“He may be our man.”
“Are you kidding me? Just because he was at the scene of an IED incident? Then a bomb factory? To be honest, one probably led to the other. We are in Europe remember, there are not that many EOD Techs to go around in the first place. The fact that a guy shows up on two incidents that may or may not be related does not make him a suspect.”
“May be related?”
“We do not know for sure. I’ve not put eyes on in Tirane yet. I’ll have more information after we get forensics back.”
“What do you think?”
“Without seeing the place my gut tells me the bomb that got SECSTATE and De Luca were made in this factory. At the very least the guys that made the device in Rome are connected to the guys in Albania. And by the way, the only way we connected them so quickly was because of Jascinski. Until he saw the factory, OSI thought it belonged to a local Albanian Mafia group.”
Pucharelli paused to let that sink in.
Elena kicked her heels off and sat back in her chair. She tapped her pen on her lips thinking.
“Still think he is your man?”
“Maybe not, but I’m still curious. How did he find out about the factory? Did he ask questions, or was it shown to him?”
A heavy sigh was audible through the receiver.
“I see what you are driving at. Did he inquire about it? To be honest, I don’t know. I will ask the OSI guy, Henderson. Listen, Cruz, I know you want to look at everything, but I think you’re grasping at straws.”
“Noted. Ask OSI and get back to me please,” she said.
“You got it.”
The last of her emails were now deleted. Elena sipped her coffee again and looked at the second report from the Kilkenney’s surveillance team. It was sealed in an envelope. Elena did not have to open it; she already knew that it said nothing of importance. Melanie Jascinski and her children were not among her suspects. The wife would undoubtedly know if her husband was involved in something sinister, but she would likely never tell.
Still, it was possible that a phone call, an email, or a visitor related to the events surrounding his investigation would show up.
The important thing was that now she felt better, she felt like she was doing something and was able to focus. More importantly she no longer struggled with any guilt around the fact that there was a monitoring post tracking the Jascinskis. In fact she was sleeping better at night.
Just as Frances said, she told herself. If it reveals nothing, nobody gets hurt.
So Lieutenant James J. Jascinski no longer distracted Special Agent Elena Cruz and she was able to think about other aspects of the case. From this morning her new tactic was reviewing as much information as possible from Pucharelli’s case in Rome and the incident in Albania. She would start by looking at the photos and the report of OSI on the magazines in Tirane.
Out of habit and without speaking, the two men sat on the floor. This brought them an old familiar feeling. It was solidified by a pot of hot tea.
Nasih looked at his friend and wondered if he aged as much. They certainly came a long way in twenty years.
They moved around the world, struggling for their beliefs. They were no less passionate now than a decade before, but their speed was measured. There were few of their era left. Many had died in Libya, Lebanon, Sudan, Somalia, Afghanistan, and now the Balkans.
“Here are the photos,” said Ayman laying them out on the floor.
Two mugs of hot tea were consumed before another word was spoken.
“Who are these men?”
“The soldiers are engineers or disposaleers. The civilian in the vest is CIA, FBI, or maybe OSI. We are not sure. He seemed to be in charge of their inquiry.”
“Ah, and the men in the second set of photographs?”
“Soldiers, the same ones from before I think.”
“Look closely my friend. These men are outfitted differently. The weapons have collapsible stocks. That is a telltale sign of U.S. Special Forces. Look at their hats; those men are Marines or U.S. Navy. Many of the helicopters we have seen are U.S. Navy. Guido even had a few flights in one of them.”
“Well then they must be sailors, but I do not see the significance.”
“I do. In fact, I see much significance.”
How ironic, he thought.
Ayman gave his friend a look. Nasih was much wiser than he and he admired that.
“Meet me here in two days. Then we will talk of this again.”
Two days later they met in the same room and again shared a meal. Nasih provided his plan to Ayman. It was carried out that night.
The whole attack was over before any anyone was able to react. Upon hearing the report of what happened, Nasih was extremely pleased. It was clear by the performance of the man who was both his subordinate and friend that he had not lost his touch.
As expected, a little plastic explosive on the lock and the door opened easily. Most of the soldiers at the airport did not hear the report of the lock coming apart. Those that did looked in the direction of the sound. When another did not follow it immediately, they assumed it was a car backfiring or an accidental weapons discharge.
Only the guards at the entrance to the magazine road reacted. The senior of the two, a corporal, saved both their lives by taking a moment to radio the compound for assistance. In the time it took to wake up someone with the authority to send out EOD and reinforcements to investigate, the door was opened and quickly the contents of three satchels of explosives were delicately and precisely placed in the factory.
Everyone at Tirane International Airport, civilians and military alike, woke at the second detonation.
Ayman walked back toward the camp. By the time he reached the flightline, hundreds of people were awake and looking toward the magazines. His greatest concern was that some young soldier, still half asleep would accidentally snap a round off at him.
Nobody noticed as he stepped over his moped, turned it over, and drove away.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Suspects
Ironhorse was among the first to arrive. He parked the HUMMER, pointing the headlights at the front of the magazine to illuminate the scene.
“Fuck. Johnny, get on the horn and tell the bubbas back at the compound we gotta do this one by the numbers.”
“How come, Benny?”
“Look at the door. If this were an accident, it would be bent or blown off its hinges. It was opened. See where the lock was? It is charred black. Somebody busted in there. The place could be booby trapped again.”
Four hours later Benny, fully dressed in a bomb suit, emerged from the magazine. Henderson and his OIC were waiting down the road behind Benny’s vehicle. As he walked toward them he took off the helmet and started slipping off the Kevlar bib.
“Anything left?” asked Henderson.
“Nothing, sir,” replied Benny.
“Nothing at all?” repeated his captain incredulously. “Not even some snotted plastic explosive?”
“No, sir. They knew exactly what they were doing. It’s all gone.”
“Well, I’ll send my forensics team in now to collect evidence.”
“You don’t understand,” said Benny. “There ain’t no evidence to be had in there.”
A forensics team arrived twelve hours later from Rome. They brought twelve men, all in blue coveralls, boots, and dark blue jackets that read “FBI AGENT” in bright yellow on the back.
Pucharelli directed them through the task. Ironhorse’s notion was correct, so their work was short and simple. They took a lot of photos and tried to find traces of chemical residue or fingerprints. While his team cleaned and stowed their equipment, Pucharelli stood outside the magazine and dialed a number on his satellite phone.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, San Antonio Office, Agent Cruz speaking, may I help you?”
“Very formal. I like that.”
“Pooch?”
“Yep. Is this a secure line?”
“Y
es it is.”
“Well, then guess where I am, Elena.”
“Uh, Albania?”
“Yes. I’m actually here ahead of schedule. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“We had a detonation here last night. Everything is destroyed.”
It took a moment for the full implication of what he said to sink in with Elena.
“Everything?”
“I’m here with a forensics team. We are looking for fingerprints and chemical residue.”
“Damn it!”
“I talked with the OSI guy. Guess what he said? Jascinski was a troublemaker. He remembered him well. The guy said that Jascinski fucked up on a couple of missions. Seems he was in charge of security and allowed the birds to land in some hostile situations.”
“Holy shit, I cannot believe this is really happening. Do you realize where we are going with this?”
“I know precisely where we are going. We gotta bring him in, Elena, but I don’t know how to get him away from the Navy.”
“I do. In fact this will be perfect. He reported this stuff to OSI. Now it is gone. He is the only reliable material witness. We utilized him before on the San Patricio job; we’ll use him on this one. We must formally request that Lieutenant Jascinski and Petty Officer Ball be flown to TECHDIV to help us with our investigation. They will be questioned in an effort to link these three cases; San Pat, SECSTATE, and Albania.”
“I like it.”
“It will be like music. If he is involved, eventually this guy will screw up and reveal something to us. Then he becomes a true suspect. If this is just a coincidence, he will be an expert witness.”
“Brilliant.”
“I’ll send out the request for them today. I suggest you pack your bags for DC. I’ll see you there in...”
“Two days. I can be there in two days.”
“Fine. See you then.”
Elena felt flushed as she put the phone down.
The birds woke him. He lay with his eyes closed and listened. Gabriel imagined that they were talking to each other about him.
He opened his eyes and looked at his watch. It was just 6:00 am, yet he felt completely rested. In his childhood he always had the most restful nights of sleep while camping. Gabriel believed that it came from a primal sense of home.
A quick zip and he was out of his sleeping bag. He moved to the front of the tent and opened the small screen door. Outside were his boots. He put one foot, then the other out of the tent opening and covered each with a boot. Then he slid out and pulled his backpack out with him.
The burner and coffee were in the outer pouch on the left. While the water was heating he struck down his tent and folded it up.
It was his third day on the trail. If all went well, he would be sleeping in a no-tell motel by sundown.
The feds did not know where he was, Gabriel was now sure of that. Periodically as he walked, Gabriel would stop and move ten yards off the trail and hide. There he would sit for an hour or two to see if someone was following him. He listened for helicopters that may be trailing him. From time to time he observed other campers and hikers on the trail, but he never saw anyone twice.
Since he detected nothing Gabriel determined that if someone was following him now, they were military trained and he would never see them.
The next step was to move into a nondescript hotel, continue to grow out his beard, and wait some more. Hopefully his friends in Texas would be able to help him.
There would be time to think.
Each morning as he sipped his coffee he thought of Nasih. It was almost becoming his personal version of daily prayer. Moving to the woods was Nasih’s idea.
“Move to the land. Disappear in the desert or the forest. Following you then becomes a significant problem. Most governments of the world cannot mobilize the sophisticated means to follow you in such a short time.
“In the city everyone is potentially government, every camera is used against you. While on the land their logistics become difficult. You can physically hide while observing them as they follow you. Vehicles and aircraft are easily identified.
“The United States is a perfect environment for this. Slip between rural areas and the forest. If you are clean-shaven, grow a beard. If you have long hair, shave your scalp. It is easy to move in and out of society.”
The last sip of coffee was cold and filled with grounds. He poured it in the soil at his feet, and stuffed the mug into the top of his pack. Gabriel hefted it onto his back and started on the trail. He predicted to himself that he would not see anyone on the trail today.
All he needed now was a room with cable television, a place to hide out for a few days. If he were really lucky he would find one near a truck stop with an internet café.
Men at sea develop rituals. Some evolve from tradition like the zaniness of the Shellback initiation that occurs when crossing the line of the equator. Some men even develop rituals or a routine so that they can remember what time of day it is.
Jazz developed a ritual while onboard Anzio. Before each watch he would head aft in the passageway in officer’s country. He would emerge onto the aft missile deck and take in the seas, the horizon, and the sky.
The habit developed after two weeks of standing watch as an Anti-Air Warfare Coordinator in Anzio’s Combat Information Center. After he was relieved from watch, Jazz went to the wardroom. He was looking forward to a good breakfast. When he joined the mess, he realized that it was dinner. Lack of sleep, sunshine, and living watch to watch destroyed his sense of time. From that day forth he took a look outside on his way to CIC.
Denke and Jazz developed a Sunday evening ritual. They met on Inchon’s flight deck after dinner to discuss their plans for the rest of the week.
Every evening, several members of the crew jogged about the deck. Tonight, sailors from HM-15 were busy washing the last of the helos removing salt and grime from the sea and the dirt of Albania. Jazz watched rainbows of fuel oil in the pools of water on deck slosh back and forth as Inchon gently rocked to and fro in the swells of the Adriatic.
Denke emerged from the island superstructure on the starboard side of MCS-12.
“Evening, LT. What do we have planned for this week?”
“I’ve got some news, Senior Chief... news that I suspect will overjoy you.”
“What’s that?”
“T-Ball and I are leaving.”
Denke looked at Jazz quizzically.
“Apparently Cruz wants us back at TECHDIV. They want us to give them info on the magazines in Albania.”
“So why you? Why not Ironhorse and his boys?”
“Benny or one of the others may be coming too, but the Feds seem to think that the guys in Albania are related to the guys in Italy also.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No, if you think about it, this all makes sense. Now we got a group in Texas, a group in Italy, and one here in Albania that all are in cahoots. Frankly, it scares the shit outta me.”
“Damn it.”
“What?”
“I should have stayed in La Spezia.”
Now it was Jazz’s turn to look silently at Denke.
“Don’t ask, LT. So this means that I have the det short two guys. No problem, we are almost on the backside of the float anyway. You’re gonna miss Palma.”
“No kidding. I hope I am back by then.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. Will you send T-Ball up to see me? I’d like to tell him.”
“Sure, I’ll have him in your stateroom by nineteen thirty. And you know you’re right, LT.”
“About what?”
“I am overjoyed.”
Jazz couldn’t discern if Denke’s grin was portraying sarcasm or true happiness.
THIRTY-EIGHT
TECHDIV
Jazz and T-Ball flew on a CH-46 from Inchon to Sigonella. From there they flew commercial to Rome, Atlanta, and Baltimore. They both rented compact cars and headed s
outh on Route 3/301 to Waldorf, Maryland.
As soon as he got to his hotel room, Jazz called Melanie.
“Hello.”
“Hey, hon. I made it in to Waldorf okay.”
“Oh, thank God,” Melanie said with a quivering voice. “I feel better knowing that you are back on U.S. soil.”
The kids were in bed, so the couple talked for twenty minutes, planning their time off when Jazz returned. They decided that the best thing to do would be to take a road trip to see family and friends.
Finally Melanie said, “Jazz, I need to talk about something serious.”
“What, hon?”
He could hear trepidation in her voice.
“I’m thinking we need to get out.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yes.”
“Hon, are you alright?”
“I am alright, we are okay... but we have three kids now, Jazz. I don’t know if I can do this again.”
“Uh, I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything and don’t worry. I will be here when you finally get back. I just want you to think about it and be prepared to talk about it when you get back for good.”
“Uh, okay, hon.”
“I love you, Jazz.”
“I love you too.”
Jazz lay back on the bed after he hung up the phone and looked at the ceiling. He thought for a moment and realized that he was not surprised.
Four days after leaving Inchon Jazz sat at the same EODTECHDIV conference table from months before.
“Well, Lieutenant, this time your visit is tacitly different,” said Elena Cruz.
The veil in her words was not lost on her. She sat down on the corner of the table, crossed her legs and looked at Jazz and T-Ball. Each of them had a folder set in front of them. She realized that she had to proceed very cautiously. Elena purposely left her glasses on.
“Last time we needed information on the IEDs only. We still want that, and it will be part of our discussion. The focus this time is different. As you suggested, we now believe that there is a real possibility that the group in San Patricio, the terrorists in Rome, and the magazine in Albania are related.”
The pair was holding on to her every word. Elena reminded herself to keep Jascinski off balance, but not to flirt too much.
Proximity: A Novel of the Navy's Elite Bomb Squad Page 28
