Patriots Betrayed

by John Grit

  His movement caught her eye. “You better put your boots on,” she warned. “The rattlers are crawling this morning.”

  He rubbed sleep from his eyes. “I got my pants and my pistol, so I’m okay.” He watched his step, looking not so much for snakes but objects that could puncture his bare feet, as he moved closer to the fire and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  She forked the rest of the eggs onto another plate. “Better eat fast, because by noon I’m going to be in a shower. If not, I’m deserting this outfit.”

  He sipped from the cup. “Okay. But I want to do a recon sometime before dark today. We need to move fast before Janowski hops on his jet and heads back to Russia.”

  She washed down a mouth full of eggs with a steaming sip of coffee. “You’ll just chase after him there, or anywhere else in the world he flees to.”

  Raylan appeared determined. “I plan to kill him before he leaves Florida.”

  She wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Might be my bullet that does the job.”

  “As long as he’s sent to hell where he belongs.”

  “Do you believe that BS we heard on the radio last night?”

  Raylan thought for a second. “I kind of halfway believe it. I have a feeling the prez and the acting Director want us to kill Janowski. Probably even the Director of National Intelligence would be happy to see Janowski dead, ditto Homeland Security. It would be doing Riley a favor by dead-ending another trail that leads to him and Dulling. Calling the cops off just makes it easier for us.” The expression on his face changed. “Of course those taking money to look the other way won’t like it. Janowski is a money tree for the corrupt.”

  Carla nodded. “Yeah. Then they’ll finish us and dead-end another trail. Riley is certainly trying to clean up his image since he shot Dulling. Who knows, he may get by with the whole damn thing. You don’t get to be president if you’re a complete fool.”

  Raylan started to speak, but she cut him off.

  “I didn’t say a person had to be perfect and not have any faults, just that you can’t be a total fool and claw your way up so high in life.”

  “You’re probably right,” Raylan said. “I think you’d agree, though, that the lowest assholes you were ever unlucky enough to run into are often at the highest station in life.”

  She laughed. “Yep.”

  ~~~

  Trey and his wife Abigail, his friend Linder, and several other friends sat around the dining table in the safe house, wondering whether to believe what they had been told.

  “This is supposed to be straight from the president,” Linder said. “From what I’ve been told, he thinks Dulling had you and your family killed. Supposedly he confronted Dulling in the Oval Office about it and Dulling went nuts and stabbed him with a letter opener that was lying on his desk.”

  Abigail snorted. “If you believe that…”

  “I do,” Trey blurted. “It all makes sense, and it’s certainly possible it could have happened that way.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “What was the president doing with a gun in the White House with all the protection he has?”

  Trey came back with “Good thing he had it.” He turned his attention to Linder. “What do you think?”

  Linder put his beer down. “I’m not exactly plugged into the intelligence community that well, but my sources say no one has been hunting you since shortly after Dulling was killed. Also, they’ve laid off those two ex-spooks. No one is actively hunting them anymore, either. I think that carries more weight than Riley’s word.”

  “Hidden motives,” Abigail muttered. She spoke up louder. “Admit it, you have no idea what the president’s up to.”

  “Do you want to live like this forever?” Trey asked his wife. “Hiding like we were criminals? What about the children’s education? We can’t even send them to school. We can’t work and earn a living. How long can we live on these good people’s charity?”

  She lowered her head. “Just go slow and careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Trey and Linder spoke in unison. “I agree.”

  Linder kept his voice low and calm. “Yes, we’ll feel this out and go slow. A message sent through two or three parties to distance you from the message as much as possible, all people I trust with my life, won’t endanger you.” He thought for a moment. “After we decide to – if we decide to trust Riley, we’ll notify reporters that you’re still alive and you’ve been hiding out since an attempt on your life, and we’ll explain that the president has guaranteed your safety.”

  Trey crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “He can always make it look like a street crime, and he can always have it done later. A year from now, if he wants.”

  “Yep. They can make it look like an accident or a suicide, if they want,” Linder added. “It all hinges on whether we can trust Riley, now that Dulling’s gone. The reporters won’t swallow Riley’s hook so easily after all that’s happened and after Riley comes out and publically guarantees your safety, so he knows your health is important to his future. If something happens to you now, he’s not going to be able to explain it away so easily. In fact, that’s probably why he and Dulling had it out. I mean, if he thought Dulling had you killed, he would’ve been afraid it was going to all come back to him, so he took Dulling out and comes up with a cover story. If we can, we’ll have him go on national TV and ask you to come out of hiding. That’ll pretty much end any chance of him having you killed.”

  “Well, do what you can,” Trey said. “I really appreciate your help.”

  Abigail nodded, her chin quivering. “Yes. God bless you and all of Trey’s friends for your help.”

  “We veterans stick together.” Linder checked his watch and stood. “I’ve got to contact a couple people. We’ll know in a few days, a week, at the most.”

  ~~~

  Jayden Becker relaxed in his CIA office chair. The Mitch Swanson killing had taken care of itself, thanks to Raylan and Carla, so that was out of the way. The interrogation and prosecution of the quack doctor was not his responsibility, and he was happy to be rid of the whole matter. Mitch’s funeral was pure hell. Seeing his wife and kids in such pain and knowing how Mitch died conjured up a daydream of spending ten minutes alone with the bastard, but it wasn’t worth ruining his life over, and had only been a fleeting thought. Ramirez would pay dearly enough anyway, and it was all legal.

  The ass-covering reports to Kelly Fosilliow had been reduced to two a day. His worries of violating a taboo that hadn’t even existed only a month or so before, but had recently emerged from the president’s fertile mind unseen and waiting to trip him up and ruin his career, not to mention land him in prison, had lessened enough he was sleeping three or four hours a night again. Maybe someday he might even sleep six hours a night. The lingering filth of serving under Dulling would most likely never fade, though, and that worried him as much as anything else.

  The phone on his desk came to life. Becker answered it.

  Kelly Fosilliow was on the line. “Jayden, something’s come up. Can you be in my office, like five minutes ago?”

  Becker’s office suddenly became too hot for comfort. “I’m on my way.” The trip down the hall gave him a little time to force himself to calm down. Whatever it was, he could handle it, he told himself. Just cover your ass and get any kinky shit he orders me to do in writing.

  When Becker entered Fosilliow’s office, the first thing he noticed was he had the computer screen on his desk turned so it could be seen from the front.

  Fosilliow pointed to the computer monitor. “Sit down and read the message.”

  The email had the Presidential Seal blaring at him. He swallowed, and wondered what kind of trouble he was in. The message was to the point.

  It has come to my attention that the late Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, James Dulling, ordered the assassination of National Security Council threat assessment analyst Trey Kraust and the first attempt was foiled by friends of Mr. Kraust.
Since that day, Mr. Kraust and his family have been in hiding. In the interest of national security, justice for Mr. Kraust and his safety, not to mention my own personal friendship with the man, I ask that the full weight of the Central Intelligence Agency be brought to bear and that Mr. Kraust and his family be located and thereafter they be protected from all dangers until they can be brought under the protection of the Secret Service. I want my friend Trey Kraust to be allowed to return to his life and work at the National Security Council.

  Fosilliow studied Becker’s reaction.

  Becker loosened his tie. “Okay. I read it. What do you want me to do?”

  “First I want the truth. You’re not in any trouble – unless you lie.” His face became even more unreadable, if that were possible. “What do you know about the Kraust sanction?”

  “That was not my people. Dulling always used the best we had for his sanctions, and that’s not my people at all. My people are mostly analysts, not field operatives and certainly not top tier operatives, and you know it.”

  Fosilliow’s stare became colder. “I’ll ask once more. What do you know about the Kraust sanction?”

  “Only rumors. I had no direct involvement and as far as I know, neither did any of those under me.”

  Fosilliow tilted his head and leaned forward. “You should know everything about those under you; it’s your job! I certainly know everything about those under me.”

  The implication of his words was not lost on Becker, who began to sweat through his shirt. There was silence for several seconds, then Becker came back with, “I don’t see how that’s possible, if need-to-know and departmentalization procedures are followed.”

  Fosilliow grunted. “That works from the bottom up, not the top down. Your underlings are not supposed to know what you’re doing unless they’re directly involved in helping you do it. But a supervisor is supposed to know everything his subordinates are doing under his direction. Acting Director Ottoman sent me the president’s email because he wanted me to act on it. I just let you see the president’s email because I’m about to give you the task of carrying out the president’s wishes. That’s how it works, Jayden! And you know it. Stop playing dumb. I need your help here.”

  “I’m more than happy to help, but now I’m more confused than ever. Just tell me what the hell you want.”

  Fosilliow threw his hands up in frustration. “I told you what I want way back when I said, ‘first I want the truth.’ Before I get that out of you, there’s no point in going any further.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Becker said. “What the hell truth do you want from me?”

  Fosilliow lobbed a name in Becker’s lap like a live grenade. “Ken Linder. I want you to tell me about him.”

  Becker turned green, and it suddenly seemed there was no oxygen in the office. His pulse raced. He slumped in his chair, deflated and defeated.

  “Yes. I know you’ve been in contact with a man by the name of Ken Linder. An ex-Special Forces veteran of several conflicts, who is now active in the veterans lobby. A good man by all accounts.”

  “I have not betrayed my country!” Becker nearly screamed, spittle from his lips flecking his shirt.

  “Calm down. No one said you did.”

  “Not a single word of classified information came from me to Linder or anyone else. Information always came from him to me.”

  “We’re going to put you on the box in a few minutes, but first you’ve got to settle down if the damn thing’s going to give us a clear reading.” Fosilliow referred to a polygraph exam, otherwise known as a lie detector.

  Becker pulled a handkerchief from a rear pants pocket and wiped his face. “I will certainly need some time to get over the shit you just pulled on me.”

  “All you had to do was tell the truth, and if you’ve done nothing wrong, as you claim, all will be well.”

  Becker spent the next thirty minutes explaining how he knew Ken Linder because he met him at his nephew’s funeral several years before. His nephew, a fresh-faced soldier not long out of high school, had died fighting in Afghanistan at the age of twenty, and Linder had been very supportive, in fact had been a sturdy pillar for the entire family to lean on.

  A few weeks back, Linder contacted him about Trey Kraust, claiming to be looking for him and worried that something had happened to him and his family. At first he felt bad about the situation Trey’s friends were in, being in the dark and not knowing what had happened to him, but he could tell them little. As time went on and Ken Linder had called many times, asking more and more questions that he couldn’t answer, he began to realize that Linder was playing him and knew very well where Trey was. In response, Becker hinted that things had changed and Trey was no longer in danger. As conversations compiled and the two began to understand what each other wanted and what the other man was willing to reveal and not reveal, they continued on with a verbal dance, and Linder had conveyed to him that Trey was thinking of coming out of hiding but needed something from the president himself, guaranteeing his safety. At no time, though, was any information at all conveyed to Linder.

  “Okay,” Fosilliow said. “If the box says you’re telling the truth, I’ll want you to deliver a message from the president to your friend Mr. Linder. Just maybe Mr. Kraust and family will soon be going home.”

  Chapter 18

  Raylan and Carla endured the clusters of slow traffic. Everyone it seemed had decided to go to the beach on this Saturday.

  “We picked the wrong day for this,” Carla complained.

  Raylan had his mind on how to kill Janowski and not the traffic. He used the time to think. “With the beach so crowded, Janowski’s guards will not be able to bully everyone off the stretch of beach behind the mansion and we’ll be able to get close for a look-see unnoticed.”

  “The company will be expecting us; they’ll notice.” Carla eyed a suspicious black SUV with tinted windows stuck in traffic in the next lane.

  Raylan saw the SUV, too, but had caught a glimpse of the driver and ruled him out as a threat, because he was too old to be a CIA operative. “Am I alone on this?”

  Carla jerked her head and gave him a cold look. “Hell no. I’m with you all the way. You don’t think much of me as a friend, do you? How dare you ask that!”

  “I thought we were way past being just friends, but that wasn’t the question. It’s me he wants for killing his son. You’re in danger only because you’re with me. So I asked because this isn’t your fight. It makes sense to me, but for some reason you don’t think so.”

  She seemed taken aback. “Ah. No, it doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. You think I’d be willing to go off somewhere and wait this out and let you do it alone?”

  He eased up on the brake and let the van inch forward in the traffic jam. “I don’t have a choice; you do. He’ll keep coming after me until one of us is dead. You can just distance yourself from me and he’ll leave you alone. Thus the whole reason for this conversation.”

  “This conversation is bullshit. We’re going to do this together, so shut up about it.”

  He hit the gas. “The traffic’s letting up a little. Maybe we’ll get there before tomorrow.”

  ~~~

  Raylan ambled along the beach, pretending to be interested in the young women wearing almost nothing and surreptitiously took photos of Janowski’s mansion with a small digital camera. He counted at least ten guards on duty, all fully alert. He decided that meant there were probably twice that many on duty, since he couldn’t see all sides of the compound at his position, and there would be more inside the house. Three shifts a day meant there were probably more than four dozen, perhaps sixty men guarding Janowski. An amazing amount of firepower and security, especially since Janowski had killer teams hunting for him and Carla on top of the guards at the mansion. He smiled and saw the weak spot in all the expensive armor. Turning to the ocean, he imagined himself out there on a dark night emerging from the surf in scuba gear and armed with his M4, lying on the beac
h at water’s edge, taking aim at Janowski when he decided to go for a swim in his pool or lounge on the upper balcony. It would be an easy shot.

  Carla’s voice in the miniature earphone snatched him back to the present. “One of Janowski’s thugs heading your way. I think he saw the camera.” A few seconds later her voice came back. “Now there’s two – no, three, heading your way. They look like they mean business. Drift over my way, so I can back you. There’s too many people between us for me to be of help.”

  Two college-age girls jogged by, way too young for Raylan, but playing the dirty old man, he ran after them, smiling, pretending to eye their butts as they swayed.

  After fifty yards, one of the girls glanced back and noticed him. She glared and said something to her friend, who also gave him the go away look.

  Raylan almost laughed at his feeling dirty and turned to his left and ran all-out, putting more distance between him and the oversized body guards, who were huffing and soaked with sweat in the summer heat.

  From a distance, Carla kept watch, her MP5 slung hidden under a light jacket and ready. Communicating through the throat mikes, she said, “You’ve lost the thugs. They’re back a hundred yards behind you, bent over huffing and looking like they’re about to fall over from heat stroke.”

  Raylan ran past her, without altering his gait or looking her way. “Let’s go,” he said, as he ran by.

  In the van, Raylan wiped his face with a towel and turned the air wide open. “He’s got a damn army protecting him.”

  “I could have told you that,” Carla said. “He’s expecting us.”

  “I’m hungry.” Raylan threw the towel in the back. “Let’s get something.”

  Carla put her submachine gun on the floorboard and covered it with her now sweat-soaked jacket. “It’s nice not being hunted by the police, isn’t it?”

  Raylan nodded as he pulled out onto the street. “I didn’t believe the news reports at first, but I’m now certain the cops aren’t hunting us anymore.”