Dark Heart

by James Phelan

Walker squeezed Agent Kingsley’s shoulder and there was an instant reaction—he stepped aside as Kingsley puked.

  “Oh man,” Acton said, looking at the result. “Not on the rug.”

  “Matt. Matt. Listen to me,” Walker said, slapping the Homeland agent’s face to get his attention. “You and your buddy here attempted to kill Muertos and me this morning. That was your first mistake. I know you’re squeamish—you two couldn’t bring yourselves to do it by hand, so you rigged the house to blow. That was your second mistake. You left the scene before making sure the job was done. Mistake three. Should I go on?”

  “That house blew, big,” Kingsley said. “How’d you—”

  “Forget the past, this is happening now,” Walker said. “Someone’s giving you instructions. Who ordered us dead?”

  Kingsley just stared at him.

  “It’s easy, Matt, talk to me,” Walker said. “One word after another. First and last name. Just two words.”

  Kingsley looked Walker steadily in the eye as he spoke. Two words. “Fuck you.”

  Walker smiled. “Look, bud. Your friend there? As soon as he wakes up, he’s gonna talk to us. You just know he will. He’ll talk because he’s been around longer than you and he knows the score on something like this—the first to talk gets preferential treatment. He gets in front of the legal storm that’s coming down, he gets the leniency when it comes to indictments and sentencing. This moment right here, right now, is your one and only opportunity to be the smarter one here—all because you’re the one who’s conscious right now. So, what’s it gonna be? Hmm?”

  Kingsley looked from Walker to Acton. There was worry in his eyes.

  “I didn’t kill anybody,” Kingsley said, “and I didn’t know anyone would get killed, I swear. I mean, apart from the house thing, with you. Look, my partner, he took care of the Syrian in the hospital. But that’s a good thing, right? That son of a bitch killed your friends, Overton and Bennet, right? I—I’ve had no choice in this—no choice—I’m just following orders, man. Please, you gotta believe that.”

  “Just following orders . . .” Walker repeated, unconvinced.

  “Yep,” Kingsley said. “That’s all. Doing as I’m told.”

  “Okay. Matt? We need a name,” Walker said. “Who’s giving you these orders?”

  Kingsley hesitated.

  “Come on,” Acton said, standing close to Walker. “You talk, you’ll be looked after. Tell us who’s calling the shots. Who gave Bahar the addresses and kill order on my colleagues?”

  Agent Kingsley was silent.

  “Who told you to clean up at the farmhouse?” Walker asked. “To get rid of Almasi and then Muertos and me? Tell me what we need to hear, and I can help you out. One-time offer, pal. Tick-tock.”

  Kingsley looked pale.

  “One-time offer . . .” Acton echoed Walker’s words. “I’d take it. Because your partner, old smoky here, when he wakes up? He’ll be smart enough to jump on it, and he’ll dive all the way in. Old timer like that, he knows. So, take the offer—talk to us. Give us a name.”

  Kingsley looked from Walker to Acton, then nodded. Walker eased the pressure on the guy’s shoulder.

  “Okay. Daniel Harvey. Okay?” Agent Matt Kingsley of Homeland Security said, and he looked down at the mess he’d made on the oriental rug. “Homeland Security Deputy Secretary Daniel Harvey. I helped out, right? Please—you guys gotta keep me safe.”

  •

  Muertos and Hayes got off the bus at Arlington, Virginia. Inside the Capital Beltway, originally a part of the capital district, handed back to Virginia before the civil war. Now the second largest city area of Washington—a good place for them to stop and take stock. They found a convenience store and bought a prepaid cell phone, which Hayes used to call her office; within seconds she’d ended the call and dialed another number.

  The voice answered and said, “This is Blake Acton.”

  “Acton!”

  “Hayes?”

  “Yes. Oh my God, I can’t believe it. You okay?”

  “It’s bad, Clair. They got Jim Bennet. Overton too.”

  “I know. We have to get these guys,” Hayes said.

  Acton said, “I’ve got two of them detained in my front room.”

  “I mean put them down,” Hayes responded. “Into the ground.”

  “Hayes . . . where are you?”

  “I’m at Arlington, just got off a bus. With a friend of Sally’s, Rachel Muertos. Is Walker with you?”

  “Yep,” Acton said. “Jump in a cab to my place. We’ll be waiting.”

  “On it.” Hayes ended the call, and then dialed for a cab.

  “Walker’s there with Acton?” Muertos asked when Hayes updated her.

  “Yep,” Hayes replied. “At Acton’s house. It’s not ten minutes by car.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Didn’t say,” Hayes said, looking at her companion. “Why?”

  “I just thought I’d be up against a dead end, in finding Walker again,” Muertos said, sadness in her voice. “It was Sally who got me his location before.”

  Hayes put an arm around Muertos. “Rachel, we’ll get every one of the sons of bitches behind this, I swear on everything that’s holy. Mark my words: whoever was behind the killing of Overton and Bennet will not see the inside of a prison cell. We look out for our family.”

  54

  “Deputy Secretary Daniel Harvey of Homeland Security,” Acton said to Walker, quietly, after having watched his wife and children head upstairs with snacks, off to play games, oblivious to what had unfolded behind the closed door of the lounge room but for the few thuds they’d heard through the floorboards. “He’s a big fish in this town.”

  “Know him?” Walker asked. They stood in the hallway, the door to the lounge room now open, keeping an eye on the two Homeland agents, the senior guy still unconscious, the guy with the bad back and wrecked shoulder still moaning. Acton had field stripped the Homeland weapons, laid the pieces on a side table, neat. Walker was going through their wallets and phones. They each had two phones.

  “Reputation only,” Acton said. “And those phones? The Blackberry is government issue.”

  “And the other ones are burners,” Walker said. Then he called out to Agent Kingsley: “Password to your burner phones?”

  “One-two-three-four,” Kingsley replied, his voice distant and dejected.

  “They didn’t even change the pre-set passwords,” Acton said.

  “They never figured they’d get caught,” Walker replied. With the screens unlocked he saw that each phone had only two numbers stored: Kingsley’s had PJ and DS. The other agent’s had Kingsley and DS. And Walker knew that the older agent’s name was Peter Jennings, because he’d just seen his ID. The call log in each burner phone had started yesterday, when this little clean-up operation was put into motion. DS was giving them orders. “Is DS for Deputy Secretary Harvey?”

  Walker looked at Kingsley and waited for a reply. When none seemed forthcoming, he repeated: “Matt. Matt. Look at me. That’s it. Who’s DS?”

  “Yeah, it’s DS Harvey,” Agent Kingsley replied. “He gave us the phones.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Huh?”

  “How many phones did he give out?”

  Matt hesitated, then said, “Five. Us two, two guys on the west coast, and his go-to man.”

  “Go-to man have a name?”

  “Krycek. And believe me, you don’t want to try getting a jump on him.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s the only piece Harvey’s got left on the board,” Walker said, then looked to Acton. “I took out the two west coasters yesterday.”

  Acton nodded, his expression distant.

  Walker watched Acton. “What about DS Harvey’s reputation do you know?”

  “He’s ex-Army,” Acton replied. “A big shot from West Point, pedigree going way back. He worked in the Ranger
s until he made Major, then went over to Intel, made full Colonel and in charge of Intel for CENTCOM out of Qatar.”

  “Military Intelligence?” Walker asked. He’d been to Central Command bases in Qatar several times, and had never heard of a Colonel Harvey—but the personnel there was close to fifteen thousand permanent forces, with a similar amount often rotating through.

  “Yep. The notion of Intelligence in the military always seemed an oxymoron if you ask me. Why you ask?”

  “The NSA has a big presence in Qatar. But if Harvey stayed in the Army, heading on-the-ground CENTCOM Intelligence, then you’re right—he’s a big deal. The Army’s Military Intelligence Corps is about the same size as the CIA.”

  “Well, as far as I know,” Acton said, “Harvey went civilian, some kind of specialist military liaison for the DEA, became a big deal in town, some huge busts of international drug syndicates that were funneling funds to al Qaeda and the Taliban.”

  “So, he was civilian,” Walker said. “Working for the Feds in the DEA, but still using all his military channels in and out of Afghanistan and the Middle East.”

  “Yep. That made him a poster-boy for what could be achieved when various government agencies worked in sync. He was poached by the then Vice President to be an integral part of the Homeland Security rollout in ’02 and ’03 as the chief military adviser, and to oversee the roll-out of synergy centers across the US—places where various agencies and the military and law enforcement all come together and share resources and information. He’s been there right from the start, then as Assistant Director of Immigration Customs Enforcement, and he’s now Deputy Secretary.”

  “That sounds like a political appointment.”

  “It is,” Acton said. “What’s that matter?”

  “Just as he’s transitioned from military to civilian in the form of going to HSA,” Walker said. “Now he’s the second in charge of Homeland. Next step is either heading Homeland, or jumping over that for a cabinet position, like Sec Def.”

  “Look, Walker, I don’t see the relevance of any of this,” Acton said. “If Harvey’s our guy, we gotta just pass this up the chain and have someone question him. This is so far beyond my pay grade, it’s lunacy to think you or I could touch him. As far as we know, he’s running a Homeland Security operation that we not only know nothing about—but we’re getting in the way of.”

  “I’m looking for his motivation,” Walker said. “You really think Overton and Bennet were threats to national security?”

  Acton was silent.

  “I worry that if Harvey is pivoting for a political position,” Walker said, “then why jeopardize that by taking the massive risks like this clean-up, and killing a couple of Secret Service agents? Could he be trying to bury a secret that would end his ambitions? People have killed for less, here, and all through time.”

  “I don’t know, Walker,” Acton said. “He’s a big fish. Doing this for ambition? I don’t buy that.”

  “I’ve seen, firsthand, governments rise and fall all over the world after a few well-placed assassinations. Look at what we did in Iran. In Libya. Iraq. Look what they do in China and Russia.”

  Walker looked at the Homeland agents in the front room. He started to think through possible scenarios to get to Harvey. To question the guy. Alone.

  Acton said to Walker, his tone hushed, “This woman, Rachel Muertos?”

  “Yeah?” Walker looked across to him.

  “How well do you know her?”

  “I’ve known her since yesterday. Why?”

  “What do you understand of her involvement in this?”

  “She’s tracking a people-smuggling outfit out of Syria, trying to find Almasi’s contact back here,” Walker said. “Something I also have an interest in.”

  “Right. I know nothing about that,” Acton said. “To me Almasi meant money-laundering, not people. Others at Homeland can worry about people-smuggling. What else do you know about Rachel Muertos?”

  Walker paused a beat, trying to read the look on Acton’s face for some kind of clue as to what he was getting at. “What’s that mean?”

  “I mean, what do you know about her husband?”

  “That he was State, and was killed while on duty.”

  “Right. Well, you need to know more.”

  55

  “Steve, her husband,” Acton said to Walker. “Did Rachel tell you he was Secret Service, once upon a time?”

  “No,” Walker said. “And Hayes didn’t mention that this morning.”

  “Hayes is a newbie; Steve was way before her time,” Acton said. “When Overton brought this to me, the favor to get access to the nano-tech trace we’ve been developing, and then the off-books surveillance? I gave her the okay without a second thought. I let her bring in Hayes and Bennet. It was meant to be twenty-four to forty-eight hours, tops, of us putting in our off-time to share the watch duties. I said okay because I knew Steve, and I like to think he’d have done the same if the situation were reversed.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “He was a quiet guy, but solid, and rose quickly in the Service, ended up running the Boston Field Office, then went through a change of life when he met Rachel.”

  “Change how?”

  “He barely survived a joint-taskforce raid on a group in Boston; it was a shoot-out, all the perps killed after Intel was compromised and they lost all tactical advantage. He got shot up some, and lost a couple of his agents, and post-recovery he bugged out—he moved sideways to State, working a desk in DC, which is where he met Rachel. I’d gone through initial training with him—he was a close friend of mine, and Rachel was a close friend of Overton’s, because Overton’s dad used to be a Fed and he helped out Rachel’s mum way back.”

  “She told me that part.”

  “But Steve?” Acton looked down at his hands “After starting at State, it’s like he was born again; a totally different guy. He loved it. He’d always butted heads in the Service because he was never a riser, never really wanted to stick his neck out and get noticed and fight people for promotions. He just wanted to do his thing, in his own time. But he found his thing at State.” Acton looked up at Walker. “He once told me over drinks that being at State gave him the room to move the way he wanted, get ahead of crimes and be more preventative. I didn’t ask him to explain it more, but he went on this different path and he enjoyed it. Then he was seconded to the Mid East when the Arab Spring became a thing, along with near-on everyone else at State who had a background similar to his—”

  “Similar how?”

  “He was Kurdish, from Iraq, came out after the first Gulf War, where he’d served alongside our forces,” Acton said. “As far as I know he hadn’t touched a firearm since leaving Boston, and didn’t want to go into the fray, but State had him on their first flight over there—they sent everyone they had, until Benghazi happened, and they flew near-on everyone back until things cooled down. Wasn’t until recently that he got a posting back there, doing some consulting work out of our new compounds.”

  “Where was he working?”

  “State sent him to Egypt, Libya, Syria, all the fun places, going back and forth and doing groundwork for our diplomatic missions to reassert their influence.” Acton crossed his arms. “Six months ago he disappeared. Officially listed as KIA, as a UN convoy he was in was taken out by a terror cell. I’m told they never officially ID’d his remains, but the four-vehicle convoy was near enough to vaporized.”

  “And Rachel Muertos going over there was, what?” Walker asked, watching the young Homeland agent cradle his arm. “A fact-finding mission, to see for sure her husband was dead?”

  “I don’t know,” Acton said. “But I heard she was over there, with State, on assignment. That came from Overton, and like I said, Steve was a friend so when she asked me to help keep eyeballs on these two Syrians, I didn’t think twice about saying yes. And now look where we’re at. Rachel’s back here, with unknown motive. I’ve lost two colleagues. And
then there’s these two crooked Homeland agents in my living room.”

  “And there’s the two dead Syrians,” Walker added.

  “What’s it all mean?” Acton’s eyes searched Walker’s.

  “I’m planning on finding out,” Walker said.

  “But you trust her?”

  “I’ve had no reason not to,” Walker said.

  “But you’ve known her for what, about twenty-four hours?” Acton said, looking into the front room. “I don’t think these guys know anything beyond what they’re told to do. And I think if Harvey is calling the shots, then he’s got a legitimate reason.” He looked back to Walker. “I don’t think the rot is there. I think there’s something bigger that these guys, and we, aren’t privy to. And I don’t think butting heads with a guy like Harvey is the way to go forward.”

  Walker nodded. He wasn’t so sure about how best to deal with Harvey. But having Homeland agents try to kill him meant Harvey wasn’t going on his Christmas card list any time soon.

  “I mean,” Acton said, “with a guy in Harvey’s position, what do you think you can do?”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Walker scrolled through the agents’ phones again. “So, Steve goes to Syria and is killed by terrorists—and Rachel gets herself over there, attached to a legit op looking into people-smuggling, with what in mind? To see his body for herself? To search for a ghost? To find answers? Justice?”

  “Could be any of those,” Acton said. “I think you need to find that out, before you go after Harvey.”

  Walker nodded. “Any American in Syria had a big fat target around their neck.”

  “I know that. Maybe Rachel can’t deal with it all. It’s understandable.”

  Walker asked, “When did the convoy attack occur?”

  “About six months back,” Acton replied. “It looked like there were no survivors. But then there was a possible sighting of Steve in Syria. He, and Overton, and Rachel, all went back a long time. I’d worked with him, so I was involved from the get-go—I was happy to help out. But this was only meant to be a few hours’ surveillance. Hell, Almasi’s small fry compared to what’s on our books right now.”