Their car climbed the hill once again, then nosed around a right-hand turn, and LeGarret pulled to the curb and shut off the lights. “Damn, there’s the mutha, right there! He just got home.”
Parma leaned forward between the guys in the front seat to get a better view. In the dim light from the porch and the light that popped on from inside the target’s car, they made out the figure of a skinny man in the white uniform of a naval officer. “Got to be him. He’s alone, too. No lights in the house, so the family ain’t home.”
“Damn,” said Shields. “I wanted a piece of his wife.”
The target unlocked his front door and went inside, and immediately a series of lights bloomed throughout the house. Living room, kitchen, bedroom, bath.
“Now?” asked LeGarret Shields, his tongue licking his dry lips.
“Not quite. Let him get settled for a minute. Probably taking a leak, then he’ll make some food and turn on the TV. Get comfortable.”
The figure came unexpectedly into view again, walking down the driveway, pulling a green plastic trash cart out for curbside pickup. He had a blue plastic carton of recycled cans under one arm, propped on his hip but resting on a little towel to protect his white uniform.
“Fuck waiting,” hissed Parma. “This is the chance. If he’s taking out the garbage, he’s already off guard and getting comfortable. Soon as he goes back inside, we do it.”
“Unh-hunh. You right. Get ready.” Achmed Fox pulled his pistol free and rested it on his leg. “Go on up there now, LeGarret, soon as he’s back inside.” Fox felt the car drop into gear and slowly creep forward, sticking to the curb.
“Let’s go on and do it,” said Fox, his voice now tense, ready. He threw open the door of the car and climbed out, waiting only a moment for the others to form up beside him; then all three advanced rapidly up the walk and onto the porch. Parma reached up with his pistol and smashed the front porch light as Fox opened the screen door and kicked hard with his steel-toed boot at the lock on the wooden door.
It crashed open, and the three of them dashed inside, looking at the startled man across the room. Little dude in a white uniform. Calm. Fox had expected to see fear. He shouted, “Get your ass on the floor, muthafucka! Get down or I’ll cap you where you stand.”
LeGarret Shields closed the door and turned to look at their prisoner. “What you grinnin’ at, muthafucka?” he yelled at the sailor, who was kneeling, hands locked behind his head.
Then all of the lights went out.
There was a muffled
Before Samuel Achmed Fox could react, an incredibly strong hand reached out in the blackness, closed around his pistol, and snatched it away at the same time a muscular arm wrapped in a tight V around his neck and tightened in a choke hold. The oxygen was cut off, and Fox tried to pry off the arm, but it was as if it were made of steel and concrete. His resistance faded; he could not breathe. The lights came back on, and as his sight faded, he saw four men in full battle gear watching him.
The little sailor spoke. “We’ve been expecting you,” Freedman said. “Let’s have a talk.”
Then the arm turned Fox loose and he toppled over, gasping for breath as his lungs burned in pain. His neck felt broken.
44
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
“THE MONEY KEEPS ROLLING in, doesn’t it, gentlemen?” Bartlett Geneen, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, spread his hands over two neatly stacked piles of papers on his desk.
Jack Pathurst from the Office of Security kept a confident look on his face and remained calm. “I am apparently on my way to becoming as rich as the CEO of some state-owned utility company. What’s my latest total, Mia?”
Mia Kim from the Financial Department said, “Two new deposits were wired in just before midnight. One from the Canary Islands, the second from Buenos Aires. You are each up to about forty million.”
“You have it all tagged to be scraped up later?”
“Yes,” Kim said.
“Good.”
Stephen Swinton sighed loudly and looked at his folded hands, which were shaking. His face was ashen. “My wife has left me,” he announced softly. “Glenda cashed out those first deposits in her account and departed, leaving a short note beneath a magnet on the refrigerator. She has gone to Reno to file for divorce.”
Pathurst gave the lawyer a smirk. “Glenda is a smart girl. You owe the government some big bucks.”
Bart Geneen stood up and stretched. “One of the neatest frames I have seen in a long time,” he said. “Homeland Security is interested in both of you, which poses new problems. Bobby Richardson over at the White House is trying to distance himself from this entire episode. He has become a political liability for the president and will soon be dismissed as chief of staff, even if the media does not get a hint of this, as I fully expect them to do.”
Pathurst held up his right palm and moved it slowly left to right. “ ‘CIA Officials Caught Taking Bribes.’ That catchy headline will be crawling across the bottom of TV screens for weeks. Smart.”
Geneen moved to the tall American flag on a stand in one corner of his office, picked at the gold fringe, and rubbed the silk of a red stripe between his fingers. “That’s not even half of it. Not even the worst. You two will be painted by the press as working with America’s enemies, the Taliban. You are getting rich on bribes from a rogue agent, Jim Hall. According to the testimony of the soldiers who escaped, they watched Hall actually protecting the Taliban’s people when Kyle Swanson pulled his gun on them. So, Hall equals Taliban equals the overthrow of the Pakistani government equals nuclear weapons in the hands of terrorists who hate America.” He turned to face Pathurst and Swinton. “Is that about right?”
Pathurst said, “I wasn’t involved in that.”
“Neither was I,” protested Swinton, looking up. His eyeglasses were dirty.
“Does not matter,” responded the director. “We don’t want to have to defend ourselves in public. Therefore, I am pulling the plug on the investigation of Agent Lauren Carson and restoring her to active status. It’s pretty obvious to me that Jim Hall set her up. Similarly, I have already spoken with the FBI, Homeland Security, and General Middleton over at Task Force Trident. Gunnery Sergeant Swanson is off the hook for any and all charges. Again, it looks like that was Hall’s doing.”
Pathurst shifted in his chair. “Okay-but I think you may be moving too fast, Mr. Director. We still cannot get involved because we have to protect our deal not to chase Jim Hall. Son of a bitch will roll up more of our networks if he thinks that we are chasing him. Nothing to stop him from doing so in the future.”
“I know, Jack. But for right now, it won’t be us. Swanson and Carson are the leads, both now working through Task Force Trident. If they need some of our help, they will let us know through the Trident loop. Let them finish him off. We stay out of it. Hall probably has laid a trap or two that would alert him if we get involved. So we don’t. No memos, no phone calls, no e-mails, no nothing.”
Swinton blinked and caught his breath. “Trident? It’s them! That Major Sybelle Summers threatened me, and this is their work. We can charge them all now-”
“Shut up, Swinton.” Bartlett Geneen was growing red in the face and was tired of dealing with the whining lawyer. “Earlier tonight, a three-man hit squad hired by Jim Hall tried to kill a naval officer who is part of Trident. They failed. Trident is in the clear, do you understand me? That case is over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As of right now, I have to suspend you both from duty until further notice. And, Jack, because you are the watchdog around here, I cannot allow the Security Office to conduct the investigation. It cannot even be anyone within the Agency, so I will arrange for a sympathetic independent counsel to cover all of our asses.”
Pathurst remained calm. “Understood.” In a smooth move, he placed his CIA credentials on the director’s desk.
