Instead, it kept going over her earlier conversations with Carl, Ann, and with Alex.
Especially Alex.
Finally tired of trying to sleep, she opened her window shade and looked out into the darkness. There was no view, just a glimpse of cloud cover beneath them, reflecting the lights of the plane. Teren had always loved such vistas. They seemed to match the darkness and cover she had to live in, and she always felt a comfort in shadows. Tonight, however, she could only feel uneasy.
She went back over her meeting with Carl. He was an old CIA agent, who had survived the cold war, only to be shot by a robber in a convenience store hold-up. His leg had never quite healed right. The Agency, always practical, had given him the money to start a used bookstore, on the condition he would allow them to place operatives, masquerading as workers, there at various times. Sometimes these operatives were hiding after a mission, or were there to keep an eye on certain factions in the city. Denver was, after all, one of the largest cities between the Mississippi River and California. It was a contrast to its conservative southern neighbor, Colorado Springs, being only slightly less liberal than Boulder. It also had a large and growing population of exchange students, foreign nationals, immigrants, and illegals. Having a guaranteed cover for agents watching for subversive activities was something the Agency wanted in all big cities, especially one that was home to a large portion of the nation’s robust aerospace industry. While it was the FBI’s job to root out domestic terrorism, they could do little if the planners were outside the US. The CIA used that as an excuse to plant undercover agents in many American cities.
For a time, Perry and Teren had been in Colorado on such an assignment. As their experience grew they had become international operatives, based out of Denver. Teren had worked in Carl’s bookstore, which was actually called The Bookshop, for a little over two years. Perry had spent that time as a student at Denver University. By the time the Agency released them from their covers, Teren was involved with Ann, and Perry chose to stay in the same city as his partner. When she left he did, too.
But Carl had stayed, growing a little slower, and a little heavier, but still with the same keen eye. He kept his hand in everything, per his agreement with the CIA. When Teren came looking for information he may not have known exactly why, but he knew how to get it.
“Okay, you want me to look into these Swiss Bank accounts? Want to tell me why?”
“Not really. And I’m telling you, you’ll need to cover your tracks. I’d ask for the information through my usual channels, but I think these people are dangerous.”
“Whose name do you think it’s in?”
“I don’t think this particular account has a name. I think it’s been there since the forties, or even earlier, and I think the person, or persons, who started it have been dead for a long time. I don’t care about that. I need to know who had signing privileges on it six months ago, and who has them now. I also need to know every single transaction in the last six months.” She looked at him. “Can you do that?”
Carl chuckled. “You’re asking me to get you information out of one of the most heavily guarded financial institutions in the world, while telling me it could be dangerous, and now you think to ask if I can do it?”
Teren gave him a sheepish grin. “Guess I should have asked that first, huh?”
“No. You shouldn’t have asked at all. You know damn well I can do all that.”
She nodded. “I thought you could.” Teren sighed. “I wasn’t sure if you would, though.”
Carl had been lifting a cup of coffee, but at her words, he stopped. “What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I help you?”
“Well, I’m not officially an agent right now, and I don’t know if I ever will be again. Right now I’m kind of on loan to the Bureau for this case, though that’s even unofficial. And it’s always possible that the powers that be don’t want this case solved.”
He regarded her while scratching his cheek. “Why do you say that?”
Teren shifted in her chair. “Well, for one thing, the Bureau has a low percentage of minority agents. This task force has a very high percentage.”
“Couldn’t that be simply because they thought the minority agents might put more effort into this?”
“Possible. But then again, they chose carefully from among their minorities. While most of them are certainly qualified, they’re not the top agents, and they have little to no experience in this kind of thing. One is an expert in hate crimes, and has made connections that most people never would, but in many ways, she’s out of her league. Another is an expert in domestic terrorism, but is way past his prime; in fact he’s close to his pension. The leader of the task force has never been assigned something this big, and he’s certainly no expert on assassinations. Most of the time the higher ups keep him busy with meetings on budgets and personnel, things that he really doesn’t need to be in on. Even he recognizes that the meetings are keeping him from truly jumping in and leading the team, but he hasn’t figured out that it’s probably intentional.
“But the final thing that tells me someone doesn’t want this solved is the group of agents they sent to protect Reginald Dabir. Granted, they were all team members, experts in hate crimes and forensics, and excellent agents. But not one of them had any knowledge of terrorists, or security against terrorism, foreign or domestic. They did their best to prepare, but they couldn’t stop someone from walking in and shooting Dabir.”
Teren picked up her own coffee mug and took a sip. “Though I do have to say that Perry and I were partially responsible for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I left Perry on that hillside, I had both our ID’s. When I was shot, I dropped them, and only recovered my own. Mather found Perry’s and altered it, using it to get past the security guards.”
“That’s how the son-of-a-bitch got in. Damn.” Carl took another sip. “Yeah, I guess I can see how you might think someone doesn’t want it solved. Sounds like the same shit as usual in DC.”
“Yep. You should be glad you’re out here.”
He snorted. “Right. Did you know I’m living just an hour’s drive from over 85 religious right organizations? And several are very right wing, if you know what I mean.”
“That many? Jeez. I knew the Springs had a lot of conservatives, but, damn.”
“Yeah.” Carl pondered for a moment. “Actually, you might want to check a few of them out. How they’re organized I mean.”
“How so?”
“Well, there’s a lot of groups, and lots of members in each group. But the leadership doesn’t seem to consist of too many people.”
“You mean people lead more than one group?”
“No.” He put his mug down and stood up. “I think I have the name of someone you might want to talk to. We’ve conversed on email a few times, and he’s sent me some interesting information on right wing leadership. You know how you told me Dawkins runs this group south of here, but also sits on the CMF board?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that ain’t the only board he sits on. If I remember right, he’s on a few others, too. And the leader of CMF is on the board for this Religious Families Group. See what I mean?”
“About the leadership? Yeah. Is that consistent though?” Teren stood and followed Carl as they moved to his office. “I mean, does every board consist of the leaders of other right wing groups?”
“Mostly. You’ll have to ask my friend. I’ll give you his name and address,” Carl pulled a slip of paper off his pad, and copied a number from his bulletin board, “and you tell him that Carl told you to talk to him.”
Teren took the paper and slipped it into her pocket. “I’ll be sure to do that. In the meantime, how soon do you think I can get that other information from you?”
Carl scratched his chin. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t think it would take longer than twenty-four hours. And even if it does, I’ll send you what I have tomorrow, okay?”
“Sounds great. How will you send it?”
“I’ll make sure to give a call, and get a security box set up for you. You’ll be let in, I promise. The stuff will be waiting in the box.”