by Steve Richer
Chapter 18
It was half past eight when Rogan woke up. It was later than he was accustomed to – certainly later than he wanted – but it had been a long day and he figured he needed the rest. Only he didn’t feel much rested when the alarm blared.
He trudged to the coffeemaker to start the machine and after coming back from the bathroom he checked his messages. There was only one from Wendy Patton and it said that she had no news about the fugitive Rusty Brandt a.k.a. Calix Hargrove.
Before going to bed the night before, Rogan had had an idea which he’d shared with his boss: don’t watch the airports too closely.
The idea was that Hargrove was from Seattle, he most likely didn’t know anyone in Alaska. His first instinct would be to leave the state and the long drive through British Columbia would be avoided by any sane person. So Rogan was convinced that the guy would be compelled to fly out.
And since Alaska was so isolated, there were many places from which Hargrove could depart. There were the conventional airports of course but along the coastline you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting three seaplanes. It would be a waste of the authorities’ time and effort to try and watch every single one.
No, it would be easier to keep an eye on Seattle. As a major city, places to land a plane were a lot more limited. Rogan was certain that if they were to catch Hargrove it would be down here in Washington State. The FBI had therefore put everyone on alert, from Homeland and Border Patrol to the Seattle PD and the TSA. It was only a question of time until they caught him.
Rogan drank a cup of coffee in two gulps and took a shower, neither of which did much to make him more alert. He dressed in a charcoal Armani suit. He might have given away his fortune but he had kept his swanky clothes. He wasn’t completely insane.
It was almost nine when he walked down to the lobby to get his complementary continental breakfast. At this late hour, most guests had already left and Rogan was free to pick any table he wanted.
First he went to the buffet and got himself orange juice which he drank while standing there. Then he grabbed a tall coffee as well as a plate which he filled with stale scrambled eggs, a dry waffle, and overly crisp bacon.
He watched the large TV mounted on the wall as he walked back to an empty table. It displayed the morning show on CNN but from the way the hosts were talking there didn’t seem to be any earth shattering news so far today. This was good as far as Rogan was concerned.
He sat down and began to eat when a shadow crept over his plate. He looked up and found a man in a light brown suit standing there, looking down at him.
“Can I help you?”
“Excuse me, are you Special Agent Bricks?”
“Please tell me you’re from Publishers Clearing House.”
The man frowned, not quite getting the reference. He was about 30 with jet black hair and dark skin. Rogan had detected a slight accent on his part and had him pegged as a Hispanic.
“My name is Andres Castro. I was told you would be expecting me?”
“I was told I’d be prom king someday. Don’t go believe all the hype.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand…”
Rogan wiped his hands on a paper napkin and leaned back into his chair. “I don’t understand either. Who are you and what are you doing standing over my breakfast?”
“I am Captain Andres Castro of the Policía Nacional de Colombia. For the last three months I have been serving in Washington, in your FBI’s Counterterrorism Division, as part of an exchange program.”
“Okay, good for you. Now what are you doing here? You got on the wrong Metro train and wound up in Seattle?”
“You have not been told?”
“Apparently not,” Rogan replied, getting more confused by the second.
“I am your new partner.”
Castro extended his hand but Rogan didn’t shake it. He wasn’t especially fond of partners, especially when he didn’t need one.
“Who sent you?”
“Jason Vanstedum, Assistant Director for Counterterrorism.”
Rogan snorted. “Figures. You wouldn’t happen to have his phone number on you, would you?”
“Yes, of course!”
The younger man got his phone while Rogan did the same. He read the number off the other guy’s screen and dialed it. He went through a secretary and waited another minute before he had him on the line.
“Bricks, you have any news?”
“Good morning to you too. I’m doing great, thanks.”
“What do you want?” Vanstedum asked.
“I want to know why there’s a GQ model from Colombia standing right in front of me saying he’s my new partner.”
“I was going to call you about this, before he got there.”
“Too late, your boy is fast. So what’s the deal?”
Chapter 19
Castro was almost standing at attention, his hands clasped behind his back. Rogan took pity on him and motioned for him to sit down.
“We’re killing two birds with one stone, Bricks. You get additional support for your investigation and since Captain Castro is not a member of the FBI or the Counterterrorism Division it doesn’t contribute to making the whole thing official.”
“You know I’ve told you a dozen times that there isn’t much to investigate in the first place.”
The Assistant Director ignored him. “As a bonus, we’re scoring points in diplomatic relations. Uncle Sam always looks good when helping out foreign nations.”
“Nothing personal against this guy but he’s gonna cramp my style.”
“Stop trying to worm yourself out of this, Bricks. You’re stuck with him.”
Stuck again, Rogan thought.
“And hey, I believe you have things in common.”
“Like what, dashing good looks?” Rogan pondered.
“Captain Castro attended Harvard, just like you. Keep me posted, Special Agent Bricks.”
Vanstedum hung up before Rogan could reply.
“Well?”
Rogan glanced up at him. “It seems I’ve just been forced to adopt you. Hope you had all your shots and that you’ve been properly spayed or neutered.”
“I don’t understand,” Castro said.
“Me neither, to be honest. Go get yourself some coffee and breakfast.”
The Colombian man nodded curtly and went to the buffet, returning a minute later with coffee and a cinnamon roll. Meanwhile, Rogan resumed eating.
“I am sorry that I surprised you, Agent Bricks.”
“Forget about it. So you flew all night to get here?”
“Yes, I was awakened in the middle of the night by Assistant Director Vanstedum. He said we might make a good team, that I would learn much from you.”
“I think you’re making up that last part, Andy. Mind if I call you Andy? Vanstedum doesn’t personally like me very much.”
“This he shared with me. But I assure you, he does respect you as an agent.”
Rogan looked up from his plate. From his tone of voice, he was inclined to believe that Castro was sincere. Strange.
“He said you went to Harvard? Tell me about that. No, scratch that. Tell me about yourself from the beginning. How does someone from Colombia get to be assigned to the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division?”
The younger man swallowed his bite and washed it down with coffee before wiping his hands on a napkin. He straightened up as if in the presence of a general.
“I will avoid the, as you say, sob story.”
“By all means.”
“I am from Cali and grew up around much violence. You know, the cocaine cartels, the FARC revolutionaries…”
“I’m up to speed on world affairs, thank you very much. Go on.”
“I was raised by my grandmother. My father was a criminal and was gunned down by police when I was a toddler. My mother was forced to work as a prostitute.”
“I thought you said there wouldn’t be any sob stories, Andy. Forget it, keep
going.”
“Where I am from, you have a choice to make: join the cartel and make a life for yourself or don’t and be destined to stay poor. I joined the Army. I wanted to be part of something bigger, maybe have a chance to bring down the cartel way of life someday.”
Rogan nodded, impressed. “Very noble, good for you.”
“By the age of 20 I was already an officer and three years later I was handpicked for promotion by the CTI – the Cuerpo Técnico de Investigación. This is an agency under our Attorney General. They wanted a new class of leaders for the future, people not under the thumb of the cartels.”
“And that’s you, the Colombian version of Captain America? I guess that makes you Capitan Colombia?”
Castro smiled dutifully. “They arranged for me to attend Harvard University and I graduated with a bachelor of political science and studied criminal justice.”
“I had a few political science classes,” Rogan said. “Ever had Professor Williford?”
At that, Castro brightened up. “Oh yes! She was beautiful.”
“A definite ten on the babe scale.” Rogan relaxed for the first time this morning. He imagined Professor Williford was much older now but she was a classic, timeless beauty. “Any of your classmates try anything with her?”
“Of course but without success.”
“Yeah, same in my day. So you went from military to the Attorney General’s office to the National Police, is that it?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“You’re being groomed for higher office,” Rogan stated.
It meant this guy was going to do whatever Rogan wanted. He needed to act by the book to reach his political aspirations. He decided he could trust him.
They finished eating and Rogan went to top off his coffee. When he sat down he informed him about the case, from the Crystal Goose massacre to Calix Hargrove escaping.
“What leads do we have?” Castro asked, pulling out a pen and notepad.
“Not much so far. I have colleagues in Anchorage looking through the databases about the fishermen, Samuel Poehler’s boat, and anything we can find on Calix Hargrove. We know that something important was being smuggled out of the country and we need to find out what it is. And…”
Rogan’s voice trailed off.
The Colombian man leaned forward. “And what?”
“The boat.”
“The…” Castro consulted his notes. “The Mark V Special Operations Craft?”
“Yeah, the Navy SEALs boat.”
“What about it?”
Rogan stood up and began pacing. There was no one else in the dining area save for an employee collecting trash and wiping down tables. He really doubted she was part of an international espionage ring.
“Something’s not making any sense. Behind door number one we have this super-duper fancy company of mercenaries from South Africa, and behind door number two we have this US military-only boat that in no way should ever be used by civilians.”
“Okay, so?”
Stopping dead in his tracks, Rogan smiled. He ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly thinking about his response just to be sure. Then he came back to his table and leaned toward his new partner.
“It means that the US Navy let them use the boat, Andy.”
Chapter 20
Rogan still couldn’t believe what he knew to be the truth bouncing around in his head. It meant the whole thing had been a covert operation from the beginning. This had to be it, there was no other explanation.
That’s what he was thinking about as he went downtown to the Abraham Lincoln Building which was the home of the FBI’s Seattle field office. Just because the arrangement called for the investigation to be left out of the hands of the Counterterrorism Division, it didn’t mean that Rogan couldn’t involve anyone else.
He and Castro took control of the situation room despite the local agents clearly unfavorable to the intrusion. The most hostility however came from Assistant Special Agents in Charge Chen who saw his authority dwindling.
“I’m very grateful for the help,” Rogan said after introductions were made.
The others were polite in return, assuring him that they were team players, and would provide any necessary assistance.
“Anything to help,” the guy said.
“Great. What would really help right now is ten agents who won’t grumble too much at poking through records.”
Because Vanstedum’s Washington people had called, the request was granted right away. People began filing into the situation room. The place was a glorified conference room with a wall of giant computer screens and whiteboards as well as several workstations with computers and phones.
One of the walls was made of glass, opening on the hallway. Beyond that Puget Sound was visible a quarter-mile away with Bainbridge Island in the distance. It wasn’t such a bad view, Rogan thought. It was the first time in a while he seriously considered working from outside Alaska.
He went to the front of the room and introduced himself.
“You have the incredible privilege of working on a boring case this morning. Even better, we get to attack it from several fronts. First, I need four of you,” he pointed at four agents to his right, “to give me everything you know about a fishing boat called the Crystal Goose. The skipper is Samuel Poehler. I want everything we have on him, his boat, and his crew. Arrest records, known associates, Coast Guard inspection reports, sexual proclivities, I want it all.”
Rogan then pointed to two others.
“You? You do the same with Calix Hargrove a.k.a. Rusty Brandt. He’s currently a fugitive and we have reason to believe he’s trying his damnedest to come back to Seattle. I don’t only want to know everything there is to know about him to see if we can predict where he’ll pop up, but I want you to coordinate with Homeland, the Marshal Service, CBP, Seattle PD, and the Canadians.”
“Got it.”
“Hargrove is a smuggler. He was on a run to Russia basically, transporting something very important but we don’t know what. You guys?” Rogan turned to the four people left. “Your job is to tell me what that contraband could be. I don’t think it’s drugs. So what could it be? Software, maybe? There’s a gazillion high-tech companies out here. Ask around, shake the trees, see if anyone is missing anything.”
His people in Alaska were already doing something similar. Consequently he had them link up so they wouldn’t go over the same files twice. Rogan went to get himself some coffee and he realized that this was the brunt of what the FBI did. Searching databases and looking for patterns.
Investigating was a lot like doing puzzles on a lazy Sunday morning. With killers and thieves and terrorists.
It was almost eleven when he received a call from Vanstedum. Rogan would have usually felt like punching a wall at having to talk to this guy but today was different.
“Hey, what’s up, sir?”
“That’s not how special agents are taught to answer the phone, Bricks.”
“I might have missed a couple of classes at Quantico. You know, bad case of the clap. You have any information for me?”
Rogan could feel the prim and proper man’s blood pressure go up through the phone. The senior agent had to take a deep breath before speaking.
“I have in my possession financials for South Karoo Global Solutions.”
“The mercenaries? How did you manage that?”
“Several calls to the State Department. The South African government wants a favor from Uncle Sam, the State Department quietly asked for a favor in return. My people are emailing you the files me now.”
“That’s several shades of awesome, sir. I might start liking you again.”
“Let me know what you find, Bricks.”
Vanstedum hung up. Rogan went to his inbox and found a number of PDF files.
“Okay, people! Change of plans.” He pointed at four agents randomly part of his various ad hoc committees. “You guys are now working on something else. I’m uploading fil
es to the server.”
He motioned for them to come to him and of course Castro came as well. They were huddling near the front of the room.
“What’s going on?”
“South Karoo Global Solutions is a private military contractor from South Africa. You guys need to sift through their financial statements. I need a list of all their clients and who they are. Chances are you’ll get some numbered offshore companies. Plow ahead, contact whoever you have to, Treasury Department, State Department, the local county courthouse of Ball Sac, Montana if need be. Any questions?”
There were none and they got to work.
Rogan gave people time off for lunch but most elected to stay in and continue working while eating sandwiches which were ordered in. The agents working on the fishing crew for the most part only dotted some I’s.
They confirmed that Samuel Poehler was leading a double life with cash injections popping out of nowhere on a monthly basis. The same went for the other fishermen.
Hargrove was more of an enigma. He had a standard checking account with little money in it and a Visa card. His apartment was leased and the only thing to his name was a two-year-old Camaro. He didn’t even have a cellular phone contract. Agents were sent out to check out his place for clues.
For the moment, all they knew was that he was running a cash business. Rogan hoped that the agents would be able to recover a computer, anything that would point them in the right direction about the contraband being smuggled to Russia.
As for what was being smuggled, none of the tech companies were of any help. Conversely, maybe they were telling the truth, that nothing had been stolen from them. Rogan had his people widen the search to the entire state as well as the Vancouver area, enlisting the RCMP’s assistance.
More promising was South Karoo Global Solutions. Their list of clients wasn’t as occult as one would’ve thought. Most were easily traced to companies and wealthy individuals, the majority based in and around the African subcontinent. There was one however where they struck out.
Meranga Imports.
