by Ed Teja
I still didn't get what Hank wanted. “Senators can have personal security, right?”
“And she does. But bodyguards are designed to handle a crazed person, not a paramilitary threat. These are professional mercenaries.”
I had enough familiarity with VIP protection to appreciate that difference. While a good bodyguard should be able to deal with a personal attack, either a major assault or a sniper 100 meters out was another matter. Those dangers required good intelligence as well as good people.
“So what exactly do you think Bill and I can do? Do you expect us to babysit Polly? Even if we had those skills, she doesn't even want to see my face near her. She'd probably get a restraining order.”
Hank nodded. “No, you couldn't stop them—not there. I have a plan.”
Bill put a hand on my arm. “Remember Amy mentioning that we were supposed to kidnap someone here. Stay focused, Junior. Even superheroes can't be in two places at once—most of them, anyway.”
I smiled at Amy. “So the plan is that the two of us are going to carry off a covert, quasi-military mission, a rendition, actually on foreign soil?”
She leaned back and grinned at me. “That's about it.”
“Isn't that a little heavy duty for a DEA agent? From the sound of things, we won't have any backup.”
“Listen up, Billings... I'm an ex-Ranger, trained for this shit, and it won't be my first time on a combat mission nor the first time I've carried out operations that weren't sanctioned. It isn't your first time either, so why baulk now?”
The confidence I'd noticed in her made more sense now. Amy Pfeifer was bad ass, not some hot-house lily, and the truth was her grasp of things had me thinking that if I got talked into running a mission, she could be quite an asset.
Amy looked at her hand, concentrating. “I just don't get why Vermeer would gamble everything he has built because of some legislation a senator might be able to pass somewhere down the road.”
“It isn't that big a gamble. The attack would never be linked to him. If the men did get caught, all they'd have to do is claim to be part of some patriotic group. Some of them probably are. Untangling it all, tracking it back to Vermeer through the shell companies he's set up would take ages, if it can be done at all.”
Amy's skeptical expression deepened. “Sending a strike team to kill a US senator—that's an entire new level of aggression. It doesn't fit his profile at all.”
“I've got intelligence that makes it seem pretty damn real,” Hank said.
“Then it is worrisome that my people haven't heard a peep.”
“Your people focus on drugs. That gives them tunnel vision. If you don't have the information and perspective to see the whole picture of his operation, the intelligence doesn't look compelling.”
“Then we need to get it to Interpol as well as our own people.”
Hank shook his head. “We have a ton of clear information about the operation here, but there isn't anything blatantly illegal or actionable. And the US threat is chatter—nothing that would even justify a warrant.”
Amy tapped the table with her finger. “So basically, what you have about this threat is conjecture.”
He let out a long breath. “Amy, this is why I didn't mention it to you. I don't have time to prove anything to you. You came to me because you heard I was going after Brad Vermeer and you wanted in.”
“The stuff in his brain is gold to us,” she said.
“I said you could be in on the interrogations and realized that we could help each other. My superiors watch this operation closely, and I can't run the mission with my men. With you on board, I thought that Martin might be a reasonable candidate to go in with you. I thought telling him about the threat, asking his help to nip it in the bud, just might.”
Amy wasn't placated. “If you are right, the US has suffered a major intelligence failure,” she said.
“I can't worry about that now.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Come to my base and let me show you the evidence. I've got surveillance photos showing his buildup of the military part of the island over the last few months. I'll share the chatter we've intercepted.”
She thought for a moment. “Have you alerted the FBI or Homeland Security? Have you mentioned this to anyone?”
“No. If I do, and Vermeer gets wind, he might strike immediately.”
“He even asked me not to call Polly,” I said. Amy was clearly upset. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I'm upset that Hank neglected to mention any of this—Polly, the militarization of the target—”
Hank gave her a sad-dog look. “About Polly—I didn't want you to think my reasons for putting the mission together were personal.”
Amy looked like her head might blow up. “Even though they are.”
“And it's also a matter of national security.”
“So much so that when you get word that Vermeer is putting together an army in The Bahamas, right on our doorstep, instead of reporting it through channels, instead of working to bring the might of the US government to bear on the asshole, you decided that it made far more sense to come up with an illegal, off-the-books mission and have me run it for you along with civilians.”
Hank looked embarrassed. “Actually, it made a lot of sense. I've been raising alarms about Vermeer for some time. For whatever reason, maybe just because they didn't want to upset the local authorities by disrupting Vermeer's lovely flow of money into the country, my superiors made it clear that they don't want to hear any speculation along those lines. I tried to initiate some conversations and was informed that my brief was limited to stopping drug shipments and working with local authorities.”
“And you were going to tell me—us—all this sometime?”
He grimaced. “I hoped I wouldn't have to. Honestly, I hoped this whole fucking meeting of the minds wasn't going to happen.”
She smiled. “You bastard.” She looked at me. “Hank tried to get the DEA to pull me out.”
“I felt it would be smoother if my men ran the boat for Martin and Bill.”
“And it almost happened.” Amy grinned. “My pal Hank sent the DEA messages about one of their agents interfering in the drug interdictions of local authorities. My boss asked me about it. Then I was told to be prepared for a transfer to Arizona.”
Bill laughed. “We can see how well that worked.”
“I took a month's vacation. They owe me a few. I told my boss I'd be starting it immediately, as it would save me a flight to the Caribbean, and I needed some beach time.”
“Sweet move,” I said.
She grinned. “They couldn't say no either. Working for the DEA is better than being in the military. We even have a union.”
“Good for you.”
Bill chuckled. “So this hotshot team of good guys you've put together to save Polly's ass turns out to be a shotgun marriage of inconvenience.”
Hank coughed. “I'm very uncomfortable talking about all this here in public. My office is secure. I suggest we adjourn this meeting, and we go into detail in my office tomorrow. I'll fly you all there in the morning.”
“It is getting close to Happy Hour,” Bill said.
“Not until we know one more thing, Hank,” I said.
“What?”
“I can see how kidnapping your Dutch art dealer gets you great intel and messes with the cartels in wonderful ways, but given the grand, sophisticated security operation he has built, which, by the way, sounds better organized than your average terrorist cell, how the hell does grabbing him keep his people from killing Polly? I mean, that's the reason Bill and I are here, and I'm sure Amy might want to know as well, seeing as you kept all that military threat crap a secret until now.”
Amy and Bill both put their elbows on the table, and we waited silently for Hank to get himself together enough to answer.
8
“Brad Vermeer is the brains behind the whole operation,” Hank said. “If we cut off the head�
��”
Before he could finish the thought, I cut him off. “From your telling, this is a top-flight organization and much bigger than one man. He has managers and agents and other people carrying out all his directives. If the chatter says the mission was set, then even if we get him that doesn't eliminate the threat to Polly.”
Amy put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand while she stared at Hank, waiting for him to answer. “That's my question too, Hank. How the hell does our executing this mission save the senator from these mercenaries that only you know anything about?”
“Vermeer runs the operation with an iron hand. In terms of the assassination, the intelligence suggests he's put the pieces in place, has his people evaluating her protection detail and movements. He hasn't picked the time and place. As you've said, he's a financial type, and he doesn't trust the security people. While he'll let them set up the operation, he isn't going to delegate it to them entirely.”
“Not very efficient,” Amy said.
“It isn't, in that respect. We should be glad. You'll mine the material in his head to get information on global operations, I'll watch his local organization grind to a halt. That makes my life easier.”
I coughed. “I don't buy it for a minute.”
Hank glared at me. “Why not? You know nothing about his operation.”
“It makes no sense,” I said, amused by his puzzled expression. “Look, every corporation, every major business in the world knows you don't vest everything in one man. It's a vulnerability.”
Hank rubbed his chin. “They have a different situation, one in which information is double edged. The knowledge to keep the company running can also get the investors of crimes. Besides, they have no reason to think we know about them or would be able to act. That's why they have the operation here and why they've done all the legal stuff.”
He was missing the point. “Granted, and it shows they want to cover their asses. Surely, if they are concerned about governments interfering, they would also worry about natural disasters.”
“Like what?” he asked. “You aren't making sense.”
“Even if they don't expect some rogue military and alphabet-agency people to make a hair-brained assault attempt, his investors would want to ensure they've made provisions for business to continue if he is killed in a plane crash or gets cancer. They might be evil, but I doubt they are stupid enough to run without a backup plan.”
Amy shook her head. “I'm with Hank on this one,” she said. “From what I know about this group, they want to stay an arm's length away from anything extralegal. By now they have already more than recouped their money—their gamble was on Brad Vermeer and it's paid off big time. From here on, the profits are pure gravy. But holding onto the business isn't worth the risk of being tied to organized crime. Unlike normal investors, they have to worry about what happens to them if he gets caught or a second-in-command turns on them. They'd prefer it if no one else in the organization knew of their involvement and no one else knew the entire operation. If the operation falls apart without him, that also keeps them clear of any blow back or fallout.”
When she said that, it stopped me. It wasn't that her observation was based on first-hand knowledge, or that it was a good analysis, although it was both of those—there was some other, more important quality. Something elusive. I couldn't articulate what it was, but I knew it was making me appreciate Amy Pfeiffer even more.
“I can see that,” I said reluctantly.
Amy accepted my concession, which is what it was, with a nod. “If you think about it, in this kind of operation there is an inherent danger in creating a middle management. It increases the chances of someone getting greedy and deciding to start his own business. If Brad runs it all, they don't run the risk of training future competition or having someone sell them out.”
“Okay,” I said. “But since they are so worried about risk, why take the enormous risk that an assault on a US senator would entail? Even if they were certain they could take her out, they'd know that someone else would take up the cudgel and carry on in her place. And she'd be a martyr that might ensure the legislation passes.”
Amy laughed. “Listen to yourself! When is a covert operation ever a sure thing? They might be counting on intimidation. Doesn't mean they are right, but they might hope for it.”
She had an excellent point, with an inescapable conclusion.
Bill grinned. “Then I guess we better get busy if Martin and I are going to grab his Dutch ass before he gives the word. I suppose, if you ask nice, we can bring him back alive so you can squeeze him dry.”
“I told you—the team going in will consist of Martin and me,” Amy said.
“No way,” Bill said.
“That's the way it is going to be,” she said calmly.
“And what if that isn't good enough? What if I'm not willing to entrust you with Junior's care and feeding? I mean, we are talking serious business here, young lady. Are you telling me you can cover his six if things get hot?”
She looked him up and down. Then she stood and faced him. “All right, Ugly Bill, let’s find out which of us could do that best. You and me. Right now, right here. No-holds-barred, unarmed combat.”
Bill stared up at the woman, sizing her up. The challenge was laughable on the face of it. Amy Pfeiffer would tip the scales at about a hundred and fifteen pounds, and I put her height at five nine. When you consider that Bill is six-four and weighs in around two hundred and fifty pounds when he's been dieting, the picture gets clear.
No one laughed, though. Amy's eyes made it clear that not only did she mean that challenge, she seemed to look forward to it. They sat staring at each other for a minute, neither of them moving a muscle.
“If there is a fight, I want the ticket sales,” I said.
Bill glanced toward the bar. “If Gazele gets wind of it, you'd need to fight her in a preliminary bout for that concession which you stand no chance of winning,” Bill said. That was true. He turned his attention back to Amy, and I saw tension ease out of him. “You've been in combat,” he said.
She didn't move, but she looked locked and loaded to me.
“She was a Ranger,” I reminded Bill.
Wise in such matters, Ugly Bill slowly nodded. “It shows.”
“Bill, the main reason I insist on going in is twofold. The main one is that, besides me not being that great with a powerboat, if there is any physical intelligence on site, computers, logs, ledgers, I intend to secure it all. You wouldn't know what I'm looking for.”
Bill screwed up his face. “And the other reason?”
She grinned. “I don't get nearly enough chances to infiltrate and kick ass these days. I won't let this one slip by.”
Bill sighed. “So, if I agree to let you two go in, what's my role?”
“You are going to see that we get in and out as safely as conditions permit.”
“My people can take care of that,” Hank said.
We all glared at him. “No way,” I said.
Amy turned back to Bill. “We will need a fast boat piloted by someone who can navigate the shallows of Exuma Sound in the dark. If Hank has it right, then that someone has to be willing and able to make the pickup even if the weather calls for a hailstorm of small arms fire. I don't think Hank's people qualify.”
Bill considered it. “I still get to be a hero?”
Amy ticked it off on her fingers. “It's an important job, thankless and underappreciated, stupidly dangerous, and requires more bravery than sense, so yeah, it qualifies.”
Bill nodded. “I like you, lady. Why don't we sit down? You've got nothing to prove. I'd be proud to work with you. I've been a chauffeur before and it ain't bad work as hero jobs go.”
Giving him an appreciative grin, she sat back down. Bill touched his rum glass to hers.
“He would kick your ass,” I told her.
She smiled. “Maybe. It would've been fun to find
out.” The woman sounded positively wistful.
“Now that you two have sorted that out, I want something clarified. I run the op,” I said.
She started to protest, then stopped. “If you'll agree to certain mission parameters,” she said.
“Such as?”
She put up one finger. “The first one is the primary goal, to grab Brad Vermeer alive. I know Hank would be just as happy, maybe even happier if we went in and killed the man, but I need his information.”
“I'd prefer to kill him,” I said. “A straight-up assassination would be simpler and safer for all of us. And it would end things neatly. But I get it—you want to pick his brain clean in complete violation of any rights he might have.”
She nodded. “That's right.” A second finger popped up. “Two, along that same line, depending on the situation and the available time we have, as I mentioned to Bill, I intend to ransack his office and his computers for hard data.” She gave me a look that could only be described as 'meaningful'. “To do that, I'll might need him to give up his passwords. We won't have a lot of time. I might have to treat him unpleasantly if he proves uncooperative.”
“I'm shocked. You don't intend to treat a drug smuggler and human trafficker politely?”
Completely ignoring my witty comment, she raised a third finger and held the hand in my face. “Finally, number three is that the first two points are not negotiable.”
I let that sit for a moment, then stretched. “Okay, then here are my conditions,” I said.
“Your conditions?”
“I'm fine with whatever games are necessary for you to play with this clown when we are inside the villa. I'll even make sure you aren't interrupted, and I'll make it a priority to help get him back in good enough condition to talk. But on the way in and out, I'm in charge. I set the pace. I'll decide if we engage guards. And, as we depart the island paradise, we accept that this guy is cargo. I give you my word that we will do everything we can, and probably some things we can't, to ensure that we get him back here alive and able to talk—but if we get caught, if we are about to be captured, I will kill Vermeer without a second thought.”
