The file Kate had reviewed on Nate Spencer had indicated that he was a cowboy, in law-enforcement parlance—aguy who got the job done, but who took unacceptable risks compared to the results. He was a good agent, but one that chafed under authority. Kate could relate. Figuring the quickest way to get through to him would be with brute power, she didn’t mince words.
“Agent Spencer, are you confident that you are doing everything in your power to assist in this investigation?”
“Yes, ma’am, we are pursuing every approved lead we’ve uncovered. In fact, we’re heading to a new source of information at this moment, but I’m afraid that I cannot say any more than that at this time.”
“I understand. Have there been any issues with Agent Wentworth that you wish to discuss?”
“She has performed her job superbly in all regards and is a pleasure to work with.”
“Very well. Then I’ll let you get back to it. Thank you, Agent Spencer, and good luck.”
“I never believe luck has anything to do with it, ma’am.”
“Well said. Keep us informed as to any new develop-ments.” Kate disconnected just as an e-mail popped up on her screen from NiteMaster, another of Room 59’s hackers.
Hey boss,
Here’s the list. Keep in mind that this does not bear any relation to that distasteful law-enforcement practice known as racial profiling, and I will deny any implica-tion as such. Hope it helps.
Kate grinned. The list was a summary of the racial backgrounds of the employees of all the various transportation and other companies that might have the capability to deliver such a weapon within a hundred miles of El Paso. The problem was a suitcase nuke could be easily hidden so every freight company, truck and rental-car agency, small-airplane service, cab company, train line, courier service, import-export company and pretty much any that worked with boxes or vehicles had been tagged.
In clear violation of several federal laws, NiteMaster had cross-referenced the ethnic backgrounds of each company’s employee roster, looking for a certain percentage of Middle Eastern or Indian workers. The prevailing logic was that the cell most likely worked together, perhaps at the same company, or in similar lines of work. However, even that list had more than one hundred companies on it.
With a weary sigh, Kate split the list into two parts, sending the
Denny,
I don’t care if you parcel this out or handle it yourself, but I need the ten most likely candidates for our loose nuke from your list by 0800 hours tomorrow. Have fun—Iknow I will.
Kate
She looked at the first company on her list. “All right, let’s see what’s cooking at the Nabcon Waste Removal Company.
Oh, yeah, another night of glamorous data crunching.”
Tracy thought she had reined in her temper fairly well at the hospital, but Nate’s actions since then had put her on a slow boil, and now she felt her anger building like steam—white and scalding hot.
After he had hung up with Stephanie, he handed the phone back to her and didn’t say a word as they drove back to headquarters. He signed out what was obviously an undercover vehicle, a late-nineties Chevrolet Silverado with tinted windows. He didn’t say anything as they got in and headed back to the south side of El Paso. They pulled into a cul-de-sac as the sun began to sink below the horizon. He parked about a block and a half away from a two-story stucco house hosting a loud party. Every light was on, and loud music was blasting from a sound system as figures clad in baggy shorts and jerseys or tank tops wandered in and out, drinking, smoking and talking.
Nate took his binoculars out and scanned the house, looking at the partygoers for several minutes.
Finally, Tracy couldn’t stand it any longer. “All right, I’ll bite. Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here, or do I get the silent treatment until the bomb goes off, and we have to explain to our superiors how, when the terrorists were blowing up the city, we were sitting on our asses watching gangbangers?”
Nate lowered the glasses and handed them to her. “Take a look out there and tell me what you see.”
“I am getting really tired of this.” Tracy raised the field glasses to her eyes and watched the scene for a minute.
“Typical Mexican street gang, operating out of a neighborhood headquarters. I’m surprised that the police force hasn’t taken them out yet.”
“They’ve got juice with the local police. From what I can tell, it’s a sort of a you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch- yours situation,” Nate said.
“Also quite illegal. Do you know any of the people in that house?” Tracy asked.
“As far as I know, they’re all American citizens. Our paths have crossed in regards to a relative or two once in a while.”
Tracy lowered the glasses. “Which begs the question again, why are we here?”
Nate turned to look at her. “How far are you willing to go to find that device?”
“I’m willing to pursue all legal angles to get the information we need,” Tracy said.
“What if there isn’t time for that?”
“Get to the goddamn point already, would you, please?”
Instead of erupting at her outburst, Nate smiled. “All right. During the course of my investigation, I have learned that a person in that house has material information relat-ing to our case. However, to go through the usual channels will mean a delay of a couple of hours, maybe even a few days. If you and I are both right—and I think we are—
Aim and Fire
205 every hour we waste is one more hour they have to do whatever it is they’re planning. So, if we were to break a law or two regarding entry, search and seizure and interrogating a suspect without a warrant, how would you feel about that, knowing that to not act may be putting the lives of tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of people at risk?”
Tracy had blanched during Nate’s speech, and grew even paler as he laid out the scenario. “So you want to break the law to go in, get this guy and get him to talk about what he knows? Just throw due process, innocent until proved guilty, Miranda rights, all that out the window?”
“If we want to catch a break in this case, yes. Look, we could haul him downtown for unpaid parking tickets or some other bullshit charge, but he ain’t gonna break in the interrogation room. Besides, we can’t even follow an evidence chain, because we don’t have one, so any questions or answers we might get will probably not even be admissible.”
“Nate, you know there’s a right way and a wrong way to do this. We can’t afford to screw up on this case. You know the press is just waiting to jump on any mistakes we make.”
“Yeah, I guess I’d much rather see the headline, Border Agent Loses Job Over Violation of Suspect’s Rights than Mushroom Cloud Blows Over Dallas, Texas. Never mind, I should have known a data cruncher wouldn’t have the stones for the real job.”
“Jesus Christ, you can be a real asshole. You must be divorced—I don’t know any sane woman who would put up with you for longer than a day,” Tracy snapped.
Nate recoiled, and for a second, Tracy feared she had gone too far. He pointed a rock-steady finger at her. “My personal life and my professional one are completely separate. You remember that or we’re done, right here, right now, and I’ll get that bastard myself.”
Tracy took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Nate, that was uncalled-for.”
She looked away and regarded the house. Two men had stumbled out and were wrestling on the barren front lawn.
There were lights on in several neighboring houses, but no people on the porches and no children playing in the street.
She saw evidence of kids in the neighborhood, a small tricycle in one driveway, and a leaning swing set visible in the yard next to it. She imagined those toys, that house, the entire neighborhood suddenly vaporized in a white- hot flash of light, followed by the devastating shock wave that came right after, flattening anything in its path. If not here, where? Fort Worth, Dallas, like Nate said, Washington D.C.—?
Jennifer. Tracy banished the vision of that angelic face melting in the blast.
