They heard the line go dead and Bobby turned to face Jay. “Still think my intuition is off?”
Jay scratched at his shaved head and shrugged. “I don’t know how you do it man. It’s like fucking radar…”
Gregg chimed in. “I got him. Special Agent Roger Wallace.” He pushed back from his computer and motioned toward the screen. “The guy’s a friggin’ Boy Scout.”
Bobby sighed heavily and wiped a calloused hand across his face. “Exactly. Something didn’t feel right about him being involved.”
Deric leaned against the desk chewing absently at the inside of his cheek. “It sounds to me like he wasn’t.”
“I’m thinking maybe I need to pick his brain a bit more.” Bobby reached for the phone and held the receiver up. “How do I get a secure line in this place?”
Karachi, Pakistan
* * *
MAMOON HUNG UP the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. He could feel the muscles of his mouth tiring from all of the smiling he was doing. “Sameer! Balil! You will need to work late this night.”
Sameer groaned and stomped to the edge of the railing. Cigarette ashes fell down the opening as he leaned across and looked for his boss. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I just got off the phone with al-Abadi’s right hand man and we have another large order. One hundred American flags and fifty Israeli flags by noon tomorrow.”
Balil joined Sameer at the railing and yelled bellow. “What about British flags?”
“Just the twenty that were ordered yesterday.” Mamoon scratched at his chin. “al-Abadi will be busy. Perhaps we should print up extras. Just to keep on hand?”
Sameer looked to Balil and punched him in the arm. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he glared at the other man. “What did I tell you?” He pulled Balil back from the railing. “Just wait. That fat bastard will come up here and have this wonderful idea of us printing up the rest of the roll of material just to keep on hand.” He pointed a finger in the other man’s face. “Mark my words.”
Balil nodded toward the stairs at Mamoon’s heavy footfalls as he climbed the ancient steps. “I was just thinking…perhaps we should go ahead and print extra flags. I mean, we have the screens and the ink is ready. We could print extras and have them here in the shop. Once the protests start, they may need extras, yes? If we have them here, we can sell them to people off the streets who wish to join in.”
Sameer rolled his eyes and turned back toward the screen printer. “How many more do you want printed?”
Mamoon paused at the top of the stairs, his breath coming in gasps. “I do not know. Perhaps forty of each?”
“Sure. Why not?” Sameer threw his rag at the machine and kicked at the cigarette butts on the floor.
Mamoon looked to Balil. “What is wrong?”
Balil shook his head and lowered his eyes. “He feels that if we screen print many flags, you will not need us around to paint the smaller orders.”
Sameer turned and gave the smaller man an evil glare.
Mamoon stepped into the room and raised his hands to prevent Sameer from yelling. “No, no. I will always need you here to paint for me.”
“Not if you have this infernal machine. Tariq could run this thing.”
Mamoon gave Sameer his best smile. “But who would create the screens, eh? Who would mix the paints and inks and make these wonderful flags, eh?” He slapped the man on the back and spun him around. “You two are the real artists here. We both know this.”
Sameer rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen printer. “This contraption is the artist now.”
“My friend, there is no way you could hand paint enough flags to fill these orders in time.” He walked past the man and ran a hand along the smooth side of the screen printer. “This is here only to save you time.”
“I’d rather be painting.”
“I know you would. And truth be told, I’d rather you be painting as well.” He gave the man a sly wink. “You gripe less with a brush in your hand.”
“Shut up.” Sameer fed another rectangle of cloth into the machine and smoothed it.
Mamoon shook his head as he watched the man work. “What if I prove to you your worth? Perhaps a raise?”
Sameer paused and stared at him with narrow eyes. “You are too tight-fisted to do that.”
Mamoon snorted and nodded. “You’re right. But you deserve this. It was you who convinced me to buy bulk material. You saved me money. The least I could do is spread a bit your way.”
Sameer glanced at Balil who nodded enthusiastically. “I would not turn it down.”
Sameer nodded slowly. “Nor would I.”
“Excellent, then.” Mamoon clapped his clammy hands together. “Finish these orders and I’ll see it done.”
He turned and walked back down the stairs. Balil slowly made his way to Sameer. “Do you believe it? A raise.”
“I’ll believe it when I hold it in my hands.” He nodded toward the machine. “Come. We have a lot of work to be done.”
FBI Field Office, Dallas, TX
* * *
ROGER PLACED THE last box into the backseat of his truck and took one last look at the Dallas field office. He was really going to miss it here.
He opened the door of the truck and fired up the engine, praying that the air conditioning would hurry and kick in. He backed out of his parking space and put the truck into drive just as his cell phone rang.
He lifted the device and stared at the screen. “Blocked number?” He started to toss the phone aside when he remembered Bobby. He was just paranoid enough to pull something like that. He slid his finger across the screen to answer the call and pressed the speaker button. “Wallace.”
“We need to meet.”
“I hoped that was you.” Wallace pulled the truck out of the parking area and onto the side street.
“Remember where you convinced me to join your little operation?”
“The diner? Yeah.”
Bobby groaned on the other line. “Fine, why don’t you just give whoever’s listening the name of the place and what’s on the blue plate special while you’re at it?”
Wallace sighed and shook his head. “Jesus, buddy. You’ve really gone off the deep end, haven’t you?”
“Do you not watch the news? The NSA monitors everybody’s calls and their electronic media.”
Roger hung his head and sighed heavily. “Fine. Let’s meet somewhere else then.”
“Bogeymans. Two hours.” The phone clicked off and Roger stared at the device.
“Bogeymans?” He pulled the truck to the side of the road and tapped at his steering wheel while he tried to figure out what the hell Bobby was talking about. He racked his brain and finally pulled Bobby’s dossier from his personal files.
He thumbed through the known associates from when he was working for the government. One of the names sounded familiar and he pulled his phone close. A quick search of the name brought up a company name and Roger smiled. “Bogeymans. Son of a…”
He entered the address into his phone’s Mapquest and listened to the voice give turn by turn directions.
He did a double take when the female voice directed him to an old airfield. He did another double take when she announced that he was at his destination.
Roger turned and stared at the old airplane hangar. The sign above simply read BYI Security Services. “Baba Yaga International. Sneaky, Bobby. Real sneaky.”
Roger parked the truck and stepped toward the glass doors that was the main entrance of BYI. He cupped his hands to the tinted glass and tried to peer inside.
The sound of a pistol being cocked very close to his ear caused him to stiffen. He pulled back slightly from the glass and felt the cold steel pressed against the base of his neck.
“Why are you snooping around here, governments man?” A heavily accented voice asked. The owner of the voice sounded like he gargled with broken glass every morning just to keep it tuned to a deep growl.
Roger sl
owly raised his hands and felt his head shaking slightly. “I’m not snooping. I was invited here.”
“Who would invite a governments man to here?” Roger could smell the vodka on the man’s breath and tried not to paint a stereotype in his mind. The Russian accent was bad enough, but the rancid vodka was a little over the top.
“Bobby Bridger told me to—”
“Bobby Bridger would not call on us!” The man pressed the barrel tighter against the base of Roger’s neck and he could almost feel him apply pressure to the trigger.
A voice crackled across an overhead speaker and nearly caused Roger to wet himself. “Viktor! Let him be.”
Roger felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and watched as another hand reached around him and pulled the door open. He expected to be pushed through the opening and was shocked as Viktor Teplov held the door open and ushered him in with a wave of his pistol. “It would appear you are expected.” He broke into a toothy grin and Roger did his best not to shiver as he walked past the man.
“I take it you’re a part of this Bogeyman International?”
Viktor laughed and slapped him on the back. “I am the reason for the name, comrade governments man.”
Steve Gibbons appeared from the shadows and held out his hand. “Agent Wallace I presume.”
Roger took his hand and raised a brow. “And you are? I was expecting Bridger.”
“If you’ll follow me.” Steve turned and headed toward a group of desks along the wall of the hangar.
Roger glanced about, trying not to be too nosy with the gun happy Russian behind him. He spotted a row of Humvees, ex-military units that had been painted gloss black with a logo on the door that he wasn’t familiar with. Two helicopter gunships and a small luxury jet filled the rear of the hangar. “You boys planning on starting a war?” Roger didn’t mean to let his thought escape, but it happened nonetheless.
Steve shot him a grin over his shoulder. “Only if we’re paid to, amigo. Only if we’re paid to.” He stepped to the desks and waved Roger in. “Bridger will be out in a moment.”
“He in the can?”
“Nope. Burning his clothes in case a tracker was somehow embedded.” Steve sat behind his desk and offered Roger a chair.
“Burning his clothes? Isn’t that a bit…”
“Paranoid?” Jay stepped out from behind the beer fridge and sat across from Roger. “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.”
Roger hiked his brow again and noticed the others in the group suddenly appearing from the shadows. “So, who are you fellas?”
Viktor sat on the corner of the desk and spun his chrome plated pistol on his finger. “We are the Bogeymans.” He laughed at his own statement as though it were a joke.
Jay cleared his throat and nodded. “That’s one way to put it. We are specialized contractors, each with our own unique talents.”
Roger nodded. “Mercenaries.”
Gregg laughed a little too loud and shook his head. “Only those who can’t afford us call us that.”
“But that is what you are, correct?” Roger crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the man.
Bridger stepped out from a doorway behind the men, buttoning a black BDU blouse. “They’re security specialists.” Roger turned and did a double take. “Yes, they’re for hire, but they’re all trained operators. I believe their biggest client is our own government.”
“You assume correctly, fine sir.” Jay tossed the dossier onto the desk closest to Roger.
“What’s this?” Roger picked it up and thumbed through it. He suddenly looked up at Bobby and gave him a questioning look.
“That’s the intel they were able to find on me since the shit hit the fan.”
Roger shook his head. “I don’t know anything about shit hitting the fan.” He closed the folder and laid it down carefully. “I only know that something hokey was going on when they transferred me—”
“And you decided to call and give me a heads up. I know that part.” Bobby pulled his chair closer to Roger and tapped a finger on the dossier. “I need to know what isn’t in here.”
“I can tell you one thing that isn’t there. My section chief threatened me on my way out. Or he warned me. I’m still not sure which yet.”
Jay tossed the empty beer bottle in the trash and poured a cup of coffee. He turned to Wallace, his curiosity evident. “How so?”
“He threatened to transfer me to the Des Moines field office.”
Jay gave him a so what? look when Bobby filled in the blanks. “There is no Des Moines field office. Whenever an agent is killed in the line of duty under mysterious circumstances and anybody comes sniffing around, these guys simply report that the agent isn’t available because they were transferred to the Des Moines field office.”
Jay nodded, scratching at his goatee in thought. “And if they try to look up the field office and call?”
Bobby shrugged. “They assume it’s some covert facility that civilians can’t reach.” He turned back to Wallace and tapped the dossier in his hands. “You’re gonna help us figure out why all the cloak and dagger crap.”
“I’m not following you, Bobby.” Roger glanced from face to face, hoping to catch an idea of why he was there.
“You’re our inside man.” Steve answered quietly. “You have access to the government’s computer systems. Including the stand alone systems that we can’t hack into.”
Roger shook his head as he slowly came to his feet. “Now hold on just a moment fellas. I can’t be digging around in those systems just for shits and giggles. I need to have—”
Gregg tossed something at him, cutting him off. “That’s a top secret access card. You can get into anything with that.”
Roger picked it up and glanced at the ID card. It belonged to an unknown operative with the Agency. At least, he was unknown to him. “Who’s this guy?”
Jay waved him off. “Don’t worry about who it is, just know that with it, you can access any of the top level files you need.”
“But what about the owner of this key card? Won’t he be looking for it?” Roger felt his mouth going dry as he spoke.
“Technically, he’s missing in action. Considered alive and well, just laying low.” Jay sipped from his coffee cup, his eyes never leaving Roger.
“Technically alive. I’m guessing that you boys know better?” Roger found himself slipping the key card into his pocket.
“Let’s just say that the key card will only be good for another…” Steve glanced at the date on his watch. “Four or five days. Tops.”
“Great.” Roger hung his head and contemplated what was being asked of him. He suddenly raised his eyes and met Bobby’s steady gaze. “Why don’t one of you guys use this? Just waltz in, grab an unmanned computer and go to town?”
“You gotta be able to get into the building first, smart guy. You have the legit creds for that.” Gregg gave him a smile that sent a cold chill down his back.
“Besides, you’re the one who pulled me into this mess. Remember?” Bobby didn’t mean to sound threatening when he spoke, but apparently being on the run did something to his temperament.
“Great,” Roger groaned. He slumped in his chair and shook his head. “But once I get whatever intel you want, I’m done, right?”
Jay walked past him and patted his shoulder. “We’ll have to get back to you on that one.”
6
FBI Field Office,
Oklahoma City, OK
* * *
ROGER TURNED OFF West Memorial Road and pulled into the Oklahoma City field office. He knew he couldn’t return to the Dallas office so he thought he’d hit one of the larger places on his way to Omaha. He groaned inwardly as he entered the building, flashed his credentials, and passed through the security check points. When asked who he was there to see, he remembered a joint-op with an Agent Weston a few years back. He dropped her name and was directed to the third floor.
Roger entered the elevator and pressed th
e button for the second floor. As he exited, he glanced around the busy office. He found an empty cubicle in the corner and slipped in behind the potted plant. He quickly booted the computer and pulled up the secured data line. Being one of the few hard line connections between agencies, one would have to physically cut and tap into the fiber optic connection, and it was alarmed. Any attempt to tap into Homeland’s secure fiber systems would be met with deadly force.
Roger reached to his breast pocket and pulled the key card out. His fingers trembled slightly as he inserted it into the computer and watched as the key card signed him in and verified his security clearance. He glanced to the side to ensure that nobody happened to be watching as he performed a search on Bridger.
Documents and data collected and he skimmed through the detritus to get to the pertinent information. He found his original flag on Bridger and copied the individual’s ID who’d deleted it. “NSA?” Roger didn’t mean to speak his thoughts and quickly did a double take to see if anybody’d overheard him.
Outside the high security computer terminal office, people went about their business as usual. From what little Roger could tell, nobody was the wiser for his activities. He turned back to the screen and collated the data that he felt was notable. He reached into his pocket and pulled his keys out. A small, rubber Superman figure dangled from the main ring and Roger tugged at the short, stubby, cartoon-like legs of the superhero. The USB drive gleamed under the florescent lighting and he quickly inserted it into the computer. He copied the data and saved it to the drive before quickly pulling it and slipping the legs back on.
He shut down the computer and slid the keys back into his pocket as he stood. Roger turned to leave then suddenly froze. He quickly turned back into the cubicle and retrieved the security card. He slipped it back into his breast pocket and walked silently out of the secure room and back into the office where the other agents went about their business.
He did his best to act nonchalant as he approached the security kiosk at the entrance of the building. He pushed past the spinning metal bar that directed traffic out of the building.
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