by Glenn Rogers
She shook her head and said, “My treat.”
When we got back in the car, Alex said, “Carla said Lindsey showed up at nine and seemed completely normal.”
“She didn't have anything to do with it,” I said. “She was telling the truth.”
He started the car and pointed it in the direction of his office.
“Do we need to go through some more of your old case files?”
“We need to do something, don't we?” I said.
“We'll find her, Jake. We'll find her.”
Chapter 27
Friday, Late Afternoon and Evening
We had dinner at 800 Degrees Pizzeria in Westwood and were at Alex's office a little before six thirty. We spent the next three hours going over more of my old FBI case files. We came up with a few more names of people who might have been harboring a grudge against me, but none I felt were capable of having taken Monica. Still, we needed to check them out. No stone unturned.
Alex was making some notes to himself and I was sitting there churning inside. I may have looked calm, but I was on the verge of losing it. Five days! my mind screamed. It had been five days since she was taken. Where was she? What had they done to her? Was she injured? Was she in jeopardy? I felt like I was going to blow apart.
Alex could see what it was doing to me. “What say we go to the gym? Lift some weights, do a few rounds on the heavy bag?”
I knew what he was trying to do. I appreciated it, but I didn't say anything. I just looked at him.
“Jake,” he said, “if we knew where to look ...” He spread his hands, palms up. “Come on. It's been a long day. A long week. You need to unwind. Let's go to the gym.”
I breathed out a lungful of air and nodded. He led the way out of his office and I followed. We drove separately so Alex wouldn't have to bring me back for my Jeep. I stopped by Mildred's and picked up Wilson. I apologized for the lateness of the hour. She was concerned about me and said I looked exhausted. I told her I was fine.
We stopped at my apartment to drop off Wilson. I spent a few minutes with him before we left for the gym.
While we were lifting weights, Alex said, “We're missing something. What are we missing?”
I finished the set I was working on and sat up on the bench. “I don't know,” I said. “We've been through all of Monica's files, including her cases as an MP. We've been through mine as well. We've talked to a dozen people. I don't know what we're missing.”
“Maybe we need to put a tail on Esposito and his people,” Alex said.
“Couldn't hurt,” I said. “How many people can you spare?”
“Enough,” he said.
Alex took out his cell phone and searched through his contacts list. He punched a number and I lay back down on the bench and did a third set of ten with two hundred fifty pounds.
“Bill,” Alex said. “I want to put people on Benito Esposito and his key people ... I don't know. Find out ... As many as it takes ... Yeah. Round the clock ... No, not Monday morning. Now ... No, I'll take care of that part of it... Yes. And use only the best. I want this covert. I don't want Esposito to know he's being watched ... Okay. Get back to me when you've got it set up ... No, I don't care what time it is. Call me ... Yeah.”
He clicked off and seemed annoyed with himself. “I should have done that four days ago.”
“Been a lot going on in the past few days,” I said, sitting back up. “Don't beat yourself up over it. He's under surveillance now. Maybe we'll learn something. Maybe not. Even if he's the one who tried to hit us, it may not have anything to do with Monica being taken. The two things may not be connected.”
He was trying to think but it didn't look like it was going well.
I stood up. “Your turn,” I said.
Alex took the weight down to one fifty and lay down on the bench and cranked out ten reps. I was proud of the progress he’d made over the years. When we’d met at the academy in Langley, he couldn’t bench-press seventy-five pounds. Now he could pump out three sets of ten with one fifty.
“We're still missing something,” he said, sitting up. He was frowning as he shook his head. He lay back down and did another set, and then sat back up and said, “A minute ago you said we’d been through Monica's files, including her cases when she was an MP.”
“Yeah.”
“We haven't looked at any of your stuff from when you were a marine.”
For a moment, I just looked at him, trying to grasp his thinking. “You think it might have something to do with my time in Afghanistan?”
“Is that beyond the realm of possibility?”
I had to admit that it wasn't. But I also knew there could be a lot of distance between possible and probable.
“Is there a reason we shouldn't consider it?” Alex said.
“Can't really come up with one,” I said. “It's not like we've got a lot of other things to consider.”
We moved over to the next machine, a seated butterfly chest machine. I set the weight at two fifty and did a set of ten.
“Another thing we haven't really thought about,” I said, “is how the person sending the notes seems to know what we've been doing. How's he doing that?”
“I’ve given that some thought,” Alex said.
“And?”
“And whoever it is, is a pro. He knows what he's doing.”
“Yeah. That's the part that bothers me the most. Could you do something like that? I’m not sure I could. Whoever this guy is, he knows what he's doing and that makes him dangerous.”
“Okay,” Alex said. “So he knows what he's doing. But we still don't how he's doing it.”
“A bug?”
“Maybe. But where? He'd have to have bugs all over the place.”
“Maybe our phones are tapped,” I said.
“I thought about that. But we haven't used our phones a lot when discussing our strategy. Most of our planning and discussions and have been in person.”
“We talk a lot while we’re driving,” I said. “Maybe there's a bug in your car.”
“That might be it. I'll have a tech guy go though it.”
“Have them check your Navigator and my Jeep while they're at it,” I said, as I started another set of ten.
When we finished with the weights, we moved over to the boxing room that was off the side of the weight room. There were two heavy bags, a couple of speed bags and a three quarter size ring for sparring. We took turns on one of the heavy bags, working different combinations. Alex worked on four different combinations that were most useful in confrontations with violent suspects. I concentrated on combinations that built strength and stamina in the right side of my chest. I hit as hard as I could without damaging the muscles that were still healing.
We left the gym at eleven and went back to my apartment. Just as we went in the front door, pausing to acknowledge Wilson’s exuberant greeting, Alex's phone rang. He answered, listened, and said, “Okay, Bill, thanks. Good job ... Yeah, see you Monday morning.”
He looked at me. “Surveillance is in place,” he said.
“I know that's an expensive proposition. Thanks.”
“Hey, if the military can spend hundreds of dollars for a hammer or a toilet seat, I can spend a few thousand as part of a recovery effort of a high value kidnapping victim.”
“Thanks,” I said, again. “You're a good friend.”
“I know. So, what's the plan for tomorrow?”
“No idea,” I said. “Let's sleep on it and see what we come up with in the morning.”
Chapter 28
Saturday Morning
Wilson and I were up early for our morning run. The morning was cool and clear, and the park where we run was deserted at six thirty. Given that two teams of shooters had already made a run at Alex and me, or just at me and he happened to be there, I was wearing my Kevlar and carrying my small Ruger .357. Good thing, too, because as Wilson and I rounded a curve in the path, two Mexican men were waiting on the trail for us, guns i
n hand.
“Go to the Jeep,” I said to Wilson, and I dove into the bushes to my right and rolled toward a large tree that stood several feet away from the trail. As I dove into the bushes, I heard the gunfire. Slugs thudded into the ground around me. I knew Wilson would obey and that he'd be okay. The shooters were after me, not my dog. I rolled up behind the tree and retrieved my .357 from my fanny pack.
I peeked out from behind the tree and saw that the shooters were splitting up to come at me from two directions, hoping to get me in a crossfire. The guy going left was more concerned with where he put his feet than with trying to see where I was. I came out of my crouch from behind the tree in his direction and fired twice before he could return fire. Two in the chest. He was down and done. The other guy fired before I got back to the cover of the tree. His shot came close. He crouched behind some bushes. I couldn't see him clearly. He fired two shots into the tree, high and to the left of where I was. I stepped out on the opposite side from where I'd been and put two rounds into the bushes where his shots had come from. I heard a groan and a gurgle. I circled around and came up on his position from his left. He had dropped his weapon and was holding his stomach.
I kicked his weapon away and knelt beside him. He rolled his eyes up and looked at me.
“Who sent you?”
“No habla Ingles.”
“Yes, you do. Now tell me, who sent you?”
He just looked at me.
“Look, you were just shot in the gut with a .357 hollow point. Unless I call 911 right away, you're going to die a slow, painful death. Now who sent you?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, then here's the deal. Tell me and I'll call 911. If you don't tell me, I'm going to put my thumb in your eye and apply constant increasing pressure until your eyeball pops. Like this.”
I put my thumb in his right eye and began to push. After a few seconds, he began to cry out.
“Who sent you?”
I kept increasing the pressure. He kept screaming.
Finally he said, “Okay. Okay.”
I pulled my thumb out of his eye.
“Who sent you?”
“Esposito.”
I called 911. Then I called Frank McGarry. He said he’d notify the local police that there was an agent on the scene and then be on his way. There was no agent, but I appreciated his willingness to protect me from over exuberant local cops.
I pulled off my tee shirt and pressed it into my would-be assassin’s wound to slow the bleeding. He cringed from the pain of the pressure. While I kept pressure on the wound, I called Alex and explained what had happened. He asked if I needed him at the scene. I told him no, Frank was on his way. Alex said he'd be waiting for me at his office.
“What's your name?” I asked the shooter.
“Henry,” he said between ragged breaths.
“Henry, does Esposito have Monica Nolan?”
“Don't know.”
“Other than Esposito himself, who in his organization would know about what he's doing?”
“No one knows everything,” he rasped. “He trusts no one.”
He was starting to fade. “Okay,” I said, “just rest easy. Help will be here in a few minutes.”
Henry passed out just as the local cops arrived. They approached cautiously. I identified myself. The paramedics arrived and took over with Henry. They got him stabilized and into the ambulance. The local cops began securing the scene. I explained about Wilson and one of them walked with me to my Wrangler to get him. I knelt down to greet him and let him inspect me to be sure I was okay.
It took Frank about thirty minutes to get there. He brought Detective Branch with him. I explained what had happened, including that Henry had told me that Esposito had sent them to kill me. Frank had me give an official statement to Branch while he spoke with the local police and the M.E., who had just arrived.
When Branch had what she needed, she said, “Two shooters surprise you while you're jogging with your dog and you get both of them. Pretty good.”
“Maybe they just weren't very good at their job.”
She shook her head. “I've been asking around about you. If what I hear is true, wouldn't have mattered how good they were.”
“Nobody's that good,” I said. “Don't believe everything you hear.”
She considered me thoughtfully for a moment, nodded slightly and turned and walked away.
I was waiting by my Jeep when Frank got back to me.
“So,” he said, “Esposito.”
“Esposito,” I said.
“If the shooter lives and will talk to us, we’ve got him. If he won't or can't tell us what he told you, Esposito gets a pass.”
He was waiting for me to respond. I didn't.
“Give the system time to work, Jake.”
“Sure,” I said. “But like you said, it all depends on whether or not Henry lives, and if he does, whether or not he'll tell you what he told me.”
Frank knelt down to give Wilson a good scratch behind the ears. Wilson thanked him with a nice lick on the side of his face. When Frank stood back up, he said, “You think he has Monica?”
“Who am I talking to right now?”
He took in a deep breath and let it out. “A concerned friend,” he said.
“I don't know whether or not he's got her. But I'm going to find out.”
He studied me for a moment. “Be careful about how you do it. I'm only one guy and my influence only goes so far.”
“I understand.”
As he started to leave, I said, “You help me out a lot, Frank. I appreciate it.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Go find Monica.”
Chapter 29
Saturday Morning
It was nearly ten by the time Wilson and I got to the FBI offices. Alex was doing paperwork.
“You okay.” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“How bad was it?”
I explained what had happened and what Henry had told me.
“So, Esposito's sending the shooters, but we don't know if he's the one who took Monica.”
“But we will,” I said.
“How will we?”
“You may not want to know,” I said.
He studied me for a moment and then shook his head and said, “No. If I have to choose between what’s right and what’s legal, I'm going with what's right. And the right thing is to do whatever we have to do to get Monica back.”
“I'm not going to let you risk your career over this.”
“Not for you to decide. Besides, this isn't the kind of thing you can do all by yourself.”
“Hanson offered to loan me a couple of his guys.”
“You know better than that. And you taught me better than that. When you're going into battle, whether your team is two or ten, it's got to be people you know and who know you. You've got to be able to anticipate each other. And trust has to be complete. You don't need Hanson's thugs. You need me ... and I need to help you with this.”
“Okay,” I said, grateful that he felt that way.
“How do you want to handle it?”
“Call your people,” I said. “Let's find out where Esposito is. If we're lucky, he'll be out somewhere and we can just go scoop him up. If not now, maybe later. He can't stay behind those gates all the time.”
Alex made the call. “Where is he now?” Alex asked the agent on the other end of the call. “When he goes out, call me.”
After he disconnected, Alex said, “Right now he's home. They'll call when he goes out.”
“I gathered that,” I said.
“While we wait, shall we begin thinking about your missions in Afghanistan?”
“Might as well.”
“You have a journal or anything about your time there that might help you remember?”
“I didn't think it was something I'd need to remember.”
“Maybe if you think through it,” he said, “mission by mission. I'll take not
es.”
So that's what I did. I remembered the day our unit arrived. We stowed our gear, got briefed, and the next day were on a mission. I tried to remember each of them in order—where I went, who my target was. I didn't always have a specific target. Sometimes my job was long-range cover. But most of the time, I had a specific target to eliminate. I remembered as best I could. I also remembered the three times a civilian consultant showed up to accompany me on a mission and confirm a specific target. Same guy each time. Said his name was Thomas Cornford. Alex wrote everything down. I must have talked for two hours.
“Tell me more about Thomas Cornford,” Alex said when I finished.
“At the time, I didn't think much about it. I was twenty-four and a marine. I did what I was told. My focus was on completing my mission. But now, looking back on it, I suspect he was CIA.”
“You were taking out high profile targets.”
I nodded.
“We need to find out who those targets were.”
“You know anyone at the CIA who might be willing to help out? I asked.
“I think I might.”
Alex made a call. “Ben, Alex ... I'm good. You? ... Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I'm working on something that you might be able to help with.”
Alex explained about a young marine sniper and three high profile targets and a civilian consultant named Thomas Cornford. He explained that he thought someone related to one of those targets may be seeking revenge against the sniper.
“We need to know who the targets were,” Alex said.
He waited and listened.
“I understand ... I think we can live with that ... Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“We just hit the jackpot,” Alex said after he hung up. “My friend happens to know Thomas Cornford, not his real name by the way. He's going to call Cornford and ask if he’ll meet with you and tell you what he knows. He'll get back to me, probably not today though, with a time and place.”
“That almost seemed too easy,” I said.
“He owed me a favor.”
“Must have been a big one.”
Alex just smiled. Then he said, “So, what about these three targets?”
