Jake screwed up his face trying to determine why the meeting had to be conducted in the top-secret portion of the building GSA leased for the Bureau and several other three-letter U.S. government agencies. “You want to give me a clue as to what this is all about?”
“No can do, big guy, but I think for once the brass wants to see you and you aren’t in trouble.”
“And some people don’t believe in miracles,” said Jake.
It was difficult to imagine why a lawyer’s solicitation to commit murder necessitated a top-secret summit. Mandatory morning meetings with an administrator usually resulted in a restless night’s sleep. Jake joked he committed a felony a day but with sufficient warning he could provide an alibi and defense for even his most egregious conduct. So far he was golden on this assignment. Maybe he could sleep soundly tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jake got in a five-mile run before heading to the Joint Terrorism Task Force “off-site” in the West San Fernando Valley. The traffic was bearable but any trip down the Ventura Freeway at this hour was cause for a sedative when the drive was complete.
Thanks to the traffic, he arrived a few minutes late. The JTTF, a single-story nondescript building, was hidden in one of the many industrial parks in the Valley. He made his way to the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, or SCIF. It was a large, secure conference room, specially designated for the discussion of classified information. The doors and walls were built to prevent acoustical intrusion, and precautions were taken for the limited number of visitors allowed access. To prevent eavesdropping or tracking, all electronic devices were left outside the room. No cell phones, laptops, iPads, electronic notebooks.
Meetings in the SCIF were usually limited to members of the FBI’s “secret squirrel division,” as the agents referred to those who worked counterintelligence matters. Most agents never darkened the door of the SCIF and Jake had no idea why a squad working cases involving Asian organized crime and now a lawyer who wanted to eliminate his pregnant girlfriend needed access to the secure facility.
Trey Bennett was removing his cell phone and placing it in a gymnasium-style wall locker as Jake approached.
“You sure know how to ruin a morning. What’s going on? Is our lawyer part of a terrorist sleeper cell?”
“I pinky-finger swore not to tell,” said Trey with a weak, crooked grin. “We can talk about it when we get inside.”
Jake gave him a look as if to say, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Instead he whispered sotto voce, “So where is Tonto, your faithful Indian companion, this morning?”
He gave Jake a hard look and replied, “Carter’s not cleared for this,” and knocked on the door.
Jake, suffering somewhat from being over-caffeinated, refused to get serious. “Shouldn’t we knock three times, wait for a response, then recite the appropriate counter catchphrase?”
“You mean like ‘I’ve got the yoyo.’ And those on the other side of the door say, ‘I’ve got the string.’ ”
Jake flashed a huge smile. “Exactly. You know how much I love this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
Before Trey could shout out the secret password of the day, the door opened and the two entered.
Jake surveyed those in attendance. Some faces were familiar, others new. The “heavies”—those seated at the large conference table — were wearing suits and ties. The attire alone spelled government bureaucrats, so he headed toward a back-bench seat along the far wall.
Olivia Knox, the Assistant Director in Charge (ADIC) of the Los Angeles Field Office, was seated at the head of the table, surrounded by her subordinates and supplicants.
Trey was right. This was big. Olivia Knox didn’t casually call meetings with street agents. Though she left most operational issues for her command structure to handle, she and Jake had been known to butt heads during her two-year reign in L.A.
Most FBI field offices were led by a Special Agent in Charge (SAC). Three offices — New York, Washington, D.C., and Los Angeles — were so large that an ADIC was the designated head, with multiple SACs one step below on the management flowchart.
Olivia Knox was respected throughout the Bureau and her name was prominently mentioned anytime there was an opening in the highest levels at Headquarters. Her opinion mattered to most but for Jake she was still just another bureaucrat.
“You going to Vegas with us?” whispered Jake as he passed her.
She glanced at the undercover agent’s boots, jeans, and open collar, glared into his grin for an instant, grimaced slightly, and said to the rest of the room, “Let’s get started. I have an important meeting I need to chair downtown.”
Jake’s competitive streak carried over from the ball fields of his youth to the FBI. Whether the opponent was a crazed serial killer or a bureaucrat, his ego required he keep the upper hand. The character trait kept him alive on the street but was far less appreciated by those in management. He gestured as if to say, “By all means.”
Knox began. “For those of you who don’t know him, this is Robert Bauer, the SAC for the Secret Service here in Los Angeles. I’ve also asked Rachel Chang, our supervisor of the Asian Organized Crime squad, to be here. I’m debating transferring this matter to the JTTF but may allow her to continue handling it. Rachel’s new to the division, fresh from Headquarters, but she worked in the Asian Unit back there, so she’s familiar with the issues in this investigation.”
Jake had yet to meet Rachel, but the undercover operation targeting Tommy Hwan and his extended criminal family was being worked by her squad. The original supervisor handling the matter was transferred back to Washington soon after the UC portion of the investigation began. Trey had been running it unencumbered until Rachel arrived. For two weeks, she had been unable to find or make the time to meet with Jake, which was fine with him.
Trey mentioned her to Jake in passing and though her stay in L.A. had only begun, Trey said she seemed okay.
For Jake the jury was still out on L.A.’s latest find from HQ. As far as he was concerned, street agents had to prove they didn’t have what it took to be in the FBI. Administrators had to prove they belonged… for Jake, Rachel Chang had yet to prove her worth.
Stuart Upchurch, the Special Agent in Charge of the Organized Crime Division, sat next to Charles Hafner, his Assistant Special Agent in Charge (ASAC). Upchurch, who was retiring at the end of the month, was respected by the street agents because he had a hands-off approach to managing cases. Hafner, on the other hand, was a piece of work. He was the proverbial empty suit who couldn’t find his backside with a GPS device. Hafner had a rabbi at Headquarters and the bullpen scuttlebutt had him stepping into Upchurch’s slot if a more meaningful position didn’t open up back east. He had spent an extended assignment on the Headquarters inspection staff and parlayed that into an ASAC position in L.A.
Assistant Special Agents in Charge were a different breed, especially in an office as large as L.A. In the smaller offices an ASAC served just below the division’s top gun, so the responsibilities were more visible and pronounced. In the larger offices they represented one more layer of bureaucracy and most were blue-flamers hoping to land an administrative position elsewhere after checking off another box. Hafner came from the Headquarters mold: good-looking, stiff collar, silk tie, perfect white teeth, risk-averse, and worse than useless.
“We want to keep this in our division and work it off Rachel’s desk,” said Hafner.
Knox nodded as if the ASAC’s input was all she needed to finalize her decision. Knox didn’t introduce a man with salt-and-pepper hair, in his late forties, who sat in the opposite far corner, a cup of coffee in hand, balancing his chair on two legs and resting against the wall.