“how to” and now he had cut a deal to sell the stuff to Ivan Borshnik. But he kept the money instead while he pushed to have charges brought against Borshnik in front of a military tribunal.”
“If this is true, why’d Volkow or Borshnik, if that’s his name, wait until now to avenge his father’s death or retaliate for his country being ripped off?”
“Maybe he thought Miller was dead. Miller had been deep, so deep that the bureau faked his death rather than retire him. Obit column in the Washington Post said he died as a result of a coronary, two months before his retirement. And Miller was the only one who had a clue where the HEU was until Nick and I stumbled upon it.”
Hunter said nothing, looking down at the salon floor.
O’Brien heard Max whining. He picked up Hunter’s pistol off the floor, pocketed it and turned to open the door. Max scampered out as Hunter reached inside his pant leg and pulled a.25 caliber Beretta out of a holster.
“My orders are to take you dead or alive,” Hunter said. “I have a pistol pointed at your spine. Drop the Glock and turn around slowly.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
“That little gun won’t do much against this shotgun. Drop it!” Dave Collins stood in the open door of the cockpit, a 12 gauge shotgun aimed at Hunter.
Hunter looked hard at Collins. He slowly lowered the pistol. “Kick it to the center of the floor,” Dave ordered.
“You’re making a big mistake, Dave,” said Hunter.
“Do it!”
Hunter did as ordered, and O’Brien turned around. He said, “Your timing couldn’t be better.”
Dave nodded. “Light sleeper. I heard a cat in the trash by the cleaning station and woke to see someone approaching your boat.” He stepped into the salon. “Eric, I overheard some of the conservation from the open window. Everything Sean told you is the truth. Gates has breached. He did it a long time ago. We recorded Robert Miller admitting it.”
O’Brien said, “Gates is good. Very smart. Maybe smarter than anyone in the bureau for years, because he’s been doing this for years. Miller admitted Gate’s connection to Borshnik.”
Dave said, “We didn’t know Gate’s tie to Sharif until he tried to frame Sean. A plan, no doubt, laid by Gates to get Sean out of the picture. Only a fool would underestimate Mike Gates. He’s brilliant.”
Hunter shook his head, eyes focused beyond
“That’s nothing compared to the damage that will be done if they can turn the HEU into a real bomb,” Dave said.
“What do we do?”
O’Brien set his Glock on the bar. “We use Mike Gates just like he’s used and abused the trust of the people he swore to protect, the American people. Tomorrow the breach is broken. But, right now, we can set the trap for Gates.”
“How?” Dave asked.
“Borshnik may have removed the tracking devices from Jason’s mobile, but the phone can still receive text messages, which Borshnik will no doubt read. Let’s send him something that will hit him right between the eyes.” O’Brien punched the keys on his cell phone and read aloud as he wrote: “Borshnik, yes, I know your real name because I got it from the man who set up your father, Ivan. His name is Robert Miller, alive and well. Can you guess who also knows this? Mike Gates. Have a nice day!”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
O’Brien and Dave got to the federal building at 8:00 a.m., cleared security at the front door and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. O’Brien said, “I’ll use this opportunity to get closer to freeing Jason, but I won’t let Gates take me out.”
“Remember, Gates thinks they’ve convinced me you’re a mercenary.”
“We don’t know what Gates thinks or why. But I’m exposing him.”
A Volusia County Sheriff’s deputy stood guard outside the door leading into the task force command center. FBI, Homeland Security, ATF, U.S. Marshals and people O’Brien assumed were CIA, NSA or a combination of each, entered and left the room constantly. O’Brien and Dave Collins approached the guarded door.
“ID please,” requested the deputy.
Dave handed a picture ID to the guard. The deputy studied it a moment, his eyes glancing from Dave to the photograph. “Says this expired in ’03.”
“We’re consultants,” Dave said.
“You’ll need somebody with a current valid ID to-”
“This is current and valid,” said Lauren Miles, coming up behind O’Brien and Dave, holding her ID between the two men. “They’re with me.”
“No problem, Ms. Miles.”
“Gentlemen, please follow me.”
Inside the cavernous room was a huge bank of phones, computers, long white boards, flat-screen monitors, and makeshift desks. Four boxes of doughnuts, a few eaten, were on the first table. Agents worked the phones, typed keyboards, and drank coffee.
Mike Gates, cell phone in his ear, sleeves rolled up, tie down, sweat stain growing like a blooming flower in the center of his blue shirt, looked up as O’Brien entered.
“Have a seat over there in the corner,” Lauren said.
They walked by a wall that displayed photographs of the four slain FBI agents and the two state troopers. The photographs were of the agents in suits, smiling like they’d graduated from the academy, the troopers in their dress blues. Above the pictures was a large digital clock, the time, down to the second, flashing in bright red.
“Coffee or anything?” Lauren said before she sat at the table.
Dave grunted and shook his head no. O’Brien said, “Sounds good.”
Lauren smiled and went across the room to pour two cups. Dave said, “Gates looks like he smelled a fart.”
“So does Paul Thompson,” O’Brien said as he watched Thompson at the white board glance his way, cap the black marker and approach Lauren. While he spoke to her, he looked at O’Brien, again, then turned back to face Lauren. She sipped coffee from one of the Styrofoam cups, eyes darting toward O’Brien.
“I wonder where Eric Hunter is,” Dave said, eyes scanning the room.
O’Brien was silent. He watched as Gates ended his call, glance at the clock on the wall, and approach Lauren and Thompson. They huddled; Gates had his arms folded across his chest.
A minute later, Lauren returned to the table and sat down. “Careful, coffee is a bit hot.” She lowered her voice. “We’ve got to stop Gates before this thing goes to hell.”
“Then do it,” O’Brien said.
“The audio recording from your meeting with Robert Miller, it’s more than enough for me, but I’m not a grand jury. Defense might say it’s the ramblings of a sick old man without all his faculties. If we could get something else to corroborate it-”
“Not easy,” Dave said. “Considering the situation.”
O’Brien looked across the room at Gates who checked his watch against the clock on the wall. “Is the HEU auction still supposed to happen at 4:00 p.m.?”
“Yes,” Lauren said.
