The Third Coincidence

by David Bishop

  “Why don’t we just pick up the whole lot and shake ’em out later?” Quartz persisted, before poking his mouse hanky deeper into his breast pocket. “We’ve got to stop these killings.”

  The president ignored Quartz and kept his focus on Jack.

  “We could do that,” Jack replied, “but I doubt we’d find our guy. We’re all but certain the male passengers with phony names was LW. We need to stop him not scare him off so he can come back later.

  “We believe LW lives within a reasonable drive of D.C.,” Jack went on. “We also believe his background includes military, intelligence, or law enforcement training. This is consistent with his use of the term ‘stand down,’ his sharpshooting skill, and his ability to get black market guns, explosives, and fake identification. Various police departments and federal agencies, including Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, are pressuring their snitches for the sellers of these items. Given the time needed for the surveillance of his targets, we estimate LW has been planning all this at least two years. Assuming that’s true, any leads about his purchasing weapons and false identification are probably cold. Still, those efforts continue.”

  Jack could feel the doubt coming from these leaders of the intelligence community. From the start, Quartz had been strongly opposed to Jack being in charge of this investigation. Harriet and the general remained supportive, but the pressure had grown intense. Fred Hampton, a team player who hated the politics of it all, would do his job properly, but otherwise remained somewhat aloof after the FBI had not been the lead. To stay in the saddle, Jack had to sell the president. Having said that, politics were fickle, and television had convinced the American people that any problem should be solved in an hour, two at the most. Without clear results soon, someone’s head would have to roll. Someone’s? Hell. It would be Jack’s head and he knew it.

  “Your agencies are putting together lists of current and former agents and military personnel who have shown a pattern or tendency for violent behavior,” Jack continued. “Current personnel are being eliminated through confirming their whereabouts at the times of the killings. Former personnel are taking longer.”

  Quartz leaned down to rub out a smear on the polished toe of his wingtip. “Are you suggesting this LW is a federal agent or a member of our armed forces?”

  “We hope not, but we can’t dismiss it on blind pride. LW is knowledgeable about things that could well have been learned through such service.”

  Jack uncrossed his legs and sat back, pausing to meet the eyes of the president and each of the directors before going on. “We believe LW has been negatively influenced by his father. We had just begun developing that angle when Clancy called to arrange this meeting.”

  “It seems,” Bob Quartz said through a carnivore grin, “that you’re making a lot of assumptions about weapons and ID, that he has no militia, and so on and so forth, without a full investigation.”

  Jack fought off his rising irritation with Quartz’s condescending tone.

  “None of us want this to settle into a multiyear investigation,” Jack replied, straining to keep his voice even. “We’re doing just what the president ordered. We leave procedural leads and heavy manpower tasks to the FBI. My squad follows our instincts. That requires we make assumptions, but we do not fall in love with them. To the contrary, we continue to reassess and refine as we go. In general terms, our efforts are more like that of a small covert foreign operation than a full-blown domestic investigation.”

  “Could this be the work of foreign terrorists?” Harriet Miller asked.

  “It’s always possible. Early on we all assumed that, but we quickly put the thought on the back burner.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because none of your agencies or those of our international friends have heard the increased electronic chatter we commonly experience either just before or after major acts of terrorism. Neither the profiles we’ve developed of LW nor the analysis of his communiqués suggest someone from the Middle East or any other region of the world. Furthermore, the wording of the note LW left in the Harrelson house across from the chief justice’s residence reflects a decidedly American sense of humor.”

  Jack turned to address the president, whose facial features sagged enough to show the demands of his office. “As you said, Mr. President, we started out knowing nothing about this LW or his militia. We’ve used instincts and assumptions to narrow the field. We think we’re on the right track, but I cannot report that with certainty.”

  Schroeder rubbed his hands together. “Everything you’ve told us seems well thought out. I know you’re still looking for a needle in a haystack, but it sounds as if you’re reducing the size of the haystack. What can we do to help?”

  “Continue to have your agencies do what they’re already doing, Mr. President. If we can keep the targets safe for the next week or so, we may be able to get this job finished without any more deaths. This is far from a promise, but another week or so may do it.”

  “Some of these folks here think the country could use some reassurance that we’re making progress,” the president said. “That it might take the jitters out of the market. We’ve been discussing the benefits of having you do another press conference.”

  Silence hung in the air like hot breath on a cold day.

  “If you order it, sir,” Jack said after a pause. “I’ll do it, but if you’re asking for my opin—”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Schroeder’s eyes were intent on Jack’s. “What’s your opinion?”

  “A press conference would not be wise from the perspective of catching LW, as for the politics of it, that’s not my area.”

  Clancy Stafford rested his head back into his interlaced fingers. His speech still smacked more of his self-made industrialist background than his later-in-life college years. “Why would a little old press conference keep us from catching this guy?”

  Jack had feared from the start that the hunt for LW could turn into a massive political sideshow which would become the Achilles’ heel of his investigation. He quickly gathered his thoughts before replying.

  “First, it would deflect my focus at a critical time when things are happening fast. Second, to give a press conference and not tell America we’re close would accomplish little in the way of what you’re after. Third, to hold a press conference to assure America we are getting close would also warn LW to exercise more caution at a time when it appears his success may be making him cocky and, hopefully, careless.”

  Sam Schroeder had always been a man strong enough to stand against the shrill voices of partisanship. Jack’s confidence was growing that the president would continue to stand with him. He also knew that time had become as much the enemy as LW.

  “We don’t want LW closing up shop.” Jack turned back to the president. “We don’t need another Carlos the Jackal to chase around the world for God knows how long. I want this madman feeling safe, feeling superior. If in the short run we look inept, so be it. I want LW to think we aren’t getting close until he puts his nose on the cheese and we spring the trap.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Clancy.” The president said, interrupting his chief of staff. “Politics is our concern, not Jack’s. There’ll be no press conference for him. If the heat goes up, we’ll grin and bear it. Ultimately, the best politics will be to catch this guy.” The president turned his gaze from Clancy Stafford back to Jack. “You look like you’re chewing on something else. Let’s have it.”

  Jack had been close to saying it several times. Now he did. “Mr. President, right at the start, CNN reported that the six of you met to decide to form my squad. Even my name and Rachel Johnstone’s were reported. Today, I have shared everything we know. It will damage our efforts if any part of what we have been discussing appears in the media.”

  Bob Quartz slapped the arm of the couch. “McCall, are you accusing us of leaking stories to the media?”

  “Quartz, I’m a little fed up with your—�
�

  “You can’t talk to me like that. I’m the national security advisor.”

  “Bob,” General Crook said, “all Jack is saying is that the six of us met and the next morning CNN reported some of the content of our meeting. That is a fact, not an accusation.”

  “True enough, General,” the president said. “The fact remains that CNN got something only we had. Bob, from the beginning your actions and some of your public statements have put you at odds with the rest of us on this matter. Contrarian views can be healthy. But people who hold those views can be too zealous. I think we’re ready to adjourn. Bob, on the way out tell Gruber to schedule you to come back in later today.”

  Director Quartz stood, snorted audibly, and started toward the door.

  “Hold on Bob,” the president said. “Before any of you leave, let me say this: None of you are to speak of this meeting to anyone in your agencies or families. There are to be no notes from the meeting. No exceptions! Director Quartz, I am deadly serious about this. If a comma from this meeting is reported by the media, I will launch a relentless investigation to identify which of you to castrate. Or a similar fate if it’s you, Harriet.”

  The president smiled, but Jack knew he had just witnessed a clear threat of political reprisal. And, he knew the president meant the threat.

  CHAPTER 39

  It’s been reported that McCall has talked President

  Schroeder into giving him more time.

  —CNN

  Jack left the White House and, despite the hour, went back to Langley. The short drive through the trees off Dolly Madison Boulevard made the route into the CIA headquarters seem like the entrance to a different world. A world always preparing for a life-and-death situation, or experiencing one, or recovering from one, or being called to Capitol Hill to explain the agency’s actions, or to receive a tongue lashing from senators striving to extract political points from the hides of the intelligence community.

  He found Frank Wade sitting alone with his feet on his desk.

  “Rachel sent everyone home at seven,” Frank said. “The latest estimate for our list of shooters is tomorrow mid-afternoon, so she figured we ought to try to get some sleep.”

  “What about the lists of dissidents?”

  “Those will take longer, but hopefully we’ll also get them tomorrow.” Frank swung his feet off his desk and stood. “I know you’re tired, so blow me off if you wanna head home and crash, but I thought you might like to get a beer and relax for a while.”

  “Let’s do it,” Jack told him. “I never get to sleep before about midnight no matter how tired I am.”

  Jack followed Frank to a classy, quiet lounge on the D.C. side of the Potomac River. The place had a comfortable feel with canned lighting and booths covered in padded burgundy, the air dense with the smell of popcorn and the songs of Sinatra.

  “The usual,” Frank hollered toward the barkeep.

  “Damn good idea,” Jack said, “I needed this.”

  “Figured you might.”

  “You and Nora have been just incredible.”

  “We appreciate your not treating us as peons because we’re locals.”

  “You’re still here ’cause you’re doing the job.” Jack reached over and tapped mugs with Frank. “How long you two been partners?”

  Frank grinned. “I’ve been a homicide detective for fifteen years. Nowadays our division’s more than just homicides. A few years ago the guys upstairs gave us a new name. We’re the Violent Crimes Unit. About a year after Nora made detective, my former partner, Max Logan, retired. I ruffled a few feathers among the good old boys when I asked for Nora. I’ve never regretted the choice. A woman brings a different way of looking at some things, and I enjoy working with her. She’s a good detective.”

  “You’re divorced, right?” When Frank nodded, Jack asked, “Any kids?”

  “Two. My ex, Sharon, is an administrative assistant in the DA’s office. We still care about each other.” He shrugged. “She just couldn’t handle the hours and stress of my work. She’s right. The job sucks, but it’s in my blood. We still do some things together with our two children.”

  Jack licked beer froth from his upper lip. “How old are the kids?”

  “Becky, Rebecca, is thirteen.” Frank opened his wallet and showed her picture. Then he flipped over to the next plastic sheath. “William turned fourteen last month. The teen years! Sharon and I are scared to death, but so far it’s been fine. They’re still my life, other than police work. You ever marry?”

  Jack seldom talked about himself this way, but he found that, after listening to Frank, he was in the mood. He told Frank about his sister in Phoenix and even showed him a snapshot of his niece, Amy. Then he brought the subject back to Frank and Sharon by suggesting that the two of them might get together again some day.

  “There’d still be problems,” Frank said. “A few weeks before I joined your squad she told me she still cared and still worried, but because I don’t live with them anymore, at least she doesn’t get pissed nights sitting home alone.”

  “Maybe when the kids are older,” Jack said.

  The waiter stopped to check their table. “Can I get you two something to eat?”

  “I haven’t eaten all day.” Jack picked up the table tent card promoting spicy chicken wings and held it up. Frank nodded. “Bring us a big order of these,” Jack told the waiter.

  “Anybody serious in your life?” Frank asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Sometimes I date a divorcee who lives next door, and there’s an old college sweetheart who lives in Alexandria. We’ve had a long on and off relationship. No pun intended,” he added with a wry grin.

  “That’s a lot of years for it not to be serious?”

  “We care about one another, but we’ve agreed it’s nothing more than a safe physical convenience. She’s a lobbyist here in D.C. Her life is her career—like mine, I guess.”

  When the wings arrived, they munched in silence for a few minutes.

  “Truth is I’d like to get married someday,” Jack admitted. “But as you know it’s a hard mix with the job. Have you ever thought about not being a cop?”

  “Nora and I have talked about a private agency. Neither of us wants to give up being a detective, but we’d give up the department. That was a hard decision for Nora. She’s a third-generation D.C. cop.”

  “I’ve never worked for a PD. What’re the problems?”

  “I think the thing that frustrates us most is the politics in a big city police department. A private firm might also allow a more normal home life.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Jack asked.

  “That’s easy. Funds. We both know it’s more dream than plan, but we drift into the talk sometimes when the frustrations pile up. And for me there’s the issue of benefits and health care. The department provides good coverage for the kids.”

  Listening to Frank, Jack thought that maybe a private agency might be right for him. He liked a lot of things about the work he had done for the government, just not the lack of roots.

  “After we stop LW,” Jack said, “I’ve got some decisions to make along those lines. I’m forty-six. It’s time to either get my life in order and take a shot at a family or accept that it’s not in the cards.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” Frank said. “How’d it go at the White House? That part of this case you’ve had to carry alone. Are the politicos pushing you?”

  “They’re in a hurry, but then who isn’t?” Jack lowered his voice. “If we don’t stop this guy soon, President Schroeder won’t have a second term and that would be a great loss for America.”

  “You believe in the guy don’t you?”

  “I do. He’s a good man with a fine mind and a tremendous sense of right and wrong.”

  “You’re doing all that can be done. Quit beating yourself up. We started with nothing and in a little more than two weeks you’ve led us onto his trail. I feel it.”

  “I do,
too,” Jack agreed. “But the devil of it is, we’re at the point where we may soon find we’re following a false trail.”

  “Maybe the lists tomorrow will bring the piece we need.”

  Jack knew it had better be more than a maybe. The president had not said it, but Jack left the White House knowing his time was limited. Those opposed to him were gaining ground with the president.

  CHAPTER 40

  President Schroeder has asked for a letter of resignation from National Security Advisor Robert Quartz.

  —Sal Ramirez, CNN, June 19

  “Mom, are you going to give up your job at the fed?”

  Federal Reserve Governor Deirdre Jones looked up from her kitchen table where she sat having breakfast with her husband, Christian, and their two teenage children.

  “Why, sweetie? Do you think I should?”

  “Yes, Mom,” the fifteen-year-old said, “and Ben agrees with me.”

  Mary Ellen often assigned her views to her younger brother, Benjamin. In this instance, however, thirteen-year-old Ben did agree and said so. “Yeah, Mom, you should quit.”

  “Did you put them up to this?” Deirdre asked her husband.

  “Actually, I didn’t,” Christian told her. “But, I agree with them. You’re under great stress and in danger. We don’t need the money, so why do you choose for all of us to live in harm’s way?”

  She turned to her children. “Why do you want me to quit?”

  “I agree with Dad,” Mary Ellen said. “Besides, it’s a bummer having FBI agents following me.”

  Deirdre left the table, and got a paper from her built-in kitchen desk.