by HN Wake
In the reflection of the sheriff’s aviator sunglasses, the building remained still even as he shook his head. “There are a lot of folks round here with guns. Most of ‘em are not like what ya’ll up there would think of. Fine people. Interested in families, their churches, communities, schools. They think gun rights are as American as apple pie.” The sheriff paused. “But you ask ‘em, most of ‘em say regulation - logical regulation - is right.”
A mosquito buzzed past Cal’s ear.
“Normally I’d be real pissed off ‘bout Feds comin’ in here on our turf. But when it’s international stuff, trafficking and all, I’d actually rather ya’ll handle it from start to finish. It’s a real screw nut when an early mistake ruins the whole dang case.”
A jet stream arced across the blue horizon.
The sheriff warned, “But there may be folks that won’t like ya’ll comin’ in here and hasslin’ a local boy.”
“Until they find out he’s selling to the Taliban.” The sweat had built up under Cal’s bullet proof vest making his t-shirt damp and heavy.
“You want I should help them know that?”
“I would appreciate you keeping your folks informed, Sheriff.”
The mosquito took another dive-bomb pass.
The sheriff shook his head. “It's a complicated issue, regulatin’ guns."
"It sure is."
"Real shame the radicals get all the air time."
“Extremists muddy the waters. No doubt about that.”
Cal’s cell phone ring punctuated the air. He answered with a quick tap.
Wilson barked, “The warrant is signed. In and out. I told the judge this was exploratory.”
“Understood.”
“You’re a go.”
The sheriff was already half-way down the back of the hill to his men.
Six Lexington police officers stood at attention, circled around the sheriff and Cal, their hands resting on their hips. They were surrounded by four police cruisers and an ATF sedan.
The sheriff took the lead. “Today we’re helping out ATF. They have reason to believe this here Chuck Boare may be involved in gun traffickin’. Looks like some shipments to Pakistan have gone a’walkin’ into Afghanistan. It may be that Chuck Boare had somethin’ to do with those guns gone missin’. That’s certainly not gonna help our boys fightin’ there.” The sheriff nodded to Cal. “Special Agent Bertrand has a warrant to search and seize papers and computers. Pull anythin’ that could be holdin’ electronic copies. I want professional heads on this one. There will be no sass talk, no chest bumps. Keep your lips locked. I’ll give the orders. I hear any of ya’ll talkin’ and I’ll dock your pay a day. We are not gonna screw this up for Agent Bertrand.”
The sheriff’s car led the caravan, the ATF van pulling up the rear. As they crested the hill, they hit their lights.
The silent vehicles pulled over the top of the hill, wound down the slope of the rural road, and spilled across the Scimitar Defense parking lot, blocking parked cars. The sheriff’s car stopped in front of the main door.
In the lobby, the receptionist jolted up out of her chair and grabbed the phone.
21
New York, NY
The evening crowd in the high-end bar felt frenetic. Penny sat back down across from Laura at a small, low cocktail table and gushed, “Oh my. Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to abandon you. That was a partner I’m working with on an anti-trust suit.” She took a deep sip of her cocktail.
Laura watched Cliff’s back as it retreated toward the door. “He’s pretty smoking.”
Penny slowed her breathing. “I can’t believe he found me here. What did you just say?”
“I said he’s hot! Trust me, I know when men are hot.” She chuckled to herself. “And he clearly stalked you here.”
Penny laughed nervously.
“I’m not kidding. He found you, talked to you, and then walked out. You were his only purpose in being in this bar. He had his briefcase thingy so it wasn’t like he was planning on staying here.”
“Anyway, he just had a work question.”
Laura eyed Penny’s cell phone on the table. “He can’t email you like everyone else in the world?”
“Maybe he did…” Penny scrolled quickly through her inbox, looked up. “Nope, nothing.”
“Uh, huh.” Laura was all sass. “In my personal opinion that’s called stalking with intent to engage. Stalk to talk.” She eyed her over her cocktail.
“Stop it.”
“Nope.”
“Shut the front door.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m serious. Shut the hell up.”
“Didn’t say a word. But am thinking all kinds of words. Like, ‘he likes you.’ Why wouldn’t he? You’re smart as shit, you’re hot, and you’ve still got killer tits.”
“The tits are way better in a bra.”
“Don’t worry, all of them are. I would know.” She grinned widely, her eyes crinkled. “And your career is chugging along to super lawyer stardom.”
Penny exclaimed, “Speaking of - thanks for your mandate this week! Another toast to working with the awe-inspiring Laura!” She raised her cocktail again.
Laura sipped, looked back toward the bar door Cliff had just exited. “And so? What’s about your boy there?”
“Uh, I work with him.”
“Yeah? Problem?”
Penny jogged her head back and forth, emphasizing the point. “I work with him.”
“Single?”
“Actually, just divorced.”
“Guuurl. A cool lady could really roll with that.”
In that instant, Penny imagined a black and white glossy photo that captured the moment she, in a sleek Vera Wang wedding dress, and a tuxedoed Cliff tumbled through the arched doors of a stone church into dazzling sunbeams. In the next instant, the photo became granular and centered in a newspaper, the huge title across the top read, “New York News Weddings”.
Back in the moment, Penny looked at Laura. “A cool lady could roll with that. A married lady could not.”
“Point.” Admitting defeat, Laura changed the subject. “Dare I ask about Mac?”
“I don’t talk to her that much actually. Surprisingly.”
“How’s it going?”
“As far as I know, fine. It's not like she checks in with me.”
“I figured as much. Are you concerned?”
“Not yet. I think these things need to run their course. And she sounds confident. But what do we know about covert operations?”
The funky house music drifted over them as they eyed the crowd, letting their minds wander.
Laura spoke first. “I’m very keen to see what our spy girl delivers.”
“You, me and Freda.”
Across town, Freda’s burner phone pinged with a message. Mac had sent a Youtube link.
Freda turned to her computer screen and pulled up the video. On the screen, the opening still frame showed a young male reporter standing on the top of a green, rolling hill. Behind the reporter was a manufacturing plant with four police cars in the drive.
Freda hit the ‘play’ button.
The reporter said, “We’re here outside Lexington with breaking news that the local police, supporting an ATF investigation, have raided Scimitar Defense Ltd in connection to a gun trafficking case. Anonymous sources inform us that the police have been inside the gun manufacturer’s building for over four hours. They are only just now starting to haul out documents and equipment.”
Behind the reporter, uniformed officers were carrying out cardboard boxes and placing them in police cruisers.
He continued to the camera. “We understand there are likely to be no arrests made today. But stay tuned. Our source said this may have something to do with US guns going missing from Pakistan. If the ATF finds anything that connects the gun manufacturer to the missing guns, an indictment will very likely follow.”
Freda spent the next few minutes researching Scimitar before sending St
acia the link by email.
Five minutes later, Stacia emailed back. “Hint?”
“Act like an investigative reporter and investigate.”
Ten minutes later, Stacia replied. “Scimitar is the SFG’s largest donor!!”
“Start working sources down in KY. I want copy by COB tomorrow.”
“I’m on it.”
Freda sent an email to Jack. “We’ve got a lead on a KY local story involving the SFG’s largest corporate donor. Perhaps front page? Below the fold?”
Jack responded, “Send it through. I’ll take a look.”
Langley, VA
SOO Odom opened up a web chat room and recognized his message from yesterday. It stood alone, unanswered.
In the single light from the green desk lamp, Odom’s eyes narrowed. He was now deeply troubled.
He picked up a phone to his secretary. “Get me Ed Wilcox at the Embassy in Hanoi.”
Someone in Hanoi picked up. “Ed Wilcox”
“Hi, Ed. This is Frank Odom from Langley. I need one of your men to check in on one of mine - Mac Ambrose. She’s gone quiet. Last known locale was your turf - Halong Bay.”
“Sure. We saw Mac three weeks ago. Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ok, I’ll get one of my guys on it. How quickly do you need it?”
“As quickly as you can.”
“I’m just saying it like it is down here in the blank spot of Hanoi, Frank. You know we don’t have a full team. Never enough hands on deck.”
“Ed, just get it for me. ASAP.”
Odom hung up the phone in the dim office.
22
Arlington, VA
Cal sat at the head of a long metal table in a windowless room in the business mall’s fourth floor. An air conditioning unit rattled in the corner. He looked at the four agents seated around the table: three were men, one was a woman, none was older than 30, all of them were in crisp, freshly ironed button-downs. This was the tech team for the Scimitar investigation.
He summed up. “So, for the next 48 hours we’re going to focus on Scimitar’s senior managers and any references to Pakistan and Afghanistan. We’ll need to categorize and file everything in one electronic database. I need this database to be painfully - bottom feeder - easy to maneuver.”
On tables around the room’s perimeter sat ten desk tops, six laptops, a network computer, and two hard drives. Each brandished yellow Lexington Police tags.
“I don’t know who is going to be on the joint task force and I don’t want to slow them up. I want an IT illiterate to be able to search the database.”
A male agent in a light blue shirt noted, “You want a crawler, or a bot, to search content and index it”
Cal grinned. “It pays to get smart people in the room. Yes. That’s exactly what I want. What’s your name, son?”
“David.”
Cal pointed to the chalkboard behind him. “I’ve listed the categories for the index: landline, cell phone, texts, banking, outgoing emails, incoming emails, Quicken.” He asked the team. “Do we have a Quicken expert?”
The young woman raised her hand.
“What’s your name, Agent?”
“Sarah.”
“How you feel about your Quicken skills?”
“Solid.”
“Good, because this devil is going to be in the details. You ready for that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m ok with us chasing down rabbit holes but let’s do it quickly. If you see something you don’t like, come to me and we can sniff it out together. Otherwise I want you on our key words. This is a straight forward tech search. Got it?”
The four nodded.
“Ok team. Any questions?”
Sarah asked, “What are the odds of us not finding anything?”
“I’d say about 50/50. We acted on an anonymous tip. We’ve confirmed there were two calls to Kahn. But they were made last week. Which is weird. Overall, it’s compelling, but not convincing. We need enough evidence to make this a formal investigation for a multi-agency task force. We need evidence that Scimitar management were aware of and involved in the illegal trafficking of arms last year.
“We’ve been given 48 hours to get this done. I will be here until the last possible hours. I do not intend to go home until the end. Do not hesitate to involve me in your searches.” He exhaled. “This is make or break. If we come up empty handed, I guarantee you these scum bastards will get away from us. They will be far smarter going forward. There won’t be a next time. We have to nail them now.”
The four agents nodded with a mix of excitement and determination.
Eight hours later, Wilson called. “I just had the FBI Director on the line. He heard about the raid from his Lexington Office.”
“Ok?”
“He’s hopping mad I didn’t loop them in. I told them we’re moving quickly.”
“We are.”
“Good.” Wilson’s voice was clipped.
“Sir, I’ll be real curious how State and CIA react.”
“Yeah, me too. Ok, get back to it, Agent. You only have two days. You better find something.”
Cal grimaced as the wall clock ticked over to 8 a.m. on day two of the tech team search. The room smelled like stale fast food. A take-out coffee box sat on one of the tables. The four young agents had worked through the night, their fingers flying over keyboards. Now two of them were slumped over their work stations, napping.
From across the room, David waved Cal over. He was hunched over his keyboard. “I’ve finished the crawler.” His eyes gazed blearily at his screen. “We’ve got really bad news. I set it loose on everything populated in the database - all emails, phone records, hard copy communications, files, reports - everything.” His fingers came to rest on the keyboard. “The crawler picked up nothing. I’ve used all variations of the search words.”
Cal’s red eyes looked over David’s shoulder. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me your gut conclusion.”
David considered this. “Guys like these - senior Scimitar guys - are probably worried their communications are not secure. They may not have used real words. They may not have used the key words we’re searching for: Pakistan, Afghanistan, shipment. I think they used some kind of secret code. If they did what we think they did.”
Looking around the room, Cal stood up. He raised his voice over the rattling AC. “Ok, I need all eyes but Sarah’s on emails this morning.”
The two napping agents struggled awake.
“We’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way. We’re going to read through their emails one by one.”
Silence greeted his announcement.
“We’ve got 24 hours left. This is crunch time. Let’s take a quick break, slug that coffee and get back to work.”
David asked, “What time period emails should we read?”
“Let’s start five months before the shipment in August and go into September.”
“Whose emails?”
“Boare, the CFO, the COO, and the lawyer.”
“That’s about 30,000 emails.”
“Divvy it up and let’s get started.”
An hour later, Wilson called. “Morning, Bertrand. How’s it going over there?”
Cal looked around at four crumpled shirts, four heads of messed hair, four sets of shoulders slumped over desks. “Getting there.”
“I should hope so. Listen, I’m giving you an order. I’m not asking you, I’m ordering you.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve told the FBI - and we’re going to tell the task force - that you got an anonymous telephone tip that led us to investigate Scimitar. You will maintain that deception.”
“Ok.”
“I am not hanging my dick out on some anonymous, disgruntled spook.”
“Fine.”
“You hear me?”
“Sure. It does nobody any good to know about Maar.”
“That sounds suspiciously like you want to protect him.”
“No, Sir. I just don’t want anyone on a task force going off on a red herring after our tipster. At this point, the task force should focus in on Chuck Boare. Not Maar.”
“Agreed.”
“Ok, so yes, I’m fine with it.”
“So, what have you got?” Wilson asked.
Sarah was walking up to Cal, a broad smile on her face. He watched her approach. “We’re slogging through the documents.”
“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow morning down here.”
“Did you get a call from either State or CIA?”
“No. Quiet as church mice. But they are both sending representatives tomorrow. We’ve also got FBI, Commerce, DOJ and Homeland. Big reception. It’s not every day we investigate one of our own manufacturers. They all want to be on the ground floor when the elevator doors open up. And I’ll be damned if I’m not letting them all in on this particular investigation.”
“Ok. We’ll be ready.”
“You better be. This is one hell of a fishing expedition.”
Sarah reached his desk as he hung up the phone. She handed him a printed spreadsheet. “Small - but maybe something.”
He looked down at two highlighted entries. His head snapped up. “Go grab the cardboard boxes from the accountant’s office. Start searching the hard copies.”
He picked up his phone and dialed Sheriff Soloman.
Dupont Circle, DC
The neighborhood by 17th St was dark. A muffled siren from a distant ambulance floated on the city’s sticky air. It was 5 a.m. on the second night of the tech search. Cal hadn’t slept in 44 hours. The task force briefing was in three hours.
On the stoop of the yellow townhouse, he picked up the morning’s New York News and let himself in. He lumbered up the stairs to the second floor landing, unfurling the newspaper as he unlocked the door.
