by P A Duncan
“Yes, the talk among the agents here is that he games the system. When did he join the FBI?”
“About five years ago. He applied for an ATF regional director position and didn’t get it. I guess his blackmail failed him or someone called his bluff. In the FBI he’s been an assistant field office manager a couple of times but, again, nothing spectacular about his career. He’s applied for a number of field office manager jobs, literally every one that pops up in the FBI’s system. He rarely gets called for an interview.”
“Anything on his personal life?”
“Married late, about fifteen years ago. First and only marriage so far. A secretary from an ATF office. One child, a girl, thirteen. His wife quit the ATF after they married and stays at home with the child. No indication of church attendance or record of marriage counseling. The wife attends most of the daughter’s school events, though he does come to her soccer games and other sporting events. Financials show nothing other than his federal salary. No evidence of abuse, no domestic calls at the house, no teacher suspicion of child abuse. In his last office at the FBI, the only personal item in it was a picture of him, the wife, and the daughter, taken maybe three years ago.”
“How do you think he got from being an unspectacular assistant office manager to SAC here?” Alexei asked.
“He is still officially on the books as the assistant manager of the Seattle FBI office. The ATF and U.S. Marshals are in the same building, and he caught wind of a weapons case against some survivalist in Idaho. He offered his and the FBI’s assistance when the Marshals tried and failed to bust the guy at his mountaintop home. All of a sudden, Fitzgerald gets a trip to D.C. and not only placed on the HRT but made SAC when the FBI sent the HRT to Ruby Ridge, Idaho.”
“The Weaver thing?” That had popped up in Mai’s research and Analysis’ briefing.
“Yes. Do you want a refresher on that?”
“Fitzgerald’s not in the communications center right now, but if he shows up, I don’t want him to see me on a secure line. Limit it to his involvement. I can get other details from Mai’s notes.”
“We’re tapped into the Weaver murder trial going on in Boise right now. A key issue is the FBI changed its standard rules of engagement at the Ruby Ridge standoff.”
“Standard policy is to return fire only after fired upon or to save lives,” Alexei said.
“Yes, but they changed that per Fitzgerald’s suggestion: shoot any armed male on sight.”
“And ask questions later, I presume. How did he manage to convince FBI HQ to make him SAC?”
“I think he blackmailed Director Steedley himself. Steedley has some trouble keeping his fly zipped around women who are barely twenty. Officially, the justification was that Fitzgerald had studied Weaver’s ‘type’ and knew how to handle him.”
“A U.S. marshal was killed as I recall.”
“Before the FBI was on site, but a U.S. marshal is a cop. Fitzgerald has a history of dealing with cop-killers. However, the Marshals say the Weavers shot the Marshal. The Weavers say he was killed by friendly fire. We’ll have to wait for the outcome of the trial. The latest and biggest embarrassment coming out of the trial is that after the FBI’s top sharpshooter, a former Delta Force sniper, shot Randy Weaver’s wife, Fitzgerald and other agents debriefed him.”
“Standard procedure.”
“In public, in a Boise restaurant, where they left a paper napkin on which the sharpshooter drew what he saw through his scope?”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. Their waitress caught enough of the conversation to know what it was about. She kept the napkin and turned it over to Weaver’s defense attorney.”
“Boizhe moi,” Alexei muttered.
“The FBI’s official line is the sharpshooter didn’t see a woman holding a baby in his scope, but on that napkin, he drew the door and the outline of a woman next to it. Any guesses on who was manning the spotter scope for that sharpshooter and gave the order to fire?”
“Fitzgerald had to have seen the woman, too.”
“Well, Bukharin, I’ve never snipered or spotted, but I know you have.”
He had indeed. “Snipered?” he asked, the lilt of his voice taking on intimacy he’d never shared with her.
“You know what I mean, you old flirt. By the way, most of the FBI crew from Ruby Ridge, including that very same sharpshooter, Eric Kitamura, are down there in Texas with you.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said, but his hackles rose at the knowledge Kitamura might have been one of the snipers eying Mai on her Calvary Locus incursion. “Thanks, Grace. Anything else?”
“Oh, about a fifty-page report for you when you have the chance to read it. I hope the thumbnail was enough.”
“It was. It confirmed my suspicions.”
“I suspect either you or Mai have already pushed his buttons.”
“That’s rather our job.”
“Of course it is. You guys be careful.”
“We always are,” he replied and hung up.
Alexei rubbed his stubbled face and shook his head to ward off fatigue. When he emerged from the booth, he was glad to see Fitzgerald still hadn’t made an appearance. After he thanked the communications tech, he said, “I’d like to ask that this be between you and me.”
The tech flushed, his eyes shifting about the room where he and Alexei were the only occupants. “I’m sorry, sir. I had to enter the incoming call in the log.”
Mai, of the unlimited funds, would offer the tech something he wanted but that was beyond his reach, but Alexei preferred intimidation. He leaned down, arms braced on the tech’s desk, face inches from the younger man’s.
“But you’re not going to log the outgoing call, are you?”
The eyes shifted left and right again, and there was a big swallow before the tech spoke. “Uh, what outgoing call, sir?”
“Excellent.”
22
On Edge
April 19, 1993
A few days later when a knock on the RV door came again, Alexei felt a rush of déjà vu. The other side of the bed was again empty, it was again an ungodly hour of the morning, and he again reached for the gun under his pillow.
“What is it?” he called out.
“A message for you, sir, from the SAC,” again came the muffled reply.
This time he didn’t bother to tuck the gun away and answered the door, holding it down at his side.
“What?” Alexei said.
Eyes on the gun, the same communications tech said, “Uh, sir, Agent Humphrey wants to meet with you at 0400. The command center.”
Alexei looked at his watch. 0256 this time.
“I need to shower, shave, and dress. And I need coffee. I’ll be there by four.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah, there you are, Bukharin,” Hollis Fitzgerald said when Alexei entered the command center at 0355.
Fitzgerald’s smile put Alexei on edge right away. Fitzgerald was never that happy to see him or Mai. His eyes doing their usual sweep of the room, Alexei replied, “Agent Fitzgerald.”
There were three men in the command center besides the usual staff, off to one side. They gave him their own, cool inspection. He and Mai had walked among the agents here for a few weeks now, and these men were strangers. They also didn’t have the clean-cut, put-together look of federal agents. Their cold, detached presence said a lot.
Fitzgerald was in a fresh set of black BDUs and body armor. The three men were in Dockers and golf shirts. They were hirsute among the buzz-cut agents, and their attempt to remain in the background only made them more noticeable. Unfazed by their study of him, Alexei read the way they held themselves, considered the various reasons why Fitzgerald wanted him here at this hour and decided he had a good idea who they were. Alexei gave them a knowing smile and turned to Fitzgerald.
“Where’s your partner?” Fitzgerald asked.
“The strike team’s training session goes until 0500.”
&
nbsp; Fitzgerald smirked this time, and Alexei was glad he held a cup of coffee in his left hand, tempted as he was to beat that smirk off the man’s face. He did, however, have a decent right jab.
“Well, all teams can stand down,” Fitzgerald said. “The president made his decision overnight. We’re going with my plan.”
Alexei kept his face impassive. “When?”
“In an hour.”
“Why?”
“Because my plan was the better one.”
Boizhe moi, did he know how petty that made him sound? The three strangers in the room exchanged a glance. One may have rolled his eyes.
“Is that what this is about, Fitzgerald? Mommy and Daddy like you better than me?”
That drew a grunt of laughter from one of the interlopers, but Fitzgerald was too angry to notice.
“This is about upholding the law and ensuring justice, comrade.”
“I’d like to hear this from the attorney general herself.”
“She’s probably already in the situation room with the president.”
“No problem. I have her pager number.”
“Look, Bukharin, you and your partner are superfluous. I don’t need you here. I never did. In fact, I have an agent packing up your gear as we speak. I will allow you both to stay and observe since that’s what the U.N. is so good at. When you go back and write your report, make sure you point out how efficient and effective U.S. law enforcement is.”
“I want you to call the attorney general. If you don’t, I’ll contact my Director, and he’ll get her on the line.”
“You don’t give orders here.”
“I’ll cue the press, and you lose the element of surprise.”
“I’ll have you confined.”
“And if I don’t show up for breakfast, Mai will figure it out. Good luck confining her, by the way.”
“Fitzgerald,” said one of the newcomers. “A word.”
With a lingering glare for Alexei, Fitzgerald went to them. They huddled around him, murmuring below Alexei’s ability to hear them. From the stiffness of Fitzgerald’s spine, he didn’t like what they said.
He walked back to Alexei. “We’ll call from my office.”
As he followed Fitzgerald, Alexei turned to the three men. His fingers in a vee, he pointed to his eyes and to them. He tapped his forehead with an index finger. I see you, I know who you are, he told them. One of them nodded.
Alexei’s annoyance grew as Attorney General Vejar repeated Fitzgerald’s tired arguments. He wanted to shout, “Think for yourself!”
After the brief, scripted conversation where Vejar wouldn’t yield and wouldn’t agree to dissuade the president, Alexei’s anger reached the point of being irrational. He didn’t blame Vejar completely. She was only a couple of months into the job, having been the President’s third choice. With idiots like Fitzgerald advising her on the tactical situation, Alexei cut her some slack—but not much. And he’d have a chance to make his points in the debrief.
His anger, he knew, was better directed at Fitzgerald, who’d let the teams train and prepare, likely knowing all along he’d pull the plug at the last minute. The truth was obvious in Fitzgerald’s ever-present smirk: a peaceful solution was never part of the plan.
After the attorney general ended the call, Fitzgerald turned that smirk on Alexei. “Satisfied?” he asked.
Alexei stared at the man long enough to make him fidget. “What did you have on her?” Alexei asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He almost pulled it off, but the smirk bled through. “She reviewed both alternatives. She chose the right one. Be a good loser about this.”
“I never lose well, Fitzgerald.”
“You heard me earlier. Get your partner here and maybe you’ll both learn how to kick ass.”
Alexei gave him a smile, tight and enigmatic. He turned his back on Fitzgerald’s frown.
“Bukharin!”
He didn’t bother to turn around. “What?”
“Under no circumstances will you relay this information to anyone except your partner, and make sure she keeps her mouth shut. I will speak to my personnel. Understood?”
Alexei gave him the barest of glances over his shoulder. “To quote you, I don’t take orders from you.”
“Maybe you should start.”
“Fuck yourself,” Alexei said and left.
23
Need to Know
Alexei Bukharin emerged from the FBI command center, let the door slam, and paced back and forth, not feeling the mist on his face.
In past missions, some, not all, he’d dealt with unreasonable people who, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary opted to stay a calamitous course. Sometimes they survived to hear him say, “I told you so.”
The door to the command center trailer opened, and Alexei spun, ready to shove Hollis Fitzgerald’s nose up into his brain. One of the three men he’d seen inside jogged down the short set of steps.
“You left your coffee inside,” he said, extending a hand with the half-empty paper cup.
“I’m done.”
The man tossed the cup toward a trash receptacle fifteen feet away and scored. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped up to Alexei.
“I’m Slater,” he said. “Bukharin, right?”
Alexei said nothing.
“I’ve heard of you. And your partner. Directorate, right?”
“What directorate?”
Slater smiled. “Agent Fitzgerald has a mouth looser than a Nevada whore, but I’ve heard of The Directorate. I reviewed your plan.”
“I could give a fuck.”
“Hey, don’t bust my chops. I didn’t make the call. Your plan would have worked.”
“I don’t need validation from Delta Force.”
“What’s Delta Force?”
Alexei almost smiled at that.
“I’m not offering any validation to people who don’t need it,” Slater said. “I thought, man to man, you might want to unload on someone whose clearance level allows you to.”
The morning breeze arrived as the sun touched the horizon, pushing the mist away. As brisk as the wind was now, it promised to be gale force before the day ended. Despite the presence of the man beside him, Alexei relished the quiet a moment longer. In a few hours, he suspected everyone around here would crave silence.
As an arc of sun brightened everything, Alexei looked at Slater. “Walk with me.” Alexei strolled away from the RVs, and Slater fell in step.
“So, you a citizen?” Slater asked.
“What the hell does that matter?”
“You’re pretty passionate about this soon-to-be fuck-up. I figure you for naturalized.”
“I’ve been an American almost as long as I was Russian.”
“Good for you. When was your plan supposed to launch?”
“Midnight tonight.”
Slater sighed and murmured, “And now, instead, modified tanks are going to punch holes in that collection of shacks over there to insert CS gas.” Slater stroked his Fu Manchu mustache. “The FBI thinks the PELs will surrender en masse because they’ll be scared shitless, but you and I both know they have enough gas masks maybe to outlast the FBI’s resolve. The PELs also think dying with Isaac Caleb will lead them to salvation.”
“Where was that opinion when I needed it?”
“I have the same role here as you. Observer.”
“Do I look as if I were born yesterday?”
Another grin from Slater. “Yeah, well, I have the clearance to hear you. Not the other way around. You probably figured Fitzgerald when you first set eyes on him.”
“An easy read. On one level, I understand his need to show us up. We were help he didn’t solicit, but he won’t look beyond revenge for four dead ATF agents.”
“Then the son of a bitch insisted you stay and learn how to kick ass. I think the bastard is a sociopath, and who better to know than you and me, right? I mean, if you haven’t fantasized c
hoking the life out of the jerk, something’s wrong with you.”
How much had Fitzgerald told the three men?
“I’d never do such a thing surrounded by hundreds of LEOs,” Alexei said.
Slater’s smile told Alexei he saw through the lie.
Alexei stopped walking, and he and Slater faced each other. “Why don’t you put a stop to this?” Alexei asked.
“No jurisdiction. Sucks, but life’s a bitch then you marry one, which according to Fitzgerald you did. Tell me about her.”
“Why?”
“My wife can’t even hear about my work, not that she’d want to. She wraps herself in denial and does a damn good job of raising the kids in my protracted absences. And I’ve only heard Fitzgerald’s opinion.”
Alexei glanced toward where he knew Mai would be. The wind brought him the assault team leader’s voice, coaching, encouraging.
“It surprised Fitzgerald when she subordinated herself to the team lead, but it didn’t surprise me,” Alexei said.
“Yeah, I read up on the team lead. A senior FBI agent who was one of the first women on HRT. Good creds.”
“At first she and the other women on the team were hostile, suspicious when dealing with my partner. We learned later, Fitzgerald had laid it on thick in a briefing about how arrogant and uncooperative she was. When she deferred to the leader and worked harder and longer than any of them, they accepted her. I was…” He broke off, not wanting to betray emotion to a stranger.
“You were proud of her. I’m proud of every warrior I train.”
“It’s one thing for her to defer to me. I’m the senior, but she took on a lesser role for the sake of the mission.”
“Sounds like a credit to the profession.”
“That entire team, they would have kicked ass without any instruction or encouragement from Fitzgerald because they are committed to rescuing the children.”
