The Last Man mr-13

by Vince Flynn

  Chapter 31

  Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan

  Wilson was back down in front of the main desk, and the pimple-faced airman was trying to figure out how some uneducated Latino woman could deter nine special agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation from doing their job. The only reason he wasn’t yelling at his overpaid, overqualified entourage was that he’d been unable to get past her as well, and he was in charge.

  Wilson hadn’t gotten to where he was in this world by simply quit ting every time an obstacle was placed in front of him. No, Joel Wilson was better than that. If this Air Force bitch thought she could defy his authority, she was in for a rude lesson. Tapping the reception counter with his knuckles, he demanded, “Who’s in charge of this place?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to be more specific.”

  “This place,” Wilson repeated and waved his arms around. This further cemented Wilson’s belief that the military had become the great dumping ground for America’s dim-witted masses.

  “Brigadier General Earl Kreitzer, sir.”

  Wilson filed that one away. “What about this hospital?”

  “Overall is Colonel Wyman, sir. He’s the task force medical commander, but Lieutenant Colonel Brunkhorst is the medical chief of staff.”

  “Are either of them here right now?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Brunkhorst is, sir. May I ask what this is about?” The man snatched the handset out of the cradle. “She’s going to want to know.”

  “It’s about that rude woman you have in ICU… Something, something Sergeant Sanchez.”

  The eyes on the young man from Kansas grew large with recognition and he placed the handset back in its cradle. “Command Master Sergeant Sanchez.”

  “That’s right.”

  The Kansan looked over both shoulders. “Technically, sir, Lieutenant Colonel Brunkhorst is senior in the chain of command, but truth be told, Command Master Sergeant Sanchez runs this place.”

  “Shit.” Wilson slapped his hand on countertop.

  “I hope you didn’t do anything to upset her, sir.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “She’s not someone you want to get on the wrong side of.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Wilson was on the verge of really losing it, when the most surprising sight caught his eye. Coming down the hall toward him was one of his former FBI special agents, Sydney Hayek. They had a deeply complicated relationship that Hayek had ruined. According to Wilson’s very credible information, she was now working for the CIA. Wilson stepped away from the desk. “Sydney,” he shouted with a friendly wave. “You’re the last person I expected to find here.”

  Hayek, normally good at masking her emotions, was incapable of doing so. Joel Wilson was the sole reason she had decided to leave the FBI. “Why are you here?”

  Wilson flashed the boyish grin that he was so proud of. “I’m the one asking the questions around here.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she took a quick step back. Wilson tried to cover and said, “You look good.”

  Hayek crossed her arms, her eyes glancing at the men behind Wilson. “Why are you here?”

  “Well, it’s good to see you as well, Sydney,” Wilson said in an easy tone. “It’s too bad I had to fly to the other side of the planet to run into you. Do you have time to grab a cup of coffee?”

  There was no answer. Hayek couldn’t process what she was hearing. Standing before her was a man who had tried to destroy her life. A man who had sexually harassed her and made her actually contemplate suicide. He knew all these things, yet here he was, standing in front of her, acting as if they were old friends.

  “We’re not going to have coffee,” Hayek said, remembering how her therapist had told her she needed to be firm and unambiguous.

  “That’s too bad, because I could really use your help on something. I hear you’re out at Langley these days.”

  “What I do is classified. None of your business.”

  Wilson laughed heartily. “You must not be aware of my new job at the Bureau. I’m running the Counterintelligence Division. You know.. who watches the watchers, and all that stuff.”

  Hayek shrugged in an effort to convey what she was thinking, which was: I don’t give a shit what you do.

  Wilson leaned forward and with a suave smile said, “So your business actually is my business.”

  Hayek wanted to crawl out of her skin. She took a step to the side and said, “I need to be someplace right now.” Two steps later he grabbed her arm.

  “Slow down there, missy.”

  Hayek pivoted and came back at Wilson with her left fist cocked. “Take your damn hands off me!”

  Wilson let go and put his hands up in the air. “You need to calm down. Striking a federal agent will land your pretty little ass in jail.”

  “How about sexually harassing a federal agent and stalking her?” After having kept it pent up for years, and thinking she was free from this imbalanced egomaniac, she could no longer keep her feelings bottled up.

  Wilson had handled her before and he could handle her now. “I see that Arab temper of yours hasn’t gotten any better.”

  “I’m half Lebanese, half American, you arrogant WASP.”

  Under his breath, but loud enough for several of them to hear, he said, “Hell hath no furylike a spurned woman.”

  “Is that what you tell yourself? You think stalking your subordinate and making up fake excuses to be alone with me and me shutting down your perverted attempts at getting me into bed somehow adds up to me wanting you?” Hayek had been over and over all of this in therapy with Dr. Lewis, the CIA’s resident shrink. Hayek had been raised in a culture in which she was a disappointment. Her father, a Lebanese immigrant, had wanted her to be nothing more than a nurse. Women had their place in this world and it didn’t involve a gun, a badge, and chasing down bad guys. He wanted to marry off his beautiful daughter at eighteen to one of his friend’s sons. It was all arranged. She was supposed to begin providing grandchildren immediately. Without her knowledge a date had already been set at St. Maron’s Church. Hayek, a gifted student, had caught the eye of her high school’s guidance counselor. By the time her father announced his grand plans, Hayek had already been notified that she had not only been accepted to the University of Chicago, but she was going on a full ride.

  Her entire world fell apart in just a few days. She defied her father and he in turn threw her out on the street. In a classic I-will-showyou showdown, neither Hayek nor her father backed down. The years ticked by and the distance grew and Hayek found out she could survive without her family. Her classmates at the University of Chicago became her new family and the FBI became her life. Hayek became a force of independence, promising herself that she would never be a victim. That she would never allow a man to dictate her life. She had done just fine until the deceitful and manipulative Joel Wilson came along.

  During the seemingly never-ending therapy sessions, Dr. Lewis helped her see that she had built up some very unhealthy coping mechanisms. The most obvious was that she rarely let her feelings be known. She simply put her head down, kept her complaints to herself, and moved forward. When Wilson began twisting her into knots, her silence only made things worse.

  Well, there’s not going to be any more silence, she told herself.

  “I’d hoped you got some help after you washed out of the Bureau. But it doesn’t look like it.”

  “You asshole. No one can manipulate the facts like you.” Hayek turned back toward the other men, some dressed in dark suits, others in more casual base attire. “Do any of you actually like working with this jerk?” They all stared at her stone-faced. “Well, don’t trust him. Never… not for a second, because you don’t mean a thing to him. You see, he’s the only honorable man in all of D.C. That means all of you are expendable.”

  “That’s enough,” a red-faced Wilson snapped. “Your psychological issues aside, I’m here in an official capacity and you are going to answer some questions.”

>   “Pound sand, asshole. You want to talk to me, you call my lawyer and set it up.”

  Wilson grinned. “You already have a lawyer. You must have something to hide.”

  Hayek had said her piece. She was shaking from the release of all the things that she should have said years ago. “Let’s hear it,” Hayek said forcefully, for all to hear. “Ask your questions. Let’s go.”

  Wilson wasn’t quite ready for this level of vitriol. In his mind he had been nothing but supportive of Hayek’s career. They were two extremely attractive people, and it seemed natural for them to indulge in a physical relationship. In his mind at least, he was in an open marriage. “Nice try. This is a highly classified investigation. Why don’t you take a ride with us and we’ll discuss.”

  “What in the hell is going on here?” The icy voice cut through the air. It wasn’t loud or forceful, but it had a tone of absolute authority.

  Wilson watched his sea of agents part to reveal CIA Director Irene Kennedy and a group of men who made his gaggle of FBI agents look like a bunch of pussies. Her security detail looked a bunch of mixed martial arts fighters carrying machine guns and lots of ammunition. “Director,” Wilson said, trying to sound calm, “you’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”

  Kennedy stood her ground, like a predator trying to decide if this was worth the physical exertion. After an uncomfortable silence, she said, “I find that hard to believe.”

  “What’s that?” Wilson said casually.

  “That you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Come now, Director, I always enjoy catching up with you.”

  “How could I be just the person you wanted to talk to when you didn’t even know I was here?”

  Wilson smiled awkwardly while he tried to come up with an answer. Kennedy was no fool. “It’s not every day the director of the CIA lands in Bagram. Word travels quickly on these bases.”

  Kennedy appraised him with cautious eyes. She didn’t believe him for a second. “I think it’s far more rare to have the FBI’s acting head of Counterintelligence so far from home.”

  “We go where we must.”

  Normally Kennedy would have been more diplomatic, but with one of her men dead, two missing, a fourth in the hospital and the entire Afghani government screaming for blood, she was in no mood for whatever Wilson was up to, so she cut to the heart of the matter. “What did you want to question Agent Hayek about?”

  Wilson hesitated for a second. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss matters pertaining to an ongoing investigation.”

  “You think so?” Kennedy said, taking two steps forward. “I want you to think long and hard about how you answer this next question. Are you aware of the protocols you are to follow if you want to question one of my people?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “So you went through all the proper channels?”

  “Agent Hayek and I go way back,” Wilson said, as if the entire thing was being blown out of proportion. “It was going to be simple off-therecord discussion.”

  Kennedy nodded slowly and then walked across the lobby until she was just two feet from Wilson. She gestured with her finger for him to come closer so they could speak in confidence. Wilson bent forward at the waist and offered Kennedy his left ear.

  “I am well aware of your history with Agent Hayek. Stay the hell away from her, or I will make your life miserable in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.” Kennedy took a step back and in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear said, “Now, in the future, Special Agent Wilson, if you would like to conduct an interview with any of my people you will contact my office to coordinate. Are we clear?”

  Before Wilson could answer, a shrill voice carried down the hallway like a Klaxon. “What in the hell is going on here?”

  Wilson looked over his shoulder to see the ball-busting Latino waddling her way toward them. His face went slack.

  Shaking her finger at Wilson, she said, “You better have that warrant we talked about or I swear to God I’m not just going to have you thrown out of this hospital, I’m going to have you thrown off this base.”

  Wilson had had enough altercations for the day, and he really didn’t want to stick around and answer more of Kennedy’s questions. “Sorry about the miscommunication, Director. I’ll be in contact with your office.” Not waiting for a reply, he brushed past Kennedy and out the door.

  Kennedy watched with more than a bit of confusion. The blustering Joel Wilson was known for seeking out confrontation, not running from it. She looked back to a very upset Command Master Sergeant Sanchez, who was still making her way down the hall. Kennedy had spoken with Sanchez earlier and the woman had been very helpful in regard to Rapp’s care. “Command Master Sergeant Sanchez, what was that you said about a warrant?”

  Sanchez was out of breath and flushed. She held a finger up to Kennedy and said, “Excuse me one second.” She turned to the young airman behind the desk and said, “Get base security on the horn. I want to speak to Colonel DePuglio ASAP and if he’s not available get me Major Callahan. You’d think we were running a damn zoo here.” Turning back to Kennedy, Sanchez took a heavy breath and said, “I’m sorry, Director. What did you want?”

  “That man who just left. Did you say something about a warrant?”

  She nodded vigorously, “He was trying to bully his way in to see your man Mr. Cox. Part of some official investigation he said all full of himself.”

  Sanchez was still talking, but Kennedy was only half listening. She had the ominous feeling that someone out there, or more likely an organization, had gone to great lengths to cripple the Clandestine Service. Too many seemingly random things were beginning to pile up-far too many to be a coincidence. Wilson would be easy enough to play. The man had an infatuation with himself, and by extension a need to validate himself, by tearing down those who were not part of the Counterintelligence Division. Unfortunately the CIA was the perfect target for him. And Wilson had a reputation for tenacity. He would dig until he got what he wanted, and he wouldn’t play fair. Kennedy decided then and there that she was going to need to get proactive.

  Chapter 32

  Kennedy asked Sanchez if Wilson had gotten in to see Rapp, and if so, what he want. Sanchez retold the events in her colorful, clipped military diction and made it very clear that she wasn’t going to let that clown get anywhere near any of her patients. Mr. Cox was safe, Sanchez assured Kennedy. Kennedy wondered if she should suggest placing a guard outside Rapp’s door, but thought better of it. Sanchez was likely to take that as an indictment that she couldn’t do her job. A better angle was to bring Sanchez into her confidence.

  Asking her for a word in private, Kennedy followed Sanchez down the hall about twenty feet and then said, “I need to be very careful about what I say since this is all very classified material, but I get the sense I can trust you.”

  Sanchez nodded as if to say “you’re damn right.”

  “Mr. Cox is one of my top covert operatives. He was working on something very sensitive. Another one of my people has gone missing and we need to find him ASAP. I think Mr. Cox might have some information that could help us, but unfortunately his memory is very spotty at the moment.”

  Sanchez nodded. “Doctors told me they don’t expect that to last. Every day he’ll remember more and more.”

  Kennedy smiled, “And when he does, I need someone there. With your permission I would like to have one of my people at his bedside.”

  “Twenty-four-seven.” Sanchez frowned. It was obvious she didn’t like the sound of this.

  “If at any point you think someone is misbehaving, by all means you can throw them off your floor, but I can assure you, Command Master Sergeant, like you, I run a tight ship. My people will be as quiet as church mice.”

  After considerable thought Sanchez relented. Kennedy thanked her for all of her help and handed her a card. “That’s my mobile number. I always have it. If you need me for anything, please call. And if that man from
the FBI shows up again, please call. I will have him dealt with.”

  When Sanchez was gone, Kennedy turned to her assistant. “Eugene, please get Samuel Hargrave on the line and tell him it is extremely urgent.”

  Paranoia was part of her business. Sometimes it was a big part and other times not so much. As discomforting as it was, you were a fool to ignore it. The key was to make sure it didn’t paralyze you. After nearly three decades in the intelligence business Kennedy had learned to recognize the natural rhythms of the job. The pace, usually glacial, was often interrupted by moments of extreme action-like right now. This one felt different, though. It was too orchestrated.

  Her mentor, Thomas Stansfield, had taught her to think in broad strategic terms-like a battlefield commander. Your flanks must always be protected and your center must be anchored with reinforcements. Supplies needed to be secured from raids and scouts needed to be deployed as aggressively as possible to discern the strength and position of the enemy.

  The problem right now was that Kennedy was flying blind. Some The LasT Man 213 one was maneuvering against her and she had no idea who they were or what their next move would be. Rickman, Hubbard, the attack on Rapp, and now Wilson showing up; She had an unnerving suspicion that they were all part of a concerted effort to weaken her Clandestine Service. She and her people could draw up a list of who would benefit most from this type of action, but it would only be a list. Kennedy wanted something more concrete, and she thought she knew where to start.

  “Mike,” Kennedy said to Nash. She motioned for him to follow her, and the two walked to the far corner of the lobby. “Where is Marcus?”