stairs to Baker 3, entering the vehicle and transmitting to Baker 1 and 2.

“Subject vehicle is exiting the parking facility accompanied by six other limos of identical appearance. Target has switched vehicles with six other men, similarly dressed. Impossible to ascertain which vehicle contains target. Baker 3 will continue to shadow VIP 6.”

Carlos listened to the message from his vantage point in Baker 1, across the street. He watched as all seven limousines exited the parking facility, turning alternately left and right into the flow of traffic. “Baker 2, follow VIP 3 east, Baker 1 will take VIP 13 west. It’s the luck of the draw, guys. Report destination as determined.” Baker 2 and 3 acknowledged Castro’s direction and began pursuit.

In VIP 9 with his balaclava removed, Jean Wolff lost sight of the remaining VIP vehicles as his driver merged onto the highway, heading south on I-39. Six hours later, with several switchbacks and detours, including retracing about twenty miles north on I-39, VIP 9 crossed through Springfield, Illinois. In Springfield’s White Oaks Mall parking lot, Wolff changed vehicles to a dark gray Ford Taurus. As he entered the passenger side of the vehicle, the man behind the wheel nodded to him, started the engine, and immediately left the parking area.

“Welcome back to the world, Mr. Wolff. We’ve got about four hours ahead, including a few detours, then your flight from St. Louis to Spokane. Devlin Hegarty is my name. I’m SI’s field operations director. Mr. Harford sends his regards and said to tell you he arranged for your release. You’ll find ample funds, passport, ID documents and plane tickets in the briefcase in the back seat. Additional funds have been placed in your usual account. Mr. Harford also said to tell you that Bright Point is fully operational. Anything else you think you might need, I’m here to help.”

Wolff was silent for several moments, glancing in the back seat at the briefcase. “What’s the status on the package from Holland?”

Hegarty nodded. “All taken care of. I saw to the shipment myself in Amsterdam. It should cross the border into eastern Washington state in about thirty-six hours.”

 “Any problems?”

“None. As I said, Bright Point is still on track. The full details are in your briefcase. They’ll come in from Canada on a routine agricultural run, switch trucks at a rural farm north of Spokane, transfer the case, and then leave the new truck in a prearranged location. There’s a Montana militia guy named Campbell who will make the pickup and keep the truck under wraps until either you or I contact him. Then he’ll leave the truck where we tell him and SI troopers will just happen to find it. They’ll become instant heroes, and SI, the flavor of the month. Contact phone numbers and a cell phone, plus your ID call sign, are also in the briefcase. And Harford wants you to contact him ASAP.” Hegarty went silent for a moment, content to drive as dusk turned into night. He glanced at Wolff before speaking again.