by David Spell
CHAPTER TEN
LEESBURG, VIRGINIA, TUESDAY, 1055 hours
“That gives you an idea of what we’re dealing with,” Gabriella said, stopping the video on her computer and turning the lights back on in the conference room.
Perkins, Dunning, McCain, and Clark sat around the table with Vargas. She had just projected two of Nicholson’s home movies onto the wall. The Century Tactical Solutions exec team had not recognized the two middle-aged men who had ‘starred’ in the recordings with girls who were clearly in their early teens. Each clip varied from five to ten minutes in length, long enough for the viewers to realize that the victims were probably under the age of consent and that everything they had heard about Alfie Nicholson and his private island was true.
“I feel dirty just having watched that. I need a shower,” Chuck spoke up.
“Agreed,” the general said. “How many more videos are there, Gabby?”
“There were seventy-two total, so only seventy more, boss,” she chuckled. “The challenge is that he used really good encrypting software, and it’s a time-consuming process to break into each movie. I should have all of them unlocked in a week or so, tops.”
“Is there an index file that tells us who these people are?” Sandra asked.
“There is but it only uses numbers. As you saw in the lower right corner of the recordings we just watched, they’re identified by the year they were made and then the numbers 001 and 002. Every file is given a number. Without a master list, I’m just going to have to break into to each one to see if we can ID the people.”
Kevin held up his hand. “Let’s not forget that all these guys aren’t going to be famous. From the intel we saw when we were with the Agency, anyone could have access to Alfie’s island if they had money and could keep their mouths shut.”
“Correct,” interjected Dunning, “but we also know that Nicholson’s circle included his Hollywood friends, politicians, and even some world leaders. I’m guessing that we’re all going to be surprised at who makes an appearance in these videos. Sorry, Gabby, that you’ve got to look at all this stuff, but when it’s said and done, I think we’re going to see some well-known perverts being exposed for the world to see.”
“That brings up an interesting point,” Perkins said. “Who can we trust with these files?”
Without hesitation, McCain said, “Burns with the FBI. We can trust him to do the right thing. This is going to get ugly fast if there are any political types or major celebrities in any of these movies. Thomas will know how to deal with it and how to keep us out of the picture.”
“Should we bring him in now?” Wallace asked.
“I think we should wait until Gabby has cracked open all the files,” Kevin answered. “We don’t want to have to answer a lot of questions about where we obtained them. If it does turn out that we just have a lot of horny businessmen, that’s not going to carry the same weight as if we find congressmen, senators, CNN reporters, etc.”
The general nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I think you’re right, Colonel. Good call. And Sandra, I’m glad that you decided to pursue this. Our intelligence unit is already starting to shine, or possibly putting us on the wrong side of the law for unauthorized hacking,” he said, smiling at Gabby. “But I believe that bringing this into the light is the right thing to do.”
Bashir Campaign Headquarters, Detroit, Wednesday, 0720 hours
With the final Democratic debate scheduled for the following night, Amari Roberts had decided that it was time to fire the second blast at Mason Wilson. The governor had somehow bounced back after the first story about the prostitute was released. He and Saleem were currently almost dead-even in the Democratic polls.
Time to change that, Roberts thought. He was timing his call so that his source at MSNBC could spend the morning trying to verify the veracity of the story. It would then hit the airwaves later in the day and carry over into tomorrow, the day of the debate. With any luck, Wilson would pull out first and then it would just be Bashir and the last two or three hangers-on.
Amari looked up the contact on his phone, pushing the ‘dial’ button.
“Ronald Meadows, MSNBC.”
“Hey Ronald, Amari Roberts with Saleem Bashir’s campaign.”
“Amari, what’s up? Your man ready for the debate tomorrow night?”
“So, ready! He’s dominated the last two. Tomorrow night for the sweep.”
“Well, that’s open to interpretation. The first one was probably even, with Bashir maybe having a slight edge in the second. But, what can I do for you this morning? I haven’t even gotten to the office yet.”
“Someone dropped another envelope in our mail slot last night. Whoever this person is really hates Mason Wilson.”
“What? Come on, Amari. It’s hard to believe that someone wants to sabotage the governor and keeps giving you guys the story instead of leaking it to one of the networks.”
“I know, Ronald, but what am I supposed to do? I can call CNN if you don’t want it.”
“No, don’t do that. I’ll take a look at it. What does this one allege?”
“It’s worse than the first one,” Roberts answered. “Evidently, the governor likes to be dominated and told what a bad boy he is. He supposedly visits a dominatrix in Charlotte to get spanked. She’s got a website and everything.”
“Whoa! Really?” Meadows asked. “That’s crazy. Obviously, I’ll have to check into it first.”
“Of course, but there’s more. Whoever sent this to us also said that there’s a possibility that the first girl, that young prostitute, is willing to go on camera and discuss her ‘relationship’ with the governor.”
Amari could almost hear the wheels inside Ronald’s head spinning. Like so many reporters that he came into contact with, Meadows was lazy, wanting to do the least amount of investigation necessary. Roberts was handing him a gift-wrapped story. All he had to do was poke around on the internet, dig up some background on the dominatrix, then call Wilson’s campaign headquarters and attempt to get Mason on the phone. That would never happen. Instead, he’d speak with the candidate’s campaign manager, who would deny everything and threaten MSNBC with a lawsuit if they ran the story.
“You’re the reporter, Ronald. I’ll send all this to you to see if there’s any validity to the allegations. I know you’ll handle it with your usual tact and deference,” Amari said, smiling to himself.
“I appreciate you thinking of me, Amari. I’ll be waiting to dig in. It’s sure not sounding good for the governor, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.”
Palmer Woods, Detroit, Friday, 1030 hours
It was time, Saleem thought, picking up his phone and dialing Maxwell’s number. After two rings it, the CIA Director answered.
“Good morning, Saleem. How are you?”
“Hello, Maxwell, I’ll get right to the point. My campaign is gaining momentum. With the last debate behind me and Governor Wilson deciding to withdraw for ‘personal reasons,’ it’s time to solidify my team. The convention is next month and I’m anticipating easily winning the nomination, especially now that Wilson is out of the race. I need to pick my running mate. I’d like to ask you to be my Vice-President. Will you accept my offer?”
“I’d be honored to serve as your VP, Saleem. Thank you for asking.”
“Very good, my friend. I was hoping you would say ‘yes.’ I think that we’ll make a very potent team. We need to meet soon and begin discussing my platform so that you and I can be on the same page. Part of the reason that I want you on board is so that we can create a new foreign policy. President Asher is clearly anti-Islamic in his Middle-Eastern policy and we are going to change that completely.
“You’ll be debating Vice-President Byrne after the convention and my team will help you prepare. I’ll need you to work very closely with Amari Roberts and the rest of our advisors as we move forward.”
“Of course, I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Should I resign my post at the CI
A?”
“Not yet. I would say wait until right before the convention. For the moment, please do not tell anyone about this conversation. I’ll make the official announcement at the convention. I don’t want any leaks.”
“I understand.”
“Now we are entering into a new arena, my friend. We’re going to be scrutinized like never before. Please watch what you say and let’s not give the press any negative ammunition.”
Sterling looked at the phone, stunned that it had actually happened. He was going to be on the Democratic ticket as the vice-presidential candidate! A heartbeat away from the Oval Office. A smile broke out across his face. Too bad he couldn’t tell anyone.
A dark cloud just as quickly descended on his thoughts. Ethan Sharpe still had not located Alfie Nicholson’s video files. Those would ruin everything, he thought. At least Nicholson and Knight were dead. According to Ethan, however, someone else seemed to be looking for the movies, as well. Who the hell had stolen those files from Alfie’s home server in California?
I can’t worry about it right now, he told himself. I’ll call Sharpe later and see if he’s found any other clues. Sterling look a deep breath, trying to get a grip on his emotions. Maxwell prided himself on controlling outcomes and not leaving anything to chance. Those movies of him having sex with underage girls were a terrible lapse in judgment, but he would do it again in a heartbeat. Next time, though, he would make sure that the room didn’t have any hidden cameras.
Leesburg, Virginia, Friday, 0945 hours
Kevin, Chuck, Andy Fleming, Scotty Smith, and Jay Walker sat in the Century Tactical Solutions conference room, discussing the upcoming training that they would be conducting for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They were scheduled to start in a month and were finalizing their course outline and deciding which tactical drills they would be running the agents through.
Fleming had resigned in lieu of termination the week after providing Burns with the information on Musa Khan. Maxwell Sterling had been furious that Andy had bypassed official channels to assist the FBI. Smith followed suit, resigning mainly because he was tired of guarding the entrance to the CIA.
Walker had just quit the previous week. After McCain and Clark had resigned, Jay had been transferred to the Farm, training new recruits. In his short time there, however, he had constantly butted heads with the training director over tactics that he’d been teaching in both the firearms and the hand-to-hand combat training.
As a former member of SEAL Team Six, the CDC Enforcement Unit, and the Operations Directorate of the CIA, Jay knew what worked and what didn’t. All of his techniques were battle-tested on various battlefields from around the world. The training director, who had no combat experience, felt that Walker was only teaching the new agents lethal tactics without providing any non-lethal options. Jay had to admit that he was correct, but the former SEAL’s goal was to teach the new CIA operatives how to stay alive and if that meant the other guy died, so be it.
It felt good to be back with these men, Jay thought, looking around the table. They had all become friends and were as good as any of the operators whom he had worked with during his career. While training FBI agents or others might not be his first choice for an occupation, Walker had to admit that the atmosphere at Century was better than what he had just come out of at the Agency.
When he turned in his resignation, Walker’s first thought had been to pack up and move back to Atlanta. The separation from his girlfriend Nicole Edwards was so hard. They talked almost daily and managed to see each other at least once a month, but long-distance relationships are never easy.
Nicole was employed by the CDC and was one of the leading epidemiologists in the world. Her research into the zombie virus had been groundbreaking. She and her team continued to learn everything they could about the deadly bio-terror weapon so that the world would be better prepared if the virus was ever deployed again. Edwards’ group of researchers was currently testing a vaccine, hoping to announce it as a success before the year was out.
Jay and Nicole had met at the height of the zombie crisis after the survivors from the CDC relocated to a remote location east of Atlanta. At the time, Walker was employed by the CDC Enforcement Unit, stationed in Washington, D.C. His team was sent to Atlanta to assist Chuck and his agents in dealing with another Mexican cartel that had established a beachhead inside the city.
The former SEAL was grateful to both Chuck and Kevin for providing this new opportunity with Century Tactical. Thankfully, Clark had called with the job offer before Jay had started packing his truck Hopefully, I can get to Atlanta very soon to see Nicole, he thought. Maybe one day we’ll actually be able to settle down in the same city.
McCain’s phone rang and the big man glanced at the screen.
“I better take this. It’s Burns with the FBI,” he said, stepping out of the room.
“What’s up, Burns?” Chuck spoke into his phone, sitting down behind his desk.
“Check your email. I just sent you some interesting information. Remember Juan Guerra?”
“Sure. He’s with the New Generation Cartel and was mixed up with the attempt to kill Sandra. You guys arrest him yet?”
“I wish. We’ve been trying to track him down, but he’s a tough one to find. He showed up in Atlanta a couple of months ago and took over operations from Vincente Villarreal’s cousin, Pablo Cortes. A month ago, he killed a rival gang member in a bar who made the mistake of looking at him wrong. Last week, he beat the number two guy under Cortes to death. He did it in front of twenty or so other gangsters to show them that it was bad to steal from the cartel.”
“Sounds like a great guy. You don’t know where he’s at? I thought the FBI was supposed to be really good at tracking bad guys down. If my memory is correct, you told me that this Guerra guy was close to being on the Top Ten List.”
“Quit busting my balls, McCain. He’s now number eight and we’d love to arrest him. The problem is that he’s disappeared again. We’ve got it on good authority that he might be back in Mexico.”
McCain understood that, from what Burns had just told him, the FBI had probably managed to slip an informant into the Atlanta chapter of the gang. What he didn’t understand was why Burns was passing this information on to him.
“The word is,” Thomas continued, “that Juan and Pablo disappeared, leaving three of Guerra’s main guys from DC in charge. The speculation is that Juan’s taking Cortes back to Mexico to let his cousin deal with him. As far as we know, Damian Sanchez is still recuperating in Matamoros, as well.”
“Interesting, but I’m in the middle of a planning meeting for the training you guys want us to do. Why are you telling me all of this?”
“You look at all the stuff I sent you and then we’ll talk, OK?”
“Sure, Burns, I’ll have a look and call you back.”
“What’s up with our buddy Burns?” Kevin asked as Chuck sat back down at the table, flipping through a sheaf of papers.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that our favorite FBI agent wanted us to do something highly illegal,” the big man answered, a slight smile on his face.
McCain trusted each of the men in the room with his life and didn’t hesitate to share the details of his telephone conversation with Burns.
“He emailed me all this stuff,” Chuck said, passing the papers around. “Google satellite maps, street view pics, dossiers on some cartel people, more maps. What do you guys make of all this?”
The operators quickly transitioned from preparing a training curriculum to examining the intelligence that Thomas had provided.
“I wonder why this big warehouse in Matamoros is so important?” Jay queried, tapping a photo showing an overhead view of a long structure that took up almost an entire block in an industrial section of the city.
“Here’s several street views of the same building, taken all the way around the perimeter,” Andy added. “Someone, I’m guessing Burns, hand wrote on this page that
it belongs to the New Generation cartel, but was purchased through one of their shell corporations.”
“Okay, so we know that a building in Mexico belongs to a cartel,” Scotty shrugged. “There’s a lot of places in Mexico owned by the cartels.”
“That’s true,” Kevin said, leaning over Jay’s shoulder to peer at the map, “but this one is owned by the cartel that killed Tim and Tom and left Sandra confined to a wheelchair.”
“Why did Burns send you all this, Chuck?” Fleming asked, looking up.
“Great question, buddy. I don’t know. He seems to think that Juan Guerra is back in Mexico, laying low and meeting with Vincente Villarreal. You know, I just remembered something else. Not long after the second attack on Sandra, Burns told me, ‘If you and some of your buddies want to take a trip south of the border, I’ll give you all the intel and support I can.’”
“He said that?” Clark asked in surprise.
“I always thought he was so strait-laced,” Smith commented, shaking his head. “Now he’s starting to sound like one of us. So, we gonna do it? I’m dealing with a lot of pent-up anger and frustration from how we were treated at the Agency. I’d love to go kill some gangsters!”
The bearded man looked around the room for support, a boyish grin on his face.
“Slow down, Scotty,” Kevin said. “You seem to be forgetting we don’t work for the CIA or any other agency now. We’re just plain ole American citizens, trying to make a buck by teaching some FBI agents and some other cops how not to get themselves killed.”
Walker looked at McCain. “Did Burns say if they were going to try and get the Federales to go raid the place?”
Chuck shook his head. “Thomas told me that the ranking FBI guy in Mexico appealed to El Jefe with the Federales. He said the guy just laughed at him and told him to go away. Evidently, they’re still pissed off about our visit last year.”
