As Wright analyzed his subject, Bentley spoke in a friendly tone, showing a smile that was almost apologetic. 'This is purely an informal call, Mr. Wallenger. I hope you understand that.'
'I understand perfectly,' Wallenger said coolly. 'And please don't think me stupid enough to believe that two FBI agents have called on me to spend an amicable afternoon in pleasant chitchat.'
'Well, Mr. Wallenger,' Bentley said, 'I certainly don't want to give the wrong impression either way. I think you'll agree that these are difficult times we're going through. The whole world is in turmoil because of situations our Western civilization has never faced before. This means that those of us in law enforcement and national defense services must leave the comfort of our offices to go out and speak to people. We are seeking help, and we can only get it by communicating with those we wish to serve.'
'How very noble.'
As the conversation between the two continued, Wright let his gaze slowly take in the bookcases around the room. Most were political tomes that covered recent history. This could be expected in the library of a contemporary journalist. He also noted that other subjects, such as biographies of Mao Zedong, Che Guevara, and Josef Stalin, were included. A couple of shelves down from that were books on Adolf Hitler, Francisco Franco, and Benito Mussolini. A further search revealed Karl Marx, Heinrich Himmler, Ralph Nader, and William Buckley. Wright smiled slightly to himself; the little guy seemed to be covering all bases in his research. His ultimate decision to lean politically to the left must have been genuine.
In spite of Wallenger's surliness, Liam Bentley remained cheerful and friendly. 'I was just wondering something, Mr. Wallenger,' he said. 'You work for Global News Broadcasting. I'm curious about your employer. That's not a network, is it?'
'No,' Wallenger replied. 'But we hope to be someday. We're an independent broadcaster and distribute our programs to stations by way of syndication.'
'Well, your viewing numbers are very impressive,' Bentley said. 'You reach one hell of an audience.'
Now Wallenger smiled. 'Yeah! We're doing quite well, actually. Our president, Don Allen, just announced the addition of stations in Minneapolis, Atlanta, and Phoenix. That's brought us an additional three million viewers.'
'Quite an accomplishment,' Bentley said.
As their conversation eased over into a discussion of GNB, Wright turned his thoughts to Wallenger's wife, whom the two FBI men had met when they first arrived at the lavish home. Quite a looker. Latest trendy hairstyle, expensive clothing that emphasized a nice body and large breasts, plenty of jewelry to wear that she displayed even there in the house when they were introduced to her. Her name was Linda, and she had given the two FBI men bold looks, not at all intimidated by the fact that they were federal lawmen. Here was a woman who had a lot of experience with men, and that was more than likely done by her in a search for someone to provide her with a luxurious lifestyle. Wright also noted that she was beginning to get a few wrinkles around the eyes, so she was probably in her late thirties or early forties, just a couple of years short of her first plastic surgery. That also meant that she had decided it was time to latch onto a wealthy husband before it was too late. Who better than a short, plump little man who obviously had not had any deep, meaningful relationships with women. He would be easy to manipulate for fun, money, and gifts, and he was gone from home a lot. Wright figured she had a lover by now, and in a decade or so would turn her attention to much younger men who would appreciate the goodies she would lavish on them. All financed by Dirk Wallenger.
When Wright turned his attention back to Bentley and Wallenger, Wright noted that the conversation had segued to a less friendly tone. The journalist's patience was at an end. 'This inane conversation is very entertaining, but let's get down to the real reason why you're here, shall we?'
'If you insist, Mr. Wallenger,' Bentley said. 'We are curious about how you acquired your knowledge of the incident in which a wounded enemy prisoner of war was allegedly executed.'
Wallenger crossed his arms across his chest in a defiant manner. 'I will not reveal my sources! Period!'
'I'm not asking about your sources,' Bentley said. 'I would like to know about your personal knowledge of the facts of the case.'
'I've nothing to say.'
'That sounds pretty final,' Bentley said. 'I don't wish to waste my time or yours. By the way, we already know your source, Mr. Wallenger. He is a cabdriver called 'Ali.' '
'I don't know any cabdrivers by that name,' Wallenger said.
'Of course you do,' Bentley said. 'He's known to be part of a terrorist cell in the D. C. area. He's actually been under surveillance for quite a long time, and you've been seen getting into his cab on numerous occasions.'
'Oh, God!' Wallenger exclaimed. 'This is so lame! I don't pay any attention to what cab I get into when I want one.'
'You pass up others and go directly to his taxi,' Bentley said. 'And it's always at one of three cab stands. The last time you went for a ride with him, it was from one located where Second Street, Constitution Avenue, and Maryland Avenue all come together.'
'This conversation is terminated,' Wallenger said. 'If you wish to speak to me again, you'll have to give me time to contact my attorney. Now I am asking you to leave.'
The two FBI men stood, and Bentley said, 'That's your right, Mr. Wallenger. Thank you for your time.'
Wallenger led them out of the den and down the hall to the front door. He opened it and stood aside. Bentley and Wright stepped through to the small front porch, then Bentley turned. 'By the way, Mr. Wallenger, Ali's real name is Daleel Guellah. I thought you might be interested in knowing that. He's been talking a lot about you lately--to us. Good afternoon.'
Wright nodded to their reluctant host. 'Have a nice day.'
.
SHELOR FIELD, AFGHANISTAN
4 AUGUST 0845 HOURS
THE nine SEALs--Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Ensign Orlando Taylor, the two Hit Men and the five Sneaky Petes--had been unexpectedly ordered from their base camp to fly back to Shelor Field the night before. They carried some melancholy cargo with them on the helicopter flight: Two body bags containing Petty Officers Paul Schreiber and Paulo Garcia lay on the deck between the rows of seats.
The most puzzling aspect of the unexpected summons was that they had been instructed to come looking for a fight. Each had his personal weapon and some bandoliers of ammo in addition to Bruno Puglisi packing a SAW and Joe Miskoski an M-203 grenade launcher.
Now the SEALs were back in their old hangar, lounging around the Headquarters cubicle, wondering what the hell was going on. They had enjoyed a good meal at the base mess hall, and were sharing some thermoses of hot coffee the mess sergeant had furnished them after they had finished off a couple of dozen eggs, piles of hash brown potatoes, biscuits, pancakes, sausages, bacon, and a large cheese Danish that Ensign Taylor had gotten for himself. Puglisi belched and stretched. 'I wonder what the poor people had for breakfast this morning.'
Matty Matsuno grinned. 'I don't think there was anything left over for them.'
'Man!' Dave Leibowitz said. 'When I'm in the field, I think more about food than I do sex.'
'Most guys do,' Brannigan said, pouring coffee into his plastic cup. 'But as soon as that craving for a fully belly is satiated, we turn our wandering thoughts to the delights offered by the opposite sex.'
'Oh, yeah!' Connie Concord said. 'Females. Say! Is that what them Air Force personnel with soft, round butts are that we keep seeing around here? The ones that seem to need haircuts.'
Mike Assad laughed. 'Most of 'em. I'm not so sure about a couple I saw.'
Further conversation was interrupted by the roar of a motor as Randy Tooley sped into the hangar in his purloined DPV. When Brannigan noticed the man in the passenger seat, he jumped up. 'Tinch-hut!'
Brigadier General Greg Leroux stepped out of the vehicle, turning to the little Air Force guy. 'Thanks for the ride, Randy.' He took another look at the conveyance. 'Where the hell did you get hold of this DPV, anyhow? I didn't think it was on any Air Force TOA.'
'Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies,' Randy said with a grin as he mashed the gearshift into reverse and gunned the engine for a quick exit.
Leroux laughed aloud. 'I never bother a go-getter. The American Armed Forces run on guys like you.' He turned to the SEALs. 'At ease, men! Sit down and finish your coffee. I need to have a little chat with you.'
'Yes, sir,' Brannigan said. 'Guys, this is General Leroux from the SFOB aboard the Combs. He's pretty much
