A big man, the direct contradiction of the stereotypical Asian, Sammy had been a gentle giant, probably the kindest man Harry had run across in fifteen years of running clandestine operations.
Lethal on the battlefield, at home he was a loving husband and father of two small boys. Of course, that had all been before the fall.
“Yeah,” Harry repeated, almost more to himself than her. “Sammy was a friend.”
On any other day, Michael Shapiro would have already left for home, punctual to the dot of five. Particularly this month, with Christmas shopping to be done.
The twins had deposited their wish lists in his cereal bowl this very morning, a whimsical touch to start off a day that had quickly gone sideways.
Nothing this day had gone according to plan. If it had…well, as it was, the morning had provided fresh proof that sometimes cleaning up one problem only created another. Even when you went to the best.
“One final thing,” he said, raising a finger. Bernard Kranemeyer stood in the doorway of Shapiro’s office, preparing to leave.
“Yes?”
Shapiro took a deep breath. He had never been comfortable around the DCS. The former Delta Force sergeant just didn’t fit into the Beltway culture. And someone that didn’t fit — you just couldn’t trust them to react predictably — to shut up and do what they were told when the situation required it.
“I need you to sideline Alpha Team.”
Raised eyebrows. “Why?”
Shapiro swore silently. Delta Force, or the Unit, as insiders sometimes called it, was made up almost entirely of non-commissioned officers — no one lower. And with that reality, the D-boys weren’t used to taking orders without question. Unit briefings had been known to turn into shouting matches.
“They’re too close to the developing situation.”
“Bull,” Kranemeyer replied, light flashing in those eyes. “The Bureau is handling the ‘situation’. I need every man I’ve got on stand-by for the extraction operations we’ve initiated. Every man — Richards and Parker are two of my best.”
The DD(I) took another deep breath. He wasn’t used to confrontation. “In October, Alpha Team’s second-in-command, Hamid Zakiri, was found to be a sleeper agent, working for the ayatollahs. This very morning, their Team Lead took a hostage from this building and is currently the subject of a manhunt. My order stands, Kranemeyer. Put them on leave, get them out of the circle before it’s too late.”
“Done,” the DCS assented, nodding his head. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, no, that’s all,” Shapiro replied, at once relieved and taken off-guard by Kranemeyer’s sudden capitulation. It wasn’t natural.
And then Kranemeyer was gone, but the vague sense of disquiet remained. Shapiro stared down at the screen of his computer, at the phone number displayed there. Something wasn’t right…
Darkness had fallen, but the lights set up by the dozen or so FBI agents swarming over the old antebellum mansion lit up the yard and lane, casting monstrous shadows in the form of the boxwoods lining the walk.
It had been dark here, completely dark on his last visit to Nichols’ home. A visit just as unprofitable as this one.
Vic looked up from searching the credenza to see Marika Altmann descending the mahogany staircase. Her hands were buried in the pockets of her windbreaker, the look on her face anything but reassuring.
“What’s the good word? Manage to crack Nichols’ safe?”
The glare told him just about everything he needed to know. “Yes. And no. He had a self-destruct code programmed into the mechanism.”
“And?”
She swore under her breath. “And all the documents inside were charred to ashes, Vic.”
Caruso closed the drawer of the credenza with a gloved hand and nodded. “Coming up dry here too. Nothing in the least bit damning.”
“I’ve worked some paranoid suspects before, but…” The older woman looked over at him. “This one takes the cake.”
The snow was falling faster as Harry closed the door of the SUV and looked over at a woman loading bags of groceries into the trunk of her sedan.
The plaza of the shopping mall was full of cars, no doubt due to the snow. It would never fail to amaze him, but every time it was the same — no one was ever prepared ahead of time.
But he wasn’t here for the groceries. He took a look ahead, taking in his target — the Staples store — then back across the parking lot to the two Virginia State Police patrol cars parked at the Dunkin’ Donuts.
With any luck, they were cold, hungry, and tired of looking for a phantom. No use in depending on luck.
He checked his watch. Five minutes.
A snowflake stung his cheek and he pulled up the collar of his leather jacket against his face, striding into the warmth of the store.
Harry had barely gotten through the door when a clerk approached, asking if he needed help.
“Not tonight,” he heard himself say. Blasted customer service. Four minutes.
The laptops were displayed at one end of the store, lined up in a nice row with placards proclaiming their speed, hard drive size, etc. He knew it was his age talking, but he could remember when disk space had been measured in megabytes.
The good thing about Staples was that their laptops were connected to the Internet. After a brief pretense of looking over the various models, Harry clicked on the Internet Explorer icon and went on-line.
It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for — not far outside town, either.
He took a pen from an inside pocket and scrawled the address on the palm of his hand.
Three minutes. The Mapquest page loaded and he typed both his current address and the destination into the search box.
Got it.
The pungent aroma of cigarette smoke struck Thomas’s nostrils as he pushed open the door to Kranemeyer’s office. As a federal building, smoking was officially prohibited, but the DCS had never been known for following the rules.
He closed the door behind him and advanced into the room, only then catching sight of Richards, already seated in front of Kranemeyer’s desk.
“Have a seat, Thomas,” Kranemeyer gestured with a flick of his hand. The offending cigarette lay a couple inches in front of him, still smoldering in the ashtray.
“What’s going on?” Thomas asked, still standing. Something was wrong. It was only when the DCS waved his hand once more that he sat down.
“Was waiting till you got here.” Kranemeyer looked down at his desk, then back at the two men. “Orders have come down from the top. The two of you are to be sidelined until Nichols is apprehended and this investigation is over.”
Thomas started to speak, but the DCS cut him off. “I’ve already appealed the decision, but it stands, and will continue to do so as long as Shapiro is acting director.”
“Then we’re being placed under arrest?” This from Tex, his coal-black eyes expressionless. Only the set of his chin revealed the tension there.
“Not exactly,” Kranemeyer responded, letting out a heavy sigh. “Shapiro just wants you as far out of the loop as possible. Got a few days of deer season left, I’d make the most of it.”