Three Weeks in Washington, page 41
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
“Frank’s a tough old bird.”
Nikki suddenly morphed into Detective Saxon. “I don’t believe you answered my question, Titus. Did you know Frank got shot last night?”
At that moment, the waitress came by and dropped off our check, which meant I didn’t have to respond to her immediately. I bought myself even more time by removing several bills from my wallet and slowly counting them out before handing them over to the waitress.
After she walked away from the table, I glanced over at Nikki.
By the look on her face, I could tell she suspected I was deliberately avoiding the subject of Frank Benson.
It seemed an appropriate moment to take a small step, and I said, “Let’s find a quiet place where we can be alone. There’s something I need to tell you about Frank.”
* * * *
Although the sun had nearly set by the time Nikki and I walked out of the museum, there was still enough light for us to make our way across the footbridge connecting the museum to Prince William Forest Park, a recreational area run by the National Parks Service.
The walkway led over to the park’s visitor center, and, even though it was getting late, the place still looked busy. The park had an abundance of campsites, not to mention several hiking trails, so I wasn’t surprised it was crowded, especially at this time of year.
When I’d mentioned finding a quiet place to talk, Nikki had suggested we walk over to the visitor center, but, as we crossed over the bridge, we found ourselves surrounded by a large group of Boy Scouts, and I wondered if she’d heard me correctly.
“You heard me say I wanted to find a quiet place, right?”
“Trust me. When I was here the other day, I saw the perfect spot. It’s down this way.”
I followed her over to a designated jogging path that meandered alongside a stream. We hadn’t gone far before Nikki pointed over to a grassy area just off the pathway where the stream narrowed down to a trickle. Although there was a sign indicating no camping was allowed, the Parks Service had placed a picnic table in the clearing, along with a large trash barrel.
“Will this do?” she asked.
I took a quick look around. “It’s perfect.”
Something near the water’s edge drew my attention, and while Nikki sat down at the picnic table, I walked over and picked it up.
It was a plastic toy, some type of super hero.
It looked as if the action figure had deliberately been placed behind a fortification built of rocks and then camouflaged with some mud and twigs. I decided a child had constructed the garrison, and then he’d forgotten about the hero or he’d intentionally left him out in the forest to make it on his own.
“Some kid may shed a few tears tonight when he realizes he left this guy behind,” I said, sitting down across from Nikki and placing the figure between us.
She picked up the toy and gently brushed away the mud from his face. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“Not really. When I was growing up, I was mainly into sports.”
“You didn’t play with toy soldiers?”
“Definitely not.”
“I’d love to hear about your childhood one day.”
“Sure, as long as you like short stories.”
“I’m mostly interested in the story itself; not the length of it.”
“I don’t believe you’ll like the story I’m about to tell you. I’m certainly not proud of it. It involves you and Frank Benson.”
* * * *
Whether it was my training or my desire to justify myself, I spent the next several minutes giving Nikki a thorough briefing on the circumstances that led up to when I asked Benson to make sure she passed the Quantico training course—a fact I didn’t mention until I’d given her the background.
I began by telling her how my supervisor at the Agency—I never identified Carlton specifically—had forced me to confess I’d revealed my true identity to a detective in the Norman Police Department, a woman by the name of Nikki Saxon.
I went on to explain what the legal ramifications of my disclosure meant and my supervisor’s no-nonsense approach to Agency rules.
Up to that point, Nikki had shown no visible reaction to anything I’d said. However, the moment I told her I suspected he was the person responsible for making sure she was invited to the FBI training course, I saw her flinch, as if someone had suddenly taken a swipe at her.
I quickly assured her she was expected to pass the course on her own, and my supervisor had only recommended her for the training because he knew her security clearance would protect me from being dismissed from the Agency.
“I don’t believe passing the course will be a problem for me,” she said. “I always thought Danny Jarrar had recommended me, but I guess if your boss cared enough about you to go to all that trouble, then I should be happy about that.”
“I’m not sure what his motivation was. He’s not an easy guy to read.”
I paused and asked myself if there was some way I could spin the story without making myself the scapegoat, but she used the interlude to ask me an obvious question.
“How is Frank connected to this?”
I took a deep breath and told her the truth.
“That night you saw Frank at The Meadows, he’d followed me out there from Langley, hoping I’d share some information with him about a suspect. I was angry about that, plus the two of us have a history together, and, to be truthful, it’s not all that pretty.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m using my anger as an excuse for what I’m about to tell you, because I know that’s not the case. While I was upset with Frank that night, I was more concerned about my own future at the Agency, and when I saw an opportunity to make sure I wouldn’t have to face any legal charges, I decided to make a deal with Frank.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did that deal involve me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I see,” she said, staring down at the action figure in her hand, “and what exactly were the terms of that agreement?”
My stomach churned. “I asked Frank to give you whatever help you needed in order to pass the Quantico course, and, in return, I promised to give him the information he wanted.”
She kept her eyes glued to the super hero and didn’t say a word.
“There’s one more thing.”
She raised her head and looked at me.
“I asked him not to tell you about our deal.”
She immediately turned her back on me and got up from the table. Walking over to where the child had constructed his tiny castle in the dirt, she placed the plastic figure back in the mud. Then, she returned to her seat.
“I know you’re angry, Nikki, and I have no right to ask you this, but—”
“Believe it or not, I’m not angry with you for using me as some kind of bargaining chip. I know I should be, but how can I be angry with you when you’ve just confessed to being a complete jerk?”
“If I could, I’d go back and—”
“No, Titus, listen to me,” she said, reaching across the table and grabbing my hands. “I’m trying to tell you I’m glad you were honest with me. I want us to be able to share who we are with each other, and that includes the good, as well as the bad.”
The tension I’d felt moments before suddenly dissipated, and I brought her hands up to my lips and gently kissed them. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
She nodded. “I’ve forgiven you, and I’ll forgive you a hundred times over as long as you’re willing to share things with me.”
“That concept appeals to me on several levels, but you’ll have to bear with me. The idea of being open and transparent isn’t in the Agency’s playbook.”
“I’m not necessarily talking about Agency stuff. I’m talking about the insignificant stuff, stuff that isn’t connected to your job.”
I nodded. “You want to hear about what I had for dinner and how I slept last night?”
She laughed. “Well, that’s a start. How did you sleep last night?”
I smiled. “I slept just fine thank you, and believe it or not, I let Stormy sleep with me. That was a first for me.”
“Uh-oh. You’ve started something there. What did Millie say?”
“Arkady promised not to tell her.”
“I guess that means you’ll have to sneak him inside the house under cover of darkness every night. With your training, that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
I got up from the table. “Speaking of getting dark, we should head back to our cars while we’ve still got some daylight left.”
I walked around and took Nikki’s hand as she stood up. “I’ve enjoyed being with you this evening. It’s definitely been the best part of my day.”
“Mine too.”
After putting my arm around her waist, I held her close and gently caressed her cheek. “While you’re incredibly beautiful on the outside, it’s the beauty inside you that’s winning my heart. Thank you for your forgiveness.”
She placed her arms around me and kissed me on the lips. When I returned her kiss, the intensity of our passion increased, and a few seconds later, she pulled away from me and said, “We really should go now.”
“Not just yet,” I said, leaning down and kissing her again.
Suddenly, the shrill sound of a young boy’s voice shattered our intimate moment.
“Oh, yuck, what are you doing?”
Nikki and I quickly drew apart and glanced over at the jogging path, where a woman was clutching the hand of a small boy.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. Tyler forgot his—”
Before she could finish, Tyler broke away from her and ran over and picked up the action figure. “Nightwing,” he said, “they didn’t destroy you.”
“It was touch and go for a while,” I said, “but your hero made it through.”
Tyler shook his head. “He’s no hero. He’s a secret agent who defends the world against the bad guys.”
“You’re right. He’s no hero.”
Chapter 54
Wednesday, July 8
Following Carlton’s instructions, I arrived at Langley just after midnight on Wednesday. He tended to become paranoid whenever third-party deadlines were involved, and he said he wasn’t taking any chances as to what Franco Cabello meant when he said he would send a text to Marwan’s phone on July 8.
After checking in with security and having them inform Carlton I would meet him in the Ops Center, I walked over to the cafeteria and grabbed some breakfast. A few minutes later, Josh Kellerman from Support Services walked over to my table.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked. “I hate to eat alone.”
“No, of course not. I won’t be here long, though; I’m overdue in the Ops Center.”
“That’s okay. I’m a fast eater. I’ll probably be finished before you are.”
Agency personnel weren’t specifically forbidden from discussing operational details in the cafeteria, but they seldom did. Kellerman didn’t ask me why I was overdue in the Ops Center, and I didn’t ask him why he was at Langley at midnight.
Instead, we discussed the previous evening’s game between the Washington Nationals and the Pittsburgh Pirates, a game Stormy and I had watched together in my bedroom after I’d arrived back at The Meadows.
After Kellerman and I had rehashed the ump’s bad calls, I gulped down the rest of my coffee and told him I had to head out, giving him the I-enjoyed-eating-with-you-and-now-I-have-to-rush type of social nicety.
When I picked up my tray, I also grabbed the camera Benson and I had purchased when we’d made the appointment to see Walid Khouri. I’d already sent the Ops Center all the photographs I’d taken, but later today, I planned to hand the Nikon over to one of the feds on the Joint Task Force, the person appointed to take Benson’s place.
Kellerman gestured at the camera. “I see you found the Nikon. That’s good. Now you won’t have to fill out all the paperwork I gave you.”
“Uh ... no, I was just—”
“Since you’re running late, why don’t you just leave the camera with me? I’ll return it for you.”
I spent about twenty seconds having an internal debate with myself about the ethics of allowing the FBI to pay for my lost Nikon.
Did it matter whether it was the FBI or the CIA who paid for the expensive Nikon? In the end, wasn’t it the U.S. taxpayer who was really footing the bill?
I left the camera with Kellerman.
* * * *
When I entered Room C of the RTM Center, Carlton was occupying the captain’s chair, a slightly elevated seat in the middle of the room. On the console in front of him was the personal cell phone belonging to Marwan Farage, along with the encrypted cell phone given to him by Naballah. Both cell phones had a full battery charge.
Room C in the Real Time Management Center, was the largest of the six RTM centers, collectively referred to as the Ops Center.
Center C consisted of both an upper and lower section. The upper section had a seating area, and that’s where the members of the Joint Task Force were seated; everyone that is, except Arnie, who was on the lower level standing next to Carlton.
A wall of high-definition monitors encircled the room, but the number of screens used for projecting real time video during an active operation depended on the type of operation, the amount of data coming in, and how many operatives were involved.
Today, six of the twenty screens were being used for real time video; the rest of the screens were connected to the computers of the RTM employees seated at consoles around the room.
Of the six screens displaying real time video, three were showing aerial shots from Agency drones flying around the Washington Beltway, but no one in the room was paying much attention to those screens. I knew that would change when the sun came up.
Two of the screens displayed the FBI logo. However, once Franco Cabello identified the location of the semi-trailer truck carrying the gas canisters, the FBI logos would disappear. Then, everyone inside RTM Center C would be able to view the live action video from the FBI’s special reactionary force, the Critical Incident Response Group (CIRG), as it arrived at the truck stop and interdicted the shipment.
The last screen on the far right showed a residential street in Baltimore. The camera was focused on the home of Leandro Manolo, the Hezbollah cell leader who was awaiting a call from Hassan Naballah telling him where to pick up the chemical weapons.
Unless I totally blew it, Manolo would still receive that phone call from Naballah, and when he left his house to meet up with the other members of his cell to retrieve the weapons, the FBI would move in and start making arrests.
Unless I totally blew it.
My assignment—once Cabello had sent the text—was to call Hassan Naballah on the encrypted cell phone and pretend to be Marwan Farage.
When Carlton had first suggested this bit of play acting, I hadn’t been enthusiastic about it, but he’d kept insisting I’d spent enough time with Marwan to fool Naballah for a few minutes.
I wasn’t so sure about that.
* * * *
I was on my third cup of coffee when Marwan’s personal cell phone dinged. The time was 7:47 a.m. The text message was from Jorge Zamora.
I could tell the name didn’t register with Arnie, but after Carlton adjusted his headset and announced Jorge Zamora was the alias Cabello always used in his business dealings, Arnie immediately nodded his head as if he’d known this all along.
Carlton cleared his throat and read the message aloud.
Nolan Wilson, who was acting as the RTM manager in Olivia’s absence, quickly typed the words out on his computer screen, so everyone could view them on one of the video screens.
“Calverton Travel Center; Exit 31; 5W69588.”
Once Carlton had finished reading the message, he said, “Target is acquired. Commence the operation.”
RTM Center C sprang to life after that.
First, a map pinpointing the Calverton Travel Center was projected up on one of the monitors. It showed the truck stop was north of the Capital Beltway and thirty miles south of Baltimore.
A few seconds later, a drone was positioned over the location and everyone in the room was able to view the site in real time.
It looked like a typical truck stop. Semis were parked side-by-side along the outer perimeter, and several more were lined up at the gas pumps. Signage indicated there was a restaurant, driver’s lounge, and other trucker amenities inside the sprawling building on the property.
The feds on the upper level of the RTM Center kept their eyes fixated on the drone feed, as they began issuing orders to the CIRG units on their cell phones.
Five minutes after Cabello’s message arrived, the special agent in charge of CIRG unit #1 said he was ten minutes out from Exit 31.
Suddenly, Marwan’s phone dinged again.
Carlton and I both looked down at the screen.
Another text had arrived from Jorge Zamora.
“How’s the weather there?”
I said, “Cabello’s paranoid about security. He’s making sure it was Marwan who received his text. He’s asking him for his code phrase.”
“Well then, give him the code before he alerts the truck driver. If that happens, this operation could get very messy.”
I looked down at the phone and tried to remember the exact words I’d heard Marwan say to Cabello in the library at Naballah’s compound. I knew it had something to do with how hot it was and the lack of rain.
I wrote, “It’s hot with no chance of rain in sight.”
Seconds before sending it, I changed it to “It’s hot and dry with no chance of rain in sight.”
I pushed the send button, and Cabello texted back, “Sounds exactly like the weather here.”
I handed the phone back to Carlton, who said, “I’m glad you remembered that phrase, because I certainly didn’t.”
“Perfect recall,” I said, breathing a prayer of thanks.
