Three Weeks in Washington, page 40
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
* * * *
I sat there for several minutes debating whether or not I should tell Carlton about the Senator’s demand to see me. So far, Carlton had refused to discuss Mitchell’s missing status with me, and I realized there was no reason to believe he would talk about it now.
In the end, I decided to play this one solo and see what the Senator had on his mind before informing him.
While I didn’t call Carlton, I did make a couple of other phone calls.
The first one was to Nikki.
I caught her just as she was about to leave for her classes at Quantico, and she wasn’t able to talk for more than a couple of minutes. When I told her I was free for the evening, we made plans for us to meet for dinner.
The second phone call was to Olivia. She answered immediately.
“Does this mean you didn’t get killed in Damascus?”
“Hi, Olivia. It’s nice to hear your voice.”
“I find that hard to believe, but thanks anyway.”
“How are you? Are you in much pain?”
“Why are men so concerned about pain? I’m not in any pain, and I barely took any pain medication after my surgery. If you want to know how I’m feeling, the answer is I’m feeling ugly.”
“I know of no surgery that would ever make you ugly, Olivia. You know you’re a beautiful woman. That’s never going to change.”
She didn’t respond.
I tried to move on. “I read the note you left me, and I realize what a big step of faith that was for you.”
I heard her sigh. “I might as well tell you, becoming a believer hasn’t solved all my problems. I still don’t understand very much, plus I have plenty of doubts about what I’m reading in the Bible, and I know it hasn’t made me a nicer person.”
“I think that’s normal. While the decision itself is a one-time sort of thing, I’m just beginning to understand there’s also a journey involved. In our line of work, we’d probably think of it as a course of action that moves from one point to another. As we move along, we get a little more understanding of the gospel message, and our faith increases at the same time. It’s just a matter of taking baby steps.”
“If that’s true, then my journey has started out pretty slow.”
“Join the club. As it stands right now, I seem to take one step forward and three steps back.”
Olivia changed the subject and started quizzing me about Operation Citadel Protection. However, I wasn’t comfortable discussing those details with her until she was back on active status, so I tried putting her off and telling her I’d get back with her in a few days.
She didn’t like that one bit.
“I’m hanging up now because it sounds like you’re giving me the cold shoulder. But hey, thanks for calling.”
Always a pleasure, Olivia.
* * * *
The scene inside SR214 of the Russell Senate Building looked a little different than the last time I’d been there to see the Senator. The décor was still the same, but now, there were no constituents hanging around eating the Senator’s refreshments or viewing his artifacts.
Instead, there was only a beautiful blond receptionist, who smiled at me when I gave her my name. She told me the Senator was expecting me.
As I followed her down the corridor toward his office, she asked, “You work for CIS, right?”
I nodded. “I’m a Senior Fellow there.”
“I believe your nephew, Brian Simpson, is one of our new interns. He’s out of the office right now, but I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“Please do. I’m sorry I missed him.”
“He seemed surprised when I told him you had an appointment with the Senator today.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
She opened the door to the Senator’s inner office and announced, “Mr. Ray is here for his appointment.”
The Senator, who was seated behind his desk, immediately got to his feet and gave me a big smile. “I appreciate a man who arrives on time. Thank you, Shirley.”
Once Shirley had left, his smile disappeared.
“A Mexican drug cartel has my son,” he said. “I want you to get him back for me.”
* * * *
I stood there in front of the Senator’s desk, processing what he’d said for several seconds. Meanwhile, he sat down at his desk and turned his laptop around so I could view the screen.
“This picture was attached to an email message I received this morning.” He used the touchpad to click open an icon on his screen. “It’s obvious it was taken less than twelve hours ago.”
I leaned across the top of his massive desk and studied the photograph.
It was Ben Mitchell; there was little doubt about that. He was facing the camera and holding what appeared to be the current international edition of The Miami Herald.
From a physical standpoint, he looked pretty good; clean-shaven, head erect, nothing to indicate he’d been tortured or injured in any way. However, his facial expression was blank; there was no fire in his eyes. That alone spoke volumes.
“It looks like Ben.”
“Of course, it’s Ben. I know my own son’s face.”
Although he hadn’t offered me a seat, I sat down in the guest chair opposite his desk. “Tell me how you got this.”
“Like I said, it came in an email. It’s an address I primarily use for my personal correspondence, and, as far as I know, it’s never been made public.”
“Would this email address be familiar to Ben?”
“Sure. He uses it all the time.”
“What about the message? You said the photograph was attached to an email message.”
He nodded and used the touchpad to click on a different icon.
As soon as the message came up, he said, “Be forewarned. It reads like a bad movie.”
He was right.
“Your son is alive and well, but it’s up to you to make sure he stays that way. We’ll be in touch.”
The note was signed Z, which certainly made it appear as if it had come from the Los Zetas cartel.
The English translation of Los Zetas was “The Z’s,” and the cartel members used the letter Z as a means of claiming responsibility for their most violent crimes, including carving the letter on the torsos of their victims.
I pushed the computer back across the desk towards the Senator. “I’m sure you know the next message will include a demand for money.”
“Forget the money. Let’s talk about what’s happened to my son.”
Before I had a chance to respond, he began reciting the details of what he knew about Mitchell’s disappearance, including some highly classified material I knew would not have been disseminated during a Senate Intelligence briefing.
The more he talked, the more I realized there had to be some high-ranking staff member at the Agency who was feeding the Senator his information.
The moment he said he knew Mitchell had been working with me in Buenos Aires, I had a flashback to a photograph on Ken Vasco’s bookshelf at the embassy, and I immediately knew who his Agency source must be.
He said, “I’ve tried to be content and allow the SOF unit to locate Ben, but now that I know Los Zetas is holding him, I’ve decided to be proactive and find him myself.”
“And how exactly would you go about doing that?”
“That’s where you come in. I understand Operation Citadel Protection is about to reach its end point, and the Bureau will be able to secure the chemical weapons sometime tomorrow. Once that happens, I know the Agency will give you some time off, so I’d like to hire you to find out where the cartel is holding Ben. I assure you, I’ll make it worth your while.”
I shook my head. “Once the SOF unit runs out of leads to Ben’s whereabouts, you should press the DDO to mount an operation to locate him. Using the Agency’s resources is a better option than hiring one man to do the job.”
He looked at me as if I’d insulted him. “No, Titus. It’s obvious you don’t understand the politics of my position as Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. I’ve already asked the DDO to do me a favor once in regard to my son. If I do so again, I will have used up all my power chips with him, and that means I’ll end up owing him a favor. That’s a position I never want to find myself in.”
“Not even for your son?”
He stared at me. “You’re not turning me down, are you? I thought you cared about Ben.”
“You’re right on both counts. I do care about Ben, and I am turning you down. I won’t do what you’re asking me to do because I refuse to put Ben’s life in even more danger. And, I assure you, Senator, that’s exactly what you’ll be doing if you try to mount a one-man operation to rescue him from the cartel.”
I stood to my feet. “If you decide your son is more important than your political ambitions, then ask the DDO to initiate a search and rescue operation for Ben. When that happens, you can count on me being part of that mission. If not, we have nothing left to say to each other.”
I stood there for a beat or two waiting for his response.
When there wasn’t one, I turned and walked out the door.
Chapter 53
During my conversation with Nikki earlier in the day, she’d suggested we meet for dinner at the Marine Corps National Museum in Triangle, Virginia, just a few miles down the road from the FBI Academy at Quantico.
I’d been surprised at the location, so I’d repeated it back to her just to make sure I’d heard her correctly. She must have known I was puzzled by her choice of restaurants, because, after giving me the location again, she assured me I’d understand why she wanted me to meet her there once I arrived.
The Marine Museum was located off I-95, south of Washington, and I pulled in the parking lot at exactly seven o’clock.
When I got out of the Range Rover, I spotted Nikki sitting on a bench outside the entrance. She was watching a bunch of kids feeding the ducks at a nearby pond, and she didn’t seem to notice me when I got out of my car.
As I walked toward her, I realized the sight of her sitting there had caused my heart rate to increase, and my palms to get a little sweaty.
Whether it was an illusion caused by the rays of light from the lowering sun, or simply the result of my imagination, there seemed to be an iridescent quality to her face, almost like a radiance from within, and I found myself wishing I could always remember how she looked at that moment.
A thought popped in my head that seemed so ridiculous it made me smile, and I was sure she would find it equally amusing, so I walked over to her and said, “If I were an artist, I’d have to paint your beautiful face in this light.”
“Titus,” she said, standing up and brushing her lips across my cheek, “what a wonderful thing to say.”
Okay, I was wrong about that ridiculous part.
* * * *
Although the concrete walls of the museum’s exterior were nondescript, the centerpiece in the middle of the structure was not. Ascending from the building’s center section was a tall column of stainless steel meant to represent the raising of the flag at Iwo Jima during World War II.
The immense column was supported by a steel framework made up of hundreds of glass panels. The glass panels weren’t all that noticeable on the outside, but, on the inside, they formed a gigantic skylight in the ceiling of the museum’s lobby.
When Nikki and I walked inside, the effect of the sun shining through the multi-tiered windows produced a breathtaking effect.
Nikki pointed up at the ceiling. “Here’s the reason I asked you to meet me here. Isn’t this amazing?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I was here over the weekend with some of my team members, and our tour guide told us to be sure and come back around sunset and eat dinner at The Overlook. She said the views would be spectacular.”
The Overlook was located on the second level and was designed to resemble the cockpit view from a Marine Corps Harrier jet. When the waitress seated us, she said we wouldn’t be disappointed in either the food or the view.
I looked across the table at Nikki. “How could I be disappointed in this view?”
The waitress smiled and tapped Nikki on the shoulder. “Honey, this one’s a keeper.”
Nikki nodded and smiled at me. “I’m beginning to believe that.”
* * * *
As soon as the waitress took our orders, Nikki leaned across the table and squeezed my hand.
“Hearing your voice on the phone this morning made my day. I admit I’ve been worried about you.”
“My assignment had its hairy moments, but you’ll be happy to know I kept my promise and remembered you were praying for me during those times.”
“You said you were headed to a dangerous place. Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”
I nodded. “In some ways it was much worse.”
Like any good detective, she waited a few seconds before commenting, and I knew she was probably counting on the empty silence to elicit a more elaborate response from me.
When that didn’t happen, she said, “I can tell it’s been rough on you.”
I laughed. “You’re the second person today who’s told me I don’t look so hot.”
She smiled at me. “I wasn’t saying that.”
It was my turn to smile. “Then you’ll have to elaborate on your analysis.”
She made an elaborate show of studying my face. “Okay, according to my expert analysis, you look emotionally drained, plus a little worried.”
That pretty much summed up how I was feeling after shooting Walid Khouri last night and then hearing Ben Mitchell had been kidnapped by the cartel this afternoon. However, I was surprised to hear her say it.
“Well, Detective, it seems the feds have been perfecting your observation skills this week.”
“So I’m right?”
I shrugged. “I admit I’m a little worried.”
“In your line of work, if you’re worried about something, I imagine all of us should be worried.”
“No, my worries have nothing to do with a threat to our national security, at least not directly.”
“Any day now, I should start receiving briefings on national security as part of my terrorism training. Once that happens, maybe you and I can discuss those threats.”
Her remark gave me an opening to ask her about how her training was going, and she spent the rest of the meal describing her classes at the Academy and telling me how she felt about some of her instructors.
Nikki was in the middle of relating an incident that happened to her on the gun range, when our waitress came by and asked us about having dessert. Once we’d both ordered cappuccinos, she resumed her story.
The more I listened to her, the more I became envious of her freedom to tell me about all the things she was experiencing. Welling up inside of me was an overwhelming desire to share my own feelings with her, and, for the first time in my life, I resented the innate secrecy of a career that wouldn’t allow me to do that.
Almost immediately, I heard a voice inside my head—which sounded suspiciously like Carlton’s—asking me what I’d tell Nikki if all the secrecy restrictions were suddenly lifted.
That was easy.
I’d tell her about being summoned to Senator Mitchell’s office earlier in the day, and about the Senator’s son being kidnapped by a Mexican drug cartel, and why I was so worried about that.
But that wasn’t all.
I’d also share with her why I was forced to kill a man last night.
For some reason, I thought if I could just go over those details with her, I might stop thinking about it.
The urge to share my life with someone was an impulse completely foreign to me, but I suspected it was connected to the realization I was falling in love with Nikki Saxon, and I wanted us to have a future together.
The possibility of that happening seemed remote to me.
If I couldn’t share my life experiences with her, or if I wasn’t willing to open up and become more transparent about what I was thinking, how could we ever have an intimate relationship?
As Nikki finished telling me about the incident at the gun range, I remembered the advice I’d given Olivia about taking small steps. I decided if I really wanted to have a relationship with Nikki, I’d need to venture out of my shell and take at least one small step in that direction.
The problem was, I had no idea what that step might be.
A few minutes later, the problem was solved when Nikki brought up the subject of Frank Benson.
* * * *
After placing our cappuccinos in front of us, the waitress kept hanging around our table, and the minute I glanced down at my cup, I understood why.
The barista had used the foam on the top of the cup to create a set of matching hearts.
Nikki looked down at hers and laughed. “This is so sweet. Thank you.”
The waitress shrugged. “What can I say? You two are obviously meant for each other, and I’m a born matchmaker.”
As she walked away, I said, “I think the lady missed her calling. With those instincts, she would have made a good detective.”
“Speaking of which, would you be surprised if I told you I was considering leaving the Norman Police Department and applying at the Bureau?”
I put my cup down. “Yes, I’d definitely be surprised at that.”
She nodded. “I thought so.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“To be truthful, not very long. But I’ve had several conversations with Frank lately, and he—”
“Frank? You mean Frank Benson?”
She nodded. “Yes, Frank Benson, your friend at the Bureau. At least he still claims to be your friend, even though you pulled a gun on him.”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
She smiled at me and shook her head, making it obvious she knew I still wasn’t giving her the full story.
“Did you know your friend got shot last night?”
“Frank got shot?”
“One of our instructors said it happened during a training exercise. He’s still in the hospital, but they said he’d be okay.”
