Killing Time (One-Eyed Jacks), page 15
“The team’s already reaching out to Hill.” Gabe glanced up and the look on his face told Eva that he understood her concern. “We figure he’s going to like the promise of a few perks, possibly a good word at his next parole hearing, in exchange for vouching for ‘Dan’ if someone from UWD makes the call to verify his story.”
Eva knew all about the maneuvering that sometimes took place behind the scenes to get someone to step up and tell the truth—or in this case a bald-faced lie. No harm no foul, as long as no case was affected. No doubt they’d offer Hill better conditions—a single cell, some extra rec time, conjugal visits, help with his family—to get him to play ball.
She still wasn’t ready to jump on board. “Even if Hill vouches for you, an organization as secretive and paranoid as UWD won’t accept just anyone into their ranks. Lawson will run his own check.”
“And he’ll find exactly what we want him to. By the time we get done with him, not only will Dan here be besties with Hill, he’ll have a documented vendetta against Uncle for all the reasons UWD loves. He’ll be a poster child for the cause.”
“I still don’t like it.”
Mike lifted a hand in frustration. “You don’t have to like it. I just have to do it.”
That pissed her off. “You’re right. I don’t have to like it.” She looked at Mike, who was busy avoiding eye contact again. “But I can do something about it. I’m going in with you.”
That got his full attention. “The hell you are.”
“Seriously?” His Lord of the Manor look was so not going to work on her. “You’re going to dictate what I do? I don’t think so. I’ve got as much at stake in this as you do. Someone’s trying to kill me, remember?”
He lifted his chin and shifted gears. “Exactly. And it could be Lawson.”
“I’ve thought about that. It doesn’t make any sense that he’d be after me. I wasn’t in Afghanistan. My husband was, and he’s dead.”
A shadow darkened Mike’s eyes, but she pressed on. “But you’re alive, so if Lawson was behind this he should have come after you first. You, Taggart, and Cooper. You’re the loose ends.”
“You made yourself one when you started digging in the OSD file, Eva.”
“Agreed, but I’m not Lawson’s loose end. I’m a problem to whoever’s calling the shots, and they’re above him on the food chain. Possibly on the top. Lawson’s tied to him in some way, no doubt about that, but the only reason that shooter aimed at you is because you were with me.”
“We’ve come to the same conclusion.” Gabe’s admission earned a scowl from Mike. “Haven’t pinned down the specifics yet but we agree. The intel we’ve turned up says Lawson’s not top dog in this pack. The money, the calls . . . it’s all coming from higher up. Lawson is definitely high on the pecking order, maybe even an equal partner, but he’s not making the calls by himself.”
“So . . . what are you thinking? An Al Qaeda splinter group? Russian mafia? Chinese Triad?”
“Could be,” Mike put in grudgingly, “but our money’s on a smaller-scale ‘for-profit’ organization or someone cutting a deal with one. These guys are in it for the money. That’s their bottom line. And while we figure they have business ties to any number of international organized crime syndicates, we see this threat as much smaller potatoes—or it would have been on everyone’s radar from Interpol to Langley long before now.”
“Agreed,” Gabe said. “They’re suppliers and their puppet master has hidden himself behind layers of front men and smoke screens. Lawson’s still our best lead to get to him. We figured he’s had his fingers in illegal weapons and international drug trade for years. Most likely he was into both in Afghanistan, and hasn’t changed his MO since. This tie with Lawson and the Juarez cartel? It’s just another link in the chain. We’re thinking that they might have been locked out of the cartel until Hernandez was caught and convicted. New leadership equals new openings, and they didn’t waste any time getting their foot in the door.”
“Do you think that whoever leaked the OSD file to me is tied up with them?” She and Mike had talked about this on the flight and they had agreed that it was most likely someone on the ground in Afghanistan at the time OSD had gone down.
“Like someone in the organization with a vendetta?” Gabe shook his head. “That doesn’t wash for me. In the first place, disgruntled lieutenants generally turn up dead. End of problem. In the second, even if there was some infighting going on, why would someone in the organization give it to you? Yeah, you’re CIA, but there are other channels they could have taken with much more impact if they want to bring someone down.
“I agree with Mike. Your Deep Throat has a personal connection to either you or Ramon. Possibly to the One-Eyed Jacks. We think we’re looking at a bid for restitution here, setting wrongs right. Something this person couldn’t do before.”
“So he waited for the right time to give me the file,” she concluded.
“Or waited for the courage,” Gabe agreed.
She and Gabe exchanged a look that told her he was with her in thinking Brewster might be their man.
Mike grunted. “Takes a real hero to feed info anonymously, then lay low while someone else takes the flack.”
Gabe stood and stretched. “We’re running records on any name that turns up that’s even remotely connected to Lawson, United We Denounce, and Operation Slam Dunk. That’s a lot of names. So far, nothing, but we’ll get there.” He headed for the office door with his coffee mug. “Anyone need a refill?”
Mike held out his mug.
Gabe took it and headed for the kitchen but stopped at the door. “Eva, Mike said you mentioned having access to staffing records for DOD. We can backdoor access them eventually, but if you have more direct access, we might be able to find your mystery source a lot faster.”
“Absolutely. How secure is your computer?”
He grinned.
“Got it. I’ll write it all out. Once your people get in, they won’t have any trouble running a search.”
Gabe left for the kitchen, and suddenly she and Mike were alone in the office with a silence as big as the bed they’d made love in.
He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “Let’s get this settled right now. You’re not coming with me.”
“Look. If it’s about what happened last night—”
“It’s not,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “It’s about you slowing me down.”
She laughed. “Try again. Or have you already forgotten who got the drop on whom in Lima?”
“I was drunk.”
“You were stupid. And you weren’t drunk when I clipped your cheek.” Though the swelling had gone down a little, he had the beginnings of a shiner this morning.
And oh, he was looking at her now. He suddenly stood, did the old rooster strut, puffed out his chest, and stuck his face right in hers. “You’re not going, Eva. End of discussion.”
“Said the king of the world.” She decided she didn’t feel bad about the bruise on his cheek after all. “You are such a piece of work.”
“Children,” Gabe cut in as he stepped back into the office. “Do I need to put you both on time-out?”
They stood for several long moments, noses almost touching, gazes locked and blazing . . . until something other than irritation fired through Eva’s blood and warned her to stand down. A vivid, visceral image of last night, two bodies moving together in the dark, so close no air moved between them, so hot the touch of skin on skin set them on fire.
She backed away, crossed her arms over her chest, and settled herself down. Judging by the sudden weight of his breaths, Mike had experienced a little midnight flashback, too.
“She could be an asset, Mike.” Gabe broke the uncomfortable silence.
Mike whipped his gaze to Gabe.
“It’s true.” Gabe held the line in the face of Mike’s glare. “Lawson knows he needs to keep the ranks content. Content men equals malleable disciples. Going in as a couple enhances your cover,” he added, building on his point. “Not to mention it gives you twice the eyes, twice the ears. And it’s pretty clear to me that Eva can handle herself.”
Mike clenched his jaw. “Traitor.”
Gabe arched a brow. “Sticks and stones, bro? That’s all you’ve got?”
The look on Mike’s face said, yeah, it was. He knew as well as Eva did, as well as Gabe did, that there wasn’t one good reason she shouldn’t go with him and a dozen reasons why she should.
“Fine.” His tone said it was not fine. “But let it be known I’m agreeing under protest.”
“I’ll make sure to write that down,” Gabe said with an eye roll. “Now quit pouting and let’s hammer out a plan of action.”
21
When you worked for a bureaucracy as large as the U.S. government, even an agency as clandestine as the CIA, you got used to wheels turning slowly. But slow apparently wasn’t in the Black Ops, Inc. agency’s wheelhouse, because by one p.m., the team pretty much had Mike and Eva’s backgrounds in place.
“Study everything in each folder inside out and backward, so by the time you touch down tomorrow, the stories will be as natural as breathing.” Gabe handed them both thick files that had arrived by courier a few minutes ago.
They’d moved out to the terrace after being cooped up in the small office most of the morning. Birds sang, flowers bobbed, traffic rolled by in a muted rumble ten stories below. Eva found some shade from the hot July sun, sat down on a chaise, and paged slowly through her folder. In addition to a detailed background sheet, there were various forms of ID and credit cards.
“So where’s mine?” Mike asked, looking over her shoulder and noticing that he hadn’t gotten a credit card.
“Dan’s credit rating sucks, I’m afraid,” Gabe said with a smile as he spread duplicate information on a patio table and got comfortable. “Okay,” he continued, “let’s go over this. Eva—as you can see, we kept it fairly simple. You’re going in as Maria Walker, Dan’s wife. Maiden name: Gomez. We want both Dan and you to offer something of value to UWD. Your cover is an attorney.”
“If I can’t be convincing at that, we’re in big trouble,” she said, scanning the detailed background information as Gabe thumbnailed it for her.
“You’re the only child of a single mother, an illegal alien, which makes your history and family ties harder to trace. You grew up in Miami, got into a little trouble as a juvenile—shoplifting, some petty larceny—and ended up before a judge who gave you the option of doing time or enlisting in the Army. You wisely chose the Army.”
Eva was impressed by the depth of the background they’d created for her.
“During basics, your story goes that you were assaulted by a senior enlisted soldier,” Gabe went on, “but the Army swept it under the rug and told you to soldier up and keep your mouth shut. It pissed you off.”
“And between the inequitable treatment and the fact that my male attacker got off scot-free, I made a decision that I’d never be that helpless again. Good thinking.”
Gabe nodded. “So you took advantage of all the educational opportunities the service provided, including the GI bill, after you separated. You were a staff sergeant by that time, by the way.”
It was all in there. Dates of service, what college she’d attended, where she’d gone to law school.
“When you passed the bar—first attempt, by the way—you ended up a public defender in Sacramento, which is where you eventually met handsome Dan here.”
“Apparently I was even irresistible in my prison orange,” Mike said absently as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table opposite Gabe.
“Mr. Irresistible,” Gabe said dryly, “is a little more hard-core. Grew up in the mountain west, which is true, so that helps. He was the child of a far, far rightwing father who was also a strict disciplinarian. Read: He did not believe in sparing the rod to spoil the child. Dan hightailed it off the farm as soon as he graduated high school but with no skills, no college degree, and no money, he couldn’t find work. He eventually enlisted in the Navy—where he encountered Hill, someone his own age, who spouted the same doctrine as his old man. And suddenly the whole “less government, more people” message began to resonate.”
“I was very impressionable,” Mike said.
Eva had his number by now. His sense of humor was his coping mechanism. Tension, anger, guilt . . . he hid it all behind a wisecrack. He couldn’t help himself.
“So you did your four-year hitch in the Navy, got out, couldn’t find steady work, and drifted from odd job to odd job for several years. Began to resent the establishment that you felt repressed your earning ability. Got mixed up with a bad crowd in Sacramento. Got nabbed on a couple B&Es and got off on technicalities, but not learning the error of your ways, you got busted knocking off a liquor store where a clerk was shot. Not killed, and you weren’t responsible, but you were an accomplice in an armed robbery so you were pretty much screwed.”
“Enter Maria Gomez, my court-appointed attorney?” Mike speculated.
“The same. She repped you, got your sentence reduced from ten to eight, of which you served six—early out for good behavior—in California State Prison. You kept to yourself while you were there, kept your nose clean, no gang affiliations, but—”
“But I ran into Barry Hill again in prison. Seemed like kismet, right? And Hill became my new best friend.”
“Exactly. Now back to Dan and Maria. Romance blossomed while Dan did his time. Maria resigned from her PD position and moved to Soledad to be closer to the facility and you. While there, Maria did pro bono work for a local woman’s shelter and paid her rent working part-time for a small law firm.
“Dan, on the other hand, had become a student of Lawson’s teachings and a devotee of him and UWD.
When you got out last month, you and Maria got married and you convinced her you wanted to join the movement.”
He stopped and looked from her to Mike. “Any questions? Issues?”
“Yeah. Maria will be of value to UWD because she’s an attorney. What do I bring to the table—besides my good looks and malleable mind?”
“There are so many places I could go with that, but I’ll restrain myself.” Gabe actually grinned. “You’re offering up a strong back, a military background, proof that you aren’t afraid to mix it up—your recent record supports that—and the possibility of bringing in more recruits. Numbers are king when you’re trying to sustain a movement. Mob mentality and strength in numbers aren’t just clichés. They’re the foundation for these radical organizations.
“So once you’ve earned Lawson’s trust, you convince him you have a couple buddies who believe in the cause and want to recruit them.”
Disappointment flashed in Mike’s eyes for an instant. She knew he was thinking of Taggart and Cooper. He was thinking that they should be the ones going in with him.
“Most likely it’ll be me and Joe,” Gabe said, breaking a silence suddenly rife with regret. “The more boots on the ground, the more we find out about Lawson and his extracurricular activities.”
“This is really good work,” Eva said, “but you know they’ll run a records check—you have to figure they’ve got someone in the ranks that can hack into IAFIS.”
The Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System was a national fingerprint and criminal history system available to local, state, and federal partner agencies to assist in solving and preventing crime and catching criminals and terrorists. She had no doubt that UWD had someone in law enforcement they could tap to run both Maria’s and Dan’s backgrounds.
“And Dan Walker’s history will all be there by the time you two make contact with UWD. It’ll also be supported by strategically planted federal reports that, prior to his conviction, mark Dan as a low-level activist with a pattern of sporadic radical rhetoric against the government—a few arrests involving protest rallies, maybe a concealed-weapons charge or two prior to his big downward slide.”
Mike scratched his jaw. “I’ve been a busy boy.”
“The perfect candidate for anarchy, madness, and mayhem. Maria’s military background, education history, employment, everything will be on file where it needs to be. Same for Dan’s criminal record. All you have to do is sell it.”
Very clearly implied was that they also had to sell the married-and-in-love act.
Gabe glanced at the diamond stud in Mike’s ear.
“I know. I need to lose the rock.”
“A long time ago.” The look on Gabe’s face told a bigger tale of what he thought of the earring.
Mike laughed. “What? You don’t like my bling?”
“You’re lucky someone hasn’t ripped your ear off, going after it in a bar fight.”
“Lucky’s my middle name.”
“Well, leave the hair, Lucky. If Lawson saw photos of you it would have been with a military haircut. Plus that scruffy I’m-pretty-but-I’m-not-anyone’s-bitch look has badass written all over it.”
“So glad we’re not talking skinhead.” Mike ran a hand through his hair. “I can fake the low IQ but I don’t have the tats to pull that off.”
“UWD has been very careful to disassociate themselves from the white-supremacist movement,” Eva said. “The Randy Weaver case was the first nail in their coffin, but the Aryan Nation still held a strong presence in Idaho until about a decade ago. You remember the Victoria Keenan incident, where guards at the AN compound were found responsible for the assault on her and her son?”
Both men nodded.
“That pretty well sank them. The Aryan Nation has effectively become history in Idaho. A multimillion-dollar civil suit followed and basically bankrupted the organization. Everything I’ve read says Lawson has been smart and sensitive to the bad feelings the local residents have about the white-supremacist group. He doesn’t want the bad press, so he’s limited his rhetoric to his anarchy platform. It’s just as wrong but not as distasteful to the public.”
