by Steve Richer
The thought of wearing clothes to accentuate her attributes crossed her mind but she nixed the idea when she realized it was too much like something her mother would tell her to do.
“You’ll change your mind when you’re my age and all alone on a Saturday night. It’s not your Elliott Ness routine that’s gonna find you a husband. Men get turned off when you steal their job. They’ll think you’re a dyke.”
“Mom, is there something you wanted to tell me? I’m about to jump in the shower. I’m gonna be late for work.”
“I called earlier, left you a message. Your machine cut me off again. I think it might be broken.”
“The machine’s fine. What did you want to tell me?”
She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower in the hopes that her mother would hear the sound and get on with it.
“Well, I have this new dentist. Young guy, maybe 33. Looks like that actor on General Hospital. You know, the one who played the doctor? So gorgeous. Anyway, he might open a clinic in Los Angeles and I told him about you.”
“Forget it, mom. I’m not meeting him and that’s final. I gotta go.”
Without giving her a chance to reply, she hung up and jumped under the showerhead. She didn’t need to be set up, least of all by her mother. She had a five-year plan: get promoted, move to Washington, sell this condo for a tidy profit, become Special Agent in Charge. It was all mapped out and she wouldn’t let anything interfere.
Chapter 18
After the morning briefing, Jasmine returned to her cubicle to plan the rest of her day. That’s when she found a document important to her case and began reading. She barely noticed her boss approaching.
Special Agent in Charge Lifto, on his way over, perceived that in the next cubicle Joe was standing as he talked on the phone. He made a detour and commandeered the agent’s swivel chair, bringing it next to Jasmine. He sat beside her and she could barely hide her surprise.
“Did you get a copy of the LAPD report yet?” he asked.
“I’ve only had time to glance over it so far,” she replied, lifting the report slightly off the desk to emphasize her answer.
“As far as I’m concerned, the only relevant part in that report is the fact that while the guy was getting killed in the garage, there was a banquet upstairs.”
“You think the killer might have attended this banquet, sir?”
“No, but half the Chamber of Commerce was there as well as the Mayor, the Lieutenant Governor, and the US Attorney General.”
“Oh...”
She was instantly embarrassed. She hated not being aware of details, especially in front of her boss. She should have skipped the jogging this morning. She should have come into the office before sunrise. This way, she would have been able to read the entire report before being quizzed on it.
“Oh is an understatement,” Lifto said in a tone that hovered between a reprimand and disappointment. “This case cannot go unresolved.”
“I already have a suspect who I’m investigating.”
“Good because this could do wonders for your career. They’ve opened up that position in Washington again.”
“They did?” she asked too quickly and too enthusiastically.
The position he was referring to, the job she wanted the most, was on the National Security Division. The post had to do with counterterrorism and also had oversight over the ICE Special Agents assigned to the FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force. Some months before she had confided in Lifto that she wanted that assignment since it would put her on the fast track.
“Solve this case and the job is yours, you understand? I’ll recommend you personally.”
She nodded nervously before adding, “Yes, sir.”
~ ~ ~ ~
More determined than ever to find the guilty party in the murder of Pablo Rodriguez, the thought of investigating the case alone had occurred to Jasmine. She didn’t owe anything to the ATF and, after all, the goal of the federal government was to put criminals behind bars, no matter what agency eventually got the credit.
In the end, she kept up her word and called Paul Gervasi. He’d said they could share the glory once the case was resolved and she would hold him up to it.
They had met at Preston McSweeney’s employer in North Hollywood and when the federal agents informed the receptionist that it was imperative that they spoke to the crew foreman/business owner, she directed them to Beverly Hills where the company had a job this morning.
Jasmine looked at the house in front of her and was underwhelmed. Wasn’t Beverly Hills supposed to be the cradle of the rich and famous? This Spanish-style bungalow didn’t send her senses aflutter. It reminded her of entry-level Mercedes and BMW models; you paid for the brand-name but they were otherwise like Honda Civics.
She was also feeling the same way about the crewmembers planting trees and laying grass. She knew that many women could barely contain themselves at the sight of sweaty manual laborers. She couldn’t see what the big deal was. All she noticed was a bunch of guys in need of a shower with butt crack on display.
The foreman was leaning back against his pickup truck while writing on a clipboard as Gervasi and Jasmine stood next to him. As always, she clutched her pen and pad, ready to take notes. For his part, the foreman was annoyed by the questioning. He didn’t have time for this.
“Look, it’s not like I was best man at his wedding, or anything. I was just his boss.”
“Okay,” Gervasi conceded. “But what kind of man was he on the job?”
“He was always on time. That’s the best compliment I can give to an employee. Some guys don’t even show up some days but McSweeney was always there.”
“Do you know if he had some friends who were up to no good?”
The foreman bursts into laughter. “Look around! I got two ex-cons, four Mexicans, and a drifter with the IQ of a cow working for me. They don’t exactly drop by the country club for a martini and a round of golf after work, if you know what I mean.”
“So you’re saying McSweeney hung out with not reputable people?” Jasmine clarified.
“Truth of the matter is, he was pretty much a loner,” the foreman explained with a noncommittal shrug. “Ever since he’s been working for me he’s been kinda depressed. Something that happened to him in Iraq about a year ago.”
“Did he ever mention what happened?”
The foreman shook his head. “Like I said, he was a loner. Serves me right for hiring veterans, uh? Now what am I supposed to do? That Burger King job ain’t gonna do itself.” All through the conversation his eyes had been darting toward his employees and now he saw something he didn’t like. “No, that shrub goes on the other side!”
He walked away in frustration, angry he had to micromanage his guys like they were special ed students.
Gervasi was about to wave the guy back to them and then decided there wasn’t much else he could tell them about McSweeney.
“Well,” he began. “In my line of work we call that a lead.”
He winked at Jasmine who was mildly offended by the gesture but also a bit titillated by the prospect of going forward in her investigation. The case against McSweeney was getting stronger and stronger.
Chapter 19
After they had finally settled in, having found a pair of small apartments downtown Katoga City and bought two SUVs, Preston and Hewitt almost felt at home in Africa. There was something to be said about having your own place as opposed to being a guest in a hotel.
Now Preston was alone. He was in his own SUV, a secondhand Toyota Land Cruiser initially purchased by a Dutch mining company which had since moved out of the country. The vehicle wasn’t new but the engine was in perfect condition and that’s all that mattered.
For the last hour, Preston had been parked across the street from the only TV station in the nation. In his hand was an expensive Canon digital camera with the kind of lens and zoom usually favored by photographers working for Sports Illustrated and National Geographic.
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br /> His eyes were riveted to the front door of the TV station, a two-story cinderblock building sandwiched between two higher constructions. Interestingly, the antennas were actually secured to one of those higher buildings for a better distribution of the airwaves.
Every time somebody entered, Preston snapped some pictures and jotted down the time in a notebook. He was collecting intelligence. It was the basis of any military operation.
You could have the best soldiers in the world but if you struck against the wrong people at the wrong time and discovered you were outgunned, you might as well have sent a two-year-old with a BB gun against the Red Army. Intelligence is what had allowed David to defeat Goliath since it had allowed him to learn his enemy’s weaknesses.
Preston was considering moving the Toyota to another location. It was bad procedure to stay parked in the same place for an extended period of time. Reconnaissance work dictated that you conducted the surveillance while being inconspicuous. He made the decision that he would move after he’d had a snack.
He bent forward and rummaged through the glove compartment where he found a power bar, a European brand ubiquitous in Katoga. As he straightened back up, a shadow fell over him and his heart skipped a beat.
In the driver side window were framed two soldiers. Their dark faces were creased with the wrinkles of someone who meant business. Their mouths were moving but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, a credit to the SUV’s superior insulation.
Slowly as to not appear suspect, Preston turned the key and lowered the window. Now he could hear the two soldiers. They were shouting in Ubangi, the language of the Ngbandi ethnic group which populated Katoga. English was the language of business and administration but for most people Ubangi was the native tongue.
Preston didn’t understand a word.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
Instead of answering, one of the soldiers reached in to unlock and open the door while the other one fished Preston out of the car.
“Hey,” the American protested. “What’s going on?”
They dragged him away, oblivious to his panicked screams.
Chapter 20
The great thing about Western democracies was that official documents were easy to come by for the common citizen. Hewitt was discovering that Katoga only had one policy regarding publication of government files. This policy was summarized in four words: none of your business.
One hour in his native Great Britain and he would have found everything he needed through the Internet. Here things proved more difficult. What he wanted the most was a copy of the official Katoga budget. Accounting was one of the best sources of intelligence. Hell, that was how they’d been able to convict Al Capone.
Here, no dice.
The Internet – wireless, even – was surprisingly easy to access in the capital. Though poor, the country had skipped the age of cables and wires and had gone directly to cellular towers and satellite uplinks.
The majority of Katogans didn’t have the money to use the infrastructure but it had been a crucial part of a few negotiations when foreign companies had settled in the country.
Nevertheless, just because there were servers and bandwidth didn’t mean that the government was keen to open its doors to the public. The formal government website contained exactly 127 English words – Hewitt had counted – and about the same in Ubangi. It only served to welcome people to Katoga with flowery language.
In Europe or North America, the second approach would have been to pass yourself off as a reporter and use one version or another of the Freedom Of Information Act to request the needed document.
In Katoga, the concept of free press didn’t exist. Hewitt never even considered the idea of going to a government office to beg for the information. One wrong move and he was liable to get sent off to some forced labor camp somewhere, never to be seen again.
He opted instead to circumvent the process and go through a third-party. Once again on the World Wide Web, he went to the United Nations site and ran a search for any articles or reports about Katoga.
By lunchtime, he had learned that the WHO wanted to help fight the AIDS epidemic, that the IMF had extended the latest loan despite a strong possibility of default and insolvency, and that the UN had an office in the country to promote education.
Finally, his most important discovery thus far related to an article where it was mentioned that the Congolese government offered a maintenance service contract for the five Russian-made T-80 main battle tanks it had recently sold Katoga.
That was the type of information Hewitt craved. For their mission to succeed, they needed to know the size of the military and the kind of budget it had.
After a rather delicious meal of chicken in palm oil, Hewitt drove his own Toyota to the United Nations office. Getting there, he was disappointed. The office was diminutive and located above a law firm. The walls were covered with stucco and it had been last whitewashed many years ago.
He went up the outdoor stairs and into a small but crowded antechamber. The space was no larger than his bedroom back in California and had only three wooden chairs, which meant that 15 people had to wait on their feet. A third of them were children.
Hewitt wasn’t sure if there was some kind of waiting line or if everyone had already given their names and were waiting to meet with whoever was in charge. He decided to hover in the back while he planned his line of attack.
That’s when he noticed a white face in the crowd. The man was in his mid-30s and had blond hair. He had also noticed Hewitt and smiled in greeting.
When the Briton started to head toward him, the younger man met him halfway.
“Good afternoon,” Hewitt began. “Should I cut in front of the line or...”
“No, the secretary is registering everybody one by one.”
The man’s accent was Scandinavian and after a few minutes of conversation it was established that his name was Pontus Herngren. He was Swedish and worked for a European phone company with a contract to install new fiber-optic lines for mining operations.
“I’m here as a favor for my new boss in the mines.”
“She’s that attractive?”
Herngren smiled and frowned at the same time. “How did you know that?”
“Well, you’re a subcontractor so you don’t owe anyone a bloody thing. The fact that you’re doing a favor means you care about this superior of yours. And judging by the waiting time here no one would ever subject themselves to this for another man, no matter how good a friend he is. We are therefore talking about a female. A woman rating this sort of torture has to be quite striking.”
“That’s unbelievable. You could be a detective or a spy or something,” the Swede said with admiration.
Hewitt waved him off. “Just a lowly business consultant, I’m afraid.”
Herngren was here to see about setting up some sort of education infrastructure for the mine workers and their families. The Katoga government didn’t devote much energy – and even less money – to schools which was why the United Nations was getting involved. The others in the room were trying to have their children enrolled in an upcoming foreign-run school.
Hewitt was grateful for the information but also realized he would not get any information they needed by staying here. Education and the military were essentially opposites. It was time to bail out.
“Oh well, look at the time,” Hewitt complained, making a show of looking at his watch. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to wait here all day. I’m scheduled to tour the country.”
“Yes, it’s a shame there is no local helicopter renting companies.”
“A bloody shame,” Hewitt agreed. His previous research had told him as much.
“The good thing is Katogan military officers love cash very much.”
“How so?”
Herngren leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones. “The roads around here leave much to be desired. When you want to get around the country quic
kly you can always bribe officers. For the right money, they will fly you anywhere you wish on military helicopters. Gazelles, I think.”
“That’s interesting. How does that work exactly?”
“Well, you go to the military base. That’s easy, the Army is so small, like six thousand soldiers, there is only one major base in the country, it’s easy to find. Then, this is the important part, you need to ask to speak to Major Balufu Kabongo about an interview.”
“Major Balufu Kabongo about an interview,” Hewitt repeated. “Got it.”
“It will cost you 250 euros for each flight hour. The only thing is that there is sometimes a waiting line. I believe Katoga only has five military helicopters in total. That’s the extent of their Air Force. It’s better to plan ahead.”
Hewitt nodded solemnly and glanced at his watch again. The Swede gave him his business card and watched the older man leave.
As he got into his car, the former MI6 operative could barely believe his luck. He had at last discovered what he’d been searching for. Katoga had a small army, a ridiculous air force, and an even smaller armored component.
The country being landlocked, there would be no navy. They would still be outmanned and outgunned but knowing what they were up against was half the battle.
Then, Hewitt glanced at his watch for real. Preston should have called him an hour ago. They each had a portable satellite phone to stay in touch. He pulled out his and dialed the incredibly long number which he had committed to memory. There was no answer.
Where in the bloody hell was Preston?
Chapter 21
The American was naked, wet, and shivering.
When he’d been picked up by those soldiers, he had been cuffed and blindfolded. At his destination, a place he guessed was a military compound though he couldn’t see anything, he had been stripped naked, doused in cold water from a powerful hose, and led down two flights of stairs. Only when they had stopped moving him had his blindfold been removed.
