by P A Duncan
Interlopers more like it. Steedley had to have known about this before Fitzgerald left for Killeen, but he’d kept it to himself. That would come back to haunt the bastard one day.
United Nations advisors.
The idea was unpatriotic. Numbers crunchers, bean counters, people who thought everyone accepted their diversity agenda. He did not need them here, he did not want them here, and the fact they were here was because U.S. Attorney General Vejar wore pantyhose instead of trousers.
Security camera after security camera picked up the “advisors” as they walked toward the command center. Dressed almost identically in black, casual wear, they strode with confidence among the federal law enforcement officers. One was a woman. Of course. The U.N. had to be politically correct. He’d give her a taste of what the real world was like and watch her dissolve into tears. He studied her demeanor and knew the type. They used the company of men to cover who they really were.
The agents outside watched them as well. The day’s psychological warfare blaring from the huge speakers pointed toward the Eternal Light compound—the screams of rabbits being slaughtered—gleaned but a turn of the woman’s head toward the nearest speaker.
The man Fitzgerald could tolerate. He recognized the man’s comfort in tactical situations by the fluid walk, the set of his jaw as he took everything in without betraying his scrutiny.
But the woman… She had no business here, no business being involved in these matters. They thought they could be as tough as men, as competent, but all they did was disrupt the workplace with political correctness. Maternity leave. Sexual harassment complaints. This one would probably be all concerned about the children, about Isaac Caleb’s bastards and whores, something about which Fitzgerald cared little. The children were so brainwashed, they could never be trusted, and why the hell the government was negotiating with a pedophile terrorist was beyond him.
What Fitzgerald did know was he had no time for bleeding hearts.
An agent came up to tell him he had a call from headquarters, a call he’d been waiting for. He’d asked the FBI’s CIA liaison to get background on the U.N. people, but that had been like asking for the Warren Commission files. Now, maybe, he’d get some answers.
Fitzgerald strode into his private office, closed the door, and picked up the receiver on the secure phone.
“What can you tell me?” he asked.
“They’re not analysts. They’re, well, they’re officially labeled as security specialists, but that’s spook talk for, you know, spies.”
Fitzgerald’s jaw clenched again. This was Steedley’s way of getting back at him. Advisors his ass. Steedley had sent them here to spy on him.
“The man’s a Russian defector,” said the liaison. “The woman’s English. Got some fancy title and loads of money. They got a good rep with the CIA. Oh, and they’re married.”
“So?”
“To each other.”
“That’s it?”
“That was the best I can do. My counterpart at the CIA was more closed-lipped than usual about them.”
Fitzgerald hung up. He had an unofficial source he could tap, one who owed him. The internal debate was brief, and he dialed a number from memory. Four rings and an answering machine picked up.
“You called me,” came the outgoing message. “Tell me what you want.”
He waited for the beep and said, “Lt. Terrell, this is Captain Fitzgerald. Time to pay up.”
Alexei couldn’t help but notice how the men in the federal enclave appreciated the self-assured sway of Mai’s hips. One or two may have even noticed the Beretta holstered on one of them. When she saw them looking, she peered back at them over her sunglasses, giving her own appraisal. The agents preened at the attention and elbowed each other.
Alexei acquiesced to his testosterone and placed his hand on the small of her back. Mine, that told them; look, but do not think of touching. Of course, if she had an inkling why he’d taken that moment to touch her, she’d break his wrist.
When they entered the command center, a man emerged from a private office, ignored them, and went to the central hub, where FBI agents operated communications equipment, computers, security camera feeds, phones, and other devices the average person might consider the stuff of science fiction. It was a controlled frenzy, the RV humming with a mixture of conversations. An occasional curse made its way over the din.
The man who’d come from the private office oversaw it all. He wore black tactical gear, his legs planted shoulder-width apart, arms akimbo. The stance told everyone he was the alpha male, in charge.
Mai pushed her sunglasses atop her head and looked around. Alexei stared at the man, knowing full well the FBI agent could see them in his peripheral vision. Alexei let a minute go by and another. He motioned Mai to stay put and went to stand at the man’s shoulder.
“Excuse me,” Alexei said, “we’re to report to the SAC. Could you point him out to us?”
A flush crept up the man’s neck. He faced Alexei with a fake smile. “Didn’t mean to ignore you,” the man said.
His voice was deep, but he was over-emphasizing for effect. A slight inflection of New England. Not pronounced enough for Boston. Rhode Island, perhaps.
“Lots of things going on here,” the man continued. “I’m Hollis Fitzgerald, Special Agent in Charge. You must be Mr. Byou-care-in.”
“Boo-kha-rin,” Alexei corrected. At a hand signal, Mai came to his side. “This is my partner—”
“I was informed you were coming.”
Alexei took a quick physical assessment. Fitzgerald was a shade over six feet tall, muscular, lean, graying blond hair in a crew-cut. Separately his features could be appealing—brown eyes, strong chin, Roman nose—but on his face they seemed slapped down haphazardly. In addition to the black BDUs, he wore body armor and two Colt Government Model .380s in tactical holsters strapped to each thigh. He held a hand out to Alexei, and they shook.
“This is my partner, Mai Fisher,” Alexei said.
Fitzgerald looked from the top of Mai’s head to her toes, his eyes lingering on her chest and never quite coming up to her face. He looked at Alexei. “You need to understand you’re only here because the AG ordered it. I don’t need help from the U.N. Besides, if any of the nuts at the roadblock find out who you work for, it’ll be hell to pay.”
“How would they find out?” Mai asked.
“Excuse me?”
“How would they find out for whom we work?” she asked again.
Alexei noted she’d adopted the highbrow, Oxford accent she usually did when she was about to put someone in his or her place.
Mai smiled at Fitzgerald. “Did you issue a press release? Or would it be that infamous Washington malady, a leak?”
Her eyes drifted to Alexei, and he gave her a single shake of his head.
Fitzgerald stared at Mai as if he couldn’t believe she’d spoken to him. He turned again to Alexei. “However, the AG seems to think you can offer valuable advice.”
“We’ve been analyzing several of the more significant American patriot and militia movements,” Alexei said, “and where Isaac Caleb and the People of the Eternal Light aren’t a militia, they have become a rallying point for the more militant factions of the so-called patriot movement. How you resolve this standoff will determine what actions those militias might take in future.”
Fitzgerald’s upper lip curled in a smirk. “That’s your advice?”
“That’s our introduction. We’d also like to assess certain international implications, including any IRA, Hamas, or al Qaeda connection.”
Skepticism deepened Fitzgerald’s smirk. “IRA? Arabs? With the PELs? That’s a long reach.”
“Not with the People of the Eternal Light. With the militias and other right-wing groups,” Mai said. “Mr. Bukharin and I have extensive experience dealing with international terrorist organizations who have subcontracted with local, disaffected groups within a country.”
Alexei almost smil
ed. If her accent got any more English, she’d sound like the Queen. He added, “From some recent work in the Balkans, we also have experience dealing with conflicts having a religious undertone. Ms. Fisher is an excellent analyst and profiler, and I’m a trained negotiator and interrogator. We will be at your service for any of those skills.”
Fitzgerald’s eyes narrowed to slits. “We have the best profilers, negotiators, and advisors working on this.”
“No doubt, but they draw their paychecks from the same government you do. We don’t, and, therefore, we won’t tell you what you want to hear but rather what you need to hear,” Alexei said.
“We also have a briefing prepared for you and your key personnel,” Mai said. “Background you may or may not be aware of, our own profiling, and so forth. A detached, objective point of view,”
Fitzgerald stared at her as if she hadn’t spoken English at all. Again, Fitzgerald spoke to Alexei. “We’re pretty busy here, Mr. Bukharin. Too busy to rehash all the psychobabble we’ve heard before and rejected.”
Mai responded as if oblivious to the snubs. “I assure you what we have is vital information. I believe you have a caravan you use as a conference room?”
Fitzgerald didn’t bother to disguise his impatient sigh. “Yes,” he said, to Alexei. “I can give you fifteen minutes.”
“The briefing, which we gave to Attorney General Vejar and FBI Director Steedley before we left to come here timed out at a little over an hour,” Alexei said. “We’ll only need a few minutes to retrieve copies from the transport. How about assembling your senior agents in ten minutes?”
Before Fitzgerald could reply, Mai gave him her nicest smile and said, “After we’re done, we’d like to look at your aerial surveillance photos and the layout of Calvary Locus.”
Fitzgerald shook his head. “What?”
“Calvary Locus. That’s what the People of the Eternal Light call their church. It’s a corruption of the Latin Calvariæ Locus, or place of the skull,” Mai said. “Oh, yes, I also understand you have satellite photos of the compound. Those too.”
“What could you possibly want with those? And they’re classified, by the way.”
“Our clearance levels are more than sufficient.”
“I’ll need to know why.”
“One of the women in Calvary Locus is someone we know from an operation several years ago,” Mai said. “Maeve Gleason. She has two children, one by Caleb.”
“We’re aware of everyone in the compound. So?”
“Maeve was an IRA runner in Belfast before she got Eternal Light religion,” Mai replied. “She knows me, and she trusts me enough to talk freely with me.”
“Caleb or men he appoints do all the talking during our negotiation phone calls. He’s not likely to let you girls have a chit-chat.”
Mai’s lips pursed, but her voice was even when she replied, “I’m aware, but if I get to look at the most recent surveillance photos, I can discern an entry route, get inside under cover of darkness, and speak to her without Caleb or anyone else the wiser. I’ll get valuable information for our—your and my—further analysis. You’ll get first-hand intel gathered from my eyes and ears, intel that will help Mr. Bukharin and me develop a proposal for a peaceful resolution, which is why we’re here.”
After a beat or two, Fitzgerald guffawed, loud enough to silence everyone else in the command center. They stopped what they were doing to watch.
Alexei crossed his arms over his chest and debated how far he’d let Mai go in her reaction. He was glad when her reaction was nothing at all.
Fitzgerald’s laughter trailed off, and for the first time, he looked at Mai. He leaned down, face near hers, his scowl scrunching his mismatched features even closer together. Mai didn’t blink.
“The first time we tried to get into that compound, highly trained and experienced law enforcement officers were wounded and killed. What makes you think you can get inside?”
“Well, I’ve a bit of experience and training myself,” Mai said. “Frankly, I won’t sprint up to the front door in broad daylight with POLICE stenciled in big, yellow letters on my back, Agent Fitzgerald. I prefer the clandestine approach.”
Fitzgerald straightened and looked at Alexei. “Get your partner under control.”
“Agent Fitzgerald, she’s not out of control, but one of us will be if you keep patronizing us,” Alexei said.
“Patronizing? What do you call the U.N. coming here and bossing us around?”
“What’s the matter, Hollis?”
Alexei caught the edge of anger in Mai’s tone. The sophisticated accent had dipped into something harsher.
“Are you so intent on punishing Caleb’s defiance you can’t entertain a peaceful solution?” she asked.
“Caleb dealt the first blow. Good men, men with families, with children, were slaughtered by the nut jobs you’re so concerned about.”
“Perhaps the people inside Cavalry Locus were simply defending themselves. As I recall, their casualty rate was double that of the ATF.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“By edict we’re neutral. My point is, we can help you, but you have to have an open mind. I won’t talk myself blue in the face and have your insecurity with the size of your dick versus Isaac Caleb’s interfere with what’s the right thing to do.”
Blood rushed to Fitzgerald’s face so fast, Alexei thought he might be on the verge of a stroke. Some of the agents in the room hid smiles. Alexei filed away the knowledge they didn’t mind seeing the SAC taken down a notch.
“You need to watch your mouth,” Fitzgerald told Mai.
“Alexei, let’s get out of here,” she said, not breaking eye contact with Fitzgerald.
“I agree. We can be back in D.C. in a couple of hours to advise Attorney General Vejar and President Randolph about what we encountered here.”
“Wait, you report to the President?” Fitzgerald said, almost a shout. “What the hell is up here?”
Mai kept her voice low, but her intensity matched Fitzgerald’s. “The President asked the U.N. for assistance, and we are here to offer a peaceful resolution, one diametrically opposed to what you have planned.”
Fitzgerald gave a snort of a laugh and said, “Not even the FBI Director knows what I’ve got planned.”
Gotcha, Alexei thought, proud of Mai’s ability to get the egotistical Fitzgerald to blow his wad and confirm what they suspected. The icing on the cake was Fitzgerald didn’t realize what he’d done. So much for the famed FBI training in counterintelligence.
Mai pressed on. “We know you have FBI agents training to operate the Bradley armored assault vehicles we spotted. We know about the CS gas you intend on using with those tanks.”
“How could you possibly know that?” A line of sweat had appeared on Fitzgerald’s upper lip. A hand lifted to wipe it, but Fitzgerald returned it to his side, clenched into a fist.
“You’re planning an assault using CS gas. We monitored the order and its shipment here. You plan on using military equipment—again—in spite of a law disallowing that.”
“Well, then, missy, what do you want us to do? Wait Caleb out? I got better things to do, and I got families of dead agents waiting for justice.”
“If you execute that assault, you will fail.”
Fitzgerald again smirked at her. “Really? Why is that?”
“Isaac Caleb is an apocalyptic, dyslexic, delusional drop-out who has convinced the people inside Calvary Locus with him you are the Army of Babylon and that conflict with you will bring on the End Times, exactly what they want.”
“We do have freedom of religion in this country, and, hell, if that’s what they want, why not give it to them?”
Alexei caught the flexing and un-flexing of Mai’s fists and decided he wasn’t going to tell her to keep her cool.
“If you use military assault vehicles,” she continued, “to make war on U.S. citizens over their choice of religion, because that’s how it will seem, you’ll tell t
hem Caleb is right. However, beyond that, there are innocents over there who have no part in your pissing contest with Caleb.”
“I hate to poke holes in your carefully developed analysis, but this isn’t about religion. It’s about illegal guns.”
“Guns, religion, it’s all the same to them, Agent Fitzgerald,” Mai replied. “If you execute a tactical raid on a church, Caleb’s followers will die for him because they think that means an express elevator to heaven, something he’s promised them. You’ll also fulfill the worst fears of the paranoid patriots who see a government conspiracy in every move you make. Again, there are innocent people in Calvary Locus who deserve the protection of the law.”
“Everyone over there is a cop-killer,” Fitzgerald said.
“Even the children? Attorney General Vejar’s expressed concern is the children not be harmed,” Mai continued.
Fitzgerald leaned into Mai’s personal space again. “The finest law enforcement agency in the country hasn’t been able to figure out how to accomplish that, Mrs. Bukharin. What makes you think you can?”
“Fisher.”
“What?”
“I’m Mai Fisher.” She nodded toward Alexei. “Alexei Bukharin.”
Fitzgerald had done some homework on them, but not enough to keep him from baiting Mai—unless he did that on purpose.
“Think of her as the brains and me as the brawn if that helps you distinguish us,” Alexei said.
“I don’t want either of you interfering in my operation here, and I’ll put that in my daily report to Director Steedley.”
“I don’t like you, either, Agent Fitzgerald,” Mai said. “Now that we have that established, let’s work past it. Let us brief you and your senior staff, and let me do my recce.”
“And give the PELs a hostage? Not happening.”
“I won’t be caught. Attorney General Vejar raised no objections to that aspect of our presence here.”
“I’ll need that in writing.”