Final Finesse

by Karna Small Bodman

  “And then when it was transported out to all the other lines leading up north and all over the south, it would be radio-active?”

  “Yes. People could die when they turned the gas on. And you could die too if I screw this up. You mean too much to me, Samantha.” He shoved her toward the helo. “Now, get the hell out of here!”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  LOUISIANA–MONDAY OVERNIGHT

  Two FBI agents barged into the sheriff’s office. “Where are they? The men you arrested? We’ve come to take custody.”

  “Now you wait just a damn minute,” Sheriff Bobby Chase replied, jumping up from his desk and confronting the agents. “We’ve got ‘em locked up, and my deputy is questioning them right now.”

  The first agent glanced at the sheriff’s badge and said, “Uh, Sheriff Chase, this is a matter of national security. We need to take those men in and do our own interrogation. Lives have been lost. Property has been destroyed. Several states have been affected to say nothing of the havoc they have caused all across the country. You know that. Now, please take us to the prisoners.”

  “I told you. They’re my prisoners. We caught ’em messing with our pipelines in our state of Louisiana, and we’re going to bring ’em to justice.”

  “May I repeat, sir, it appears that they have sabotaged a string of pipelines and caused the deaths of people in a number of states, not just in Louisiana. We need to find out who gave the orders. Who provided their supplies. Who is behind this entire scheme. Surely you understand the gravity of the situation.”

  “I understand it fine. I’ve got a call in to the governor. Should be getting’ back to me right pronto. Then we’ll see who has jurisdiction over what’s here in my town.”

  The agents exchanged a glance. One said, “I understand your concern. And I respect your position, but this is truly a matter of federal, not local, jurisdiction. Now we’d like to see the prisoners. I trust you have them separated.”

  “Course we have them separated. What do you take me for? They speak Spanish and my deputy, he speaks Spanish. He’s in there talking to one of them right now.”

  “Has he learned anything?”

  “Not sure if he’s gonna get them to talk right away. Might take a while, but he’ll get ‘em to spill the beans. You can be sure of that.”

  “That’s another reason we must take them into custody. We have our own rules about interrogations.”

  “That right? Well, I assure you my man will learn more than you feds ever will.” He checked his watch. “Should be hearing back from the governor any time. Now if you two gentlemen want to have a seat. Be my guest.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  LOUISIANA–MONDAY OVERNIGHT

  Samantha trained the flashlight on the first canister. Tripp didn’t want her here, but he had no time to wrestle her into the helicopter. Damn woman was impossible. He studied the first canister. He saw a blasting cap attached to a seal on the end. It was small, the color of aluminum and about half the size of a ball point pen. About four inches long, like a bolt with a head on it. He figured it had gunpowder inside, and he had to dismantle the device. He glanced at the first timer. 15:20. He saw two wires leading from the blasting cap back to the box with the timer on top. One red. One black. If he cut the red wire, that might be it. If this is a standard set-up. Big if.

  He pulled a Swiss Army knife that Joe had given him as a keepsake out of his pocket and pried the little scissors from of the edge. He reached down to clip the red wire. As soon as he cut through it, he saw the timer begin to speed up. Shit! They’ve got an anti-tampering device on this thing. Bloody hell. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Samantha was still standing right behind him.

  “This thing’s like a booby trap. Get back. Fast. It could blow.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” She steadied the flashlight on the canister.

  “Damn it, woman!”

  He had no time to argue now. The first timer was down to 1:03 and counting. What if I cut the last wire? No, I can’t take that chance. The blasting cap must be the decoy. Or it’s a backup. There must be another charge of some sort in the box. That’s it. These guys were smarter than I thought. They used a decoy just in case somebody messed with their handiwork. And damn it, I fell for it. The only other thing here is the timer and that must be it. It’s been fastened to the canister. I’ve got to separate it from the canister somehow.

  He frantically looked around. The timer now showed :34. He knew that workers used certain tools around pig insertion stations. There must be something around here that’s strong enough. :19. He craned his neck, checking the other side of the station. :11. He saw a cheater bar, the kind of metal pipe that could be used to gain leverage on a valve and also a monkey wrench lying to the side of the station. :08. He grabbed the monkey wrench and smashed the edge of the timer. It flew off to the side. He shouted to Samantha, “Get down.”

  Samantha hit the ground. Would it blow? She covered ears, closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for Tripp. The explosion sent shock waves through her whole body. Oh my God! Tripp? Was he hit? Was he killed? She raised her head and saw him on the ground. She got up and ran toward him. She saw his body move. Relief washed over her as he opened his eyes. “I told you to get out of here,” he said with a raspy voice.

  She looked around and saw a crater in the field about a dozen yards away. “What happened?”

  “Had to get the timer disconnected. It had an explosive inside. When I smashed it, it flew off the canister. Now get back. Damn it. I might not be as lucky when I disarm the other one.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  THE WHITE HOUSE–TUESDAY EARLY AFTERNOON

  “Happy New Year, Samantha. Welcome back!” Ken Cosgrove said when she walked into the Situation Room. “Have you had any rest at all?”

  “Not really, sir. We left Louisiana just before dawn and landed at Landmark Aviation out at Dulles. We came straight here.” She glanced down at her slacks and sweater. “Sorry for the clothes. I haven’t had time to change.”

  “No problem. So you flew back in one of GeoGlobal’s planes? And where is the famous Mr. Adams?”

  “Tripp … uh yes, Mr. Adams dropped me off here and went over to his office to check in with his people. Guess everybody is working on a holiday.”

  “Today of all days, you bet.” Ken said. “I asked Evan to join us so you give us both a complete briefing on your, shall I say, escapade in Caracas?” he said with a half-smile.

  “Yes, well, I realize I must have broken every rule this place ever made.”

  “Just about. The people in your office were searching everywhere. It’s the first time we’ve had a member of the senior staff of the White House completely unreachable. And in a time of crisis like what we’ve been going through, let me just say that it was unprecedented.”

  “I know, sir, I’m sorry but …”

  “Never mind that now. I’m sure you’ll tell us the full story. Go back and start at the beginning.”

  Even though she had talked to Ken before, now with Evan in the room Samantha began with the first pipeline explosion and related her suspicion that it wasn’t a maintenance issue at GeoGlobal.

  She talked about her first meeting with Tripp Adams and how they had worked together, exchanging information in an effort to figure out how the lines were being blown up, and how she had speculated that explosives might have been placed in pigs flowing through the line. She didn’t explain how her relationship with Tripp had expanded to a great deal more than an exchange of information.

  Ken and Evan both took notes as she continued her tale about her frustrations with the CIA, FBI and other agencies when Tripp had been kidnapped and how she had contacted Joe Campiello because he had worked with Tripp at Greyfield. She said she had flown to Caracas to meet with GeoGlobal and introduce them to Greyfield.

  “Wait a minute,” Ken said. “So you’re telling us that you arranged for GeoGlobal to pay Greyfield’s contract fee to mount a rescue
operation. When you went to Caracas, was GeoGlobal under the impression that you were representing the White House with that request?”

  “I guess I had to finesse that one,” she said with a subdued expression.

  “Too cute by half, I’d say,” Evan volunteered. “But hey, it worked.”

  “Highly unusual,” Ken said as he made some more notes. “Go on.”

  Samantha described the meeting between Tripp and Joe, the glasses, the iridium dye in the pill, the trek up the side of El Avila and the rescue using the chloroform-based gas. She left out the part about flirting with the cable car lech until the team dragged Tripp out of the woods. She also left out how she almost suffered a panic attack going up in the cable car. But then it occurred to her that after she knew Tripp was safe, her fear of heights seemed to abate somewhat on the trip back down.

  “Jesus!” Evan exclaimed, jotting down some more notes. “This reads like some thriller novel. So what happened then?”

  Ken turned to Evan, “She told me some of this when she called from Caracas about the Henry Hub target, but we need all the details.”

  Evan scribbled furiously when Samantha ticked off the list of speeches el presidente had made and how they were tied to the six pipeline attacks.”

  “Yes, our FBI director called an hour ago with the results of their interrogation of the suspects,” Ken said. “More than suspects. The men the local sheriff caught red-handed at the last attack site. He said that the sheriff couldn’t get the first two men to talk at all. They completely stonewalled. But there was another one they took to the hospital. Turns out his buddies had attacked him with a knife. Guess they thought they could split their reward money two ways instead of three. So the third man gets stitched up. He survives and can’t wait to finger his comrades. He asks for immunity in exchange for all the plans. They’re working something out on that. So the FBI got this third one to admit they were from Venezuela and had been hired by a government official. And it turns out that the official was none other than Diosdado Rossi, top deputy to el presidente himself.”

  “Rossi?” Evan blurted? “My God, do you realize what this means?”

  “Of course I do,” Ken said.

  “What?” Samantha said, looking from one man to the next.

  “The elections this week,” Evan said. “Can you imagine the reaction of the Venezuelan people when they learn that their president and his henchman were behind a scheme to attack our energy supplies? And it wasn’t just the pipelines, but attacks that actually killed people. Wait until we get this into print, on the streets, in text messages, and on the radio broadcasts.”

  “But there’s more,” Samantha said.

  “Tell us,” Evan said.

  “The last attack. You won’t believe what they were planning.”

  “You mean at Henry Hub?” Ken asked.

  “Yes. They were just getting ready to insert canisters of radio-active gas into the pipeline that feeds into the salt dome where all that natural gas is stored. And they had them rigged with special explosives that wouldn’t rip up the line like they did before, but simply let the gas escape and contaminate everything in its path.”

  “Where in the world did they get the gas?” Evan asked.

  “Tripp said it had markings in Farsi.”

  “Iran,” Ken said. “Of course. They’ve been cozying up to that regime for years now, and Iran did produce uranium hexafluoride at a plant in Isfahan. Rossi must have figured out a way to get hold of a supply and smuggle it into this country.”

  “And if it got into our domestic reserves, we’d have to shut down all those pipelines, cutting off gas to millions of people, if some of them hadn’t already turned it on that is,” Samantha said. “And then it could take months to clean it all out.”

  “Good God, what a scheme,” Evan said. “This is unbelievable.” He made more notes and started to get up from the conference table. “I’ve got to get this story to our contacts in Caracas. We have to hurry if we’re going to get all of this out. You know, it’s one thing to yell about the devils up north and all that other nonsense he spouts in his speeches. Some of the people really buy that crap. But the fact that he was willing to kill innocent Americans, innocent women, children, everybody with a diabolical scheme to raise prices in his own country is absolutely beyond the pale.”

  “So what will that mean for the election?” Samantha asked.

  Evan headed for the door with his notebook in hand. “Stay tuned.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CARACAS–ELECTION DAY

  “You idiot! What have you done?” the dictator bellowed at the fixer. Shaking with rage he waved a handful of pamphlets at the man in the tailored blue suit standing in the doorway to the presidential suite of offices.

  “What do you mean? I carried out our plan. To perfection,” Rossi said, shooting his cuffs and stepping into the room.

  “Our plan was to raise the price of oil and gas by setting a few strategically placed explosives in a half dozen pipelines.”

  “And it worked, didn’t it?” the fixer said calmly. “Look at all the money that has been rolling into your treasury. Look at all the programs you have announced that you can now pay for. And with the left over funds, well, you can imagine what you can do with those.” He meandered over to the coffee table in front of a plush couch where a tray was sitting with a pot of espresso and several cups. He poured himself some of the steaming brew and sat down on the couch. “Why are you so upset?”

  “Why am I upset?” the president mimicked. “I’ll tell you why I’m upset. I told you to send those men up there to set some explosives, not to contaminate their entire southern gas supply with material that would have killed innocent people as soon as they turned on their gas stoves. Look at these stories. They’re all over town. In every pamphlet, on every cell phone we’ve confiscated. They’re even being broadcast on special frequencies. We can’t jam them fast enough.”

  “I thought it was a rather clever scheme. I told you I’d take care of it. And I did,” Rossi said, slowly sipping his coffee.

  “Clever? You think it’s clever when every student in every city in every part of this country is screaming for my head and telling everyone not to vote for the killer of innocent women and children? Do you think that’s clever?”

  “Much ado about nothing, I’m sure. Those students have been marching and chanting and raising a ruckus for weeks now. And what has happened? Nothing. We’ve detained some of them in the new jail and the others go to the streets and make a lot of noise. Who cares about noise? All we should care about is election results. And who controls the ballot boxes, now I ask you?”

  El presidente paced in front of his desk. “This time you are wrong. Dead wrong. We have international observers all over the country watching the polling places. You said we should let them in because it was obvious I would win. But now. Now the opposition has all the headlines, all the people, and soon they may have all the power.”

  “Relax. You are getting yourself overwrought,” Rossi said, crossing his legs and leaning back in a relaxed pose.

  “No. I will not relax. I never condoned the kind of final scheme you put together, and yet I may pay the price for your idiocy.” He scrutinized the man sitting so comfortably on his couch in the center of his office, and he made a decision.

  “Diosdado Rossi. I have listened to you for several years now. I have heard your plots, paid off your cronies. I gave you your staff, your villa, your bank account, and put up with your arrogance and back room dealings. But now you have gone too far.”

  The president walked to his desk and picked up his private telephone. “Send in my security chief.”

  Rossi jumped up from the couch with a puzzled expression on his face. “Surely you are over reaching, my president.”

  “I am no longer your president.” The door opened, and the security chief walked in. El presidente motioned to him. “Place this man under arrest. Now!”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-
EIGHT

  CAPITOL HILL–LATE JANUARY

  “Madam Speaker, the president of the United States,” the sergeant of arms called out as he opened the door to the House Chamber at precisely 9:00 p.m.

  The president strode in to a standing ovation. Everyone on both sides of the aisle stood and applauded. At this point, they were honoring the office of the president, not his policies. That part would come in a few minutes as he gave his annual State of the Union address.

  The president worked his way down the aisle, shaking hands with House and Senate members along the way. He moved to the front and mounted the platform with the American flag draped behind it. He turned and handed one copy of his speech to Vice President Keller, who was there in his capacity as president of the Senate, and he handed a second copy to the Speaker of the House.

  As the applause died down and the audience took their seats, the Speaker banged her gavel and announced into the microphone, “Members of Congress, I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting to you the president of the United States.”

  Everyone in the chamber once again jumped to their feet and repeated the applause. The one-two punch always amused Samantha. But this was tradition. This was excitement. This was one of the highlights, usually, of a president’s tenure when he could take credit for his accomplishments and also lay out his agenda for the coming year.

  She was standing in the balcony next to Tripp. On his other side stood the First Lady, clapping and smiling along with all the others.

  Down below, Samantha could see the backs of the justices of the Supreme Court, the joint chiefs of staff, and members of the president’s cabinet. All except one, that is. One member always stayed away from this gathering as the symbolic head of a continuity-in-government in case somebody bombed the Capitol during one of these speeches. He was dubbed the designated survivor. She gave an inward smile as she thought about the show by that name on ABC. It had been one of her favorites.