Hard Target

by Alan Jacobson

  “It’s important, goddamn it!” Larchmont appeared to have been infused with energy, either from guilt over what he’d done or from frustration over the realization that his grand plan was now in shambles. “Without understanding why it was done...” He grunted. “Glen had this epiphany after his sister was killed. He thought he could solve all the country’s problems by getting guns out of the population’s hands. It’s a stupid thought, let alone one that’s totally wrong.”

  “I already figured this part out,” Uzi said. “You and the NFA and ARM were stuck with Rusch and his newfound conscience. You wished he would just disappear. So you did the next best thing. You replaced him with someone you had total control over. Someone who would steer the policy of the federal government towards a loose interpretation of the Second Amendment, one that doesn’t restrict an individual’s right to own firearms.”

  Larchmont shifted his weight, then winced. “There’s more to it than that.”

  “I’m sure there is. Groups like these usually can’t work together. Egos, philosophical differences, get in the way.”

  Larchmont snorted. “Power and money, remember? So much to gain, too much to lose by bickering with each other. Especially with our other partner.”

  Uzi thought for a moment. Who’s that other partner? An influential intermediary? Or someone with leverage who could keep them together in spite of themselves— An outsider? Someone with leverage. An outsider. “Al-Humat.”

  Larchmont nodded. “They funneled twenty-five million dollars to the NFA. And Russian and Chinese assault weapons, rocket-propelled grenade launchers, shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles, and enough Semtex and C-4 to bring down two World Trade Centers.” Perspiration had pimpled Larchmont’s face, his complexion looking a bit pasty. “Please,” he said. “My foot—”

  “What’s al-Humat’s stake in all this?”

  He blew some air through his lips. The pain was beginning to worsen. Uzi knew his time was growing short. He shoved his S&W into Larchmont’s groin. “Quickly!”

  “Power and money, goddamnit! Look at who their partner is, who’s bankrolling them—al-Qaeda—and what their long-term strategy is. Control over our Mideast policy, for starters. They wanted us out of their affairs, our military bases off Arab soil—Turkey, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Bahrain, Kuwait— The Pentagon’s one of the world’s largest land owners. We’ve got over seven hundred bases in a hundred fifty-six countries.” He wiped his moist cheek against his right shoulder. “They intend to close down as many of them as they can.”

  “To reduce our global influence. Shift the balance of power.” Uzi tilted his head. “But even controlling the presidency, I can’t see them running roughshod over the Pentagon and getting anything like that through Congress.”

  “I told them they had some unrealistic goals. But they didn’t want to hear it and we needed them as partners. Still—it’s not as far-fetched as you think. We’d save a trillion dollars over ten years by closing the bases and selling off the land. Our debt load’s at unsustainable levels, and the people want more entitlement programs and fewer taxes. It doesn’t add up. To the average American, this would be an easy, painless fix. But I certainly had no interest in letting them eviscerate us. I figured I’d do my best to make sure we got everything we needed, and they didn’t get everything they needed.”

  “Remind me to pin a medal on your chest. And al-Humat’s part?”

  “What do you think? Internally, they want to wrest control from Hamas. But in the US, their goals are to facilitate the destruction of Israel.”

  “And they really think they can turn the US against its only democratic ally in the Middle East?”

  “Their plan’s obtuse, insidious. They’d advocate for expanding the basic needs of their young country—the construction of an airport in Palestine. That would be followed by the demand for basic defensive military capability. I don’t have to tell you that’s a nonstarter for Israel.”

  And Uzi knew why. The country’s geography made it virtually impossible for Israel to defend itself against a Palestinian air attack before massive casualties would be realized.

  “The Palestinians would file an application before the UN Security Council,” Larchmont continued. “And without the US to block it, they’d start a covert program to import offensive weapons through the Gaza-Egypt network of tunnels. It’s not always easy to draw the line between offensive and defensive weapons. And with al-Qaeda their new partner in crime, the chances of pulling this off are pretty damn good.”

  Uzi’s jaw muscles tightened—as did his grip on the S&W. “I get the power part. What about the money?”

  Larchmont smirked, as if Uzi should know the answer. “Oil. Does that surprise you? Tie up our alternative fuels industry in red tape, slow it down, divert funding, hamstring it. Put moratoriums on domestic offshore oil drilling and shale gas fracking. Reverse the huge influx in Canadian and Mexican petroleum imports.

  “Bottom line, they want America back on a steady diet of Persian Gulf oil. OPEC’s bean counters hired some big-time consulting firm, commissioned a top secret report. America’s shifting energy policy alone will cost them nine billion a year in lost oil revenue. Not even the explosive demand from China and India will make up that kind of money. If the US is able to move off oil, China will follow. It’d be the end of the only leverage the Arabs hold over the world. Their economies would collapse. They’re a one-product region.”

  “But a president’s hampered by the whims of Congress. These issues don’t get decided by unilateral presidential decrees.”

  Larchmont stifled a sardonic laugh. “I’ve been in politics two decades, Agent Uziel. Never underestimate a popular president’s persuasive powers—and the power of the presidency on foreign policy matters. At times he needs congressional approval, absolutely. But it always comes down to the commander in chief. There are lots of ways he can influence decisions, directly and indirectly. And with sympathies high for a man who survived a terrorist attack that killed his family, he’ll start out with a tremendous bank account of compassion—and a very high approval rating. If Congress fights him too hard, they’ll look like bullies.”

  Uzi couldn’t dispute that.

  “And they have plans to cultivate senators and congressmen who share their views. It won’t be in your face like the Tea Party— It’ll be done insidiously, bankrolling candidates who either buy into their scheme or who are downright co-conspirators. But,” Larchmont said, “I think their biggest play is something they’ve kept to themselves. Provoke us into invading a Muslim country, make us look like the bad guys, the infidels forcing democracy down their throats, trying to destroy their religion—”

  “And then, after multiple terror attacks against US assets, they draw us into wars all over the place, draining our money and manpower, bringing our economy to the brink of default by financing several wars on multiple fronts. I’m well aware of Saif al-Adel’s treatise.”

  Larchmont winced and leaned forward to get a look at his foot. “It worked with the Soviet Union, and almost worked on us, with Iraq and Afghanistan. With their own commander in chief pulling the strings, reacting—or overreacting—to large-scale terror attacks here and abroad against our allies, their end game’s to bring America to her knees once and for all. If you think a debt load of $15 trillion is bad, you haven’t seen anything. And if China smells blood and calls their debt due, we’ll be royally fucked.”

  Uzi squinted. “But China’s interests are best served by America paying off its obligations and continuing to buy its products.”

  “China’s a rising superpower. They know it’s only a short time before they supplant the US. Their goal is to bring us down slowly—a soft landing, a slow decline. They’re after our technology and resources, weapons expertise and military systems. That’s why they’ve launched repeated cyberattacks on our government and corporations—”

  “Best clandestine war ever.”

  “I believe thei
r goal is to eventually ‘own’ the United States...force us into defaulting on our debt, leaving us vulnerable to just about everything.” Larchmont leaned back and closed his eyes. “I was a partner in this, but that partnership only goes so far. I can be that inside source that keeps them in check.” He turned to Uzi. “Make me a deal, send me back in there to give you a window into—”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding. A bunch of your people are already dead or in custody—and you can add Bryce Upshaw to that list. There’s nothing to send you back into.”

  Larchmont ground his molars. “I need a doctor. I’ve told you all I know—”

  “What about the people who died—Fargo, Ellison, Harmon, Bishop—”

  “Sleepers.” Larchmont wiped at his perspiring cheek with a shoulder. “All except Bishop. Planted long ago. People whose personal beliefs led them to ARM or NFA. They were recruited and followed strict orders to keep their views quiet so they wouldn’t compromise the plan. Ellison should’ve been the hardest one to get, but he actually came to us. This whole thing was on the table years ago in one form or another. Grant, it was all his idea.”

  “After he started Southern Ranks.”

  “Before that. But then about three years ago, al-Humat came into the picture. I don’t know how, but whatever it was, Grant handled everything with them. They gave us the financial backing to make it happen and the plan was put in motion. Once Glen had his ‘gun-control epiphany,’ we realized we had to move. The parts were already in place.”

  “Why were the sleepers killed if they did what was asked of them?”

  “They became liabilities, once-valuable assets who’d outlived their usefulness.”

  For the first time in their exchange, Uzi felt the cool malevolence emanating from the man.

  Car doors slammed outside. Larchmont’s head turned. He heard them too.

  He looked back at Uzi, then lifted his bound hands. “Let me go. Quickly.” His head whipped back toward the warehouse door, expecting it to burst open.

  “Give me your hands.” Uzi took the S&W and pressed it against Larchmont’s palm and fingers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You tried to grab the gun from me. It went off. Between that and what you told me, I think it’s called shooting yourself in the foot.”

  Uzi popped open his door.

  “No,” Larchmont yelled. “You said you’d let me go, that was our deal!”

  Uzi shook his head in disgust, then headed out of the warehouse.

  A BLACK SUBURBAN WAS PARKED behind Uzi’s BuCar. DeSantos and Douglas Knox were headed in Uzi’s direction when a Crown Vic pulled up behind the government metal. Marshall Shepard unfolded his large frame, then joined the cadre of men in front of the warehouse’s rollup door.

  “Quentin Larchmont is in there,” Uzi said, “and he’s been very talkative.”

  “That right?” Knox asked. He eyed Uzi suspiciously. “What exactly did he have to say?”

  Uzi summarized the facts of the wide-reaching plan ARM, NFA, and al-Humat had launched. The three men listened intently. When Uzi finished, they remained silent, each absorbing the ramifications and reviewing their options and obligations before making their thoughts known.

  Shepard put a hand on his forehead and appeared to be rubbing away the wrinkles. “Holy Jesus. Rusch ain’t Rusch. Man, oh man.”

  The FBI director, lost in his own thoughts, began pacing. He pulled out his cell and, once out of earshot, began talking. Shepard fished out his own phone and started punching numbers.

  DeSantos stood there looking at Uzi but did not say anything.

  “What?” Uzi asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “That look wasn’t ‘nothing.’ What are you thinking?”

  “I’m proud of you, boychick. You did good. You did better than good. This was huge.” He extended a fist. “You can work with me any day.”

  Uzi touched his partner’s fist with his own. “You know, I had doubts about you. I wasn’t sure whose side you were on. I wasn’t sure whose side Knox or Coulter were on.”

  “And what did I tell you? That Knox was clean. Right?”

  Uzi nodded. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “Hey, you were doing your job. Shit got confusing. You did the best you could. It all worked out in the end.”

  Uzi thought of Leonard Rudnick, then shook his head. “Not everything. My doc. He and I got pretty close. He was in that building on M Street. I couldn’t get him out in time. He deserved a lot better.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.” He regarded his partner’s face, then asked, “You okay?”

  “Numb. It’ll hit me one day. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week.” Uzi craned his neck skyward where gray nimbostratus clouds had descended over the district; the acrid air suggested an electrical storm was brewing. “What did Nuri leave in that DLB? Do we know yet?”

  “A flash card with digital images. They’re still analyzing it, but on my way over here I was told there were bank statements, wire transfers, and financial records from a Saudi businessman with ties to a Swiss financier who’s in our database as a suspected AQ banker. Best guess is some of al-Humat’s funds were supplied by the Saudi and an unknown donor. I’m betting Iran will turn up in the mix, too. The funds were sent through the Swiss banker to an intermediary—some trust on the Isle of Man—before being shipped out to a Virginian charity that’s a front controlled by Lewiston Grant. Nuri did his usual thorough job.”

  A sardonic smirk twisted Uzi’s lips. “They still think he committed suicide?”

  DeSantos waved him off. “ME found subtle petechial hemorrhages, teeth impressions—”

  “Suffocation.” Uzi nodded slowly. “They’ll also find a needle mark and trace pharmaceuticals in his tissues. You don’t stuff a pillow in the face of a guy like that without some help.”

  “I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “And at the bottom they’ll find Batula Hakim.” He looked off at the nearby buildings. “Leila.”

  They stood in silence a moment before DeSantos slapped Uzi’s shoulder with the back of a hand. “Hey, how about you stay with Maggie and me tonight.”

  “No funny stuff, right? Ménage à trois...”

  “Man, what do you think we are, sex fiends?” He shook his head. “We’d never do that on the first night a guest stays over.” He winked. “You can tell us about your doc, maybe that’ll help.”

  “You know,” Uzi said, gazing off in the distance, “when I lost my wife and daughter, I lost a part of me, too. I withdrew from life. I didn’t go out, I lost touch with my friends. The doc gave me a lot to think about.” His eyes found DeSantos’s. “So did confronting Hakim.”

  “There’s something you should know on that.” DeSantos checked over his shoulder to see where Douglas Knox was standing. “Aksel told me what happened in the hallway, things that were said. There’s stuff you don’t know. I confirmed it with Knox on the way over. Because of my relationship with him, he leveled with me.”

  DeSantos looked at his feet, then met Uzi’s eyes. “Knox was in on the operation that recruited Hakim and her brother into Mossad. The CIA office in Cairo was working with the LEGATT,” he said, referring to the FBI’s Legal Attaché. “Remember the bombing against the US Embassy in Argentina?”

  “In 2002.”

  DeSantos nodded. “US intelligence got wind of intel that al-Humat was responsible, but they didn’t have proof. So Knox and Tasset proposed a joint op with Mossad. Aksel was skeptical, but they sold him on it. He was new on the job, so maybe he wanted to start things off right with his US counterparts. The key was turning Hakim and Ahmed into double agents. But when Aksel got wind that Ahmed was two-timing Mossad and was planning a huge hit on the Knesset, he was furious and told Knox and Tasset he was pulling the plug on the embassy op, that his first obligation was to protect his country from a devastating attack.

  “Problem was, Tasset refused to fold up the tent. He thought he co
uld still make it work—until Muhammad bin Zayed escaped after his shot ricocheted and killed Ahmed. If it got out that Ahmed was on Mossad’s payroll, the prime minister would’ve demanded full disclosure. It would’ve been a disaster for Mossad. But Tasset freaked because he was afraid Aksel would leak the US role to deflect attention off Mossad. Aksel said he was more worried about finding bin Zayed in case there was a backup plan for the attack on the Knesset.

  “But Tasset didn’t believe that an accidental ricochet killed Ahmed. He thought Zayed found out that Ahmed was working with Mossad, and he killed him for being a traitor.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “But Tasset didn’t know that. He freaked. He knew it could’ve meant the end of his power trip as director. So he pressured Aksel for deniability. He told him to create a lie to protect the CIA.”

  “And I was that lie. A scapegoat.”

  DeSantos nodded. “Aksel refused. But Tasset bluffed, told him that if Mossad wanted full CIA cooperation and intel going forward, he’d better play ball.”

  Uzi sighed deeply. “And because of that, my family was killed. I guess I owe Earl Tasset something. A punch in the face.”

  “Or something a little more permanent.”

  Uzi bit his lip. His eyes scanned the men standing out of earshot. “Someday. Right now, I just want to decompress. Reflect. Heal.”

  Shepard stuffed his phone in a pocket and rejoined Uzi and DeSantos. “Tasset’s on his way. Not happy he wasn’t invited to the party.”

  Uzi snorted. Tough shit.

  Shepard squinted confusion, but said, “I’ve got agents on their way over to deal with Larchmont.”

  “Tell them he’ll need a medic,” Uzi said. “He accidentally shot himself in the foot.”

  Shepard looked at Uzi with a sideways glance. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Bummer when that happens,” DeSantos said.

  Uzi shrugged. “Struggle for the gun.”

  “Right,” Shepard said, appraising Uzi. “You and me, my friend. We’ve got some things to discuss. About following procedure. Following procedure is vital to a field agent’s duties—”