She motioned for him to sit down, but he chose to lean against the wall instead. The mere mention of Robinson’s name resulted in adrenaline coursing through his veins, and sitting wouldn’t last long anyway.
“My contacts at the CIA came through,” she explained. “The phone conversations were archived as part of an investigation into election interference and therefore were never made a part of the investigation into Heather’s death.”
“Why would that happen?” he asked.
“Well, the two parties who were taped couldn’t be identified. The Russian worked in Moscow within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Apparently, he’d been a back-channel resource used by Colonel Robinson from time to time. Anyway, the Russian was being investigated as part of the voter-tampering matter. One of the CIA analysts happened to remember this conversation as being out of place with the man’s normal duties.”
“Bottom line it for me,” said Gunner through clenched teeth.
“Both Robinson and Mission Control Director Mark Foster were aware of what happened to Heather that day. Foster, of course, is dead and took the truth to his grave.”
“By a bullshit suicide,” grumbled Gunner before Jackal continued.
She finished her explanation. “Robinson is set to retire in three months.”
Gunner took a deep breath and glanced at the ceiling. “Do we have enough to go on? You know, can the Bureau get involved and charge him with something?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know that will happen because Justice would have to get involved,” replied Jackal. “President Taylor has the attorney general under his thumb.”
“So?” Gunner was genuinely confused.
Jackal sighed. “Gunner, based upon what we can discern from the conversation and Robinson’s subsequent actions, the orders to cover up Heather’s death came from the top.”
“The White House?” Gunner began to pace the floor. He was incredulous. “Are you telling me the damn President of the United States knew my wife was murdered by Russians and didn’t do anything about it?”
“He covered it up, Gunner, supposedly to prevent his political opponents from demanding a scalp. He’s a dove, you know, and has no appetite for military conflict. He feels he’s got more important things to spend our money on.”
“Are you saying Robinson would be protected by the administration to keep the truth from coming out?” asked Gunner.
“Most likely, yes. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if contingency plans haven’t been in place for years since Taylor was vice president. He was the administration’s point man on the space program at the time, if you remember.”
“I thought he was just a figurehead,” said Gunner, who wandered as he spoke.
“He was more than that, apparently. And Robinson reported directly to him.”
Gunner leaned on the table with both hands. “If we can’t get him for the crime he committed, can’t we get him for one he didn’t?”
“My contacts might be able to set him up for a treason charge related to his conversations with the Russian foreign affairs agent. Apparently, there were some election matters discussed with Robinson that were unrelated to NASA business. The conversation enabled the CIA to identify Robinson based on the subject matter.”
“Can they make the case before he retires?”
Jackal shrugged. “It’ll be close. Listen, there’s always the other option. Eye for an eye.”
Gunner took a deep breath and turned away from Jackal. He studied a world map affixed to the wall. He mindlessly found his way to Dog Island just off the Florida Panhandle, where he and Heather had planned on living out their days together. It seemed like so long ago.
“You know, killing comes easy to me now. I’m not a hundred percent certain I still have a moral compass when it comes to pulling the trigger, regardless of the weapon. But I’m just not into vigilante justice, you know. Sure, I took out the three Russian assholes on the Starhopper, but they tried to kill me, and they’d already attacked the rest of our crew.”
“They killed Heather,” interjected Jackal. “Not Robinson, Foster, or even the president.”
“Yeah, but those three were equally culpable. They shouldn’t get a pass.”
Jackal remained quiet to allow Gunner an opportunity to process his thoughts. After a moment, he turned to her. “I won’t rest until they’re exposed or dealt with. Now, there are bigger fish to fry. Can you try to connect President Taylor to Robinson? Maybe they didn’t cover their tracks?”
“I’ll do everything I can,” she replied. “The president will be untouchable, though. This is the kind of thing they can quash with a phone call.”
“Maybe so. But sometimes the court of public opinion can be just as powerful as a jury of your peers.”
Chapter Eight
Greater Caucasus Mountains
Gabala, Azerbaijan
The pilot of the Sikorsky S-434 utility helicopter had been busy in the last several days. He’d ferried passengers from Russia, Georgia, and Armenia into the desolate mountains. He glanced over at his passenger from time to time, a seemingly important man, who remained deep in thought as the pilot navigated the chopper low to the ground, deftly easing up the valleys on that beautiful late-summer day.
He massaged the controls as he guided the helicopter through the incredibly tight, tree-lined canyon of pine trees. He maintained an altitude of just two hundred feet above the ground to avoid the peering eyes of radar and Russian patrol aircraft along the border.
Past the rooftops of the small native villages of the ancient country, he could see the farmers working the fields full of grapes and citrus fruits. They gave the helicopter a passing glance as it sailed by.
As with all Odessa operations, the pilot had been given scant details regarding his passengers or their purpose. His orders provided him pickup locations, timelines, and expected numbers of passengers. He banked hard to the left and dropped directly into the middle of a clearing in the dense forest of the Caucasus mountain range. The landing zone was perilously close to the tree canopy, and the whipping rotor blades sheared some of the pine tree branches.
Daniel Wagner impatiently flung the door open of the all-black chopper the second the skids touched the ground.
