“Dude, I had to do some serious hacking to find it. It was like it was scrubbed from their system.”
Bobby shook his head. “No. I saw the flag myself…”
Deric shook his head. “You saw the locator flag they send to law enforcement. Not the same.” He motioned to Gregg. “Show him.”
Gregg fired up his computer screen and scrolled through pages of data. “Here. Interagency. Says to lay off you, man.” He gave Bobby a questioning look. “Says you’re working for them?”
“No…this isn’t right.” Bobby shuffled through the pages again.
Jay sat back down on the corner of the desk and took a pull from his beer. “Oh, it’s right. You tripped balls over nothing.”
Bobby laid the folder down and gave Jay a knowing look. “No. I didn’t.” He pushed the dossier back toward him. “I got…that feeling.”
Jay raised a brow and glanced to the others. “Did anybody pick up on anything that would raise an alarm?”
They all responded in the negative and Bobby had to clench his jaw to keep from screaming. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Jay, how often has my gut been wrong?”
Jay hesitated then shook his head. “You’ve been out of the game for a long time, Bobby.”
Jim pushed away from his desk and stood up a little too quickly. “I got something.” He pulled the headphones off his ears and unplugged them from his computer. “You know a Feeb named Wallace?”
Bobby’s eyes narrowed and he slowly approached Jim’s computer. “Yeah. What do you have?”
“He’s been trying to contact you on your old line.” Jim punched up the screen and Bobby saw close to a dozen missed calls. “He finally left a message.”
“Play it.” Bobby edged in and waited for the hacked message to replay over Jim’s speakers.
“Bobby, this is Roger. I didn’t turn on you, man. You gotta believe me on that. But, uh…hey, listen. Something really strange is going on here. They’re sending me to Omaha of all places.” Bobby could hear the phone rustle and Roger’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. Jim compensated by turning it up. “I think it has something to do with our op, man. They said that I screwed up a joint CIA-NSA project. And when I went to check on the ID flag I put on you…buddy, it was gone. Somebody else took it down. I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but you need to make yourself scarce until this blows over.”
They heard the line go dead and Bobby turned to face Jay. “Still think my intuition is off?”
Jay scratched at his shaved head and shrugged. “I don’t know how you do it man. It’s like fucking radar…”
Gregg chimed in. “I got him. Special Agent Roger Wallace.” He pushed back from his computer and motioned toward the screen. “The guy’s a friggin’ Boy Scout.”
Bobby sighed heavily and wiped a calloused hand across his face. “Exactly. Something didn’t feel right about him being involved.”
Deric leaned against the desk chewing absently at the inside of his cheek. “It sounds to me like he wasn’t.”
“I’m thinking maybe I need to pick his brain a bit more.” Bobby reached for the phone and held the receiver up. “How do I get a secure line in this place?”
Karachi, Pakistan
MAMOON HUNG UP the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. He could feel the muscles of his mouth tiring from all of the smiling he was doing. “Sameer! Balil! You will need to work late this night.”
Sameer groaned and stomped to the edge of the railing. Cigarette ashes fell down the opening as he leaned across and looked for his boss. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I just got off the phone with al-Abadi’s right hand man and we have another large order. One hundred American flags and fifty Israeli flags by noon tomorrow.”
Balil joined Sameer at the railing and yelled bellow. “What about British flags?”
“Just the twenty that were ordered yesterday.” Mamoon scratched at his chin. “al-Abadi will be busy. Perhaps we should print up extras. Just to keep on hand?”
Sameer looked to Balil and punched him in the arm. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he glared at the other man. “What did I tell you?” He pulled Balil back from the railing. “Just wait. That fat bastard will come up here and have this wonderful idea of us printing up the rest of the roll of material just to keep on hand.” He pointed a finger in the other man’s face. “Mark my words.”
Balil nodded toward the stairs at Mamoon’s heavy footfalls as he climbed the ancient steps. “I was just thinking…perhaps we should go ahead and print extra flags. I mean, we have the screens and the ink is ready. We could print extras and have them here in the shop. Once the protests start, they may need extras, yes? If we have them here, we can sell them to people off the streets who wish to join in.”
Sameer rolled his eyes and turned back toward the screen printer. “How many more do you want printed?”
Mamoon paused at the top of the stairs, his breath coming in gasps. “I do not know. Perhaps forty of each?”
“Sure. Why not?” Sameer threw his rag at the machine and kicked at the cigarette butts on the floor.
Mamoon looked to Balil. “What is wrong?”
Balil shook his head and lowered his eyes. “He feels that if we screen print many flags, you will not need us around to paint the smaller orders.”
Sameer turned and gave the smaller man an evil glare.
Mamoon stepped into the room and raised his hands to prevent Sameer from yelling. “No, no. I will always need you here to paint for me.”
“Not if you have this infernal machine. Tariq could run this thing.”
Mamoon gave Sameer his best smile. “But who would create the screens, eh? Who would mix the paints and inks and make these wonderful flags, eh?” He slapped the man on
