Uzi couldn’t stand it anymore. He hated lying; it was something he hadn’t had to do since his black ops days with Mossad. Worst of all, he had to lie to his close friend. And he had to do it by placing his complete faith in Douglas Knox, a man he did not trust.
But he also knew that telling the truth would have dire consequences. Uzi looked his boss in the eyes, squared his shoulders, and said, “Clean, Shep.” He wondered if he had been successful at maintaining a poker face.
Shepard turned back toward the window. “I sure hope so, Uzi. Sure hope so.” A few seconds passed in silence. Finally, Shepard said, “We’re done here.”
Uzi chomped hard on the toothpick, then pushed himself from the chair and turned to leave. He stopped in the doorway, wondering if he should tell Shepard what had happened last night. Could he be trusted? Would he keep a lid on it? Would Knox really stand by him, defend him, shield him from Coulter’s inquiry? Was Knox as powerful as DeSantos seemed to think — enough to deflect Coulter? If not, Uzi’s career was over — including those who had participated knowingly — and unknowingly. But Knox had not given him a choice. For the time being, it was best to keep it to himself. Even if it meant lying to his friend.
Uzi bit the toothpick in half, then walked out, leaving Shepard staring out the window.
“Tango is on the move again.”
Echo Charlie was standing in front of a street vendor’s cart, ordering up a hot dog and Coke, the Sat phone pressed against his ear, his bodyguards scanning the area with trained eyes.
Charlie held up a hand. “No mustard.”
“What?” Alpha Zulu asked.
“Nothing.” Charlie switched ears as he handed the man a five dollar bill. “How are you able to still keep tabs on our man without the… device?”
“We’re doing it. That’s all you need to know.”
“Then why are we talking?”
“I need some help understanding where he’s been. I need the big picture.”
Charlie tucked the handset between his shoulder and ear, then took his food from the vendor. It was a brisk day, and steam from the juicy, sauerkraut-smothered frank was fluttering away on the breeze. He wished his comrade would make it quick — before his hot dog was no longer true to its name. “What places?”
“Private house off King Street, Alexandria. Five-twelve Jasper. But the one that had us most concerned was a location just outside Vienna.”
That caught Zulu’s attention. “Vienna?”
“Yes, but our residents there don’t know anything about it.”
“I don’t like that.” Charlie started toward his bodyguards. “I’ll check on both.”
“He could be getting too close. You know what’s at stake.”
Charlie motioned one of his men to take the Coke from him. He shifted the phone back to his hand and turned away. “Then we need to throw him off. But be smart about it. If Tango… disappears now, it’ll bring problems that we don’t need. Even though he’s only a thorn, if we cut it off, suddenly the whole bush will be in our face.”
“Not if we do it right.”
Charlie ground his teeth. “Let me dig around. Need be, we’ll erase the trail. That works, our problem may be solved. If not, we can take it a step further. I’ll be in touch.”
Before Zulu could object, Charlie ended the call. He took a large bite of his hot dog, and then dumped the rest in the garbage. “Gentlemen,” he said as he chewed, “let’s get moving.”
Uzi headed down to his car. He needed to see DeSantos, find out how Shepard knew about their visit to ARM. Was Knox playing both sides of the fence? He wouldn’t put it past him.
Would DeSantos tell him the truth even if he knew it? What if DeSantos was the leak? Uzi dismissed the thought, feeling that DeSantos wouldn’t place his team in jeopardy. But the bond between Knox and OPSIG was inseparable, and even if Knox wouldn’t keep his promise to defend Uzi, he would go to war to protect DeSantos and his men.
As Uzi turned onto M Street, his secretary called. He was to report immediately to headquarters to meet with Pablo Garza. His chat with DeSantos would have to wait.
When Uzi arrived at the Hoover Building, he was cleared by the FBI Police and drove over the retractable metal barrier, down the ramp, and into the underground garage. His mind was adrift with thoughts, trying to make sense of the facts they had amassed, when he entered the lobby.
But his eyes locked on a man standing in an elevator fifty feet away as the doors slid closed. That face— I’ve seen it somewhere.
There was something wrong with this man being here, like he was out of place, in the wrong context, or the wrong time. But Uzi couldn’t fight through the mental cobwebs to figure out why.
He took the stairs up to the fourth floor, allowing his mind to sort through facial images stored in his memory — like a massive binder of mug shots of people he had met during his law-enforcement careers. Someone from his past? Or more recently, from his FBI tenure?
Uzi walked into Garza’s office; the agent flipped a file folder closed and asked Uzi to shut the door. He took a seat and waited for Garza to speak.
“So you’re a risk taker,” Garza said. He opened another file and appeared to be perusing its contents. But Uzi could tell the man’s heart was not in it.
“Is that a question or a statement?” Uzi asked. He kept working through the virtual photos in his mind.
“You’re also very, very stupid. You can’t skulk around behind the scenes. There are rules. You know that. We’ve discussed that as it related to Osborn—”
“Yes, Garza. I know that. Your point?”
“My point?”
The office door opened and in walked the man from the elevator. Bringing up the rear was Jake Osborn. Uzi’s intestines immediately knotted.
And that’s when it hit him, as hard and fast as a rubber bullet to the thigh. The mysterious elevator man Uzi had seen was almost certainly “GI Joe” from the ARM compound— the one who had stopped him before he reached the fence, the one DeSantos had handcuffed.
At first pass through his logic, that didn’t make any sense. It was nearly impossible for an ARM member to be a Federal agent. How could anyone have access to both FBI Headquarters and one of the most notorious militia compounds in the US? Unless— Holy shit… They’ve got an undercover operative at ARM.
And he saw us there.
Nausea swept over Uzi as his mind raced through permutations on how to handle this. He needed to know what Garza knew, and what he was going do about it.
One thing was clear: he’d be getting answers soon enough.
Uzi tried to keep his facial expression impassive. “Yes, Garza. What’s your point?”
“Let me lay it out for you. This is Special Agent Adams. Recognize him?”
Uzi looked at the man, then turned back to Garza. “Should I?”
Garza slammed the file closed. “Let’s cut through the bullshit, Uzi. I know you were on that ARM compound last night. Adams was there. He works for us, he’s an infiltrator. We placed him with ARM after they merged with Southern Ranks. He’s been there two years, feeding Flint stuff here and there to keep his position with ARM intact.”
“Some key insight offered at just the right moment keeps me in Flint’s good graces,” Adams said. “He thinks I’m a freakin’ genius, a brilliant strategic planner.”
“We’ve given him some useless stuff along the way, then backed it up with some action to give it legitimacy. Flint thinks he’s gotten away with something. And he thinks Adams is someone he needs to keep close.”