"Did you request recent NRO satellite imagery?"
"I just finished sending the request when you woke up from your nap," O'Reilly said.
"I wasn't napping."
"I'm sure you weren't. I think the next step is to request live satellite surveillance," she said.
"Agreed. Send me the coordinates, and I'll get the ball rolling with Director Shelby. He'll need to brief the White House," Sharpe said.
"Do you think they'll roll in with military?" O'Reilly said.
"It depends on what they find in West Virginia, but I wouldn't be surprised if they use the military regardless. Our special operations liaison said that SOCOM has assembled one of the biggest Tier One packages he's ever seen at Dover Air Force Base."
"Do you want to talk about the missing driver now?" O'Reilly said.
"Yeah, about that missing driver…two 'Arab-looking' men dragged him to safety according to witnesses," Sharpe said.
"Nobody found it odd that they carried him from the scene?" Hesterman asked.
"Apparently not," O'Reilly said.
"I think this was the work of our favorite general, which leads me to wonder about their intentions," Sharpe said.
O'Reilly leaned closer to Sharpe and spoke in a whisper. "I still don't trust Sanderson's crew, but we've definitely benefited from their participation. Maybe it's not a bad thing if they have Estrada."
"That's the last time I want to hear either of you talking like that. We can't play by their rules, and we certainly can't condone what they're doing, no matter how much we benefit. When the internal investigators descend upon our databanks to audit the inner workings of this task force, we'll all have to stand on the red carpet and explain why we turned a blind eye to murder, torture, kidnapping…all of it. We're walking a very fine line as it is. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Hesterman and O'Reilly responded in unison.
"Good. I'll handle Ms. Stewart and Sanderson. This bullshit ends tonight. E-mail me those coordinates."
"They're already waiting for you at your computer," O'Reilly said.
"Thank you. And by the way, excellent work. Sorry to run, but I need to square away our situation with Sanderson," he said and turned toward the staircase leading to the second level.
He hoped that his ass-chewing would steer O'Reilly and Hesterman away from the inner workings cast by Sanderson's spell. He didn't dare admit to them that he shared the same hope that Estrada was strapped to a chair in some dank basement, awaiting the next round of unthinkable pain and agony. He'd long ago seen the value of Sanderson's tactics, but he couldn't come to terms with it. He'd spent most of his adult life following regulations and strictly observing the rules laid out for him by the FBI. He'd strayed from this straight and narrow path two years ago, in his pursuit of Daniel Petrovich, and it now felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He wasn't on his way to Stewart's office to put an end to Sanderson's interference. His plan was to harness the power that Sanderson wielded to prevent the death of countless thousands. He'd tasted Sanderson's world and wanted more. He had fought against these urges, knowing that they had no legitimate place in his law enforcement world, but the consequences of failure were too devastating. If stopping True America's plot meant wrecking his own career, he would gladly make that sacrifice. He couldn't make that decision for O'Reilly or Hesterman, so they would be excluded from the covert side of Task Force Scorpion, and he'd have to keep Mendoza in the dark as well. In the unlikely event that the Sanderson association blew up in his face, they would be protected from prosecution.
He ascended the stairs and approached Callie Stewart's assigned office. Before he reached the door, she stepped out onto the catwalk.
"Is DeSantos in there?" he asked.
"No. He's been gone for several hours. Can I help you with something?"
"Let's step into your office. Close the door behind you, please," he said.
Once the door was shut, he sat in one of the faux brown leather chairs near the window. Stewart lowered herself into the adjoining chair.
"From this point forward, we're going to cut the bullshit. I know you have Estrada. Do you have the compound location?"
"I just received the information," she said, clasping her hands.
"Were you planning to share this information with me?"
"Well…it's a little more complicated than that for us."
"Because you don't want to tip Sanderson's hand? That's no longer a concern between us. I'm just going to assume that Sanderson holds a royal flush at all times. I'd like to speak with him for a moment, if you wouldn't mind calling him for me," he said.
"It would be my pleasure," Stewart said, standing up to walk over to the desk.
"I'd like this to be a private call. Let's use your cell phone," Sharpe said.
Stewart slowly dropped back into the leather chair, her facial expression showing no surprise at the request.
"All communications leaving here are monitored by—"
"Not buying it, Ms. Stewart. You're good, but I've worked in counterintelligence for twenty years. I haven't walked up those stairs once since you arrived, and the first time I decide to pay you a visit, at 1:30 in the morning, I'm intercepted at the door?"
She dialed the number and waited a few seconds for Sanderson to answer.
"Everything is fine, General. Special Agent Sharpe would like to speak with you."
She passed the phone to Sharpe.
"Good morning, General. I was just talking to Ms. Stewart about how I'd like to proceed from this point forward. No more secrets. I need to know exactly what you know, as soon as you know it. I need to know what your operatives are doing before they do it. The flow of information at this point is a congested, one-way street."
"One-way street? You haven't exactly rolled out the red carpet for Ms. Stewart. Information is flowing like mud from your end," Sanderson countered.
"Really? Maybe this would be a good time to reboot and debug the NCTC computer system. They'll probably follow suit at the Newark field office. How would you feel about the information flow then? The cyber techs didn't find any security breaches at the Newark field office, but I'm sure your people covered their tracks pretty well. Money buys the best talent, and from what I can tell, you have a lot of money at your disposal."
"I'm not sure sharing information would be in your best interest, as a government employee," Sanderson replied.
"Let me worry about that," Sharpe said.
"Once you stepped into this arrangement, you can't just step out. We're partners."
"I wouldn't go that far. What kind of information did you manage to get from Estrada?" Sharpe asked.
"Details about the compound. From what I can see, your people have the correct location. I assume that General Gordon's Joint Special Operations Command will be given the task to take down the compound. Based on what Estrada disclosed, the FBI would be seriously outmatched and outgunned. Unfortunately for us, planning and intelligence gathering efforts for the operation will remain in-house with SOCOM. Aside from timeline and general information, we'll be spectators. This is where your background will be critical to their success. We need to ensure that they either find — or are prepared to deal with — .50 caliber heavy machine guns. Estrada said they had three at their disposal, with armor-piercing ammunition. They also have some kind of armored vehicle, with a mounted MG42. It's more of a body-shop project, but not something our Special Operations forces want to stumble upon. They also have a 60mm mortar with high-explosive ammunition. Have you ever come across evidence or rumors that True America was acquiring this stuff? We have to warn them somehow, and I'd rather do it in a way that doesn't tip our hand."