The listening devices in her hotel room were of Israeli design, but at least five years old. That told Special Agent Monroe she wasn’t dealing with Mossad. Or the NIA. Or even with some embarrassing effort by Tusk Musso’s security team to monitor her presence in their midst. No, the Verint Systems bugs she found in the land-line phone, the alarm clock and the dead television set were the sort of cast-offs Tel Aviv would be happy to hand over to Blackstone’s security services as an unacknowledged part of the wider technology-transfer agreement he had with the Israeli Government. It took her less than ten minutes to sweep the room and locate them all.
She left the devices in place. No point tipping off anybody at Fort Hood. Colonel Murdoch wouldn’t have thought to look for such things. Not here in Temple, anyway. She re-examined and discarded the idea that Musso might’ve planted them. The tech wasn’t standard issue for the feds, and the chances of him acting so stupidly were as close to zero as made no difference. He was aware of her capabilities, at least in a basic sense. The only question she had was whether to inform him that his own security had been compromised.
Again. A no-brainer. She’d keep the information to herself.
A few hours stretched out ahead for Colonel Murdoch, before McCutcheon was due to arrive. She had her own traps and snares to put in place before the evening, in preparation for which she would need the help of Musso and at least one of his staff in the bar downstairs. That took all of ten minutes to organise, by which time the rain had eased off, allowing her the chance to explore the streets around the Federal Center and familiarise herself with what she thought of as her lay-up point.
There wasn’t much to see. The Corps of Engineers had done an excellent job of clearing the debris of apocalypse, large and small, from the neighbourhood. If it weren’t for the damaged shopfronts, the occasional burnt-out building shell and the large numbers of broken windows on the upper floors along Main Street, it could have been any small city on a wet public holiday. No traffic, very few people walking around, nothing open.
The Texas Administrative Division’s Federal Center was housed in the old town hall, a fine-looking building a few minutes’ walk down the street from the Kyle Hotel, where she and everyone else in Temple was staying. She had an office inside the Federal Center, where she would be expected to compile her report on the military capabilities and intentions of the South American Federation and what, if any, additional US military forces might be necessary to counter any threat from them. She was grateful to Musso for having seen to that already. It was a pain when you had to work as hard at the cover story as you did on the mission behind it.
It was telling though, she thought, that Blackstone took Roberto seriously enough to have approached Seattle on the matter. After spending the last couple of years making life as difficult as possible for the feds, it had to be significant that the Governor had now turned around and begged them to commit more forces to the southern flank, as he insisted on calling it. Having so recently been in the Federation herself, Caitlin had no illusions about the malignant nature of Roberto Morales’s regime, but nor could she see it as a credible threat. Assuming he even survived -
Did it mean that Blackstone was paranoid to be obsessing about the Federation? Had he transferred his irrational resentments and fears from James Kipper to Morales? Was that something she’d have to factor into her mission? Playing to the man’s neuroses could be a fast track into his trusted circle. Or it could make her look like she was patronising him.
After covering a couple of blocks around the old city office building and memorising the terrain, Caitlin turned around and headed back to the hotel. There were a few people out walking the streets, now that the weather had cleared up slightly. There was hardly a wealth of things to do in Temple, Texas, and she imagined that one could quickly go nuts cooped up in the Kyle. She wondered if the junior members of the mission were subjected to the same level of harassment as Musso had described. If so, it would certainly discourage them from heading over to Fort Hood during their down time, even though the recreational facilities out that way had to be so much better.
As she reached the corner of the block on which the hotel stood, she caught the eye of a man out walking by himself. He was thin, with a heavy black moustache, and seemly tightly wrapped up in himself, dressed in plain clothes, but with a soldier’s bearing and appearance, and something more with it.
‘Hello. Excuse me,’ she said as they drew level. ‘I just got into town. I was wondering if there was anywhere to eat besides the hotel?’
The man smiled and nodded, a strangely formal gesture. When he spoke, it was with a thick Polish accent.
‘I am afraid, madam, no there is not. It is a pity and inexplicable to me, Fryderyk Milosz, once of Polish GROM, now of US Army Rangers. When I accepted transfer here to be closer to brother’s family, who come to farm in the Federal Mandate, I did so on promise of posting where nothing happens and only danger I, Milosz, would face would be risk of growing dangerously fat on excellent barbecue foods.’
Caitlin opened her mouth, but he forged on. Apparently Fryderyk Milosz, once of Polish GROM, now of US Army Rangers, had a lot to get off his chest.
‘I fought with the pirate arsewits in New York, madam, and despite their best efforts, I survive, thanks to excellent GROM training and intervention of two crooked smugglers, who save Milosz from arsewits but not from disappointment which is another story, unrelated to immediate disappointment of barbecue. A quiet posting and too much barbecue, is that too much to ask? I fight for this country, now all I wish is pulled pork roll. Yes. Apparently it is too much. And so now I am deranged with hunger and disappointment. So much that I have neglected my manners. I am Master Sergeant Fryderyk Milosz, once of Polish GROM. And you are?’
She actually giggled, charmed by this old-world eccentric. ‘I am Colonel Kate Murdoch, Sergeant Milosz. United States Air Force.’
‘Ah,’ said the Ranger, bowing formally again. ‘You are to be investigating this bandit fool Morales, yes? We have heard about you. Temple is very small town. Smaller even than my home in Poland. No. I will not speak of it. You will mispronounce name if I try to tell you. It translates roughly as “Little hamlet of hovels at the foot of the big hill, smelling of sulphur, where it rained all the time and nobody had enough to eat”.’
‘So, you must feel at home here then, Master Sergeant.’
Milosz grinned appreciatively. ‘An air force colonel with wit! This is exceptional improvement to fortunes of Milosz. Do you read, madam Colonel? I have explored ruins of local library. There are many well-preserved books for to be found there. So few of my comrades here read or wish to discuss ideas if ideas prove unrelated to strange football games with body armour or the salvaging of old cars for purpose of racing in circles.’
Caitlin put up her hands. ‘Master Sergeant, take a breath. I am indeed a reader. When I get the opportunity. But, I’m afraid, on this trip all of my reading will be for work.’
She took a step to signal her intention to keep moving.
‘I wonder though, Master Sergeant,’ she said, ‘whether you’ve ever tried your luck over in Killeen or Fort Hood? There’s a lot more people over there. I’m sure they could find both pulled pork and a good book.’
A shadow darkened the Ranger’s face. ‘I am afraid Milosz is not welcome in the kingdom of Blackstone,’ he replied. ‘At first I thought his stupid TDF troopers were prejudiced against Poles because of our superior intellect and handsome looks and winning ways with the ladies. But then I realise pretend soldiers of TDF simply prejudiced against everyone. So like everyone, I stay away from Fort Hood.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Master Sergeant,’ she told him, aware that she’d better head back and change for the meeting with McCutcheon. ‘Tell you what, though, I have a meeting with Mr Blackstone’s aide later this evening. You can rest assured that I’ll see to it you can move freely around Fort Hood.’
