by Larry LaVoie
She went over the plan in her mind. She was not going to infiltrate the massive crowd of Green Keeper demonstrators that were gathering daily in the area, but was to meet Joshua Stone in the waiting room when he was brought in for questioning on a trumped up charge. There would be several other people in the waiting room, all special agents posing as demonstrators who had been arrested. Heather would make use of the close proximity in the holding area to strike up a conversation with Stone. In her business attire, she would stand out among the wildly dressed demonstrators. Now she was Heather Smith, a person of interest in the death of a congressman, known to be a supporter of Green Keepers.
Heather was escorted by two uniformed police into the ante-room and told to take a seat on a thinly padded chair next to Joshua Stone. She was roughly shoved into the chair when she protested.
“Shut up and stay seated,” the policeman said.
“I want an attorney,” Heather yelled.
“Good luck with that. I was standing outside the crowd at the Supreme Court demonstration when the pigs grabbed me for no reason at all,” Joshua Stone said. He eyed the pretty blond. “You don’t look like a demonstrator. What are you doing here?”
Happy that she got his attention, Heather started her spiel. “Really? You’re going to use that tired cliché, ‘what’s a girl like me doing in a joint like this?’”
Josh laughed. “Something like that. You weren’t in the demonstration, were you?”
“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t be caught dead with that group of deadbeats.”
“Okay, not the demonstration. You’re in here because…?” Josh let the question trail off.
“Because that son-of-a-bitch Senator Edmonds, is setting me up, that’s why.”
“You know Senator Edmonds?”
“I ran his last campaign fundraising effort. Raised $7 million and the bastard wants me to take a fall for him. What a piece he is. I’m going to turn state’s evidence and nail his ass to the wall.” Senator Edmonds was a big contributor to Green Keepers and her association with him would get Josh’s attention.
“I don’t think you want to do that,” Josh said in a low voice.
“Why not? I’m not going down without taking him with me.”
“He committed suicide last night,” Josh said, matter-of-fact.
Heather looked at Josh with a surprised look on her face. She knew Edmonds was going to be brought up before a grand jury for finance fraud, before he was found dead. It was the first time she had heard it was suicide. She also knew her cover would be safe. With Edmonds’ name all over the papers, and his real finance administrator in witness protection, no one would be available for questions. “Edmonds is dead?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t know. It was today’s headline in the Washington Post and the Journal.”
She wasn’t surprised that Joshua Stone read the papers. From his file, she saw that he was well-informed, even if his education was cut short in college. “That shouldn’t change a thing. I’ve got his entire financial records hidden away for safekeeping. Never know when a little leverage might come in handy.”
They continued to chat as, one-by-one, names were called, and another person in the ante-room was escorted through a door. A few minutes later the person would come out the same door and exit the building. The staged theatrics were to give Heather time to get closer to Joshua. In all, she would have no more than half an hour to set him up.
“I don’t know what to do,” Heather said. “With Edmonds dead, they may want to nail me. What if they won’t make a deal?” She hoped she played the helpless female convincingly.
“If they had any proof they’d be doing more than bringing you in for questioning. You should sit on the information and let them play the first card.”
“You think so? I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Senator Edmonds hired me after my old boss went to jail.” Heather feigned a whimpering voice. Her hands were shaking. “I’m so nervous I could die. I wish this was over. At least with Marty we were all in the dark. None of us knew anything. I’m right in the middle of this. I know I’m going to go to jail.”
“Marty?” Josh asked.
“Bancroft, you may have heard of him.”
“You were with Marty Bancroft?” Josh asked incredulously.
“Over a year. You should have seen the system he had in place. We all thought he was a genius.” She started to cry. “I know they are going to use that against me.” She stood up. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
A uniform grabbed Heather roughly by the arm and sat her down. “You’re not going anyplace until your name is called.”
Heather squirmed in her chair and glanced over at Josh. “You know a good lawyer?”
“It’s going to take more than a good lawyer to get you out of this mess. I may be able to help you.”
“Not likely. It looks to me like you’re in the same boat I’m in.”
“Josh Stone,” Josh said, offering his hand. “I’m the one who organized the demonstration outside the Supreme Court.”
“My point exactly. You’ll probably get more years than I for that fiasco.”
“I’ve got connections. I’ll be out of here any minute now.” He checked his watch.
“You seem pretty confident.”
“Trust me. I can get you out of here.”
“Joshua Stone,” a voice called.
“Right here,” Josh said, standing.
A sharply dressed man walked through the crowded space and stood before Josh. “Come on. They keep doing this and we’ll sue them for harassment.”
Josh leaned over and whispered in Heather’s ear. “Don’t tell them anything. I’ll wait for you outside.” He winked at her.
“Heather Smith?” an officer asked coming up to her.
Heather stood.
“Your turn,” the officer said, taking her by the arm and leading her through the door.
Inside the back of the room she saw a table with several laptop computers. Two men and a woman were at the keyboards. The woman and one of the men were dressed in dark suits, the other man wore a T-shirt under a frayed zipper sweater that looked to be at least 20 years old. She vaguely recognized the woman, but neither of the men. “Why didn’t you tell me Edmonds committed suicide?” Heather asked. “Where are Walton and Green?”
“Edmonds was murdered, and we didn’t get the details until this morning,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Deputy Director Miller.” She stood up to shake Heather’s hand. “You handled that exchange with Stone brilliantly, by the way.”
Heather gulped. She didn’t realize the operation was important enough to warrant the Deputy Director’s involvement. “You heard the conversation?”
“We bugged the chairs. Could have picked up an ant passing gas 10 feet away,” the man in the sweater said.
The man in the suit stood. He towered over Heather. Six-four, ebony skin, broad shoulders and narrow hips. He had a black mustache and a goatee. His head seemed to attach directly to his shoulders. She thought he could easily pass for an NFL linebacker. She later found out he had played wide receiver for Navy while attending Annapolis. After graduation he was offered a commission on the latest class of attack submarine, but was declined when he failed the physical. He had a torn tendon in his right knee and had to settle for a desk job with Naval Intelligence. He later joined the FBI after 9/11, as a counterterrorism specialist. He reached out a beefy hand to Heather. “I’m Agent Matt Renfro, and my sound man, Jeff Rawlings, as crude as he is, he’s the best in the business.”
“And what do you do?” Heather asked.
“I’m with the counterterrorism task force. I’ll be your handler for this operation.”
“I thought Walton and Green were my handlers.”
“Walton and Green will be in the field with you on the White Collar Crime task force. They’ll be watching your back while you’re in Washington. I’ll be your contact off the grid. I’ve teemed up with White Co
llar, at the request of your boss. Abdul Rahmani’s involvement makes this case cross the line from White Collar into counterterrorism.”
Heather started to sit. “Does that change my involvement?”
“Not at all. It just means you’ll be seeing more of me and less of Rex Thorne. Don’t bother to sit. There won’t be time for that,” Renfro said. “We’ve got to get you back out on the street. If Stone asks, tell him this was to question your whereabouts last night, and tell him the Senator was murdered.”
“Any idea who did it?” Heather asked.
“Be careful. We think the order may have come from Stone himself, unless Rahmani is doing this on his own.”
“Stone seems pretty harmless. Why would he murder people in his own rally?”
“We’re trying to find out. Don’t take any chances. He doesn’t want the Senator’s funding traced back to him.”
“But he has to know, as Edmonds finance manager, I would know the Senator’s money went to Green Keepers.”
Renfro gave her a knowing look. “Why do you think he’s so interested in saving your butt?”
“I feel like I’m being set up.”
Renfro handed her a flash drive the size of her pinky finger. It was attached to a chain. “This is the information that links Edmonds and Green Keepers. Wear it around your neck and don’t give it up unless you have to. You have to convince them you are more valuable to them than just a little information. They won’t do anything as long as you have the information they want. Remember, we’re interested in bringing in the big fish. Who, beside Senator Edmonds is financing Green Keepers? If you can get any information on Abdul, feed it to Green, in your weekly contact meeting.”
“I guess I’m on my own from here,” Heather said, nervously.
“Hardly, we’ll have a tail on you. You won’t see us, but we’ll be there.”
“Anything else? I think Stone is waiting outside.”
“Heather,” Matt Renfro said, looking down at her, “the minute you hand over the information on Edmonds you may no longer be of value to them. These guys are killers. Follow the plan.”
Heather pursed her lips and nodded. “If I’m dead, the information dies with me.”
“Let them know it’s hidden away and you have a way of getting it, but if something happens to you, they’ll never get their hands on it. It’s your life insurance.”
“I’d better go,” Heather said. “Stone is waiting to save this girl’s butt.” She turned to leave.
“Hang onto that drive,” Renfro called after her.
Heather slipped the chain holding the USB flash drive around her neck. It gave her a chill as it dropped between her breasts. She patted her chest. “It’s in a safe place.”
Outside Joshua Stone and his attorney were waiting as promised.
“How’d it go in there?” Josh asked, as Heather descended the steps.
Heather smiled. “I thought they were looking for me, but they were just trying to find out who murdered Senator Edmonds.”
“Murdered,” Josh said. “I thought it was suicide.”
“I’m Clarence Childers,” the tall, thin man standing next to Joshua said, holding out his hand.
Joshua looked a little rattled at hearing Edmonds was murdered. “Oh, yeah. My attorney. Heather, meet Clarence. You said Edmonds was murdered?”
Heather shook the attorney’s hand. “They wanted to know where I was. With any luck, this will end the financial investigation. Guess I won’t need an attorney after all. No offense, Mr. Childers.”
“I think I’ll survive,” Childers said. “Look, I’ve got to go, Josh. Give me a call.” He made a gesture of a phone with his thumb and pinky held up to his ear.
“Sure thing, Clarence,” Josh said. He touched Heather on the arm. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Maybe you and I can do business together.”
“If that’s a pick-up line, it’s the worst one I’ve ever heard,” Heather said, brushing her blond locks out of her eyes.
“No, I didn’t mean to be forward. You’re out of work and I could use someone who knows finances. It’s as innocent as that.”
“Coffee sounds good,” Heather said, smoothing back another curl.
Joshua took her arm. “There’s a little place within walking distance. Now, tell me more about what you did for Edmonds.”
Chapter 9
August 12th, Santa Rosalia, Baja California Sur
One of the things a volcanologist fears the most is a rapid change in data on an active system. In analyzing data, the collection of gasses, monitoring ground movement, and earthquake activity are his eyes and ears. When data stops coming in, it’s like trying to watch a movie blindfolded. The cliché No News Is Good News was never part of his training. When his data stopped coming in, all he could do was fear the worst. The system was plugged and would build up pressure until it released it catastrophically. An exploding mountain is unpredictable. Even though Tres Virgenes seldom had a snowcap, gases and red-hot ash did not need the steam from melting snow to flow down the mountain at a hundred miles per hour in a tsunami called a lahar. Everything in its path would be wiped out in a pyroclastic flow. Sometimes a column of smoke and ash will rise straight up and be carried away by the prevailing winds, and other times a mountain will explode laterally, as Mt. Saint Helens had done, destroying everything on one side of the mountain.
David was in the middle of a dilemma. No data coming from the mountain could also mean the mountain had gone back to sleep. He had two choices: put everyone on alert, or stay silent. He had a 50-50 chance of getting it right. Should he evacuate the power plant and Santa Rosalia and warn the tunneling crew on the mountain, or do nothing? Why doesn’t Colonel Frost answer? He waited until the colonel’s phone went to voice mail. Probably nothing, the cell phone service around here stinks, David thought. He put his phone back in the holster and checked his computer again. He remotely fired up the drone and made another pass over the mountain and tunneling headquarters. The video from the drone camera was even more puzzling. That’s strange. How can there not be anyone up there? Have they already evacuated?
David checked the seismograph. Even the background movement of the tunneling machine had stopped. He closed his laptop and called his boss in California, Clayton Brown. “Clay, David here. I’ve got a situation and need your advice.”
“We’ve been monitoring the data from here. I think I know what you’re concerned about. How long before the tunneling is complete?”
“I think the system is plugged. I’m more concerned that none of the men who were tunneling appear to be on the mountain.”
“They’ve already evacuated. That’s good.”
“You think so? If he was going to do that, Frost should have contacted me. I can’t raise him on his phone, and the tunneling machine stopped running a few minutes ago.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at the hotel in Santa Rosalia.”
Clayton Brown was silent for a moment. “While we were talking, I tried to reach Colonel Frost through his satellite link. It appears to be non-functional. I agree, he should have contacted you before pulling out. No matter, you need to stay on site in Santa Rosalia. If the tunneling is not completed, proceed to evacuate the power station and Santa Rosalia.”
“How do I know if the tunneling is complete without talking to Colonel Frost? I’ll make a quick fly-by and get back to you,” David said.
“No! You stay in Santa Rosalia and monitor the volcano. You need to be prepared to evacuate the area if Colonel Frost has stopped operations.”
“How am I to make an intelligent decision?” David argued. “I don’t know how deep they’ve tunneled. They may have made it to the intersect point and stopped. I need to find Colonel Frost and find out what’s going on.”
“And I’m telling you to stay put. You are of greater value to the citizens of the area on the ground where you are.”
David wasn’t going to argue further with his boss. He knew once
Clayton had made up his mind, he couldn’t be budged. It was that stubbornness that got his boss pulled from the field and placed behind a desk, promoted to the level of incompetence, was the joke in the field. It happened when David was in college, and to this day was used as an example of what not to do in the field. When you’re monitoring an active system you don’t let politics influence your decision to evacuate an area. It was over ten years ago when Clayton had listened to the pleading of a city mayor and delayed an evacuation, costing 2000 people their lives. David needed facts and he couldn’t get them sitting in his hotel room. Without any definitive data, he didn’t feel like arguing with the local politicians. “I’ll call you when I find out more,” he said into the phone. He hung up and rushed out the door.
The mountain seemed so peaceful from the air. He circled Tres Virgenes just below the summit at 6,500 feet heading for the south side where the tunneling was taking place. There was nothing to see. No steam, not a hint of smoke. The dark gray landscape of the mountain slopes was a sharp contrast to the occasional Sonora cactus and scrubby trees that dotted the southern valley below. He hovered for a few minutes over the tunneling encampment, and as the drone had shown him before, it appeared to be evacuated. He set the small helicopter down on the rough ground about a hundred feet from the trailer. He half expected to have a dozen Mexican Army regulars pointing automatic weapons at him, but there was no one there. Looking around the area, it was eerily quiet. To his left, the tunnel looked like a huge black spot painted on the mountainside. To his right he could see the doors to headquarters and to the off limits buildings were open. Good as anyplace to start, he thought, running to the headquarters building and pushing the door open. He immediately put his hand to his mouth, turned around and lost his lunch on the steps outside. Inside, three bodies lay bloated and rotting in the heat. He wiped his mouth, put his arm over his nose and entered the building again. He pulled out a handkerchief and held it over his mouth and nose. There was a low hum from what seemed like every fly in Mexico, swarming around the room. He examined the grotesque bodies. There was no sign of physical injury, but from the contorted expression on the faces, the deaths had not come easy. The laptop computers were sitting open on desks in the cubicles, but their screens black, their battery back-ups depleted. Stepping over a body, he folded a laptop, and then gathered the others, stuffing them under his free arm. Exiting the building with three of the computers, he took care not to step in his vomit. In the building next door, he found the same thing: dead bodies and computers that had run out of power. He again gathered the computers and left the building as quickly as possible.
