Three Weeks in Washington, page 16
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
Or a blue one.
I wasn’t picky. Even a yellow one would do.
* * * *
Once Mitchell had finished reading the report, we both agreed there wasn’t much in the document I could use as leverage. Marwan Farage was a dedicated Hezbollah fighter, probably trained to withstand interrogation, and he wasn’t going to give up his secrets easily.
I gestured toward the video screens. “He’s exhibiting coping behavior, so he’s obviously afraid of something.”
“He knows he blew his mission; he failed to kill Roberto.”
“I’m not sure about that. This could have been a lone operation; something he decided to do on his own to avenge Ahmed’s death.”
“If that’s the case, then maybe he’s afraid Hezbollah will send someone after him for disobeying orders and getting caught in the process.”
I stood up. “Let’s go find out.”
Mitchell looked surprised. “You want me in there? I thought you’d want to conduct your interrogation in Arabic.”
“For all we know, Spanish could be his native tongue. Besides, I might end up needing your bad cop routine.”
“I don’t have a bad cop routine.”
* * * *
Before heading across the hall to question Marwan, I asked Vasco if he’d heard from any of his Hezbollah contacts about Marwan’s arrival in Buenos Aires.
“I checked in with them as soon as you called me from the cemetery. One of my assets said he’d never heard of him, and the other one said he’d heard of Marwan Farage, but he wasn’t aware he was here in the city. That guy is also connected with the cartel, so he may not be playing straight with me.”
“That sounds about right.”
I handed the ASA report off to Juliana. “You can put this in the burn bag now.”
Vasco said, “Would you mind if I took a look at it first?”
As chief of station, Vasco was well within his rights to request access to a document relevant to an operation for which he was providing support. At the same time, as the primary for the operation, I had the right to refuse him permission to view such a document.
Vasco seemed less bombastic since I’d confronted him about the audio recording issue, and, while I was slightly suspicious of his change of attitude, I considered it to be a positive thing.
“Sure. Have a look,” I said, handing him the document. “There’s a summary statement on the last page.”
He flipped through the pages and quickly read through Katherine’s synopsis.
“So Marwan is connected to the drug trade? Maybe my asset was telling the truth after all.”
“I don’t believe Marwan came to Buenos Aires with an official sanction. My guess is that he flew in here with the intention of making the hit on Roberto, and then he planned on getting out of here without making any contact with the other Hezbollah brothers.”
Juliana, who was still in front of her computer screen, said, “I just heard back from Otis about Marwan’s car. It’s an airport rental, and Marwan picked it up after arriving here on a flight from Caracas. There’s video of him deplaning from Flight 363.”
Mitchell said, “So Marwan left Beirut yesterday and flew to Caracas and then caught another flight to Buenos Aires last night. At least we know he’s jet-lagged. That should make our job a whole lot easier.”
The moment Mitchell mentioned Beirut, the synapses fired, and I immediately grabbed the elusive thought gnawing away at me since reading Katherine’s report. I looked at my brainchild from every angle, and then I made a quick decision.
Vasco said, “Yeah, I’d say go in there and hit Marwan with both barrels right now.”
“No,” I said. “We won’t be questioning Marwan right now.”
Mitchell looked surprised. “But I thought—”
I addressed Vasco. “Put Marwan in 301-A. Give him something to eat and make sure he’s not disturbed during the night. I don’t want him sleep-deprived when Ben and I question him in the morning.”
Vasco nodded. “Okay, if that’s what you want. What about Roberto?”
“You can release Roberto but continue your surveillance on him.”
Vasco looked over at Juliana. “You heard the man. Continue the surveillance on Roberto.”
I said, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like for Juliana to go back to the embassy with Ben and me. Let someone else run the surveillance on Roberto.”
Vasco said, “You’re headed back to the embassy? You two are Bub’s Subs executives. You might blow your cover if you don’t go out and party tonight. Never pass up a perfectly good excuse to party.”
I ignored Vasco and addressed Juliana. “I’ll need a secure hookup with Sam Wylie, our head of station in Caracas. Can you set that up for me?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“You’re contacting Sam?” Mitchell asked. “Is this about Roberto?”
“No, it’s about Marwan, and who was on that flight from Beirut to Caracas with him yesterday.”
Chapter 22
Mitchell and I rode over to the embassy in Juliana’s Jeep Cherokee. This time, I rode in the back seat and Mitchell rode shotgun—but only figuratively.
While they were talking sports in the front seat, I was having an argument with myself in the back seat, debating whether I should contact Carlton before initiating the call to Sam Wylie.
Since Carlton was running me, there probably shouldn’t have been a debate. As a field officer, I had a lot of leeway in calling the shots, making quick decisions, and acting on my instincts, but sitting high above the maze was Carlton, and, if I didn’t keep him informed about what I was planning for my next move, I might get boxed in and never find my way out.
Still, I hesitated to pick up my phone and tell him I was on my way into The Bubble to conference with Wylie.
Sam Wylie was the chief of station (COS) in Venezuela, and he’d played a major role in the Clear Signal operation by helping Mitchell and me locate Ahmed Al-Amin. He’d also been instrumental in the cover-up of who had really pulled the trigger on Ahmed, but I didn’t intend to rehash that ill-conceived conspiracy with him.
My hesitancy about phoning Carlton stemmed from my uncertainty about Wylie’s status in Operation Citadel Protection. Although Wylie had been thoroughly briefed into Clear Signal, there was no reason for me to believe he’d been briefed into Citadel Protection, and the Agency had certain rules about a field operative contacting a COS who hadn’t been briefed into an operation.
If I told Carlton I was planning to call Wylie, and he thought I was violating Agency regulations, he’d be obligated to forbid the action.
No matter what he said, I planned to contact Wylie, but if Carlton was against it, I’d probably have to do some groveling later.
Groveling wasn’t my strong suit.
* * * *
As Juliana pulled into the embassy’s underground parking garage, I remembered Carlton saying Reyes Valario had attended a Hezbollah training camp in Venezuela.
Wylie had briefed me on Hezbollah’s use of this so-called “youth camp” when I’d been with him in Venezuela, and, in my mind, this connection tied Citadel Protection to Clear Signal.
Could this connection justify my contacting Wylie? At the very least, I could easily make the case I was simply doing a follow-up to Clear Signal, and I wasn’t in direct violation of the rules.
When Juliana parked the car, she glanced up and saw me staring at her in the rearview mirror. “You haven’t said a word. Is something wrong?”
Mitchell said, “In case you haven’t noticed, Titus isn’t much of a talker.”
I said, “It’s hard to talk and scheme at the same time.”
Juliana nodded. “I can see how that might tax you.”
Mitchell laughed—a little longer than necessary—and I joined in to show it didn’t bother me.
After the three of us got off the elevator on the second floor, I gestured down the hallway. “You two go ahead. I’ll meet you in The Bubble in thirty minutes.”
“Skipping out on us?” Mitchell asked.
“I need to make a phone call. Now that I’ve finished scheming, I’m ready to talk.”
* * * *
I headed in the opposite direction of The Bubble and entered an office suite. The nameplate on the door identified it as General Services, Procurement and Trade Division.
A receptionist was seated at a desk in the middle of the room and looked up from her computer when I walked in. I pointed to the door behind her, which had Ken Vasco’s name on it.
“Ken said I could use his office to make a phone call.”
When she hesitated, I pulled out the temporary security badge I’d been issued earlier in the day and waved it in front of her.
She glanced at it and said, “Oh, sure. Go ahead. It’s not locked.”
When I walked into Vasco’s office, I fully expected it to be a reflection of the man himself—disordered and untidy—but instead, I found it neat and uncluttered.
His bookshelves were full of photographs of Ken Vasco shaking hands with politicians and government officials. One of those photographs was with the President. However, Vasco was one of about fifty other people in the frame.
Still, he’d managed to be standing next to the President when the picture was taken.
He also appeared to be an aficionado of biographies of past presidents, as well as those of present-day politicians.
I removed one of the newer books from the shelf.
The thick tome was the biography of a man everyone assumed would run for president someday. On the flyleaf was the signature of the man himself, along with an inscription.
“To Ken,” it read, “a man who’s never met a stranger and tells a great story.”
I slid the book back on the shelf, resisting the temptation to add a few words of my own. Finally, I sat down in Vasco’s cushy executive desk chair and pulled out my sat phone.
Carlton didn’t sound surprised to hear from me, but he immediately jumped to the conclusion I was calling to complain about the ASA report on Marwan.
He said, “I’m aware there’s not much there you can use as leverage, but I’ve seen you make do with a lot less before.”
I suddenly realized he’d just provided me with the opening I needed, and, if I played it right, he might actually be the one to suggest I contact Sam Wylie.
I said, “I plan to use his family as a touchstone and see where that takes me.”
“His family? You realize there’s only a wife and daughter now. His son was killed in Al-Hadar.”
“You told me that earlier.”
I heard him shuffling papers. “I believe I also told you Marwan moved his wife and daughter to Beirut last year when the civil war broke out in Damascus. They’re not living with him now, so they may not be that important to him.”
“I disagree. I believe moving them to Beirut shows Marwan is concerned about their safety. I plan to capitalize on that concern by implying we’ve picked up his wife and daughter. I could even show Marwan some doctored photographs of them.”
“That could work ...” Carlton paused, and I could hear him flipping pages now. “But Katherine noted she didn’t have confirmation of their location in Beirut. Here it is, on the last page of the SAR, she has ‘whereabouts unknown.’ If Marwan knows where they are, that tactic could backfire on you.”
“I wonder ...”
I let the thought hang in the air, and when I didn’t say anything for several seconds, Carlton asked, “You wonder what?”
“Nolan said Marwan drove from Damascus to Beirut and took a flight from there. Is that right?”
Carlton said, “That’s right. He flew from Beirut to Madrid, and we lost him at the airport in Madrid. At this point, we know he flew from Madrid to Caracas and from there on to Buenos Aires.”
“I was wondering why—”
“Why he didn’t fly a shorter route to Buenos Aires?”
“That’s right. Why didn’t he fly here directly from Damascus?”
“That’s a good question.”
I prompted him. “Why did he drive to Beirut? He could have caught a flight from Damascus just as easily.”
I waited, hoping I’d drawn the target large enough.
Carlton said, “Yamina and Samira could have met Marwan at the airport in Beirut, or perhaps even met him in Madrid, and then flown with him to Caracas.”
Dead center. Bulls eye.
“You know, Douglas, I think that makes sense. Marwan seems upset right now, like he’s afraid of something. Maybe he’s not only concerned about his own life, maybe he’s also worried about his wife and daughter. If I could locate them and document I have access to them, I could use that leverage to force Marwan to talk about Hezbollah’s plans for the attack.”
Carlton’s tone was upbeat as he explored this idea. “You should contact Sam Wylie. Tell him to tap into the security cameras at the airport in Caracas, view the tapes, and see if Yamina and Samira arrived in Caracas with Marwan. I’ll check if the Ops Center has any photographs of his family. If so, I’ll have them sent to Sam immediately.”
“Has he been briefed on Citadel Protection or should I do that?”
“Salazar already briefed him because of Valario’s connection with the training camp in Venezuela.”
“Right. I’ll initiate the call to Sam once we’re done here.”
“I’ll alert the DDO on my end. One other thing before you go. The Ops Center just learned our principal asset in Damascus went dark. At this point, Marwan may be our only source of intel on what Hezbollah is planning.”
“Is this the asset Keever Pike was running? The guy who gave us the intel on the meeting between Naballah and Zaidi?”
I’d never told Carlton I’d already figured out Pike was one of the principals running our operation in Syria, but he didn’t comment on this.
“That’s right,” he said. “Keever’s asset hasn’t responded to his request for an update for several days now.”
“That means when General Suleiman meets with Naballah to discuss the details of the attack, we won’t have any ears in that meeting.”
“That’s the situation as it stands right now. You know Keever, though; he won’t give up. He’s working 24/7 to locate the guy. Unfortunately, Mossad recently informed us there’s some chatter indicating Hezbollah recently beheaded a traitor. Keever may be less optimistic when he hears that news.”
After saying goodbye to Carlton, I realized I still had a few minutes left before meeting Juliana and Mitchell in The Bubble.
I decided to remain at Vasco’s desk a little longer and enjoy the solitude. I needed time to recharge my batteries.
Nikki once told me being alone drained her. She said when she was around people, she always felt energized. I told her I was just the opposite. Being alone reinvigorated me.
Did that mean Nikki and I weren’t really compatible or was it just the opposite?
Did it count if I laughed a lot more when I was with her?
* * * *
When I entered The Bubble, I discovered Juliana had already informed Wylie’s office in Caracas I’d requested a conference call with him.
She said, “He sent word he’d be available in fifteen minutes.”
Mitchell spoke up. “What he probably said was, ‘Hold your horses, partner. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve lassoed this steer.’”
Juliana laughed. “Why would he say that?”
I said, “Because Sam Wylie’s a Texan who’s never gotten over it.”
Ben nodded. “Yeah, when I met him, he immediately let me know his parents had named him after Sam Houston.”
Juliana said, “I probably should know this, but who exactly is Sam Houston?”
Mitchell said, “Don’t feel bad. I didn’t know who he was either. I ended up googling him.”
Mitchell told her some facts about the now deceased Texan, including some of his funnier quotes, and, as I watched the two of them laughing together, I came to the conclusion they were definitely compatible.
Before Wylie came on the line, I told Mitchell what I’d discussed with Carlton about Marwan’s family.
He said, “When I saw Katherine’s note about not being able to locate Marwan’s wife and daughter, I wondered if that was relevant, but then I didn’t give it a second thought.”
“Always give those little seedlings room to grow, Ben. You might be surprised at what comes out of the ground.”
“Should I write that down?” he asked. “It’s not quite up to one of Sam Houston’s quotes, but it’s close.”
Wylie’s face suddenly appeared on the screen in front of us. “Did someone just mention the great Sam Houston?”
Chapter 23
Friday, June 26
At six o’clock the next morning, Mitchell and I were sitting inside The Bubble, waiting to hear back from Sam Wylie.
When we’d talked to him around midnight, he’d assured us he wouldn’t have any trouble getting access to the security cameras at the airport in Caracas, and he was confident he could do it in less than six hours.
If anyone else had made that promise, I might have been skeptical. However, when we’d worked together in Caracas, I could tell he ran a very competent team of operatives, so I hadn’t doubted him.
After Mitchell and I had signed off with Wylie, Juliana had dropped us off at our hotel so we could grab a few hours’ sleep. Even though I’d offered to call a cab for our return trip to the embassy, she’d insisted on picking us up herself.
When we’d climbed inside her Jeep a few hours later, she’d smiled and handed each of us a large cup of black coffee.
The coffee alone might have been enough for me to fall in love with her, but, for Mitchell, it had sealed the deal.
He carried on a non-stop conversation with her all the way over to the embassy, pelting her with embarrassing personal questions and sharing equally personal stuff with her about his own life.
