Nimble Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 2)

by Robert Tarrant

Justin drew a deep breath, “Senator, you know me well, by reputation. Two years ago your committee held several closed door hearings where I was the main topic of discussion.”

  Hudson leaned back in his chair and swallowed hard, “You are . . . you are the Bhoot of Pakistan, the Ghost of Pakistan? I thought you were dead.”

  “Most people think I’m dead. Most importantly the Pakistani intelligence agencies think I’m dead.”

  Hudson scoffed, “You could be anyone claiming to be the Ghost.”

  Justin nodded, “I could, but I’m not. Would just anyone know that your committee was briefed on the content of the discussions at a gathering of Taliban leaders held in the mountains in Bajaur? First hand information from that meeting still represents the most significant penetration of Taliban leadership to date? Only a few people in the entire world know of this information.”

  Hudson sat stone still. Finally speaking, “So, let’s say for the sake of discussion I believe you. How do you propose I close out this CIA operation, that I don’t even know about, without drawing attention and thus risking the very leaks you say I should fear so much?”

  “Obviously, nothing is without risk. I believe that the operation I refer to is being run, off the books, by Andrew Potus. As I said, I don’t believe that Director Hartack even knows about it. I suggest that you tell Hartack that you believe information is being withheld from your committee and that you want all of the upper echelon of CIA leadership to be polygraphed specifically on that issue. Tell Hartack that you want to make absolutely certain that you and he are not surprised by anything once the campaign kick off.”

  Hudson rubbed his brow, “That is asking a lot of James, a mandate of that nature will not be received well by his people.”

  “That’s true, but to do nothing is a gamble you can’t afford to take.”

  Hudson asked, “What do you expect the outcome to be?”

  Justin exhaled, “I believe it will play out one of two ways. Potus will close down the operation before his polygraph, so that he is withholding nothing and can pass the exam. Or, he will refuse or fail the exam and Director Hartack will have no choice but to fire him.”

  Hudson asked, “Without his sponsorship the operation will fold?”

  “There is little doubt in my mind. First, there are numerous people who are very uncomfortable with where this operation has drifted. In fact, if it is allowed to go on too long it’s quite possible that a whistleblower will emerge. Secondly, an operation as complex as this being run off the books can only exist with high level executive sponsorship. Either Potus closes it out himself or he leaves the agency and it withers up and dies.”

  Both men sat silently as Hudson contemplated Justin’s revelations. Finally, Hudson asked, “How does something like this come to exist?”

  Justin sighed and replied, “I think it’s the result of well meaning people feeling under intense pressure to never fail to protect the homeland. People start to feel that the ends justify the means. One shortcut leads to another, you know the old cliche about ‘a slippery slope.’ Then eventually, it becomes necessary to resort to any means to prevent exposure of these domestic black ops. The whole thing is like an untreated cancer. It just spreads, and if not eradicated, it will bring down the entire organism.”

  Rubbing the bridge of his nose Hudson asked, “So how long has this been going on?”

  Justin exhaled slowly, “Just under two years. I was preparing to go back to Pakistan after my extended debrief at Langley during your hearings. We were actually inventorying our gear for departure when the plot of an imminent attack on New York City was uncovered. By imminent I mean within hours. Eight jihadists with automatic weapons and suicide bomb vests were going to hit four separate targets simultaneously. It was decided that a traditional law enforcement intervention was too risky. My team was diverted to New York. We were given an address and told to remedy the situation. Two hours after we touched down, all eight jihadists and any trace of their presence had been erased from the earth.”

  Hudson interrupted, “Why did I never learn of this?”

  “Because it was the juncture where someone decided that there was much to be gained in this approach. First, the American people are not terrorized by learning how close a plot has come to success. Second, our enemies do not read in the newspapers what element of their plot failed, denying them the opportunity to learn from their mistakes.”

  Hudson nodded and Justin continued, “I went back to Pakistan, but others were assigned to continue this approach. Someone, I believe it to be Potus, would approve a target and the target would either just vanish or become the victim of a fatal street crime. The most recent was a cab driver in South Florida.”

  Hudson rubbed the bridge of his nose again as if he was fighting a headache, “You mentioned innocent American citizens. These people don’t sound like innocent American citizens.”

  A dark scowl enveloped Justin’s face, “Two newspaper reporters and a college student were recently killed because they may have uncovered something pointing to these tactics. Two of them were killed by a contract killer from organized crime. The third was an agency team.”

  “This is the organized crime hit man you say might blow the whistle on the whole mess?”

  Justin shook his head, “Not this particular one. I intervened as he attempted to kill a second innocent woman, but I’m sure that he wasn’t the first contract killer they had utilized.”

  Hudson stared intently, “Why shouldn’t I allow the FBI to expose the whole ugly mess? Aside from the political repercussions I might feel, wouldn’t it be better for the republic?”

  “Depends on your definition of what’s better for the republic? It would demonstrate a commitment to the rule of law, but it would weaken our defense of the homeland.”

  Hudson scoffed, “So you think we can only adequately defend the county if we allow the murder of American citizens on American soil?”

  Justin glared, “Not at all. If I felt that way I wouldn’t be here. What I mean is that if this mess is exposed, there will be a political witch hunt resulting in additional overreaching controls placed on those directly responsible for day to day defense of the country. The pendulum will take another hefty swing and the republic will be exposed even more than it is today. The pendulum always swings well past center before settling. Sometimes in being too aggressive and sometimes in being too passive. Our political climate demands dramatic actions, not always well reasoned actions, but always dramatic actions. The results of these dramatic restrictive actions will make the country more vulnerable.”

  Hudson nodded slowly, “I’m not committing to anything tonight, but you have my word I will give everything you’ve said my utmost consideration.”

  Justin nodded, “Thank you for your time Senator. I’ll show myself out.”

  One minute later, Senator William Hudson was alone with his thoughts.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  It had been a week since Elena and I had been abducted. A week since Anthony Bracchi, or any of his thugs, had last crossed the threshold of my life. I should have been more relaxed than I was. Sitting on my stool at the end of the bar nursing a Landshark, I just couldn’t shake a dark cloud floating through the recesses of my mind. Even Dana’s banter couldn’t lighten my mood.

  First, I thought it was the prospect of Sissy leaving for Atlanta that was bothering me, but I decided that was far too tentative to be worrying about yet. Then I thought, maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t heard back from Elena. Monday I called, but got her voicemail. I hadn’t heard back. Not a good sign. Probably for the best. Getting involved with Lorenzo Mancuso’s daughter is probably not the smartest.

  Thinking about all of the women who were leaving my life brought me to Liz. It was obvious there was a very strong attraction the night she visited me. From my assessment, and Liz had given every indication her assessment mirrored mine, our lovemaking had been phenomenal. Still, it hadn’t been sufficient to keep her from disa
ppearing. Too bad, women like Liz just don’t come along that often.

  My attention was drawn to the crawler on the bottom of the television screen. It was obsessing about the sudden resignation of some high ranking CIA official. Evidently, a serious health issue was forcing him to resign immediately. I couldn’t help but think that jobs like that are probably detrimental to your health in any number of ways.

  Just as I was holding my bottle up to Dana to indicate the need for another, the back door opened and in came Justin. He looked uncharacteristically upbeat as he called to Dana that he’d have a Landshark too. He made his way to my end of the bar and perched on the stool next to me. He asked, “How’s things Jack?”

  Now I knew something was amiss. Justin is never this jovial. I replied, “Things are fine with me. No one’s even tried to kill me for at least a week now. You seem in good spirits.”

  Dana set the two beers in front of us and turned and walked away. Dana likes most people, but I don’t think she likes Justin much. Justin took a swallow of his beer and said, “I’m in great spirits. Just came from the bank. I’ve bought Captain Bob’s boat.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise, “I didn’t even know it was for sale.”

  Justin said, “Remember, I told you Captain Bob had gone up to Chicago to visit his sister. Turns out she’s battling cancer. He’s all of the family she has. Bob’s going to stay up there and help her. He’d been talking about selling the boat for some time. The boat was his retirement job. You know, he bought it when he found retirement too boring. I love staying on the boat. Gives me a sense of freedom. I can just drive my home out over the horizon anytime I want to.”

  Between his leading the rescue of Elena and me and his saving Sissy’s life a few months ago, I had come to know that Justin was some type of ex-military operator turned mercenary. At least I speculated he was something along those lines. I probed gently, “So how long have you known Captain Bob?”

  Justin took a long drink of his beer while regarding me out of the corner of his eye. Finally he replied, “Known him as long as I can remember. He and my dad worked together.”

  I had never heard Justin mention a word about family, so I seized on the opening, “Is your dad still working?”

  A bit sharply, “No.”

  As innocently as I could muster, “Did he retire like Captain Bob?”

  Justin drew a deep breath, “No, my dad was killed. He and Bob were in Baghdad before the First Gulf War. Something went very wrong and he was killed. Bob barely escaped with his own life.”

  Again attempting to sound innocent, “Oh, I’m sorry. Did they work for one of the oil companies?”

  His steel gray eyes regarded me as if I’d said the world was flat, “No Jack, they didn’t work for an oil company. They worked for the U.S. Government. Enough said.”

  I knew better than to push further. I took a long drink of my beer and changed the subject, “So are you going to continue the charter fishing business?”

  Justin’s mood lightened, “I think I will. At least part time.” He chuckled and continued, “Of course, Captain Bob never set the world on fire with his approach toward business. He and I used to joke that he followed the same business model that you did with this bar.”

  I feigned hurt, “What do you mean?” Sweeping my hand around the bar containing a good sized lunch crowd, “Look at this.”

  Justin chuckled again, “Don’t kid yourself Jack, everyone knows this is the result of Marge’s management.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a cruel streak Justin?”

  He picked up his beer and clinked it against mine, “Only the agency shrinks.”

  Justin and I ordered burgers and fries that we washed down with a couple more beers. As he started to leave, Justin said he was going to take a little time motoring around the Caribbean before diving into his new part time charter business. A couple of weeks ago I would have been relieved if he said he was leaving for awhile. Relieved that the specter of violence that seemed to follow him wasn’t going to be present. Now, for some reason, I was disappointed to hear he wouldn’t be nearby.

  I walked with Justin out the back door and into the parking lot. I asked if he was going to be traveling the Caribbean alone and he casually replied that he wouldn’t take the boat that far alone, that he was trying out a new first mate. We shook hands and he walked toward the marina.

  Standing in the parking lot, I watched a taxi pull up to the marina entrance. A sole female carrying a duffle bag got out and headed toward the dock Justin had just walked down. I wasn’t positive but I was reasonably certain it was Barbie.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Vince Cremonte hung the phone up and looked at the notes he had taken during the call with the Director. You don’t rise to the level of Special Agent in Charge of a major FBI Field Office without experiencing the shifting whims of political priorities. Yet, this most recent change in direction was dramatic enough to give a guy whiplash.

  A few months ago he was told to big foot it all over the locals, under the banner of national security, and take away an investigation into the murder of a cab driver. That made sense when he learned that the cab driver had been the target of an FBI sting operation aimed at potential terrorists. Certainly couldn’t have the locals stumbling on to that information. What troubled Cremonte was the fact that the cab driver was obviously the victim of a professional hit thinly veiled as a street crime, and yet he was now told to close the investigation without digging any deeper.

  During the same period, at the behest of some high powered politician, they’d been told to open an investigation into what could best be described as some type of loose organization of people who appeared to be conducting activities resembling black ops in at least the South Florida area and likely other parts of the country. Just when they were making some headway into what had proven to be a difficult and costly investigation, he’s told in this most recent phone call, to close the investigation and send all files to the Director’s office. What the hell is going on?

  This whole mess didn’t smell right to Cremonte, but he knew better than to do anything other than exactly what he’d been told. When edicts as direct as this come down from Washington it’s always best to follow them to the letter, without question.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  I’d just finished talking to Marge in the office on Thursday morning when PJ came in the back door. I’d talked to her several times on the phone, but not seen her since the morning my car was bombed. I was pleased to see her, but immediately realized she was wearing her cop face.

  We met in the center of the floor and I asked if she would like a Coke. She declined. I could tell that this was a pure cop visit. There were only a couple of customers sitting at the bar, but nonetheless we went to a far booth near the pool table.

  PJ started, “The feds are closing the investigation into the bombing of your car. They will, of course, retain the evidence, but they’re closing out any further investigation at this time. It seems that a fifteen count federal indictment of Bracchi in New York has just been unsealed. Murder, extortion, a regular prosecutor’s field day. Sounds like the cases are very strong so, at this time, the feds see no sense in pouring additional resources into investigating him down here.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if Mancuso’s political clout was farther reaching than I had ever envisioned. I replied, “I guess that makes sense. At his age any sentence is probably life. Might as well put the investigative resources somewhere else.”

  PJ nodded, but sighed. I asked, “Is there something else? You seem very troubled by this turn of events.”

  She replied, “No, Bracchi’s case isn’t what’s troubling me. Oh, of course I’d like to see us get a pound of flesh for everything he did to you, but we’ve both been around this business long enough to know that doesn’t always happen.”

  She shifted in her seat and continued, “It’s the closing of another federal investigation that’s really troublin
g me. Remember the murder of that cab driver up the street that the feds snatched from us under the rationale of national security? Well, I heard from a guy on one of the task forces that they have suddenly closed the investigation, without any real explanation. Bracchi I understand, this I don’t.”

  We both sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I scratched my head and said, “That does sound strange, unless they’ve flipped somebody and don’t want to bring any attention to them. You know, someone who’s feeding intel back.”

  PJ nodded, “I thought of that, maybe that’s it, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

  I tried to sound like the wise old prosecutor, but ended up with a totally meaningless justification, “Hey, they don’t always feel right, sometimes they’re just what they are.”

  PJ closed her eyes as if she was in pain, “I had something else to talk to you about, but if you’re just going to spout bullshit like that maybe I should go.”

  “Sorry, just don’t see any point in you getting wrapped up about something you have absolutely no control over.”

  PJ smiled half-heartedly, “I know. You mean well Jack.” She paused, exhaled a deep breath, and spit out, “Remember the leak that almost got Sissy killed at the Pinnacle Hotel and Casino at Escapade? How we thought it must be someone in Security there? Well, I don’t think that any longer. I think it was inside my department. I think it was very close to me.” She swallowed hard, “I think it was Tim.”

  I could see the pain in her eyes. I asked softly, “Your partner? What makes you think that PJ?”

  She replied, “It’s a long story, and I need your help.”

  Acknowledgements

  My sincere gratitude to all of my friends and readers who have encouraged me to continue the adventures of the cast of characters who bring Cap’s Place to life. Special thanks to Jessica Benbow for her review and suggestions and to Renee Morales for her herculean efforts in editing. My amazing wife Karen continues to support me every step of the journey. She is the keystone of my life. Of course, try as all of these folks did, they were unable to prevent me from making mistakes. The mistakes are mine, and mine alone.