Nike's Wings

by Valerie Douglas

  “Neither did I,” Ty answered, “but data was there. It clearly comes from sources within the C.I.A. and Interpol. Garcia is known to both.”

  Nike went very still as eyes settled on her. She took a breath. Her chest felt tight.

  “No, sir,” she said, evenly, in answer to Byron’s statement. “You wouldn’t have. With the emphasis on terrorism there was little attention paid to assassins like Garcia unless they were part of that network. Otherwise, no one wanted to talk about them. Certainly not the U. S., not while we had assassins of our own.”

  “The United States Government does not…” Byron started to say, sharply, before the words trailed off.

  He wasn’t naïve and he’d served too long, he knew that the training Seal teams received more than made them capable of such ops, but official policy was that the U. S. Government did not support assassination. It was capture, not kill, not unless there was no choice.

  Nike Tallent returned his look steadily.

  That might have been true ten years ago, maybe twenty, when the country was still idealistic about its values. Even the renditions – the Achille Lauro terrorists, Noriega – committed then had been to kidnap, not kill.

  He took a breath, considering what he’d just learned, considering her, as he looked at the information in front of him. Wearily, he conceded those assumptions was very likely no longer true. This wasn’t the country he’d once served had changed.

  Buck’s intel had also picked up stirrings.

  Some of the cartel’s key people had moved north of the Rio Grande. That situation wasn’t new, some had been in the U.S. for years. With an effective police force in the U.S. it was far safer for them here than among their compatriots in Mexico. They certainly couldn’t trust local Mexican law enforcement – they didn’t know who to trust, the local police were just as likely to be owned by another cartel. If they weren’t the police feared for their own lives and the lives of their families and with reason.

  If Niki’s evaluation was accurate, there was a strong possibility that one of the Gulf cartels wasn’t just importing marijuana and cocaine into the states, but was about to bring their own inimitable style into the U.S. as well.

  It wasn’t time for other considerations. When this was over, though…?

  “You think the cartels are ready to make a move into Texas,” Byron said, looking up at them again. “They’ve targeted someone in Texas law enforcement for assassination. Why?”

  “For the same reason they do in Mexico,” Ty said, “to destabilize and to distract. An assassination will unsettle everyone. Questions will be asked, including who and why. With a professional, those answers will be hard to come by. Still, the questions will be asked and the speculation that the cartels had something to do with it will be inevitable. That such a high-profile target was chosen will send a chill through the law enforcement community. It will announce that to all intents and purposes it’s open season on U.S. law enforcement, not knowing that it’s already been declared. Standard response will be to go all out to find the assassin. All resources will be devoted to finding the killer. We’ve been seeing something like it coming for quite a while. It was only a matter of time with the amount of pressure the Mexican government is and has been putting on them. With our help. Something like this will be a distraction, drawing attention elsewhere, leaving them free to move in other directions while our attention is on the assassin. Giving them time to establish their base.”

  “Won’t an assassination have the effect of drawing more attention?”

  “It will, but they’re already under pressure in Mexico. They need a base or bases of operations here,” Nike said, with a light shrug. “Diversity. They have no other choice or go the way of the Colombians. At the same time, the assassination will make local law enforcement feel vulnerable. They’ll be more cautious moving on suspicious behavior.”

  “And you think that base has been established,” Byron asked.

  She nodded. “Or it’s about to be. At a guess, they’ve taken a page from the white supremacists, Waco, the polygamists and others. They’ve bought themselves some land of their own here on this side of the border. Probably a large parcel – or several large parcels – near the border.”

  “You’re sure about this?” he asked.

  “If you look at each individual piece of information, it doesn’t look like much,” Ty said. “Cumulatively? There’s something there. Just by the increase in the volume of calls. We know from terrorist attacks that there’s a spike in communications before, during, and after attacks as they’re coordinated.”

  Nike nodded. “It’s not their first assassination. That’s why those sheriffs were removed, to clear the way. During the transition to a replacement the cartels have been free to move unnoticed.”

  Stepping around his desk, she called up the graph.

  “There was so much information to take in, too much for me to make sense of at first. So I created a graph to help me understand, to see the ebb and flow, and I noticed the spikes. They’re unmistakable. That made me curious, so I cross-checked them against incidences that coincided with them. I found nothing in Mexico and nothing overseas that would have remotely warranted this kind of chatter. These three incidents did, though, almost exactly. Originally, all but the death of the deputy were chalked up as accidents. Both of those ‘accidents’ occurred in their own counties, on roads that were familiar, but lonely, back roads. Only the death of the deputy was considered an actual crime. If it hadn’t been for that, I might not have noticed the deaths of the two Sheriffs. Even so, statistically the deaths of so many in law enforcement were outside the norm for such a short period of time.”

  Buck said, “I did some additional back-checking. Both ‘accidents’ involved other vehicles, although those vehicles had fled the scene. Paint scrapings indicated that in both incidents, the other vehicle involved was consistent with a black Dodge Ram. A vehicle of that type was also seen leaving the scene where the deputy was shot.”

  His dark eyes on Nike, Byron said. “Daniel Garcia.”

  Nike shook her head.

  “Not the sheriffs or the deputy,” she said. “With all due respect to them, they’re small potatoes to someone like Garcia. That was likely a local member of one of the cartels. They’ve been recruiting gang-bangers to do their low-level assassinations here. It’s more their style. Garcia is after bigger fish. It was hearing his name, though, that made me look harder at all of it. It made me think there’s a bigger operation – that something more is going on. They wouldn’t waste him on anything less. It’s the same kind of tactics they’ve used in Mexico when they want to move into new territory, except for hiring a professional assassin. Although I suspect that since Garcia Mexican by heritage – he may have begun with the cartels and might actually owe them some degree of loyalty – but with the level of protection available here, his skills would be required.”

  Byron glanced back at his screen, then at the woman in front of him.

  “That information isn’t in our files.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Nike said, evenly, looking at him.

  “How can you be so sure?” Byron asked. “The name can’t be that uncommon. He could be a member of one of the cartels.”

  “There’s no one by that name among the higher ranking members,” she said. “There is a Daniel Garcia who is a known assassin to both the CIA and Interpol. I cross-checked Garcia’s whereabouts with my contacts in the CIA. A couple of the communications between some of the higher ranking members of the cartels mentioned that Garcia was in Colombia.”

  Reaching past Byron, Nike called up the news feed on his computer.

  “A high-ranking provincial police officer – a critical member of the war on drugs there – was assassinated in Cartagena, Colombia during that same time period. Garcia usually prefers working closer to his targets, but he doesn’t mind changing his tactics if circumstances don’t suit. This time he used a high-powered sniper rifle. According to my sources
, it was the only way to get to the man as he was simply too well-protected.”

  Leaning back against his desk, Byron folded his arms and studied her.

  “You know him,” Byron said. “Daniel Garcia.”

  Nike remembered Prague, remembered looking into Daniel Garcia’s too-handsome face. His soft voice. The sun had been shining so brightly that day, but it still seemed so dark…

  For a moment it seemed time had stopped.

  Ty had noticed it, too. There was something odd in her voice every time Garcia was mentioned. Her very stillness was a betrayal of some deeper emotion she didn’t want them to see.

  “You’ve had contact with him,” Byron said.

  “Yes.”

  Ty saw her jaw tighten a fraction. She lowered her eyes a little. Shadows moved in them, looking inward.

  “You’ve seen him,” Byron said.

  According to the records there was no known photograph of Daniel Garcia on file anywhere, only distant and blurry ones, and notoriously inaccurate witness descriptions. The man might as well have been a ghost, except for the reports of his activities. And his kills.

  Nike nodded.

  In her mind’s eye, she could see Garcia - the boyishly handsome, almost pretty, face, the high cheekbones. He was too close. His eyes were dark, long-lashed, liquid, and beautiful as they looked down into hers. According to his file, he had to be close to fifty, but there was no sign of it in his face. Nor was there a single gray hair on his perfectly coiffed head. Even his body had been boyish, but strong, limber, and wiry.

  “Most of what we know about Garcia came from me,” she said.

  All three men stared at her.

  “How?”

  For a moment Nike was quiet. Her mouth tightened just a fraction and then she took a breath.

  “We received intel Garcia was targeting the President of the Czech Republic, just prior to the President’s signing of a missile agreement we’d been negotiating with that country. It was my assignment to find him, first – to stop him if I could – capture him if possible. They wanted to know who hired him.”

  Nike remembered Daniel Garcia’s too handsome face too close, with small speckles of bright red blood over it. Her blood. Her chest grew tighter. She fought the memories back.

  Ty looked at her and did the math, compared that to her file. She would have been what, twenty-three, twenty-four? Just barely out of field training, according to her file. It was insane. What had they been thinking, putting her into the field against someone like Garcia?

  Her expression had gone very still, Ty noticed and the shadows in her eyes deeper. It was as if the bubble of isolation around her had suddenly expanded, or she had contracted within it. Suddenly she seemed isolated and very alone. Ty had to fight a sudden desire to reach out and pull her into his arms, to hold her, protect her.

  It never bothered him to have women agents in the field, but she’d been little more than a child then, and he could see by those shadows that something had happened there. He understood those shadows because he saw them in his own eyes, and he hadn’t been alone, he’d known Buck was out there trying to find him. There was more to the story than she wanted to talk about now.

  Who had watched over her?

  “Obviously, you succeeded in stopping him, since the treaty was signed,” Byron said. “Are you sure he’s here?”

  Nike looked at him. “My contacts at the CIA tell me that shortly after the assassination in Colombia, someone answering Daniel Garcia’s description flew first to Mexico City, then to Dallas/Fort Worth. He’s here.”

  Byron looked at Niki. “Can you find him again?”

  She took a breath.

  “In Prague it was a little easier - all I had to do was ask about a specific foreigner, likely of Spanish heritage with a US accent,” she said, wryly. “It will be a little harder in Texas. With a last name like Garcia he won’t be as foreign there.”

  Byron chuckled. “No, he won’t. More like a needle in a haystack.”

  “If we can get the Texas authorities to assist,” she offered, “we can take a look at the schedules of the possible targets. My guess would be the Attorney General, the Director of the DPS, and whoever is in charge of the Border Patrol down there, pick the most likely, and work back from there. It will be someone big; Garcia wouldn’t have been brought in for anyone small.”

  “How do we find the cartels’ refuge?” Byron asked.

  To all of their surprise Nike answered with humor in her voice.

  “That’s the easy part,” she said with a sudden grin. “Like Al Capone and his taxes, it’s their weak spot. We track the land purchase.”

  That quick flash of expression was surprising, warming and transforming her. It caught Ty completely off-guard and his heart jumped a little at the sight of that quick, engaging expression.

  Her resilience was startling. One minute strained and tense, and then suddenly this smile. In that moment he caught a heartbreaking glimpse of what she could have been …and what she might be again.

  “I doubt,” she said, her mouth curving a little more, “that they could get a mortgage with a local bank. Source of income? Um, drug importer?”

  All three of them had to laugh.

  “You have a point,” Byron conceded, amused.

  “So, we’ll look for a foreign bank and large parcels. Even in Texas, there can’t be that many.”

  “Once we have that information,” Ty said, “we’ll know who the local targets probably are and warn them.”

  “All right,” Byron said, “If this intel is good, then Garcia is already in Texas picking his target. I’ll get confirmation from the NSA and see if the DEA has picked up on this. We don’t have much time. Get packed. It looks like you’re going to Texas. Take a team with you, just in case you have to move quickly. I’ll set up meetings for you, Ty, with the Texas DPS, the Border Patrol and the A.G.’s office. We need to confirm this, get people on the street.”

  He pressed a button on his intercom as they started out.

  “Anita,” he said, “can I see you in my office?”

  They shouldn’t have missed this.

  Chapter Twenty

  The helicopter flew to the airport was the NIO’s, but they borrowed a plane for the trip to Texas from the FBI - a plush little Gulfstream with white leather seats - that had been confiscated from a white-collar criminal who had ties to the drug trade. There was just enough room for all of them. The camouflage gear looked a little strange piled in on and around a seat opposite the door. The plane was roomy enough for five men and one small woman. The team kicked back in the leather seats, grinning like kids.

  Ty and Buck sat side by side at a small table with Niki opposite, while Mitch and the other members of the team filled the remaining seats.

  “Going in style,” Brad said, stroking his hands over the padded arms of his seat.

  A small smile curved Niki’s mouth. It looked good on her, Ty thought, catching the unguarded expression.

  “So, Garcia is after a high-ranking cop,” he said, “or the Attorney General. Which one and why?”

  “It would be like declaring open war. Every cop on the street would feel like they had a target painted on them,” Buck suggested. “Most already feel as if they have a bull’s-eye on their back. Texas has a reputation for tough cops, but even so…”

  Ty said, “No strategic value, but plenty of psychological. Still there has to be a purpose to it all besides that, because in time they’ll be replaced. This is all smoke and mirrors, a distraction…”

  “A diversion?” Brad asked, walking a coin across the backs of his fingers as he did to keep his fingers limber. “Misdirection?”

  He flipped the coin in the air, caught it and flashed open his hand to show it was empty.

  Ty nodded.

  “So,” he said, “something else is up. The cartels want us looking somewhere else while they do whatever they have planned. It serves a dual purpose, taking out a central adversary and distrac
ting everyone. What do we do about it? How do we find him?”

  Nike looked at him, then Buck. “Depending on how he wants to do this, Garcia will need weapons. He wouldn’t have been able to transport them on the plane in a way that wouldn’t have drawn attention to himself. An assassin’s rifle, something capable of a hitting a target at a distance. Even in Texas it can’t be that easy to find. He’ll want something custom, too. He’ll want to be sure he hits what he aims at. I’m not certain that’s the method he’ll use, but he’ll want access, just in case.”

  Buck nodded and grinned wryly. “Even most Texans don’t always need something like that. So, we’ll need to find out who’s doing custom weaponry.”

  Ty’s cell phone rang, he put it on speaker so everyone could hear.

  “I have an appointment set up for you with the A.G.’s office. He cleared his calendar for us,” Byron said. “A plain-clothes escort will meet you at the airport. The Director of the Department of Public Safety and the Border Patrol will meet you there, too. I’ve sent the information to them so they’ll be up to speed when you arrive. Both the CIA and the NSA have confirmed Niki’s take on the intel, tracing back other calls, other communications. I’m waiting to hear back from the DEA.”

  A few hours later Ty, Buck and Nike walked into the office of the Attorney General of the great State of Texas, Bill Graham. Mitch, Brad and Andy had gone with an escort to their temporary quarters.

  Graham was a tall, slender man, his graying hair thinning a little, dressed in a three-piece lightweight wool suit. He had an outward air of calm and control, but there was a strong sense of energy simmering beneath the surface.

  The man stepped around his desk, came to meet them.

  “Special Agent Connor?” he said, clasping Ty’s hand with the finesse of a professional politician.

  Except that this one had sharp, gray eyes and an air less of calculation than assessment.

  Ty nodded and gestured. “Agents Buck Parker and Nike Tallent.”