The President s Assassin

by Brian Haig

  We all shook hands. Without any ado, Eric Tanner made a sweeping announcement, suggesting, “If international terrorists are behind these murders, you’re wasting your time with all three of these cases.”

  Jennie glanced at me, and then informed him, “Our lead suspect is a Secret Service agent named Barnes. If there’s a connection to foreign terrorists, it’s only financial.”

  “Okay.” He considered that a moment, then asked, “Accomplices?”

  “Three we know of—possibly more. Barnes appears to be the mastermind. At least one woman is involved.”

  Eric raised an eyebrow but did not comment on that news.

  I asked, “Why are you so sure these thefts didn’t involve foreign terrorists?”

  “Start with the first case at Fort Hood, the bunker theft. Here’s what happened. The munitions bunker has a double lock system. It’s electronically monitored whenever it’s opened.” He looked at me and said, “You get it, right?”

  “The thefts occurred during an authorized entry.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Tingle nod and Tanner continued, “The bunker was opened only once between the two monthly inventories, by a quartermaster team—a sergeant and three privates—delivering fifty containers of 5.56 ammo. It might interest you to know that this is our most common form of munitions thefts.”

  “I thought the case remained open.”

  “It is.” Tingle again nodded, and Tanner explained, “We interrogated the four soldiers. Nobody confessed, though obviously at least one of them’s lying. Nearly always in cases like this, it was a crime of opportunity. So now the thief has to locate a buyer, and we’re watching all four of them.”

  I thought about that a moment. “Isn’t that...a little passive?”

  He gave me a sneaky smile. “Each of the four will soon be approached by a fat-cat arms merchant from the Middle East—one of our guys. He’s already in Killeen, the town outside the base, casing his targets.”

  “I see.”

  “We know how to cover our asses, Mr. Drummond.”

  General Tingle coughed into his hand.

  Eric Tanner shrugged, and continued, “The case at Galveston, on the other hand...well, you read the case file. These were professionals. They knew exactly when to arrive, where the containers were located, and had expert forgeries. The combination of the large quantity of the munitions and the level of criminal sophistication made us more concerned than usual.”

  “As it should.”

  “So after we reported it to the Bureau, we also notified your people at the Agency, Mr. Drummond.”

  Colonel Johnson got into the act, informing me, “About three weeks later, your people got word to us that a government military platoon in Colombia walked into a minefield and two soldiers were killed. The descriptions of the incident indicated the killing devices were Bouncing Bettys. They also reported a sharp step-up in vehicular ambushes by FARC rebel units using short-range rockets.”

  Eric surmised, “So we know where the weapons ended up.”

  “But not,” General Tingle concluded, looking sharply at Tanner, “who orchestrated the theft.” He turned back to me and asked, “Do you believe this Barnes is in some way connected to the Colombian FARC rebels?”

  “No. Rule it out.” So now we were down to the third and final case, the second theft at Fort Hood. These were all crafty men, and I doubted this was serendipity.

  Colonel Johnson, who appeared to be Tingle’s executive assistant, asked, “Anybody need a refill?”

  While we refreshed our cups, Chief Tanner said, “Let’s talk for a moment about what happened at Fort Hood on February 9.”

  Jennie glanced at her watch. “Let’s do.”

  “But I’d like to precede that discussion with a little background. Around Fort Hood—around all our bases—are crime rings that feed off our troops, our families, and our equipment. Insurance fraud rings, phony mortgage and car loan setups, prostitution, and even burglary rings. Some of these parasites are strictly amateur hour. Others are incredibly shrewd. In those cases where the crimes cross boundaries between our bases and the surrounding communities, we work closely with local police forces, and often, with the FBI.”

  He paused to see if we had any questions. We didn’t, and he continued, “At Fort Hood, we have a ring specializing in munitions and weapons thefts. Once or twice a year they pull off something. This has been going on for...about five years. A file cabinet in my office is crammed with various investigations we believe are all interrelated.”

  Jennie asked, “And you believe the February 9 incident and those cases are also related?”

  “I’m sure of it.” Becoming more animated, he bent forward and explained, “Here’s what’s interesting. This group never repeats the same thing twice. For a long time, nobody even realized we were dealing with a ring. The thefts were so different, and occurred so infrequently, you couldn’t detect a common MO.”

  Colonel Johnson grabbed my left arm and confided, “Ignore his modesty. It was Eric who uncovered the common thread.”

  This compliment brought a happy beam to Tanner’s face. Jennie leaned toward him and asked, “What is that common thread?”

  “The very fact that no two thefts are alike. I’m sure that’s by design. These are smart people with a certain flair for stagecraft, and a characteristic boldness I’ve come to regard as their calling card.”

  Jennie thought about that a moment. She said, “Interesting theory. Give us an example.”

  “Okay, take this February 9 incident. They probably came on post wearing uniforms, using forged military ID cards. Range control personnel are authority figures. They wear special armbands that allow them access to all ranges and license to poke around for safety violations, and to inspect and inventory munitions. So they hijack a range control vehicle, they show up at these three ranges, and they pilfer ammo while everybody thinks they’re just doing their job.”

  I tried to picture this in my mind. In truth, it was a diabolically clever way to steal from the Army. Range control people tend to be mostly senior sergeants who, despite their lower rank, are feared by the young officers who run firing ranges, because, as Tanner mentioned, their mission involves hunting for safety and procedural problems, and if they find them, they have the clout to shut down the range and cite the young officers. This tends not to go down well with the officers’ superiors. But neither does having weapons and ammunition stolen right under your nose, and I was sure that three young officers at Fort Hood were busily sending their résumés to career placement firms.

  Tanner continued, “In fact, the thefts weren’t even noticed till the end of the day, as units were closing up the ranges and doing their final inventories. By then, these crooks are swigging beers at the Lone Star Bar and Grill, laughing at how stupid we are.” After a moment, he reflected, “These people really have balls.”

  I sized up Eric Tanner for a moment. Clearly, this case was personal for him. That wasn’t necessarily bad; neither was it necessarily good. It’s healthy to feel some outrage over the crime. In the tough cases, that’s what keeps you putting one foot in front of another to the end. But to get to the end, logic is the fuel, and emotion a poisonous indulgence.

  As I said, Mr. Tanner was young, mid- to late twenties, I’d guess, and sort of baby-faced, so it was hard to pin down. Also, he was cocky, or at the least very sure of himself, if there’s a difference. He spoke well, and presented his findings and his views in a linear, forceful fashion, which is sometimes the sign of a clear mind, and other times the trademark of a blowhard. But General Tingle, and Eric’s peers, and Eric’s superiors all thought highly of him, or he wouldn’t have his responsibilities. For sure, he wouldn’t have a seat at this table.

  Still, as a prosecutor, I had a strong preference for older CID agents on the stand. Age implies wisdom and seasoning, whereas youth suggests greenness and impulsiveness, which make juries jittery. Physical impressions might be shallow or even misleading, but t
hey are a factor, and they count. Eric Tanner should grow a mustache.

  I looked at General Tingle and commented, “This was an inside job.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Fort Hood’s the largest base in the country. Because it contains hundreds of miles of range roads and many dozens of ranges. Because your perps understand how range management works, they’re familiar with the tank trails, and because it looks like they knew which units were firing on which ranges that day.”

  “All good points.”

  “Come on, General. Don’t tell me you missed this.”

  General Tingle found it amusing that some outside dunce could figure this out. He grinned at me and said, “Hold that thought.”

  Tanner added, “It might also interest you to know, Mr. Drummond, that the soldier who flagged down the range control vehicle was a woman.”

  “Oh. You got a description?”

  “Better. Early thirties, slender, medium height, long blond hair wrapped in a tight bun. A looker, too—the witnesses all agreed on that point. In fact, we obtained reliable composite sketches of both her and her male accomplice from the hijacked range control crew, and from the witnesses at the ranges.” Eric allowed us a moment to absorb that, and then suggested, “Off the top of my head, I think this case, and I think this ring, fits the parameters you’re looking for.”

  “Because of the woman?”

  He hesitated, and then leaned toward me. “Well—what if this same group is working with this guy Barnes?”

  Jennie, however, looked at Eric and said, “Slow down, champ. You’re driving way too fast.”

  I said to Jennie, “What bothers you?”

  “Everything.” She looked at the faces around the room. “Criminal Science 101—cases are connected by commonalities, not disparities.” She fixed her chilly blue eyes on Eric. “You said you suspect a ring because no two thefts were alike. That kind of counterintuitive logic is the antithesis of sound police work.”

  From a technical and procedural standpoint, she was correct. Also, it was instructive to note from the expressions around the room that nobody really appreciated an outsider coming into the inner sanctum to announce that one of the fair-haired boys was full of crap. Least of all Eric, who responded, a bit defensively, “I know the science, Agent Margold. But there are times when you have to throw the manuals out the window.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. After five years of weapons and munitions thefts, all targeting the same base, all showing unusual creativity, all evidenced by a strong awareness of base procedures and vulnerabilities...I’m sure these cases are connected.”

  Jennie did not immediately reply. She studied Eric, and then said, “I worked Behavioral Science at Quantico for five years before I got this job. You know what we hated?”

  When nobody else pitched in, I said, “What?”

  “A city gets ten unsolved female murders in a year. The detectives come under intolerable pressure to achieve a few closures. Pretty soon, somebody cleverly rationalizes that because it’s the same crime, because of the common sex of the victims, because of the common province of the murders, they’re all related, and some horrifying serial killer is behind it. So they notify us, and we jump through our ass, and fly out a team, and we spend weeks poring over everything. They get the heat off themselves by shifting it to us. Problem is, it’s not one killer, it’s a bunch of killers. Also a waste of time.”

  Everybody grew quiet. Jennie stared at Eric. “So I’d like to know more about how you tied this together.”

  Being the diplomatic type, I turned to Eric. “Give us an example of another theft.”

  “All right. Winter, two years ago. A unit was sending a two-and-a-half-ton truck filled with M16s off post to a depot facility to have the weapons reblued—that is, to have the exterior metal parts recoated with an antirust compound. Now, here’s the first interesting fact. It’s routine to send broken weapons to depot level to be repaired—nonfunctioning weapons that won’t work till they’re fixed—but the thieves targeted a vehicle filled with working weapons.”

  I commented, “Which would seem to imply inside knowledge.”

  “Yeah, exactly. The truck got about thirty miles outside Killeen, when a car roared up from behind and nearly sideswiped it. The car had apparently been following and waited until the truck reached a lightly trafficked back road. Then the car got just ahead, and one of the thieves tossed out a bunch of oversized tiretacks. Our lab later determined that the tacks had been specially manufactured for this hit. The thieves wore balaclava hoods, and were armed. They made off with forty M16s.”

  Jennie and I exchanged glances. I had no idea what she was thinking. She asked Eric, “How many people in the car?”

  “Two.”

  “Was there a woman?”

  “Maybe.” But after a moment, he admitted, “Look, they were both built like men, and they moved like men. But as I said, they were masked, so the truck driver couldn’t provide good descriptions. We know one man was extremely tall and lanky. Maybe six foot six or six foot seven.”

  Jennie asked, “Well...was a woman observed at any of the thefts you haven’t described?”

  “No. But there were no reliable witnesses to the other thefts.”

  “No...witnesses.” She asked, “What about the tall guy?”

  “Just at the hijack.”

  Jennie began tapping a pen on the table. “Yet you’re assuming all these people are part of the same ring, and you’re assuming the female might have been present at other crimes?”

  “I’m sure they’re one team. And I’m sure she’s part of the team. Sometimes she’s involved, sometimes not.”

  “Did they kill anybody?”

  “They planned well enough that they didn’t have to.”

  Jennie leaned toward him. “Was that deliberate?”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  “You’re sure, Mr. Tanner? Seven times you’ve used that word. But, you’re not...sure. You’re manufacturing assumptions and guesses, and expressing them as facts. Right?”

  “I—”

  “Beyond the possibility of an inside source, I can’t see any resemblance between the two thefts. You have witnesses to two of the crimes, yet none of the same perps were observed at both crime scenes. Correct?”

  “Yes...but—”

  “One crime was committed on base, employing masquerade, falsified documents, and a nonlethal weapon. The perps showed their faces and left witnesses. Have I described this accurately?”

  “Yes, and I—”

  “The earlier theft occurred off base. They used guns, they wore masks, and their technique was markedly less clever and less restrained. One theft showed complexity and finesse, the other was simple and coarse. One was a scam, the other your basic armed robbery.” She leaned back into her chair and exhaled a long breath. “But maybe I’m just dense. Tell me again, what ties them together?”

  Clearly, Eric had not been subjected to, nor had he anticipated, this kind of rigorous interrogation. He was becoming flustered, and it showed. He said, “Well, I see the differences, and...as I said, those differences are—”

  “Those differences are enormous. How many weapons or munitions thefts and losses occurred at Fort Hood over the past five years?”

  “Well...a lot.”

  “A lot?”

  “It’s our biggest base. Many dozens. Perhaps a hundred or so.”

  “Are they all interconnected? Applying your reasoning, the intent, the location, and the desired loot were the same.”

  “Look...we all know you can’t—”

  “That’s right, Mr. Tanner—you can’t. And now you’re suggesting these same people—who aren’t actually the same people—are working with Jason Barnes here in Washington. But how would Jason Barnes even know these people?”

  “I...I don’t know.”

  “You don’t seem to know much.” The room was completely still. General Tingle, Colonel Johns
on, and the two older agents were mesmerized, watching their prize peacock getting his plumage ripped off by a pit bull.

  I put a hand on Jennie’s leg under the table and squeezed, a signal to back off. Jennie drew a breath. Speaking at Tanner, but clearly to me, she said, “I hope I’m not being too harsh on you, Mr. Tanner. We’re investigating the most serious case in the land. Somebody assassinated three of our highest officials, and coldly murdered thirteen others. Now they are promising to murder our President. You’ve suggested a link to your case. We need to know if it’s worth following. Understand?”

  “Sure. And I—”

  “Wouldn’t you agree there’s a compelling difference between this...this team of thieves you’re hypothesizing, and a trio of expertly trained killers?”

  “Well, I think—”

  “What you should think—what you should know—there’s a threshold in every criminal mind. You’re describing thieves who tailor their schemes to avoid having to kill. They have a moral or pragmatic line in the sand.”

  “Crime is a stepladder, Miss Margold. Like dope—start with marijuana and eventually you’re mainlining heroin.”

  Clearly, Jennie did not appreciate this lecture on criminology, and replied, “Boy...I sure wish I had your intuitive insights before I taught criminal motivation at Quantico for five years.” She looked at me. Turning back to Eric, she said, “There has to be something you’re withholding. Right?”

  Eric’s face was slightly pink. He was twisting his wedding band around his finger, I thought metaphorically, wishing he was wringing Jennie’s neck. “No...unless you want to hear about the other thefts.”

  “I...” She looked at her watch and shook her head dismissively. “We don’t really have time for that.”

  Jennie had made her point, but she had been really rough on the poor guy. He kept glancing at General Tingle, probably wondering if he still had a job. Actually, I felt sorry for Eric Tanner.

  In a moment of uncharacteristic generosity, I turned to General Tingle and asked, “Earlier you asked me to hold that thought. What thought?”