by Tom Haase
He stopped talking when the waiter placed the beers down on the table. He waited for the man to leave. Afterwards, he instinctively surveyed the area, he continued.
"I want you to set up a team of people we can call upon to do jobs that would not be possible in the ordinary and regular channels of operation in the FBI. I’ll give you back your gun and your badge. You will be a full-fledged agent who will report only to me. Now, I'm not always available and you worked quite well with an agent in that case of the terrorist on the Metro. I have moved Special Agent Liz Garcia to be my special assistant. She will be your contact and the person you will report to for whatever assets you need.”
Matt remembered Liz, a beautiful woman with alluring jet-black hair and perfectly shaped shoulders over an eye-candy body — and an attitude that could stop a charging bull.
The director interrupted his recollection. “I want you to concentrate on the homegrown terrorists and the arms they’re receiving. You will have a specific mission given to you for each new operation. Don’t use bureau personnel for your ops.”
Matt remained absolutely astounded at this proposal. The uniqueness of it appealed to him. His mind raced to find the right questions to ask. This actually provided a better opportunity to serve his country than what the president offered him those years ago.
"As you can see, my mind is working overtime to comprehend the significance of what you’re saying. I’m supposed to get my team together, none of them to be in the FBI, and go after these guys who are providing arms to our homegrown terrorists. I’ll have all the assets of the FBI available to me going through your office. Is that correct?"
"Correct. I want to be very clear that I am not giving you a 007 license to kill, but if for some reason you manage to get them to shoot at you first, I hope we’re not going to have any trials," the director said, then took a big sip of his beer. “I want you to keep your connection with the FBI secret. Only you have the access. Don’t use your badge unless absolutely necessary. This is an off-book operation. I’ll make a note in your file about your new duties, but it will be in Garcia’s hands so no one from personnel or any other snooper can find it. I heard you thought the guys in Roanoke said there must be a leak somewhere. I believe it is most likely in the supplier’s organization, but I don’t want to take any chances. Are you with me?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Matt calculated what he would have to do, what kind of team he might put together, and the timeframe he would need. He needed to switch back into his military operational mode for the organization part and rely on the vast FBI bureaucracy to supply him with the items he believed he might need. His detailed knowledge of all the assets in the bureau would be invaluable in this operation. Yes, a great challenge loomed before him.
"Are you agreeable?" the director asked and waited for an answer.
"Yes."
“Your first mission is to bring to justice that Russian you encountered in Roanoke.” The director opened a briefcase, which rested on the bench beside him, took out Matt's gun and badge, and passed them to him. Along with those items, he passed a single sheet of paper with the private numbers Matt would need, then closed the briefcase and reached over to shake Matt’s hand.
"Welcome to the special operations executive that we just created," the director said.”
“You mean like the old S.O.E. from the Second World War. The precursor to the CIA?”
“Yes, sorta like that. I hadn’t connected it but a good connection on your part. We now have a modern day clandestine S.O.E. operating for the FBI.”
CHAPTER 13
Squamish B.C.
Canada
Brackendale is in the Squamish Valley, in British Columbia, which contained the breeding ground for a large portion of the American bald eagle population, located about an hour and a half drive north of Vancouver. In the fall, the temperatures hovered near freezing at night and were only in the low fifties during the day.
Mike arrived at Dmitri Alexandrovitch’s resort home in Brackendale, the adjoining town to Squamish, in the early evening. He’d stopped by the Sea and Sky Hotel to freshen up before going to see his uncle. The best thing about that location was the liquor store located beside the hotel. On examining the inventory there, Mike found the premium vodka he wanted to take to his uncle. He thought this present might soften the old guy up.
When Dmitri’s opened his front door, he grabbed Mike and gave him a bear hug. Mike could feel the air rushing out of his lungs as a great man gave him what he would consider a love cuddle. Dmitri stood about six foot five and hovered near 300 pounds, while clean-shaven Mike stretched just shy of six feet but only at 180 pounds.
"Come in, I've been waiting for you. I want to hear all the news. What happened on the last business transaction?" Dmitri grabbed Mike by the arm and escorted him into the massive parlor, which had deer heads mounted on the wall and a large fire warming the room. He led him straight to the well-stocked bar. There, Dmitri poured them both a double shot of vodka. They toasted and downed the liquor. After pouring another into each glass, Dmitri ushered his nephew over to the plush chairs in front of the fireplace.
"There’s not a lot to tell. I had the weapons delivered and they accepted them. I received the money and then all hell broke loose. It was an FBI operation." Mike took a small sip from his drink.
"Didn’t you have any warning from our contact? We pay him enough," Dmitri said. “I was disappointed at the result of that transaction.”
"I talked to the source myself. He informed me the FBI only sent observers on the case, not an interdiction team, which is what happened. The FBI came out with guns blazing. I barely escaped with my life. I did get the money and I recovered my good luck charm afterwards. I think one of the agents got hurt and the other took him to the hospital. I can’t be sure of that. The news later said an FBI agent died in that operation. They confiscated the weapons but we have the money. I talked to our buyers and told them they would get a slight discount on the next shipment. I insisted the responsibility rested with them for everything once we transferred ownership of the weapons to them."
“Speaking of your good luck charm, I need to know it’s safe.”
"It is. Right now it's sitting on my mantelpiece in my apartment in Savannah. Before I forget, I called our contact and got more information. I’ve taken action on his info,” Mike said and downed the rest of his vodka.
“Do you know how our family came into possession of that icon?” Dmitri asked.
"I've heard stories, but not really,” Mike said. “I've just had it as long as I can remember. My father gave it to me in my teens."
"Well, in the old days, the old Soviet days I mean, your grandfather held a position on the politburo of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. Somehow, none of us know exactly how, he managed to get possession of two precious icons during the war. It’s rumored a family member actually acquired them for your grandfather who wanted them taken from the Vatican on the day Rome became liberated. He kept them until he neared death. The Soviet Union still existed and there existed no way for him to get out of Russia. He gave one to your father and the other to me. Did you know that?" Dmitri asked.
"No, I didn't."
"I understand that on his deathbed he wanted to make sure both of these icons stayed in our family. He told your father the icons held a great secret but he died before he could tell anyone about it. Anyhow, we now have a small problem." Dmitri stood up, walked over to the front of the fireplace, and turned around to warm his backside.
"What problem?" Mike asked.
"A few weeks ago, when I visited Moscow, I left instructions with some of my men to move the contents of my small apartment into a new one I’d purchased on the outskirts of St. Petersburg. I specifically ordered one of them to take the icon in his possession and make sure it reached my new home in safety. Somehow, a rival gang ambushed them and the icon went missing. All of my men were killed."
"Damn, do you know wh
o has it?"
"I have no idea at present, but we're trying to find all the people who were in the restaurant at the time to see if anyone saw, heard, or took anything. So far the only thing someone reported was a tourist in the restaurant who might know something. One person reported he wore a priest collar, but others couldn’t confirm that. We assume he disappeared that day on one of the tour ships."
"Well, I hope you locate it. My icon is safe and I don't plan on losing it. By the way, did you ever find out the significance of why he acquired those particular icons during the war?”
“No idea. Well, enough of that. Let me refresh your glass. While I’m doing that tell me about your next shipment.”
“As I told you, I need the exact same items as last time. What is the exact delivery date so I can arrange for the turnover? I’ll check with our contact right before delivery to ensure no hitches this time.”
“Your goods will be at the port in two weeks. They have already left Russia and the ship has some stops on the way to Georgia,” Dmitri said and handed Mike a refilled glass.
“Any more business?” Mike asked.
“I want to remind you that we come from a long line of Russian entrepreneurs. Even under the Czars we engaged in thievery, weapons stealing and other lucrative crimes. It’s in our blood. Michael Alexander Alexandrovitch you have the gene. You are a credit to the family.” Dmitri smiled at his nephew and raised his glass to him.
“I return the compliment to you,” Mike said.
“One more point of business before pleasure. I need you to increase your operation, say somewhere in the range of twenty-five percent. Can you do it?”
“I’m certain I can.” Mike took this as an order and the reason for his summons here. Dmitri being his uncle didn’t mean Mike necessarily liked the man. He actually despised him especially in recent months. One day, and maybe soon, he would replace him with someone he trusted — himself. To keep up appearances, he said, “I’ll expand my area of operation and push my current buyers to purchase more. Anything else?”
“Just the two lovelies coming to the front door right now. They’ll be better than a ride on the new Sea to Sky gondola in Squamish.”
CHAPTER 14
Washington D.C.
Computers couldn't be trusted. Matt preferred paper and ink to organize an active case. This operation now became the most active in order to render justice for his dead friend, Special Agent John Hades.
So after picking up an assortment of office supplies, he returned to his apartment. Mind racing on all the things he needed to accomplish, Matt placed his purchases on the hall floor as he searched in his pocket for the key. The urgency of taking down the Russian permeated every thought. With his mind engaged on that, he reached down and retrieved his items.
He stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and then flipped the light switch for the hall light. The bulb didn’t come on. As he bent over to place his purchases on the floor, he had a split second to notice an unusual smell just before hearing the soft puff of a silenced weapon. He felt a swish of air above his head. The bullet impacted in the door behind him with a loud whack.
Matt instantly rolled forward and, after completing the rotation, he spread himself flat on the floor. He twisted his body over and with a quick, well-practiced movement, he retrieved his recently reacquired Glock.
What the hell is going on?
Another round hit close to him but ricocheted off the floor to his left, barely missing his face. A slight flash erupted from the weapon even with a suppressor. The silencer told him these were not ordinary criminals doing a home invasion. This attacker, a pro, Fire now his mind told him. He squeezed the trigger, firing twice.
A guttural groan came from the target. Matt fired again at the source of the sound. He heard someone fall. He rushed forward and flipped on a table light. The body lay stretched over a coffee table. He started toward it, but at that instant his front door flew open.
A figure in black with a silenced weapon took aim at him. Matt dove over a chair and bullets followed him. His heart now pumped in his ears so loudly he thought the attacker could hear it. After taking a quick breath, he rose up firing at the entrance. The first round caught the attacker in the shoulder, but the second one ploughed into his throat. Blood spewed out in a torrent onto his carpet and floor.
Matt’s mind kept turning over and over, asking the same question, Why? It made no sense. He didn’t have any valuables in the place, and now also being an ex-FBI agent as far as the world was concerned. After he examined the two corpses, he didn’t find any identification, no keys, no money, confirming his suspicion that his attackers were pros.
He retrieved the piece of paper the director gave him only an hour or so ago. He dialed her number. She answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Matt. Calling to see if the number the director gave you works?” Liz asked.
“Liz, I got a problem. I just shot two intruders. I think they are professional hit men,” Matt said. “They were definitely targeting me.”
“Didn’t the director tell you that you didn’t have a 007 license?” She gave a short laugh. “I’ll have a team there in ten minutes. Can you contain the scene till then?”
“Yes. They have no ID, tried to ambush me when I got home. One looks Middle Eastern, the other is Caucasian. I know no one followed me from the meeting with the director.”
“Let’s get you somewhere safe for right now. As soon as the team gets there, you leave for the safe house. We’ll examine this in detail tomorrow. By the way, are you okay?” she asked.
“Thanks for asking. I’m just a little shook up, but no injuries. It’ll take some work to patch up my place but no big deal.” Matt surveyed the bullet holes in his walls while talking.
“Let’s meet in the morning. I’ll text you with the location of the house and by then I’ll have guidance from the director. I hope these guys turn out to be connected to the target he gave you. I can certainly tell him S.O.E. is now definitely in play.”
* * * *
At nine the next morning, Matt waited in a booth at Starbucks for Liz, who appeared ten minutes later. He stood up to greet her and gave her a hug. She still possessed the grace of movement he remembered and an angelic face. Today, she wore a blue business pantsuit.
“Matt, great to see you. We have a lot to talk about,” she said.
“Same here. What’s the latest on my attackers?”
“We pulled an all-nighter to get this info and it is disturbing. The director is fully briefed. That’s why I’m a few minutes late,” Liz said and held up her hand indicating she needed to get coffee.
On her return Matt waited for her to continue but ran out of patience while she sipped her brew.
“Come on, Liz, what did you uncover?”
“Well, one of your corpses came from Yemen. It took a long time to get the prints matched with the fingerprint given Immigration upon entering the States almost a year ago. He’d overstayed his visa, an illegal. Based on that info we went to our terrorist database and confirmed him as an al Qaeda asset.”
“Why in hell did he try to kill me?” Matt asked.
“Just a second. The other attacker appears to be a local whom we believe to be a member of a homegrown terrorist cell operating in Virginia. So, when you combine these two, I think a pattern emerges. Someone sent them to punish you. You took out four of their men.”
Matt took this in and sat back. After taking a drink of his coffee, he asked, “How did they find me? We’re not in any public information searches, no Facebook or social media presence, and all my numbers are unlisted.”
“That’s the question. I have no answer for it. Anything you can think of would be helpful. Did you lose anything at the raid site? Notice any surveillance? Anything?”
“No, and I can’t think of any way they could have found out where I live. My only conclusion is there may be a leak in the Bureau, but I know that doesn’t make sense, either,” Matt said.
; “What are you going to do now?” Liz asked.
“I’ll use the safe house till we get this solved. I’m meeting with Bridget Donavan later today. You remember her from the Schultz kidnapping. I asked her to help me identify an icon. I took pictures of everything at the site of the raid and when I returned after taking John to the hospital, that one item was missing. I thought it strange and have started to look into it. It may be a lead to our Russian friend.”
“Do you need anything from me?” Liz queried.
“Not right now, but thanks. I’ll keep you posted. Let me know if you find anything else about the attackers, especially if you find where they operated.”
“Will do, and you take care. I’ve got a bad feeling about this case. Something is way out of the ordinary,” Liz said.
“One thing keeps bothering me. The conversation I overheard at the farmhouse. They talked about a leak. Both sides denied it, but I believe one lied. The Iraqi said the FBI knew about the arms deal and the bearded Russian denied it. I haven’t made heads or tails of that, but I think it is important.” Matt ran his fingers through his hair while he talked.
“Well, if there is a leak, you have to find it,” Liz said.
CHAPTER 15
Rome, Italy
Jonathan McGregor called the only person he knew who might be able to help, the ancient curator in the Vatican Museum, Msgr. Richard Potter-Cogan. The old priest did not have a cell phone, only a landline on the Vatican internal network. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Jonathan established a time to see the curator in the morning. He needed the expertise Richard could bring to bear.
Richard greeted Jonathan in a warm embrace on his arrival in his small office in the Vatican museum. Many years before, the curator had been Jonathan's philosophy professor and Jonathan's love of Aristotle and the polemics endeared him to his mentor. Jonathan explained that he now conducted research for the Cardinal Secretary of State, which certainly stretched but remained within the bounds of the truth, and he needed to find out about the history of a certain icon, actually two icons.
