find another way to get Garza.”
In the corner of his eye, Nick could see Chapin wordlessly shaking his head, as if to himself. “You have no idea,” he whispered.
Nick looked up at Matt. “Have Decker call in three random agents.”
Matt cocked his head. “Why?”
“Because if there really are any other moles I want to know about it,” Nick said. Then he looked at the mess of flesh sitting quietly on the floor. The man who had Ricky and Jim killed. “Besides, if there are others, they’ll report to Garza that the entire building was interviewed and it won’t arouse any suspicion toward this asshole.”
“What do we do with him?” Matt asked.
Nick came to his feet and patted Matt’s shoulder. “First, we get his daughter back.”
Chapter 6
The basement of the FBI’s Baltimore field office housed the most sophisticated War Room in the nation, which required an iris scan and a short elevator ride to gain access. The FBI’s information technicians worked long hours, so to avoid disorientation the walls were dotted with recessed TV monitors in the shape and position where windows would normally be placed. The monitors displayed the security images from the perimeter of the building with such clarity it felt like you were looking directly outside. Even the ceiling portrayed images of the actual sky above so the brain was fooled into believing it was in a ground floor office instead of fifty feet underground.
The perimeter of the room was lined with computer stations where techs would decipher data they’d received from the field and analyze their level of validity, then their level of threat. More than a third of the staff there were multilingual and many more were pure interpreters.
A weekly department head meeting was held there strictly for discussion of terrorist threats on US soil. Even though it was Walt Jackson’s home office, he was there early to mitigate any animosity between his boss, FBI Director Louis Dutton, and CIA Director Ken Morris.
Dutton and Morris sat across the round table in the center of the room, pretending to be occupied on their tablet computers, while Walt and Defense Secretary Martin Riggs waited for the final member of the group to arrive.
Riggs was an ex-Marine with little patience for politics and seemed to sense the tension around the table. He waved a finger between Dutton and Morris and said, “You two know each other?”
Walt said nothing, while Dutton and Morris maintained their fascination with their tablets. The elevator chimed and out stepped Secretary of State, Samuel Fisk. He was a large man with a slow methodical gait. He held a plastic cup full of trail mix and placed it on the table as he took his seat next to Walt.
Fisk patted Walt’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Walt said, lamenting the loss of two of his men. “Me too.”
Fisk popped a handful of trail mix in his mouth and looked around the table. “Are we ready?”
Morris and Dutton both shoved their tablets aside and nodded.
Fisk looked at the CIA Director first. “Ken, what’s going on with Templeton in Cairo? I thought that was taken care of?”
“It is,” Morris said.
“Then why am I getting e-mails from Interpol stating he’s still able to recruit as a detainee?”
“Recruiting is a strong word,” Morris said. “He’s been able to send messages through a courier acting as his attorney. We’ve got it under control.”
Fisk seemed satisfied, then roamed the table until his eyes landed on Walt. “What’s going on with the border? How did Garza get to our men?”
Walt glanced at Morris briefly before he said, “There was a mole in our Homeland Security division. We figured out who it was, but apparently there’s been more penetration than we’d anticipated.” He looked at Morris. “We could use a little help.”
Fisk swiveled his head back and forth between Walt and Morris. “Is there a problem guys?”
FBI Director Louis Dutton glared across the table. “Apparently there’s a plant inside the Mexican border, yet we’re not able to use him because we’re not receiving any data.”
Fisk raised his eyebrows. “Ken, what’s the deal?”
Morris seemed prepared for that and didn’t take the bait. “We’ve contracted with a private firm to infiltrate Garza’s circle. Apparently, the operative has made contact with Garza and has actually been inside the compound. That’s as much as we know.”
Fisk looked at Dutton who gave him a “see what I mean?” expression. The Secretary of State dipped his large fingers into the plastic cup and came out with some nuts and raisins. He placed them in his mouth and chewed with a thoughtful stare.
“Do you know who this plant is?” Fisk asked.
Morris remained stoic. “I’m not jeopardizing this operation, Sam. There’s too much at stake. Besides,” Morris looked down at his hands, “he’s missed a couple of scheduled communications.”
“So what does that mean?” Fisk asked.
“It means he’s either dead or worse,” Walt finished for him.
“Worse?” Fisk squinted.
Walt let Morris take that one. The CIA Director tapped a finger on the table.
“He may have turned,” Morris said, with a disgusted tone.
Fisk rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Boy, you guys have all kinds of good news for me, don’t you?”
“It gets worse,” Morris said, taking in everyone at the table. His subdued demeanor made Walt’s mouth dry. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher in front of him.
“Our intelligence has confirmed the transport of a dirty bomb to within a mile of the Arizona border,” Morris said.
Fisk reached for more trail mix, then stopped mid-dip. “What?”
“Yes,” Morris seemed to take it head on. “It’s true.”
Fisk looked at Walt and must’ve caught him nodding. He pointed to Walt. “You knew about this?”
“Yes,” Walt said, and Morris couldn’t keep the surprised look from his face.
Fisk seemed to notice the same thing. “Ken,” Fisk said, “did you know Walt was aware of this?”
Morris looked dejected. “No.”
Fisk looked at Walt. “Did you know Ken knew about this?”
Walt shook his head.
Fisk leaned over the table and craned his neck. “Are you telling me, both of you knew about a nuclear threat and neither of you spoke to each other about it?”
Walt pursed his lips, but said nothing. Morris kept up his fascination with his hands.
Martin Riggs had been listening intently to the proceedings, but his laconic personality kept him from entering the discussion. He’d always found a way to utilize the smallest amount of words to accomplish his thought.
“After Navy SEAL Team Six took care of Osama bin Laden,” Riggs said, “the Navy’s forecasted budget was increased by thirty-two percent.”
Riggs said it matter-of-factly, as if reciting a baseball player’s batting average. There was no accusatory tone. Just the facts.
Fisk stopped. His face tightened and his hands clenched into fists. “Are you shitting me?” Fisk glared at Ken Morris, then Louis Dutton, then Walt. His mouth curled up into a nasty scowl. “Is this what we’ve become?” he asked. “Keeping intelligence from each other to gain budgetary dollars?”
“It’s more complicated than that, Sam,” Morris said.
Fisk ignored Morris. He looked to his left with disappointment on his face. “Walt?”
Walt took a breath. “Sam, if you saw the intel which came across my desk every day, you’d never leave your house. The enemy uses diversion and disinformation as a tactic to keep us occupied. Agents Hernandez and Braden were on the verge of verifying the legitimacy of this lead when they were ambushed. They’d been imbedded in one
