“I made a pot back in the lab, Boss,” Rasheed said, motioning the three to follow him. “I am sorry I was short with you. I feared the worst.”
“You didn’t think Cold could do it?” Rutledge asked, following their newest member.
“I feared he would kill all the terrorists and be shot by your people for disobedience,” Rasheed answered as they entered the lab complex and walked over to their small break area. He repeated McDaniels’ joke about Reskova probably shooting him in the head after seeing what he did in the Mercado house, much to the three FBI agents’ amusement.
Rasheed filled their coffee cups from the pot. When they were seated at their break table, the group sat in silence before Barrington broke the uncomfortable lapse in conversation.
“How’s the newest member of your family?”
Rasheed’s face literally shone with excitement as if the mention of his new son replaced the fear concerning his friend. “My wife Ansa has not stopped crying since I placed the baby in her arms. She is very emotional and would not even allow my daughter to hold the baby for over an hour.”
“Wow,” Rutledge said, “how’s the baby taking it?”
“He was very hungry. Luckily, I had stopped on the way home with him to pick up all the things I could think of we might need at a twenty-four hour store. When the foolish woman saw her sobbing was upsetting the boy she let my daughter Suraya feed him.”
“Sounds like Cold found the right place for him,” Reskova said.
“Yes,” Rasheed agreed enthusiastically. “My new son’s name is Jeremiah McDaniels Rasheed. Suraya already calls him the little Cold.”
This pronouncement evoked laughter for the next few minutes. The four were happy thinking about anything besides the fate of their comrade.
“What will we do next?” Rasheed asked.
“We’re thinking of a way to get the story out to the media without being arrested ourselves,” Reskova replied.
“Yes, I know he was freed before due to your newspapers and his interview where he received his nickname. Cold did not take the heads this time, did he?”
“He might as well have. Three were found dead at the scene with their throats slit.”
“I see,” Rasheed said thoughtfully. “Although very effective in deterring other bad people, this type of story will not look good on the front page of your newspapers.”
“The way I see it,” Rutledge put in, “they’re going to try and railroad him anyway so how could it hurt?”
“When the people learn what these scum planned on doing, they’ll be wondering why we didn’t kill them all on the spot,” Barrington added. “I’ll leak it through the Washington Times. I know someone over there I trust completely. With the Pentagon contacts he has it will be tough for Dreyer to lay it on us.”
“If you have the E-mail address of this friend I can write up the copy for you,” Rutledge offered. “That way, we can E-mail it after I get done bouncing the source all over the Western Hemisphere.”
“I just have to give him a heads-up from somewhere else. As soon as he knows the info is gold, he’ll take the E-mail seriously. If we get started now we might make the afternoon news.”
“So can Cold have conjugal visits in jail, Diane?” Rutledge asked, causing Reskova who was swallowing a gulp of coffee to expel it suddenly from her nose.
Rutledge and Barrington quickly left the room, their laughter receding with them. A smiling Rasheed handed Reskova a handful of napkins as he tried not to laugh himself.
“I…I’ll get… that… bitch… if it’s the… last thing I ever… do,” Reskova stuttered out between swabbing off her face and clearing her nose.
“Yes, Boss, that was an evil thing to say,” Rasheed agreed, immediately taking on an outraged look.
Reskova stood up, grabbing more napkins for her still tearing eyes. She pointed menacingly at Rasheed. “Never mind you, Cold told me you instigated this whole thing with the office pool.”
“I innocently asked what you and Colonel McDaniels would be doing during your time watching the terrorist house. I cannot be held accountable for the vicious way your cohorts think.”
Reskova blew her nose a final time, still trying to clear up her sinus passages. “Bullshit, Kay.”
“I am very hurt over these insinuations, Boss,” Rasheed said, taking on an appropriate tone of sadness.
“Get out of my sight, Kay. Go and help your partners in crime do whatever they need to do.”
“In the meantime will you be going for the ah… conjugal visit?”
Only the quickness Rasheed moved through the door of the lab saved him from being nailed by the metal coffee server which hit the doorjamb a split second after his exit.
* * *
Assistant Director Dreyer came through the door of the lab where Reskova, Barrington, Rutledge, and Rasheed were pouring through every detail of the papers found inside the Mercado house. Although after quitting time, the four had been laboriously scanning in translations Rasheed made and notes as to what the four of them deciphered from the translations.
“What the hell did you do, Reskova!?” Dreyer waved a newspaper. “What possible good could come of this other than getting the four of you a ten year term in prison!?”
The four looked up at Dreyer with a look sufficient to garner an Oscar nomination if filmed as part of any documentary submitted for judging.
“Don’t even look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about!” Dreyer raged, throwing the paper at Reskova’s head. “I’ll have you all up on charges by morning!”
Reskova caught the newspaper with an equally award winning look of shock and surprise. She spread it out for the others to see. The headline read: Cold Mountain Strikes Again. The story under the headline detailed the plans of the Mercado terrorists to hold a school hostage - naming the target and school janitor already taken into custody. The graphic details of how McDaniels had secured the site for Homeland Security read like a James Bond novel. Reskova looked up at Dreyer after a few moments with an appropriately confused look.
“You want to blame us for this?” Reskova asked incredulously.
“I want you all down taking polygraph tests within the hour,” Dreyer ordered ominously. “We’ll see how long this crap you’re dishing out holds up.”
“Sir,” Reskova said calmly. “Unless you plan on a full scale investigation, including the notification of appropriate House panel members, you can’t order anyone in this office to submit to a polygraph test. You can on the other hand have us arrested. In which case it would be detrimental to our defense for us to submit to a polygraph test, which is notoriously unreliable. I am offended you think so poorly…”
“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now, Reskova.” Dreyer pounded a fist on the table he stood next to. “If you did, you’d have a weapon in your hand.”
“You know, Sir,” Reskova said, some anger working its way into her voice, “as an ex-Marine, you’re kind of a pussy.”
Dead silence reigned after Reskova’s remark. Dreyer gripped the table edge in front of him as if he meant to pulverize it between his clamped fingers. His face flushed right up through the roots of his hair. His mouth worked for a moment without expelling any words. When he did speak, his voice came out in a raspy whisper.
“If you were a man Reskova, I’d rip your face off!”
“If you were a man, Sir, I’d tell you to try it. Cold saved your backstabbing life in Iraq and the motto of real Marines still remains Semper Fidelis, always faithful. Is that what you think you are?”
The four team members could see Reskova’s statement hit Dreyer hard. The rage drained from his features to be replaced by stony acceptance.
“I want your full report on my desk tomorrow morning, including work I assume you’re doing on the Mercado documents.” Dreyer turned and walked from the lab without looking back.
“Holy shit,” Rutledge whispered, looking at her team leader in surprise. “Do you hav
e another career I don’t know about, Diane?”
“That was tight,” Barrington said with a smile. “Dreyer had it coming.”
Rasheed stayed silent, but looked at Reskova with respect. Although he knew an underling was not tortured and killed for disrespect as under Saddam, Rasheed understood such an action here still required courage. Rasheed could see the anger surging in Reskova’s features. He began reading back the last translation he had made to Rutledge. Minutes later, the four were again concentrating on the work at hand.
* * *
A message was left on Reskova’s office answering machine when she came in the next morning. Dreyer’s assistant’s voice directed Reskova to bring her team up to Dreyer’s office along with the Mercado report. Reskova immediately gathered materials from the work her team had done. They had not completed the initial document perusal until nearly ten o’clock the preceding evening after Dreyer left. Rasheed was first through the door.
“Good morning, Boss.”
“Hello, Kay. As soon as Tom and Jen get in, we have to report to Dreyer’s office.”
“Will we be fired?”
“Just me, more than likely - I might get off with a suspension and reassignment.”
“You were very formidable yesterday. Your remarks stopped Assistant Director Dreyer from spending any more time on his polygraph idea. Can we visit the Cold Mountain? I wish to see if he needs anything.”
“I’ll check when we get to Dreyer’s office. Don’t say anything unless he addresses you directly, Kay,” Reskova said as Barrington and Rutledge walked in together.
“We have orders to report to Dreyer,” Reskova repeated, after exchanging greetings. “I told Kay already not to speak unless spoken to. I’ll cue you in if I want either of you to provide clarification after I give Dreyer the report. Let’s get this over with.”
Rutledge walked past the two agents with her briefcase in hand. The three agents followed after only a moment’s hesitation. In Dreyer’s office which was located almost fifteen minutes away from their office, Reskova and her team were ushered into where Dreyer sat behind his desk. Reskova took out the Mercado materials from her briefcase and placed them in front of Dreyer. Dreyer did not take his eyes off Reskova.
“May I ask where they are holding Colonel McDaniels, Sir?”
“He’s not being held anywhere. McDaniels was called up for the assault on Fallujah. With his language skills and knowledge of the city McDaniels can save a lot of lives there. Our forces are massing outside the city now. He flew out of Dulles this morning. I’ll get back to you on the report. Any questions?”
“Did he have a choice?” Reskova asked, her voice betraying the emotion she felt hearing McDaniels was headed for Iraq once again into what was to be the worst battle in the Iraq War so far.
“No more than any of those other kids over there. He’s a soldier as you reminded me, Diane. I owed him a chance to put his skills to use outside of a prison cell while Aginson and I smooth this Mercado thing over.”
“Did… did he say anything?”
“He said to tell you to take care of his dog.” Dreyer smiled. He handed a folder to Reskova. “I’ve transferred the special unit mutt you two had with you into your team’s care. Where’s the dog now?”
“At my apartment.”
“Can you keep the dog there until he gets back?”
“Yes, I’ve already talked to the building manager. I showed him how special Dino is. Will the Colonel be returning to the team, Sir?”
“Director Aginson seems to think so, especially with the press he’s getting again. The people seem to regard McDaniels as above the law. The talk shows have picked up the outcry, urging letter and phone call campaigns into the Homeland Security office. You know as much as I do now. Get to work on tracing those people from the Mercado house. If you find something we can move on let me know right away.”
“Yes, Sir,” Reskova replied, turning to leave with her team.
“Wow, we’re still employed,” Rutledge whispered outside the office. She could see Reskova was still upset. “Cold will be fine, Diane, right Kay?”
“He knows Fullujah very well, Boss.”
“He has a whole lot of backup this time too,” Barrington remarked. “I hear they’re amassing fifty battalions in addition to tanks and air support.”
“You… you really think he’ll come through, Kay?”
“Do not worry about the Cold Mountain. His trouble will be the same as here. I am hoping heads will not begin appearing on the streets of Fullujah after his arrival. His superiors will surely not think it a coincidence.”
Rutledge and Barrington laughed at Rasheed’s attempt to reassure Reskova. Reskova merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak about McDaniels anymore.
Chapter 17
Marking Time
“Diane’s got it bad,” Rutledge whispered over to Barrington who was seated next to her.
The agents had been working for two weeks on nothing else other than finding every thread of information attainable on the Mercado terrorist cell. The leads they had uncovered led to nearly a hundred arrests across the country and in the Chechen area where some of the terrorists had come from. The Russian government had received updates in cooperation with Homeland Security to shut down the Chechen connection.
Barrington looked at Reskova. She stood quietly over Rasheed at his work station. “She’s been a little quiet but I don’t see anything sinister about that. She survived taking a hell of a shot at Dreyer. I think she’s just keeping her head down.”
“Men,” Rutledge said with disdain. “You guys are about as cognizant of a woman’s feelings as you all are about picking up your underwear.”
“Hey, was that a shot?” He and Rutledge had been ride sharing since they were stationed back in Washington. Rutledge had clucked at Barrington derisively when she walked in his door that morning to wait for him.
“Oh no, Tom, I thought your washing decorating your living room floor was a new art form you’re interested in.”
“Be careful,” Barrington warned, pointing a finger at a suddenly apprehensive Rutledge.
“What?” Rutledge asked. “Did you see something at my place I should know about? I can take constructive criticism.”
Arms crossed over his chest, Barrington watched his ongoing scan for a name Rasheed had found. “Sure you can, Jen, sure you can.”
“You’re just jealous because I know how to keep a house clean,” Rutledge said, going back to scrolling through names on her screen.
“I had to take a leak while you were getting dressed.”
Rutledge spun around toward him, her face flushing. “I told you not to go in my bathroom. I…”
“You told me you were painting or some lamo excuse like that.” Barrington laughed, seeing the trapped look on Rutledge’s face. “You wish you were just painting in there. Good Lord, woman, when was the last time you…”
“Shut up,” Rutledge ordered him. “I… I’m getting ready for a… a complete makeover.”
“By starting your own multi-colored mold collection? From what I saw, Jen, you don’t need a bathroom makeover, you need an intervention by physical force if necessary.”
“You could still take a piss in there, couldn’t you?”
“Nope.” Barrington shook his head in the negative. “I decided not to chance walking through whatever you had in puddles on the floor.”
“Oh, God,” Rutledge said, leaning on the desk with her hands covering her face.
Barrington put his arm around her shoulders consolingly. “I’ll come over tonight and help you clean it. We’ll borrow a couple of Haz-Mat suits before we leave.”
Rutledge peeked out at him. “What do I have to do in return?”
“Buy me dinner. We’ll have to eat after we get done though. I have a weak stomach.”
“How about pizza?” Rutledge suggested, warming to the idea of finally getting her bathroom cleaned. “There’s a pizzeria right down the street
from my place.”
“Sounds good. What the hell happened to you with that bathroom anyway?”
“I’m a pig,” Rutledge admitted. “I always seem to avoid cleaning areas of my place I can close the door on.”
“Well, admitting you have a problem is the first step.”
“What’re Diane and Kay doing anyway?”
“I think they’re checking overseas reports. It looks like Kay’s pointing out something on a map.” Barrington peered at Rasheed’s workstation monitor.
“It’s a map of Fallujah,” Rutledge said, tapping into Rasheed’s workstation, causing what was on his workstation monitor to appear on her screen. “I told you she’s got it bad.”
“I guess you’re right. I know we don’t have any threads from the Mercado house going into Iraq.”
“Only Cold.” Rutledge chuckled. She typed rapidly, pasting a note onto the live map screen which appeared on Rasheed’s monitor too. The note asked if Reskova had a lead from the Mercado house going into Fallujah.
Barrington and Rutledge watched Reskova tense and Rasheed try not to laugh. Reskova whipped around toward Rutledge, who gave her a little wave while Barrington scooted away from Rutledge with his hands in an ‘I had nothing to do with it posture’. Reskova pointed a finger at Rutledge threateningly.
“I haven’t forgotten you made me blow coffee through my nose, Rutledge,” Reskova warned. “I have a big asterisk next to your name on my shit list.”
“I was just making sure Tom and I were in the loop on any developments you two come up with on the case we’re supposed to be working on,” Rutledge said innocently. “How’s the Fallujah battle going?”
“We should have nuked that rat-hole.” Only after her words escaped did Reskova remember Rasheed was sitting there. “Sorry, Kay. I…”
“It is fine, Boss.” Rasheed waved her off. “My homeland is a very frustrating place. My people could have already been well on the way to recovery if not for these rogue cleric devils and foreign fighters.”
“You hear about the Marine getting railroaded for killing one of those possum playing terrorist assholes?” Barrington asked, anger evident in his tone. “They should have shot that photographer from NBC, the traitorous prick.”
Monster Page 17
