by Vince Flynn
“Is that the real reason or are you just looking for someone to do your dirty work?”
“Nope. I’ll be honest with you, Michael. I would like to have Arthur Higgins killed.
There was a time when he was good for our country, but for the last fifteen years he’s been out of control. When he left the Agency, he was warned to stay out of the intelligence business. Since then he has been cautioned by Stansfield more than once to keep his nose out of the Agency’s business.
I hesitate to take this to Director Stansfield for the reasons I already gave and for the fact that Arthur has a lot of contacts at the National Security Agency. If anything happens to Arthur, they will suspect the CIA.” Augie looked up at the sky for a second. “As to why I’m dumping this on your lap. well и . . you gave him the opportunity to kill Olson and Turnquist, and in my book that means you should be the one to stop him.” Michael stared unwaveringly at Augie and said, “I did nothing. I’m just trying to clean up the mess.”
Augie looked at Seamus.
“This is your doing?”
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“Yes. Can I count on you to stay quiet?”
“Yes. I happen to think that what you’re doing is about twenty years overdue.”
The old spy stuck his hands under his armpits. “We’ve killed politicians in other countries that were far less of a threat to our national security than our own leaders. Don’t you think that during all my years as a covert-operations specialist I thought about doing in America what I was doing abroad?” Michael nodded, remembering that Scott Coleman had said the exact same thing to him a year ago. Michael changed the subject back to
Higgins. “What makes you think we can get to Arthur?”
“I assume that you have some professionals helping you.” Augie paused and held up his hands. “I don’t want to know who they are or what their background is. The less I
know about that the better. If they would kill Fitzgerald, Downs, Koslowski, and Basset and vanish without a trace, I assume they’re pretty good. Arthur has one habit that makes him vulnerable. You’ll find it in the file.” Michael held up the file. “I’m interested to see what’s in here.”
“I would urge you not to waste any time. Arthur may not be done killing.”
MCMAHON WAS BACK IN THE JOINT SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND’S
conference room at the Pentagon, eating a micro-waved container of lasagna that was more than a little salty. His entire afternoon had been spent meeting with Harvey Wilcox, the deputy director of the FBI’s Counterterrorism Department; Madeline Nanny, the deputy director of the FBI’s Counter Espionage Department; and Director Roach. Both departments had the equipment and personnel to run surveillance on the fourteen black former commandos who were living in the D.C. metro area. Neither Roach nor McMahon had to ask for the full cooperation of the two deputy directors. Both understood the priority of the task that had been handed to them. Nanny had more available assets, so she took nine of the fourteen dossiers and Wilcox took the other five. They estimated they could initiate surveillance during the next twenty-four hours, and depending on the individual movements of the suspects, they could have airtight surveillance established within seventy-two hours. The total number of agents to be involved was calculated at
140. McMahon finished explaining the details of the surveillance to Kennedy and
General Heaney right about the time he finished eating the lasagna that he knew would give him heartburn. He slid the Styrofoam box off to the side and asked General Heaney if he had any Tums. The general produced a roll and tossed it across the table. A moment later one of the general’s aides entered the room and handed him a computer printout and a cover sheet.
Heaney thanked the young officer and glanced over the cover sheet.
“Our computer ran a search for any former commandos living within a hundred miles of Washington, D.C. It turned up ninety-four SEALS, eighty-one Green Berets, and sixty-eight Delta Force commandos.”
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McMahon’s face twisted into a painful look. “That’s over two hundred possible suspects.”
“Yes, but that was before we directed the computer to narrow the search to only commandos that had served with the fourteen black commandos.”
“What did that bring the numbers down to?” The general glanced down at the sheet.
“Twenty-six Green Berets and nineteen Deltas.” Kennedy peered over the top of her glasses. “What happened to all the SEALS?”
The general read over the summary for a moment. “There are only two former
SEALS who fit the description of the assassin that killed Downs, and they both live in
San Diego.” While Kennedy wrestled with that piece of information, McMahon asked, “Where are we going to get the resources to tail forty-five people around the clock?”
Looking to Kennedy, he asked, “Irene, do you have the manpower to handle this?”
Kennedy was staring off into space, and McMahon repeated the question.
Kennedy still didn’t answer so McMahon snapped his fingers. “Earth to Irene, come in.”
Kennedy’s eyes came back into focus. “Excuse me.”
“Do you need a break?”
“No, I’m fine. I was just thinking about something else.” McMahon repeated, “Do you have the assets to conduct around-the-clock surveillance on forty-five suspects?”
“Yes.”
“How?” asked McMahon with a disbelieving look on his face. Kennedy started to give her answer, then stopped, saying, “You don’t want to know.”
“No, I suppose I don’t.”
“General Heaney,” said Kennedy. “Would it be possible for me to take a look at all ninety-four files of the SEALS that live in the D.C. area?”
“Why?”
“I have a hunch.” McMahon’s ears perked up at the word hunch. He believed strongly in intuition and hunches. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m not comfortable with dumping ninety-four potential suspects based on a piece of information that I’m not sure I trust.”
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“What piece of information are you referring to?” asked McMahon. “The black assassin in the park.
These people have done everything perfectly with one exception: they exposed the guy in the park when we all agree the correct way to kill Downs would have been with a concealed rifle shot.” Kennedy took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “We have let this one piece of possibly flawed evidence steer our entire investigation in a very specific direction. Based on this one piece of information we have excluded all SEALS from our investigation.”
“That’s what investigations are all about, Irene,” said McMahon. “You analyze evidence and narrow your search.”
“That’s assuming the evidence is untainted.” Kennedy rose and started to pace. “There is only one logical reason for them to put him in the park, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. They put him there because they wanted him to be seen.”
“Why would they want him to be seen?” asked Heaney. “To throw us off.
What if the guy wasn’t black?
What if they made him look like he was black?”
“Why would they want us to think he was black?” McMahon saw where Kennedy was going. “If they were SEALS, they would.” The room fell silent while the pieces fell into place for Heaney. McMahon stood and rolled his sleeves up.
“General, I think we had better take a look at those files. While we’re doing that, I’ll have my people initiate surveillance of the fourteen black commandos. Irene, you get your people moving on the other commandos, and we’ll have to consider investigating any SEALS on a case-by-case basis.”
An irritating noise broke the silence of the predawn morning. A hand reached through the darkness toward the red, blinking digital numbers and found the alarm clock. A second later the noise was silenced.
O’Rourke rolled over and wrapped himself around Liz. The previous evening had been a quiet one. Liz had finished writi
ng her column about nine and came over with a movie. Luckily for Michael, she was tired and not in the mood for conversation. Thirty minutes into the video they were both asleep. Michael was trying his best to make things seem normal and was, for the most part, succeeding. It helped that Liz was busy with her job. Michael couldn’t get Arthur Higgins out of his mind. After returning from Georgia, he had gone to the
Congressional Library to see what he could find out about the former
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head of the CIA’s most secretive branch. He came up with nothing, which only added to the mystery.
Michael brushed Liz’s hair aside and kissed her naked shoulder. She turned her head slightly, and he kissed her cheek. O’Rourke kissed her one more time and got out of bed. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants from a hook on the door, Michael put them on and headed downstairs. Duke met him at the bottom of the stairs and followed him into the kitchen. The coffee maker was filled to the top and started. All of his hunting gear was kept in the basement. After descending another flight of stairs, Michael opened the closet and put on a pair of wool socks, khaki pants, a blue flannel shirt, and a pair of boots. The rest of his gear was kept out at the cabin along with several shotguns. By the time he got back up to the kitchen, the pot was done brewing. He poured the whole thing into a large thermos and filled a travel mug for the road. Duke was at his feet stretching and yawning. Before leaving, O’Rourke went back upstairs, set the alarm clock for 7 A.M and kissed Liz on the cheek.
Down in the small garage of the brownstone, Michael loaded Duke into the back of the truck and opened the garage door. Less than five minutes later, he pulled up in front of his brother’s house. Tim, Seamus, and Tim’s chocolate Lab, Cleo, climbed into the truck, and they headed toward the cabin. Against Michael’s wishes Seamus had told Tim everything that had happened over the past two weeks. For the majority of the drive they discussed the information they had learned from
Augie.
When they arrived at the cabin, Coleman was already there. He was waiting inside at the kitchen table. The O’Rourkes pulled up chairs, and the coffee mugs were filled to the brim. When everyone was settled in, Coleman eagerly asked, “What have you found out?”
“Have you ever heard of a man named Arthur Higgins?” Coleman squinted.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“No.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s an old spook over at the CIA. He handles a lot of dark operations and has a reputation as a man you don’t screw around
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with.”
“What do you mean by dark operations?” asked Tim. “Covert operations that are funded from nongovernment sources and run without the official knowledge of the President and the Intelligence Committee.”
“Have you ever been involved in one of these operations?”
“No.” Coleman shook his head. “They use mercenaries . . и former commandos. These things can’t be connected in any way to our government.
The whole reason they are run as a dark op is because the spooks know they could never get official approval. They have to have complete deniability if anything goes wrong. The money can’t be traced back to the U.S. and neither can the soldiers. Before the SEALS or any other
American military personnel can be sent into a foreign country to conduct a covert operation, the CIA or the Pentagon has to get approval from a ranking member of the Intelligence Committee and the
President.
Dark operations completely circumvent the chain of command. It’s a strange world, very secretive and risky. Everything is done unofficially and without a paper trail. All you ever hear about these people are whispers and rumors. I actually know some former SEALS who have worked for Higgins.”
“Do you think you could talk to them and find out what they know about him?” asked Michael. “I could, but Higgins is the type of person you don’t just start asking questions about, or you might end up as shark bait.”
“I thought you SEALS were a tight group. Can’t you ask them a few questions without raising too much attention. “Maybe, maybe not. This isn’t like calling up an old high school buddy and asking him about a girl he used to date. These are serious people and they don’t like questions. They prefer to stay anonymous and quiet.”
“What in the hell are a couple of former SEALS doing working for a guy like Higgins?” asked Tim. “What do you expect them to do when they leave the service . ии go sell used cars or program computers? We are trained to do a very specific job, and trained to do it better than anyone else in the world. If you’re a SEAL, you’re better than ninety-nine point nine percent of all the soldiers who have ever laced up a boot. You are the best of the best, and do you know what you get paid?… You max out at about forty grand a year. Then one day you
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leave the service and you’re confronted with two options. You go to work in the private sector in a boring nine-to-five job and get paid about the same as when you were in the military, or you go to work for some guy like Higgins and get paid six figures plus for working about fifty days a year. And guys like Higgins aren’t the only people who want you. Big-time drug dealers, oil sheikhs, third-world governments, international bankers, they’re all willing to pay big bucks to have a
SEAL on their security staff. I know guys that are getting paid a half a million a year to sit around and play bodyguard. For a lot of these guys it’s a status thing to be able to say their bodyguard is a SEAL.
In the Middle East our reputation alone scares the shit out of people.”
“I understand your point, but I thought you guys had an honor code,”
said Tim. “We do, but we’re not an infallible fraternity. We have our bad apples just like any other organization. The reality is there are people who are willing to kill for money, and once they cross that line, they are no longer part of our brotherhood. they are assassins and mercenaries.”
“So you don’t think it would be wise to start asking questions about
Higgins?” asked Michael. “From what I’ve heard about the man, no, I
don’t. What has got you so interested in him?”
“Seamus and I took a little trip down to Georgia yesterday to talk to
Augie Jackson.”
“Seamus’s friend who used to work for the CIA?”
“Yes …. Augie told us some pretty interesting stories about
Higgins.
He’s convinced that he’s responsible for the killing of Erik and
Congressman Turnquist.” Coleman grew cautious. “So he buys into the idea that there are two separate groups doing the killing?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ask any questions about who the first group might be?”
“Yes.” Coleman stared at Michael for a long time. “You told him, didn’t you?” Coleman looked to Seamus, and neither he nor Michael answered the question. The former SEAL shook his head and swore. “He only knows that I’m involved,” said Seamus. “Scott, we can trust
Augie.”
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Coleman looked at his watch. “Well, we’ll know the answer to that any minute. If you hear any choppers overhead, we can all kiss our asses good-bye.”
“Scott, he believes in what we’re doing. He hated Fitzgerald and
Koslowski more than we did, and he was very convincing with the stuff he told us about Arthur.”
“Why does he think Higgins killed Erik and Turnquist?” Michael spent the next several minutes telling Coleman Augie’s story. He relayed the story of the covert mission that Arthur had masterminded to get rid of the French politicians back in the early sixties and then went on to explain Arthur’s hatred for Senator Olson.
Coleman asked few questions. Michael told him how Arthur was forced out of the Agency by Stansfield and ordered to cease any involvement in intelligence and national security issues. When Michael was done recounting Augie’s story, he asked Coleman what
he thought. “The man has the power and resources to pull it off, and as I told you several days ago, whoever blew up Erik’s limo has to have some real connections. They had less than a week to put that operation together.” Coleman shrugged his shoulders. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he had a hand in this, but we don’t have the intel or the capability to know for sure.”
“I know, but we have to do something.” Coleman tapped the side of his mug. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to ask any more questions about this guy. The FBI’s investigation is kicking into high gear.
It’s important that we act normal and don’t draw any attention to ourselves.”
Coleman pointed at the three O’Rourkes. “You guys can get away with a lot more than I can. They’re not going to come after you, but sooner or later they’re gonna come knocking on my door.” Seamus thought about what Coleman had said for a moment and then asked, “What about taking him out?”
“Higgins?”
“Yes.”
“In principle I don’t have a problem with it. From what I’ve heard he’s the snake of snakes, but I’d like to be a little more sure that he was behind this before we go to that extreme. Besides, I’m not even
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sure we could get to him. My guess is that he has some pretty tight security around him.” Michael slid the dossier across the table.
“Augie gave this to us before we left. It’s a full profile of Arthur’s movements and security measures. It breaks down his estate’s security system step-by-step and describes, in detail, the endeavors he has continued to be involved in since he was forced out of the Agency.”
Coleman opened the file and started thumbing through the pages. After several minutes Coleman looked at Michael. “You got this from this guy that used to work at the CIA?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he get it?”
“He compiled it for Director Stansfield.”
“They were thinking about taking him out, weren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Unbelievable.”
“In the back,” Seamus said, “there’s a section describing his business dealings and continued meddling in the CIA’s business. If you turn to page four of the section, you’ll find a highlighted paragraph that you’re not going to like.” Coleman flipped to the back of the file and scanned the paragraph. It stated that Higgins was believed to be involved with a group of black marketers who were stealing high-tech U.S. weaponry from manufacturers and military bases and selling it abroad through a Middle East arms dealer that had known sympathies for anti-American regimes.
