“Always good to have more friends,” said Kit. “Thanks for all the good work, everybody.”
The impromptu meeting over, Kit reached into a bag from the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and grabbed an extra-large green-tea latte as Yulana joined him.
“Doctor Petkova,” said Kit, as he fished out another paper cup of tea and handed it to her. “I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. About Kala.”
Just the mention of her daughter’s name caused Yulana’s eyes to moisten. “I’m trying hard to keep believing that maybe…” A tear rolled down her cheek. Kit gently brushed it off with his hand.
“Popov’s hackers stole a lot of money from my mom, but the family fortune that they obviously didn’t know about was untouched.”
“Family fortune?”
“You didn’t know you married well?” he asked with a small smile. “I bring this up only to tell you that… Buzz helped me make some arrangements. Put some money into an escrow account. If something happens to me before I can do it myself, I’m putting out a contract in Moscow.”
“To kill Popov?” she asked, a bit confused.
He smiled. “Not that kind of contract. It’s to find and rescue Kala. There are private security companies staffed with veteran operators that specialize in that kind of thing. So if something happens to me, well, I don’t want you to give up hope.”
Kit took a sip of the lukewarm tea drink and then set it down. But he couldn’t set down the heavy weight that sat on his shoulders, the weight he’d been carrying since this whole mess began. He flinched slightly as Yulana took his hand and held it.
“First we have to find Staci,” she said.
Kit slowly nodded. “I don’t think they’ll kill her as long as I’m still alive.”
“So promise me you won’t get killed.”
“Promise,” said Kit, smiling wearily. “But in case the man upstairs has other plans, if possible, could you make sure that my sister gets this?” asked Kit, indicating the key he wore around his neck. “It has special meaning to my family.”
“I promise.”
CHAPTER 34
Bobby Chan and Ron Franklin didn’t bother checking in with Metro PD. They simply started inspecting hotel or apartment units that seemed a likely prospect. But their idea of “likely prospect” was different from CID Agents Flood and Bates’s purely methodical, grid approach. It was the difference between employing veteran detectives using only their instincts to spot potential terrorists in airports or employing the TSA and their politically correct dogmas to spot terrorists. One way was effective, the other created jobs and bureaucratic fiefdoms.
The San Bernardino detectives ruled out condos and any upscale apartment buildings. Most hotels were held in abeyance for now. Their first priority was lower-rent establishments—the “no questions asked” type motels or hotels and “no contract, no lease” apartments that catered to a more-transient and lower-end crowd. And unlike the CID boys, Chan and Franklin not only asked at the office, but they personally knocked on every suspect third-floor door.
They grabbed burgers from Wendy’s and ate as they walked the interior and exterior hallways or walkways of sketchy buildings close to, but west of the Strip and south of the Rio and Palms. Their feet hurt, but they never complained; they just kept moving.
“Would you rather that Major Bennings have been killed at the CIA safe house?” asked Secretary of State Margarite Padilla.
“Yes, I suppose so. Then we wouldn’t be wasting the president’s time having this emergency meeting. And a highly destructive American weapon that could send one of our cities back to the Stone Age wouldn’t be in the hands of a Russian gangster,” snapped John Stout, the DCI—Director of Central Intelligence—the top boss man of the CIA.
To say the meeting was contentious was to put a positive spin on it.
The secret Presidential Finding that had allowed Padilla to use a CIA SAD officer and an operator from the Activity to run the Moscow op that uncovered U.S. moles had been an irritant to Stout for the last six months; but now, with that secret finding out in the open, others in the room who considered counterintelligence to be their fiefdom unleashed a firestorm of resentment. National Security Adviser Bob Shay, the FBI director, and others were steaming because they hadn’t been informed of the action and they would always fight fiercely for control of their perceived turfs, or for, at the very least, being kept in the loop. File that one under big egos, ruffled feathers, and interagency rivalries.
“Viktor Popov apparently has a Russian-built e-bomb that he was going to use if he couldn’t get one of ours,” said Padilla.
“Do you have some evidence to back that up?” asked Stout.
“No, she doesn’t,” said Shay, answering for her, “but there’s plenty of evidence that her man Bennings and his Russian bride stole the bomb from Sandia. And shot up half of Albuquerque.”
“Thanks for answering for me, Bob, but would you mind saving the second-guessing until after I finish the brief?”
“I think we got the gist of it, Margarite,” said President Jason Lane. Thin and savvy, Lane appeared intently focused on the issues at hand. “The secretary of state didn’t authorize Bennings to steal the bomb, so keep the sniping down, people. The question is what to do now.”
“We throw everything we’ve got at finding Bennings and his most likely collaborators,” said Stout. The DCI signaled his aide, who distributed dossiers on Buzz Van Wyke, Angel Perez, and Jen Huffman to everyone in the room.
“Wouldn’t our efforts better be served by focusing on Viktor Popov and his collaborators?” asked Padilla. “Unless you’re protecting a source, John.”
“That’s out of line.” Stout gave Padilla a look that suggested he intended to get even with her. And soon.
“Well, John, the CIA has a history of protecting Popov, doesn’t it?” asked Secretary of Defense Dan Bartok. Bartok was the old college buddy of Sheriff McCain’s brother-in-law and was already taking action regarding the spying mess created by the two CID officers and their NSA pal.
“I wasn’t the DCI then.”
“No,” said the president, “but you’re the DCI now, and neither the CIA nor FBI uncovered this plot, did they? Why did I hear about it from a lone operator working undercover for the State Department?”
“Sounds to me like the lone operator is in on it. Maybe that’s why, Mister President,” said Stout.
“Considering what happened to Bennings’s family, that’s cynical, John. Even for you. We’re here right now because Major Bennings has been keeping the secretary of state apprised of developments,” said the president, not bothering to hide his displeasure.
“So Secretary Padilla makes a mess and we have to clean it up, is that it?” asked Shay.
President Lane slammed his coffee cup down, breaking it. “The next person who bitches about turf issues and doesn’t focus on protecting the country will be removed from this room… and will never return, as long as I’m president. I want to hear constructive comments and potential solutions only, is that clear? Save the butcher work for some other meeting.”
Silence fell over the room. The president wasn’t known for such outbursts, and so Stout, Shay, and others knew they’d have to proceed in a more… clever fashion.
“Clearly the focus should be on finding Viktor Popov and his men,” said Padilla.
“Agreed,” said the president.
“We should quietly raise the DEFCON level and security threat level nationwide. Deploy agents or local officers to every airport in the country,” suggested Bartok.