by David Capps
The large man glanced at Honi and then focused on his motorcycle. As she got next to him, she dropped the doll. By the time the doll hit the sidewalk, the blur was over and the man was falling to the ground like a felled tree. Honi grabbed the man’s head and lowered it to the pavement.
She must have done the same thing with me, Jake thought. He returned to the man in the apron.
“I can do the job, but I’m backed up for the next month.”
“Could you give me an idea of how much the machining would cost?”
The man looked at the prints again. “Ball park? Twenty-five hundred a piece, but like I said, I can’t get to it until next month.”
“Could I get a look at your shop and the quality of some of the parts you make?”
“We’re really rushed right now, but when you come back, sure, I’ll give you the tour.”
“Thanks,” Jake said, as he headed out the door. Twenty-five hundred a piece? he thought. That’s five times what my guy said it should be. Someone really doesn’t want any new business. Whatever they’re making, they’re being very well paid.
* * *
Jake entered the interview room at the FBI facility in Quantico, the office nearest to them. It was time for some answers from the guy who had appeared in the middle of their investigation. The man didn’t have any identification on him, just a large wad of hundred dollar bills.
“What’d you do with my bike?”
“We picked it up. It’s in the impound lot.”
The man nodded. “That’ll work. I assume you are running my prints?”
Jake looked back at the man.
“You’re going to have to make a phone call.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
There was a knock at the door. A technician entered.
“We ran his prints. All we got from the system was this phone number.”
Jake studied the man for a moment. “So, undercover investigator for federal or state?”
The man sat calmly staring back at Jake. “Just call the number.”
Jake punched the number into his phone. It rang three times.
“Special Agent Hunter, I presume?” the voice said.
Jake frowned. “Do I get to know what his name is?”
“I’m checking…I see your security clearance has recently been upgraded, so, yes. Please hand your phone to him, and can you take the cuffs off of him?”
“How did you…? Never mind.”
Jake reluctantly took the handcuffs off the man and handed him the phone.
“Yeah?” he listened for a moment. “Okay, thanks.” He handed Jake’s phone back to him.
Honi entered the interview room. The man looked at her and grinned. “That was one hellova trick. You’ve got to be really good to pull that kind of stunt on me.”
“Oh, the little woman with the baby thing? Guys fall for that every time.”
“The daddy’s girl was a nice touch.”
“So, shall we?” Jake asked.
“I’m Major Bob Stafford, US Army Intelligence and Security Command, Fort Belvoir, working undercover. The Army suspects we have a couple of bad apples dabbling in the black market weapons trade.”
“That would explain Benghazi,” Jake said.
“Benghazi? And how would you two know about Benghazi?”
“I’m Special Agent Jake Hunter, FBI.”
“I’m NSA Agent Badger,” Honi finished. “And it’s a little more than dabbling. It’s fifty million in machined parts going through Benghazi every month.”
“What? Fifty million a month is way too much money for small arms. We’ve got to get a look inside those machine shops and see what they’re really making.”
* * *
One o’clock in the morning in an industrial complex was about as quiet and deserted as it ever got. Stafford scanned the buildings with his night vision gear. No cameras, no infrared sensors. Looks like plain vanilla security systems, he thought.
“Satellite coverage shows you’re the only one around,” the text from Honi read.
Stafford approached the back door to the machine shop and used a small magnetic field sensor to check the door frame.
There it is, he thought. Magnetic switch mounted on the other side of the door frame. Simple, but effective. The magnet is mounted on the door. When you open the door, the magnet moves away from the switch, which opens, and the alarm goes off.
Stafford pulled a thin piece of metal from his back pants pocket. Neodymium super magnet in a very flexible thin strip. He wiggled the thin piece between the metal door and the door frame. It paused as he worked at getting it to bend and follow the top of the door, then it slid in deeper. That should do it.
Stafford pulled out his lock pick set, inserted the tension tool and then the pick with the small wiggles on the end. Ten seconds later the door opened slightly.
He extracted a six-inch-long piece of metal from his pocket. Got to hold the magnet in place, he reminded himself. He slid the magnetized metal piece into the section of the door jamb where the door was. It snapped into place. He opened the door and entered. Stafford examined the finished parts lying around the shop. He took infrared photos of all the parts so there wouldn’t be any visible flashes of bright light. Stafford also went into the office and photographed the contents of the file cabinets and checked the old computer setting on the desk. It wasn’t even password protected. He took a quick look at the file contents and shut the computer down. Forty minutes later he left, removing the bar, closing the door and pulling the thin metal piece from the door jamb.
After he had examined the fourth machine shop Stafford sat in the car with his head down. He picked up his cell phone from the car seat and called his Commanding Officer.
“It’s worse than we thought.”
“So what are they making?”
“They’re smart. No two parts for the same weapon are made in the same shop. So far I’ve seen parts for not only automatic small arms, but anti-personnel mines, anti-aircraft guns, shoulder-fired anti-tank rockets, RPGs and artillery pieces. This is a major operation, and it was going on right under our noses.”
“So in Benghazi?” his CO asked.
“They have to be assembling the weapons from the machined parts in Libya and from there…”
“To all of the terrorists in the middle east,” his CO said. “How could American citizens be knowingly supporting terrorists like that?”
“They probably don’t know. They get a blueprint, they make a part, and they probably have no idea what the part does. For the guys in the machine shop, it’s work, it’s just a job. It pays the rent and puts food on the table. Nobody asks. Besides, the only place the parts are identified as auto parts are on the shipping manifest. The machine shops are working from blueprints that identify the parts by only a number, that’s it.”
The following morning Major Stafford obtained permission to share intel from the night’s investigation with Honi and Jake. He called her at the NSA and explained what he had found.
“Do you have a secure phone?” Honi asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“We have an extensive network of phone numbers, some of which have military connections. Would you be able to look into those for us?”
“After opening up this investigation like you did, I sure can. Send me the list.”
CHAPTER 4
“How do you feel about working with Agent Badger?” Dr. Rosen asked.
“I’m okay with it,” Jake replied. “It’s not like having a partner.”
“Why not?”
“Well, she works for a different agency, for one thing, and it’s not like we’re that close.”
“Does the lack of closeness make you feel better, or worse?”
That was a difficult question to answer; not because he felt involved with her or embarrassed about his feelings, but because he was uncertain about what he felt. It was all so mixed up.
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Does it matter to you?”
“Not especially. Once this investigation is over, she’ll go back to the NSA and I’ll go on to another case. It’s pretty straight-forward.”
“Do you have any romantic feelings toward Agent Badger?”
“No,” he said immediately. After being laid out on the floor, like she did to him, romantic feelings were the furthest thing from his mind.
“Do you respect her as an agent?”
“Certainly.” She earned my respect in a way I had never seen before, he thought. “She’s very capable.”
“Do you respect her as a person?”
“Yes. She’s intelligent and confident. I’m good with that.”
“Do you trust her?”
Did he trust her? “Mostly,” Jake said cautiously. If she was going to get me, I wouldn’t have to turn my back on her. All I’d have to do is blink.
“Mostly?” Dr. Rosen asked.
“For me, trust is something that is earned over a period of time. You can’t give or demand trust. It’s built on consistency, day after day, month after month.” He studied her face to see if she was buying what he had said.
Dr. Rosen put her notebook away. “You seem to be handling the situation well. Same time next week?”
“Yeah. Depending on what’s happening in the investigation.”
“Of course.”
* * *
Honi walked into Jake’s FBI office just as the phone rang.
“Hunter.” He glanced at Honi. “Right now? Thanks, boss.”
He put his phone away. “We’ve got to go. Two new business people with gold bearer bonds just passed through customs at La Guardia, this time they’re Japanese. Customs slipped a tracker into the lining of the briefcase and let them pass on through. Briggs authorized use of the bureau jet to get to New York in a hurry.”
On the short flight up, Honi accessed the recorded files from the phone on the International Funds Transfer Desk in the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. By the time they landed at La Guardia she was caught up and listening in real time.
“They’re there,” Honi said. “The deal’s going down, Two billion dollars are being transferred to the Central Bank of Japan.” She put the live feed on hold and called Tracy at the NSA. “Trace the transfer, taking place now—FRBNY to CBJ, two billion. I want to know where every dime goes.” She switched back to the live feed as they climbed into the back seat of a bureau car. “This is incredible. Laundering two billion dollars at one time!”
“Federal Reserve Bank of New York,” Jake told the driver. “And hurry!”
Jake used his phone to access the location of the tracker that had been placed in the briefcase. “They’re still there. Customs has an agent following them, just in case.”
Six blocks from the bank, the driver of the bureau car turned the flashing red and blue lights off. Jake called the Customs Office at La Guardia.
“I just want to verify that the two Japanese nationals we’re following passed through customs with regular passports, not diplomatic ones.” He waited. “Thank you.”
He turned to Honi. “Regular passports. I want to grab these guys and sweat them to see what we can get before we get hit with the diplomatic immunity ploy.” He called the Customs agent who was following the two Japanese businessmen. “Where are you? Okay, got it.”
He turned to the driver. “You can drop us in the next block, but stay close. Our suspects left the building and are walking northeast on the other side of Liberty Street.” The driver pulled to the right and stopped. Jake and Honi got out and hurried toward the corner. “There they are, crossing Liberty. We can intercept on this side.”
The two Japanese businessmen walked into a gray brick-paved park with trees on the northwest side of One Chase Manhattan Plaza. They were headed toward the southeast corner of the park. Jake and the customs agent nodded at each other as they joined up. The two Japanese businessmen rounded the corner thirty feet in front of them. Jake, Honi and the customs agent broke into a sprint to catch up.
Turning the corner, they came face-to-face with a dozen large men, who quickly tried to box them in next to the building. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Jake saw guns being raised in the hands of three of the men. His first instinct was to draw his weapon, but he realized that was going to take too much time. Jake grabbed the wrist of the man in front of him with his left hand, preventing the gun from coming up to a firing position. He stepped forward and slammed his elbow into the man’s throat. He carried the momentum of his right arm across to his left and spiked his elbow back into the right temple of his opponent, who started to drop to the ground.
The man to Jake’s right was close to firing his gun when Jake rotated to his left and stepped into the man’s forward movement. Jake hooked his right arm between the man’s right arm and body, using the force of his turn to aim the gun back at the attacker. When Jake had the man to his back, he jerked his head backwards, into the man’s nose and face. He heard and felt the gun discharge behind him. Jake withdrew his right arm, continued his spin and jabbed his left elbow into the man’s left temple. As his second attacker loosened and began to fall, Jake drew his weapon and placed the end of the barrel in the center of the next man’s chest, and pulled the trigger.
He glanced at Honi. Four men lay on, or were falling to, the sidewalk. Her hands and arms were a blur. The customs agent had already fired his weapon once at a man to Jake’s right, but the shot was not well placed. The man was wounded but not down. The attacker fired back and hit the customs agent in the left base of his neck, blood spraying out in front of him. Jake pivoted and swung his gun up to the attacker’s face and pulled the trigger. He felt a bullet tear through the skin of his upper left arm from the back. He shot another attacker on the outside of the group. The two remaining men turned and ran. Jake looked around, trying to assess where the next threat would be. The Japanese businessmen were gone. Honi was down, not moving. The customs agent was lying on his side, blood pouring from his neck and mouth.
Jake pulled his cell phone out and speed dialed the bureau car driver.
“Agents down. 911, now.”
He felt dizzy as he slumped to the sidewalk. That’s when he saw the blood running down his right side. He watched in a dazed state as the bureau car flew across the park. The lights and siren were going The car weaved between the trees. People scattered in every direction. He was breathing heavily as weakness overcame him.
Is this when someone watches me die? he wondered. Then everything faded to black.
* * *
A beeping machine woke Jake. He looked around the small room. Briggs sat in the only chair watching him.
“Good. You’re awake.”
“Agent Badger?”
Briggs lips drew tight. “We have to wait and see. The customs agent was pronounced dead at the scene.”
Jake closed his eyes. Losing a fellow agent was an unfortunate reality of the job. The problem was you never got used to it, and you never really got over it. Somehow you had to figure out how to live with it. He refocused on Honi.
“How bad is she hurt?”
Briggs held up a plastic evidence bag with a feathered dart inside. “This was embedded in the left side of your suit collar. It’s the only reason Agent Badger is still alive. It gave us a sample of the poison. She had a dart, just like this one, stuck in her back.”
Jake breathed out and slumped back in the hospital bed. “There was a second team.”
“Behind you, from all indications. They didn’t want to be seen. Compressed air dart guns don’t draw much attention, especially in the middle of a gunfight.”
“The two Japanese guys?”
“Vanished.”
“Any IDs on the guys who attacked us?”
“Oh yeah. Fingerprints and facial recognition came through. That’s where it gets interesting. They were all Bratva, Russian mob.”
Jake frowned. “How did the Russian mob get tied to two Japanese businessme
n with regular passports but theoretical diplomatic immunity? What happened couldn’t have been a coincidence.”
“No. We don’t think it was, but right now the whole thing is one giant puzzle. As soon as you can manage it, I want you working on solving that puzzle.” Briggs checked his watch. “I’m having both you and Agent Badger airlifted to Walter Reed. I want both of you near Washington, where you belong, not in New York. I’ll see you there.”
Two nurses came in and started prepping him for the transfer, as two FBI agents stood guard by the door. Well, he thought. At least no one had to watch me die. Just let Honi live. I’d give anything not to have her die.
* * *
The helicopter flight was noisy, rough and exhausting. Shortly after he arrived, an Army doctor came into his room carrying X-rays. He snapped them onto the light panel, placed a recorder on the table next to Jake’s bed and turned it on.
“You’re very lucky. Bullet entered your right rib cage between the fifth and sixth ribs, followed the ribs around under the intercostal membrane of your chest, and lodged next to the fifth thoracic vertebra.”
“So I’ve got a bullet next to my spine?”
“Yes. The good news is that it didn’t sever the intercostal nerve, but it is putting pressure on that nerve and shutting down all nerve conduction.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s blocking the pain you would normally be feeling with an injury such as this.”
“Operable?” Jake asked as the seriousness of his wound gradually sunk in.
“With some difficulty, yes. It’ll take between four and five hours. We need your consent to proceed.”
“Where do I sign?”
“I assume you’re right-handed?”
Jake nodded.
“You’re right arm isn’t going to work well enough to sign anything, hence the recorder. I need clear verbal consent and a statement that you understand the risks.”
