“It was squiggles, hmm,” Anna thought, trying to recall as Jabo coached her, using his own prodigious memory and it's ability to lock in anything he saw to guide her. “no, more like spirals, like a tornado or something, in red, the socks were light blue, and a star or some geometric pattern, on the top.” She sighed, dropping back in her bed, “my head hurts all the damned time, and it's a dim memory now, getting dimmer.” She started crying and Cathy moved in, giving the two men a look that said the interview was over. Hopefully it would be enough to push their investigation down the road.
They stepped back from the bed, then left after Cathy gave Anna her phone number, adding it to her cell phone on the night stand, then patting her hand to thank her for her attempts to save her husband's grandmother and the young girl. Jabo expressed his sincere gratitude as well. Her pain at losing so many without being able to help rose up then faded a little. Seeing their sincere thanks helped her heal a little. Being told her role and recollection might help find the person who'd done it, coming from the one person she needed to hear it from, Jonah's grandson, who she'd heard about for years and now finally met.
“You need to talk to Henry Starwalker, call my office, ask for him, leave your phone and when he calls, tell him who you are, he'll know something the FBI won't.” She left it at that, then closed her eyes, exhausted but clearly relieved of some of the stress that had been wracking her body – survivor's guilt that Jabo knew all too well. She should get a medal, and he would ask Cathy's father to do something for her, when she was released, a little vacation, if that was allowed for the only living witness, if it wouldn't put her in harm's way. There was so little they did know for certain, other than the people who'd ordered the hit were threatened by what the man knew something about their activities. He was upset and going to testify, the reason they'd hidden him away, in the desert, where his path, his daughter's could cross that of his Grandfather and Grandmother.
As they were leaving the television had a follow up on earlier breaking news, a light plane had taken off from Dallas then crashed after flying at very low altitude, under a thousand feet, luckily missing the tall buildings around North Dallas, before it crashed in a playground to skid into a elementary school, empty because of the time of day, five o'clock on Saturday morning.
“The pilot was apparently killed, before he took off, since there was no weapon found, shot in his head by a small caliber weapon. We'll offer more on this as it comes in...”
Jabo stopped them at the door. His mind matched the information about the pilot's death to the girl's parents in their suburban home, both tied up, then tortured to get information before they were dispatched by the sniper/killer, who'd also used a small caliber gun, a .22 automatic, one shot in the forehead for each of them. That odd twist might be a signature, maybe both were from a pistol made in Eastern Europe, Russian or a copy of a Russian design, given the odd twist pattern on the bullet from her parent's skulls, noted in the FBI autopsy report. What if the bullet in the pilot's skull matched up?
He was on the phone to Albert as they drove away from the hospital, filling in Cathy as they hurried to the hotel, getting ready to pack if they needed to fly to Dallas to talk to the investigators directly. Local law enforcement wouldn't know about the possible connection to the killings in South Texas.
“Isn't that to our advantage?” Cathy asked him as he packed in a hurry, filling his carry on with two sets of clothes, one formal, one military, since he lived in both worlds now, full time.
“Yeah, keeps us in the driver's seat, maybe I should have Albert make the trip or use someone local, give me a second.” He called up, passing the information which Albert agreed should be kept as contained as possible. It was horsetrading material, something they could use to pry more information out of the FBI, which had not shared anything about Missange's previous life and why they were hiding the family. As powerful as his new boss was, his influence stopped at the FBI's front door, the only one barred to them.
Albert had connections in Big D. A trip wasn't needed, they'd get everything the local detectives and crime labs generated, with a small request they speed up the testing on the bullet, disguised as a local police request about a probable murder a year ago, using the same M.O. except the victim's car drove off a cliff, ending in a fireball at the bottom.
“Albert, are you making that up?” He didn't say but it might be a sign of the quiet man's ability to search through computer databases to find what he needed.
“Do you want to know?” It was a bit rebellious and the commander in Jabo nearly rose to the challenge offered, but Albert was outside his chain of command and knew it. “You're new to this, doing stuff that doesn't let you shoot someone. This is what I do, I shoot with information and plausible explanations, like a barrage of words that make sense and have levels of truth – verbal artillery. Let me run my shop, give me instructions or general directions and I'll get it done.”
“Albert, you're going to work for me after this is all over, right?” The immediate shift in Jabo's attitude caught the cocky man off guard, bringing on a slow look of respect for Jabo's ability to absorb information then act on it. He was everything his boss had described, a true leader who worked with light speed in his daily life, a rogue knight in the age of electronics and the internet. Decisions didn't plague him, nor did consequences.
“If you want,” exposing some dissatisfaction with his boss and the vague world of high strategy and back biting that defined the higher levels of government in the spook realm. He'd missed being at the point of the spear in his previous life, as a lead investigator for the FBI then for a secret Congressional subcommittee that probed the military, looking for corruption, keeping a lid on programs that got too close to their civilian suppliers, becoming fountains of money that did nothing but make everyone richer without producing a weapon. That's how he got his current job with his boss, the so called Mr. Brooks, what the British called a Minister without Portfolio, a floater and fixer at the highest level.
They'd been tasked to create a standing operational action group, whatever that was. Government documents were written to hide as much as expose what was meant. Generally, the economy and the ever growing amounts of money available through stock offerings and giant, often unsecured loans, produced companies led by unscrupulous or over zealous leaders, doing what they wanted, skirting the law or buying the curious off, using Congressional influence to cover up what otherwise popped up, buying politicians with large campaign contributions. They even had laws passed to make what questionable or downright illegal actions legitimate, after the act! It wasn't a national threat unless the company wandered into an area that could change the rules everybody played by, the ones even a large, well financed, corrupt corporation had to follow. For someone like Jabo it would be like working in a sewer.
Albert had wanted to tell Jabo he and Brooks were there, not only to get Jabo to continue in the military, a convenient funding and authority base they could use in their black operation, using him to 'fix things' both inside and outside the United States. The fact Jabo's grandparents had been killed at the orders of a corporation that acted like it was a power unto itself had become a test case, of Jabo and the unit. His suitability needed to be measured and so far he was better than expected.
Inside, as a key part of Jabo's investigative cadre, Albert was perfectly positioned to help out as well as keep his boss informed of progress made. Used to playing both sides, using people to get his desired result, Albert's own sense of fair play was regularly trashed. That was his moral burden and one he bore, silently for now.
Brooks had incredible sources who'd found various interlocked companies performing specific tasks, integrated off shore, by people and forces unknown. It all seemed to point to the unknown company Missange had worked for. It could be Russians or the Chinese, or people with too much money and a sense of entitlement that gave them the right to make their own rules. By joining himself to Jabo, as a team member and apparent subor
dinate, he was putting himself at risk. They'd already lost one investigator, a close friend of his that had died when he'd accidentally backed into a airplane propeller, that had raised doubts with him but nobody else. Shit happens, but it was too convenient, right when he'd started getting results, tracing out the connections between the companies and the myriad financial and corporate structures behind them, linking them together, ready to reveal who was behind it.
That's why they needed Jabo, a field operative, known for his brilliance and ability to think outside the box. He was lethal as well, a one man swat team, completely under their control – they hoped. He worked fast, made his own rules so he could win in any situation. A warrior, which meant he could kill when needed, their unknown entity would discover they had a new adversary who wasn't as easy to eliminate as the young girl's parents or the Border patrolmen stationed in an isolated outpost in the desert. They'd grabbed the tail of a tiger named Jabo.
“Good, get me all the information you can on that pilot, what he did in the past, see if there's anything shady that would make his death easier to link up with our killer and others who are part of this.”
It was far too general to be useful for Albert, but it worked as a directive, one he'd already implemented. 'You aren't the only smart guy, Jabo' went through Albert's mind.
“I'll manage that so you don't have to fly to Dallas. The real investigation is here, the girl's family and their previous life, as well as the crime scene at the checkpoint.” He was tossing things in front of Jabo, teaching him how to be an investigator as well as a soldier and leader. Time to see how long it would take him to learn his former job, if he could generate clues and form his own investigative plan – put it all together.
“Right,” this was all new to Jabo, confusing and out of his area of expertise and experience, though dealing with incomplete intelligence was normal before an Op. It had to be done, so he'd do it and win, like he always did. Boo Rah!
Cathy pulled him aside when Albert excused himself, to manage the flow of information from Dallas as well as keeping his boss, Brooks, in the loop. Jabo would get outstanding marks from Albert. The former FBI agent still didn't understand how rapidly Jabo was adapting and learning to put things together, making a plan and now a team to execute it. In the old days, if he was a freebooter in the sixteenth century, he'd assemble an army of mercenaries and fighters in a few weeks to lead them off for death or glory.
“Yes?” his inquisitive tone when Cathy's eyes asked what she could do came out too harsh for a woman who'd given herself to him and his mission at the moment, finding the people behind his grandparent's killing. “Sorry,” he checked her face, saw she understood but expected better, more self awareness and control in this different kind of battlefield, where his wife would stand beside him, even help.
“We can talk about it later, no big deal right now,” she smiled, a little tense, then went on, “that man Anna mentioned, who might know more...” she jogged his powerful memory, her personal google.
“Starwalker, right, so?” he waited, feeling behind everyone else, which had never happened before, always being the one who thought things out at light speed and found a way. They seemed to picking out a pattern he couldn't see.
“He's down at the border station, part of their investigative team...” She knew he'd want to take the lead, make the decisions and was happy she'd take the initiative to find out where he was.
“Let's go, good idea, talk face to face, right?” there really wasn't more to say. It was a good idea and one he hadn't come up with, showing his self control and lack of ego, one of his greatest strengths. They'd gone over everything and were at a standstill. The only real clue was the girl's burned up blue socks with the swirling logo. It could be something her mother bought from the sale bin, old Christmas stuff – a waste of time.
They walked out of the room, telling the guard outside the door they were leaving and to burn anything they'd left behind, to keep prying eyes out of their activities. The more he worked this case, the less he trusted anyone, including Albert, who was a little too helpful – eager to be on his team. There'd been men like that in his unit, the rare wannabes added to a mission, people who simply wanted to go along, into the field, get their boots dirty, maybe earn a medal or a promotion. Nearly all were not Special Forces qualified, specialists in other things or people with pull, enough to put them somewhere they had no right being. His rule was they pull their weight, keep up, or they were left behind... Albert wasn't a glory hound or wanting a nice piece of paper in his folder, to ease along his career, but he felt like one of those guys. Jabo would have to watch him, monitor his actions, make sure he wasn't becoming a liability.
Fuck, why couldn't he trust people, like he did in the teams? Looking back, his time in the elite forces, out in the shit, seemed pristine and idealistic, compared to Albert's world where nothing was what it seemed and nobody played fair. Combat is hell but at least it's honest, hard work. If you and your men survive and finish the job you did good.
As they got in the car and hurried toward the front gate of the base Cathy was looking out at the flight line, looking over the many helicopters staged along the flight line as one wound up and lifted off – part of the constant training that went on this huge armored base. There were many square miles of desert territory to drive around their tanks and other vehicles, fighting simulated battles to keep the troops sharp and ready to be deployed.
“It'll take forever to get there by car, can we request a helicopter?” She asked, watching another blackhawk pull up and tilt forward, speeding off.
Jabo pulled over as they neared the gate that would take them off base and on their way to the crime scenes, south of Alpine, nearly 250 miles away. Even at the high interstate speed they could cruise at, nearly eighty MPH, it would take over three hours, leaving them tired when they got there and even more tired when they drove back.
“Helicopters? Geesh Colonel,” the sergeant they'd stopped was clearly intimidated by his rank. He'd been walking out of the hangar sporting a Maintenance company logo, one of the civilian and military joint enterprises that kept prices low while giving competent technicians good paying jobs when their service was over. It worked for everybody.
“I want to borrow one, with a pilot, and not step on anyone's toes or mess with readiness training, so what would you suggest?” Cathy gave him a beaming smile which seemed to ease his worries he was being set up. Jabo rolled his eyes when he saw his wife turn on the charm, but heck, it worked.
“I could show you I guess, the Texas Guard guys are sort of out in their own area, about three miles from here, if you've never been there it would take forever to tell you how to find it. They're only busy on the weekends.”
“Hop in,” Cathy smiled at him and he let her take the lead on this, her idea. It was another chance to see how she operated, as a subordinate and leader in her own right.
Their passenger gave directions and it was clear they'd have never found it without him. Luckily there was a base bus that cycled by the remote helicopter base, and Jabo was happy to cut it off when it pulled out after the man told him who to ask for. The bus driver, a soldier with a single stripe pulled off immediately when he saw the flash of Jabo's silver leaf, denoting his rank. Being a colonel was more fun than wearing a single silver bar, that was sure.
“You remind me of that scene in Patton, when he directs traffic, all those tanks and the mud.” Cathy grinned as he got back in the back seat of their staff car, patting his leg then letting her hand slide up to pat his crotch possessively. He'd finally found a woman as horny as he was, 24/7. There is a god.
“Colonel,” the startled commander snapped a salute Rabo returned smartly. “Major Ketchum. How can the Texas National Guard help you?”
When he'd explained he needed a helicopter for the day and didn't have any paperwork to validate his request the Major had looked at him, then down at his salad, seeing the combat badge, a blue rifle that meant you'd been the
re, along with the Silver Star. Whoever he was, the man in front of him, as young as he was, had paid his dues.
It was obvious he was too young to be a light Colonel, four or five years younger than him and he'd risen as quickly as possible in his little world in the Guard where rank was given out faster than the more rigid regular army. Yet his heft and the cocky assurance said he wasn't a spook. They were known to imitate officers if they thought it would help them, it left only one answer. There was an unspoken rule that spooks faking Army rank could award themselves anything but the Congressional Medal of Honor, the DSC and the CIB, the blue rifle Jabo wore above his impressive though shallow rows of medals, an indication he'd seen the elephant and lived. That quick analysis said this guy was a real operator who'd earned his rank. Someone with a lot of pull trusted him, enough to punch his ticket for light Colonel. That made it easier for Major Ketchum to trust him as well.
But it would still need to be kept on the down low. Off the books travel was always dicey, since DOD and the State of Texas already thought people in the Guard, including those stationed on the base who depended on it's logistical assistance, weren't serious soldiers, using helicopters and the tanks of another unit, an Armored training Battalion, as toys. They were both part of the 36th Division, one that went back to the big one, WW2. Anyone with a flippant attitude didn't last long in his small command, but try to tell that to the 'real' Army guys next door.
“You need Sargent Ball,” Jabo looked at the Major with a half smile, assuming it was his nickname while Cathy worked to keep a straight face. Hey dear, you asked to play with the big boys. This is how we talk with each other, so put up or...
“Right, Ball, where is he?” as he said it he felt like a guy being set up by his drunken friends, the newbie sent out to get a tool that didn't exist, sporting a suggestive name, like a 'big bore reamer' or a 'crack snake'.
Hell To Pay Page 17
