by Paul Stein
“Usual getaway?” Colt Hamil asked, as the buzz in the room began to quiet down.
Kilmer sensed a change in sentiment. From the relaxed look on most of the men’s faces, their initial reticence seemed to be thawing. Other than Rafie, there seemed to be a consensus that the plan looked achievable.
“Ya got it, mate. Should be cake,” Kilmer replied. “When the lights blow, ya figure Stark’s takin’ out both guards, so ram the gate and drive directly to the containment buildin’. While Dallas and me are in the bunker, yer cover for the guys fallin’ back. When we’re all t’gether, drive out this side entrance to the rondo point on Bayshore Drive,” he said, pointing to the exit. “The Humvee will cozy into the back of the Peterbilt; then we split up and meet the next day. Only Colt, Dallas, and me stay with the cargo, the rest of ya’ll split.”
“You make it sound like we’re invading a Boy Scout camp,” Rafie piped up again, still annoyed from Kilmer’s earlier rebuff. “There’s a flaw in your plan, Richard. You don’t know the extent of the counterforce we’ll be facing, the amount of firepower they have, or the location of possible reinforcements. You’re rushing the team into a terribly deadly situation. We need more time to study the security detail,” he said, hoping to slow the growing support.
“Rafie, I admit the plan ain’t aces,” Kilmer replied. “But we’ll catch the mob off guard. Our firepower, night-vision, and the compressed timeline put the odds in our favor. I agree…more recon would be peachy, but we don’t have time. We go with the new moon t’morrow as planned. If there’s no more questions, I’d like to know if any other piker wants out o’ the op.”
“Hold on there, Boss,” Rafie said, irritably. “I didn’t say I was out. And I’ll come up with your diversion. But for the record…this one stinks. Watch your backs, boys.”
While there was still some grumbling from Terry Ventura and Tommy Starkovich, the balance of the men seemed reasonably confident the mission presented no more uncertainty than any others in which they had engaged. Sully Metusack was always in a good mood, no matter the mission he was offered. Likewise, Ivan Krilenko was stoic throughout the briefing, nodding approval of his assignment and the overall plan. It didn’t look like Colt or Weaver had anything further to add to the discussion, so it appeared Kilmer had his team to tackle the Lawrence Livermore job.
“Good oh, mates, glad to have ya on board. We gear up t’morrow 21:00 to walk through the plan one last time,” Kilmer concluded.
Most of the team members shuffled slowly to their feet, some lingering to discuss the plan more informally, and Weaver stayed long enough to shut down the video equipment. Rafie was the only one that remained convinced the plan had serious flaws, but was unsuccessful in galvanizing resistance. To his credit, he didn’t make a big fuss expressing his discontent, realizing there was no merit in pushing his lone dissent. He quietly gathered his notebook and retreated from the conference room without further comment.
Kilmer had to admit that Rafie was dead-on accurate. The lack of specificity about the security detail and the inordinate cover positions the lab provided was indeed problematic. He appreciated that Rafie hadn’t pressed the point. Kilmer knew he should apologize for taking him to task in front of the men.
Regardless, Kilmer was supremely confident that the plan he designed would yield the results that Holloway demanded. It wasn’t prudent tactical planning to attain an objective that induced disproportionate casualties. In this case, however, the loss of a critical team member, or two, was an acceptable risk given the complexity of the mission and the expected payoff. He hoped like hell there were no more than a dozen guards at the lab or the causalities were likely to dramatically rise. His pulse quickened at the thought of the approaching mission. He realized his life, too, was very much on the line.
TWENTY-THREE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SELA COSCARELLI checked the time on her cell phone and frowned. It was getting late and she figured that her father was most likely still at a dinner, being schmoozed by constituents or lobbyists, or had already left the senate office for his Georgetown apartment. She knew he hated cell phones and it wasn’t likely he had it with him, so she decided to call his chief of staff, Benjamin Dare. He’d know her father’s whereabouts and could get him a message to call her immediately. She dialed Ben’s number and waited for the call to connect as she walked to her office.
“Dr. Coscarelli, it’s so nice to hear from you. What can I do for you?” Ben answered pleasantly.
“Hello, Ben. Good to hear your voice, too. I’m hoping you know where my father is. Please tell me he’s not in a late committee meeting. It’s important I speak to him…immediately,” she said, pausing, letting her last word hang to magnify the sense of urgency.
“Well, it’s your lucky night, Sela. The senator just returned from dinner. He’s still in the Hart building. Shall I have him call this number?”
“No, Ben, have him call my office number. He’s got all my contact information at his desk. I’ll be waiting.”
“Okay, stand by. We’ll get you two together. I hope everything’s all right. Take care, Sela,” Ben said, ending the call. Whatever was bothering Dr. Coscarelli, he knew it was important. He had never known her to be given to drama or affectation. Her expression of urgency was sure to draw the senator’s attention. He went right into the senator’s office to brief him on the call.
“Senator, pardon the interruption,” he said, barging into the ornately decorated office of one of the most powerful political figures in the United States Senate. Alfonse Coscarelli did not look kindly on interruptions to his carefully managed schedule. Ben Dare was one of few staff members that could barge in uninvited, but he chose his times carefully. He knew this interruption would not be questioned.
“I just received an urgent call from your daughter Sela. She would like you to call her office immediately, Senator.”
“Is that what she said, Ben…‘immediately’?” Senator Coscarelli questioned.
“Yes, sir,” Ben replied. “She sounded agitated, but I didn’t press for details. We can go over your committee agenda later. I’ll make sure you’re not interrupted. Take your time, sir.”
“Thank you, Ben,” Alfonse replied, quickening to the request from his oldest daughter.
“Sela, this is Dad,” he said briskly.
“Oh, hi, Pop. I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said, brushing past their usual pleasantries. “It’s Sarah. She’s got more family problems. Ryan’s on the run from the law and Jeremiah’s left school.” She told her father the entire story then added, “I know Sarah would like a call from you. She has questions about getting Secret Service involved. She sounded a bit…frazzled, so I offered to call you first.”
“Damn it, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am to hear that Jeremiah’s left school. But what does Sarah think the Service could do?”
“I’m not sure, Dad. All I know is she’s worried that Jeremiah will take off after Ryan and get into trouble. She figures that because you’re a senator and chairman of intelligence, the Service will protect family members if you request it. She’s just not thinking clearly. A call from you will really help.”
“Okay, I get the picture. This isn’t as bad as I thought. I understand she’s upset. I’ll give her a call. Is she at home?”
“Yes, we just spoke about ten minutes ago,” Sela replied.
“Well, keep in touch, sweetheart. How are you doing…everything going well with you? Have you found a gentleman yet?” he asked, hoping for good news about his biggest concern for his oldest daughter. He believed she worked too hard and was squandering the prime of her life. He wished she would marry, and even though it was well past when she might start a family, he still didn’t like the thought of her being a spinster.
“Now’s not the time, Dad,” Sela said, frustrated there was never any respite from her father’s obsession with her social life. “Call Sarah…she needs your encouragement. Let her know what resources mi
ght be available. She’s looking for options. I’m planning to speak with Jer as soon as he’s back in Bernalillo. I’ll make sure he stays with his mom. I gotta go, Dad. I love you…and please tell me if you hear anything new.”
“Okay, I’ll call her right now. Keep in touch,” he said, busily looking for Sarah’s number in the top drawer of his desk.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he dialed Sarah’s number in Bernalillo. Divergent thoughts raced through his mind while he waited for her to pick up.
“This is Sarah Marshall,” she said formally, not knowing who might be calling next.
“Sarah, it’s your father.”
“Oh, Pop, I’m so glad you called. I suppose you’ve heard all about Ryan’s latest trouble?” she asked, hoping she wouldn’t have to retell the day’s travesty another time.
“Yes, I know the gist of what you’re up against. Sela brought me up to speed and asked that I call you directly. Why didn’t you call me yourself, honey?”
“Dad, we know how busy you are. Besides, I’m still trying to figure out what’s happening. I spoke to Sela first because she’s usually easier to reach and can get me focused quicker than anyone. Don’t feel bad…I need your help, too,” she said, not really feeling apologetic.
“Okay, honey, what can I do for you?” he asked. “Sela mentioned you want help from the Secret Service?”
“Well…yeah, I mean…I don’t know. Is that even remotely possible?” Sarah asked bluntly.
“I’m afraid not,” the senator answered decisively. “Service personnel provide security only for the president, vice president, and their immediate families. As chairman of the Intelligence Committee, I have no authority to request protection for personal matters. In fact, if I did, I’d be breaking about a dozen rules against directing government resources for personal gain.”
“Okay…I understand. I should’ve known that, Dad. I just feel so…violated. Why does this keep happening to me?” Sarah asked, bewildered, searching for reasons why her life always seemed to be heading toward a cliff.
“Sarah, listen to me. That’s not the question to ask right now,” Alfonse replied impatiently. “Get a handle on your emotions. Ryan’s actions are none of your concern. Your focus is keeping Jeremiah under control. Promise me you’ll have him call me as soon as he gets home. I don’t care what time of the day that is. Understand?” he said, not meaning to use the demanding tone on his youngest daughter he sometimes took with staffers
Sarah took a long, deep breath as if fighting the impulse to argue the point, but merely said, “Yes, Pop, I’ll make sure he calls you directly. So, if it’s not the Secret Service, what should I do if Jer insists on following after his father? There was a pronounced determination in his voice I’ve never heard before. He had that same irrational tone that Ryan always gets whenever his cousin is the subject. I swear he’s inherited his father’s temperament. I’m afraid, Dad.”
“Let me ponder that a bit, honey. There may be something I can do if, God forbid, Jer does run off after Ryan. But let’s avoid a knee-jerk response. When we know all the facts, our options will be clearer. Now you just sit tight, wait for Jer, and try not to worry. We’re all in this together, you hear?”
“I know, Dad. I do appreciate your help. I’ll do as you say.” Somehow, though, she still felt all alone in the matter.
“Okay, have Jer call me the minute he arrives. I’m depending on you, honey, and I know everything’s going to be just fine,” he said, thinking his words sounded baseless and hollow. He wished for some way to intercede, and decided to consult Ben as soon as he concluded the call.
“Thanks so much for the call, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.”
Alfonse Coscarelli leaned back in his chair, unsettled, contemplating the situation, wishing for an incantation that would whisk away Sarah’s problems. With all the authority of a U.S. senator at hand, he wondered why he felt so powerless. He thought back to the age when the girls were young, a time so far removed from his present reality that he couldn’t remember where it all went. Everything was so fresh and easy at that point in his life. He owned his own law firm, was a member of the local chamber, had a lovely, upper-class home, and with his wife, Ariel, they were active in the Catholic Church. They had raised their girls in an idyllic time compared to the surfeit of troublesome conditions young parents now faced raising their children.
If only he could once again return to that bygone time, shedding the hardships both his girls had experienced since leaving his protective care. He worried about Sarah more than he was willing to admit. She was more vulnerable than Sel, and the emotional torment Ryan put her through was unseemly and unforgivable. It was all he could do at times to resist his fatherly urge to kill the son-of-a-bitch. In the old days of vendettas, the bastard would be long since dead for all the hurt he caused Sarah. But he knew this was wasted effort and decided not to spend another minute thinking of ways to remedy the trouble that his ex-son-in-law had caused. There would be time enough for that in the future.
His immediate concern was for Jeremiah. He couldn’t stress strongly enough to Sarah how important it was to keep his grandson under control. He, too, recognized that Jer did, in fact, have some of the same irrational tendencies as Ryan. While Ryan’s unmanageable behavior was localized to hating Jarrod Conrad, Jer was contemptuous of anyone who confronted him. Alfonse often thought that Jeremiah would have made a perfect Mafia Don: He was cold, ruthless, calculating, and completely lacking in remorse once he drew battle lines. Once his mind was made up or he perceived a disloyalty, there was no turning back. Jer charging after his father spelled certain disaster.
“Ben, could I see you a moment…alone?” the senator asked, pressing the speaker button connecting him to the office antechamber. It was just a moment before Ben Dare reentered the senator’s inner office.
“Yes, sir, Senator, how can I help?”
“Ben, I need your advice on a personal matter,” Senator Coscarelli began. “I trust you implicitly, but what I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. I need your word that none of this will be repeated.”
“Sir, I assure you that nothing will be repeated unless you direct me otherwise,” Ben replied, feeling uneasy. In all the years he had worked with the senator, never once had he been asked to pledge an oath of secrecy. It was understood among all chiefs of staff on the Hill that allegiance to their congressional member was inviolable, unless otherwise ordered by the court. This was a very peculiar beginning to the discussion.
“Good, I knew I could count on you. Here’s the issue,” he began and for the next ten minutes he relayed the entire story of Sarah’s predicament, quickly outlining the unsavory events that had occurred between Ryan and Jarrod Conrad, and his deep concern for Jeremiah.
“So, what are my options? I know a Secret Service detail is out of the question, but you and I both know there are Secret Service agents and then there are ‘cleaners’…at least that’s the term I’ve heard concerning these covert specialists. What can you tell me? Is this something we could use?”
The senator’s chief of staff sat quietly throughout the length of the story. All things considered, he wasn’t nearly as shocked as he originally feared. No one was murdered, yet; there didn’t appear any imminent threat of public embarrassment —nothing that he could perceive the news wire picking up. In the scheme of things, it really didn’t amount to much at all. The most startling revelation was the senator’s question about the cleaners. This was not a good sign, for sure.
“Well, sir…first let me express my disappointment to hear that Sarah is struggling again. Please convey my concern,” Ben said, looking pensive as he leaned over the coffee table.
“There are several options to consider here, Senator, but I really need to know what lengths you want to go, and what resources you’re willing to commit,” he said. “If you merely want your grandson tailed, I would suggest a private detective. We can recommend several compete
nt PIs that can be dispatched to keep an eye on him, and they would only intercede if he were in imminent danger.”
He hesitated and shifted nervously in his seat. “As for a cleaner… this is a highly specialized covert agent disavowed by all branches of government security. They are not associated with CIA, DEA, FBI, ATF, the military, or any other recognized American security force. They are independent, covert, and usually have Special Forces training. This is an extreme measure, Senator. If there’s some other detail you haven’t told me, I’ll need to know.”
“I’ve got nothing sinister in mind, Ben. I’m merely looking for options. My grandson’s a hothead…just like his father, and it may take a strong hand to keep him under control is all. If you recommend a PI, that’s good enough for me. Let’s get this going ASAP. I want someone standing by in Bernalillo if he decides to traipse after his father. I don’t want him alone for a moment. But I also don’t want this PI to make contact with Jer unless he sees an immediate danger. And for God’s sake, let’s be discreet…I’m counting on you, Ben.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll make a few calls. We’ll get someone out to Bernalillo right away,” he said, moving toward the door and thinking he had dodged a bullet on the subject of cleaners.
“Oh, and forget about cleaners, or whatever they’re called,” the senator said before Ben could exit the room. “It doesn’t appear they’re a realistic solution. Someday, though, I’d like to submit a confidential memo to my committee on this group. I’m bothered by the existence of a clandestine organization operating without government oversight. That strikes me as particularly un-American.”
“You got it, Senator,” Ben Dare said, exiting the room. His feeling of dodging a bullet now felt like he was hit squarely in the back. A memo on the cleaners would not be easily written. Only the president and a select number of joint chiefs knew the full extent of the cleaners’ activities.
