by Brad Taylor
An attractive brown-haired woman of about thirty-five or so, she dressed and looked like a Brazilian, but then again, that may have just been his prejudice. Throw her into Manhattan and she would have blended in just like everyone else.
He said, “Yes. Like you? Why are you down here with a security man?”
She gave him a quick smile and said, “Yes. I’m American, and I have a security man because I’m in danger here. I need help.”
He chuckled and said, “Lady, we all need help on this boat.”
She said, “No, you misunderstand. I’m in a powerful position at Petrobras. I’m responsible for complaints of corruption, and I think I’ve shaken a few too many branches on that tree.”
Knuckles looked at her in a new light, saying, “You don’t think this is random? You think this ferry was taken specifically because of you?”
She nodded, then said, “Have you heard of Carwash? It was a big scandal down here involving Petrobras. Most of the politicians in the national government were implicated on bribes and extortion, and Petrobras was excoriated.”
“Yeah, I read about it, from a year ago, but what does that have to do with you?”
“I was hired to clean up the mess. ‘A new start’ I was told. I came from the United States, outside the politics of Brazil. I worked as an arbitration lawyer in the oil industry before, and was told they wanted my expertise. I think my expertise was more than they bargained for. The prosecutor who was pursuing the original Carwash case died in a plane crash six months ago. An ‘accident.’ This is no different.”
Knuckles nodded. “I can see how you’d believe that, but these guys have no indication of working with the state. They’re the real deal. If it were about you, they’d find a reason to smoke you in the first twenty-four hours. The fact that you’re still alive means they’re not after you.”
She stared at him for a moment, then said, “How do you know?”
“Because I do this for a living.”
She nodded, then said, “I thought so. I could tell. My name is Willow Radcliffe. My brother is in the navy. He looks like you.”
“Like how?”
She glanced around, then whispered, “He’s a SEAL. You know what they are?”
Knuckles almost laughed at the theatrics, but he didn’t. He also didn’t let on what he did, but the statement was a revelation. There was such a thing as a brotherhood, and it extended to family.
Instead, he said, “I’ve heard of them. He’s allowed to have hair like this and wear Puka beads? I’ve never been in the military, but maybe I should look into it.”
She faltered, realizing she’d made a mistake. She sagged down, cradling her son and said, “Okay. Don’t tell anyone what I just said. Especially about my brother. They’ll kill me for sure.”
The earnestness of her fear made Knuckles’s decision easy. He sagged down next to her until they were shoulder to shoulder. He said, “So why did you bring me over?”
She said, “Nothing. I made a mistake. You looked like my brother. You and your friend. I don’t mean your hair or your clothes. I meant your eyes.”
She hugged her son and started crying, curling into a ball.
Knuckles put his hand on hers. She stiffened, but didn’t move. He said, “You are right, partly.”
She whispered, “How? You’re like my brother?”
He caught her eyes and said, “No. I’m no longer like your brother. I was him at one point, but now I’m much worse. And so is my partner.”
He saw her eyes widen and said, “Why did you bring me over? It wasn’t to give me a sob story about your boy.”
She looked at her son, then back at Knuckles and said, “Are you serious? Are you as good as you say you are?”
He grinned and said, “Well, if your brother is a SEAL, you already know that answer. Of course I am.”
She glanced left and right, then said, “My son has a knife in his sock. My brother gave it to him, and he’s never without it. It has caused issues on more than one occasion, but he always has it. And they didn’t search him.”
Knuckles said, “Like a pocketknife or something?”
“Yeah, but it’s huge, and it auto-opens when you flick it. Elliot gave it to him for Christmas. Told him they were no longer making them and that it was a collector’s item. The damn thing is dangerous. I’ve tried to get him to get rid of it, but he won’t. He shoved it into his sock the minute this happened.”
Knuckles said, “Can you get it to me?”
She nodded, then woke up her son. He rolled over, and she whispered to him. He snaked a hand toward his ankle, rolling up a leg of his jeans. He pulled out something with black slab grips and looked at him. Knuckles held out his hand.
The boy said, “You know how to use this?”
“I do. If the time is right.”
He passed it over, and Knuckles recognized the knife—a Zero Tolerance 300. A hefty folding blade much larger than anyone would carry on a daily basis, but built rock solid with a large belly on the blade. It was coveted by men like him, and it was something he’d give, if he had someone to give it to.
The boy said, “Will this help?”
Knuckles looked at Willow and said, “Yeah. It’ll definitely help. Have you kept it sharp?”
The boy squinted and said, “Sharp enough to shave.” Like he was being tested.
Knuckles grinned and said, “You guys just stay low. Something’s going to happen before the sun comes up tomorrow. I don’t know what it is, but if it’s what I think, you’ll be okay.”
Willow said, “And if it’s not?”
Knuckles looked at the boy and said, “If it’s not, then we make our own luck.”
Chapter 25
George Wolffe walked into the West Wing unsure of what to expect. He was now the default commander of the Taskforce, but the Taskforce, as far as he knew, no longer existed.
He’d spent the last four days doing nothing but shutting down operations and burying cover organizations, and then he’d been told to report at the request of the Principals Committee of the Oversight Council—the core group who adjudicated Taskforce activity, but there was no reason for him to be called to brief, because there was nothing to report.
Unless someone had heard about his release of the Rock Star bird and Pike’s flight to Brazil.
He went through the security procedures, then waited outside the Oval Office. The door opened, and he entered, seeing President Hannister behind the Resolute Desk and a group of people, all staring expectantly at him.
He marched in between the two couches, faced the president, and said, “Sir, you asked for me?”
President Hannister said, “Yes. Thanks for coming. You know everyone here, I assume?”
Wolffe glanced around the room, seeing the secretary of defense, the secretary of state, the director of the CIA, and the national security advisor. Nobody else.
So, this was the principals of the Oversight Council. Which wasn’t good. It wasn’t about some CIA thing he’d done in his past or some congressional oversight prep work he’d done. He was about to get slammed for releasing Pike, but he had no idea how they’d learned about it.
He said, “Yes, sir. I think we all know each other. I spent most of my time in the back of the room while Kurt briefed.”
Hannister nodded and said, “I don’t have a lot of time off the calendar, so I’ll make this short. We have an issue. Where are we with Taskforce operations?”
Was that a trick question? Wolffe said, “Sir, all operations are on stand-down. We have two teams to redeploy, but nothing of any interest is happening. They’re just waiting on flights home. Why?”
Alexander Palmer, the national security advisor, said, “We’re getting an inquiry into Kurt Hale’s death. We need to put it to rest.”
Wolffe turned to him and said, “Who? If it’s a press report, give them the standard blurb. What’s the issue?”
The secretary of defense said, “It’s not a press report. It’s
some shithead on the congressional select committee on intelligence. He’s asking who Kurt Hale is—or was—and wants some answers as to why he was in Charleston. What he was doing.”
Wolffe was shocked. Completely blindsided by the statement. He said, “Are you saying someone on the intelligence committee is asking questions about an accidental noncombatant death? In the United States?”
“Yes. That’s what’s happening. And he’s not doing it because he’s mildly curious. He’s saying he thinks the committee has been kept in the dark, which, of course, they have been. We have no idea why, but we’re hoping you do.”
Wolffe shook his head and said, “No, sir. I don’t. But we own the chairman of the house committee on intelligence. Easton Beau Clute. He’s an Oversight Council member, and he owes us.”
He saw everyone glance everywhere but to him, and he said, “What? Use your political leverage. What am I missing?”
Palmer said, “It’s not from the House. It’s on the Senate side, and it’s not a senator. It’s some staffer that’s digging, and we can’t leverage Easton because in so doing we may cause the senator himself to start asking questions.”
“Seriously?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We don’t even know if the senator is aware of what the staffer is asking. We have no idea why he’s doing it, but we’re sure if we bring in the House side, it’ll just convince him he’s right. He’s a true believer type. A guy who’s been bitching for years about covert action and renditions. He’s the one who pushed a vote on the AUMF.”
The AUMF—otherwise known as the Authorization for Use of Military Force—was the bedrock of legal authority for the invasion of Afghanistan after 9/11. Since then, it had been used for the invasion of Iraq, Libya, Syria, and the reintroduction of forces into Iraq against ISIS. Pushing a vote for its legality wasn’t something Wolffe was against, because in his mind it was way outdated, and now being used far outside of its mandate, but none of the operations conducted by the Taskforce fell even close to legal authority. The only ones who sanctioned his missions were in this room, and he could see why the questions would cause angst. Forget about the AUMF; if this asshole had a thread to the Taskforce, he’d burn it all down.
He said, “True believer or not, he’s got nothing to go on. Why’s he asking?”
Amanda Croft, the secretary of state, said, “We don’t know. That’s why you’re here. He’s discovered you somehow. Apparently, you’re tied into Kurt through the Pentagon phone book. He’s now asking the CIA for answers because he found your name.”
Incredulous, he said, “How is that? I’m still officially listed as working in the Counter Terrorism Center.”
He looked at Kerry Bostwick, the director of the CIA. Kerry said, “George, we don’t know. There are so many different conduits. You’ve been at every Oversight Council meeting—”
Wolffe cut him off, “Which are off the record and not recorded.”
Kerry raised a hand and said, “I get that, but every activity you’ve done—plane tickets, conferences, corporate holdings—has been next to Kurt. This guy has made the connection, and we don’t know how. All we know is that he’s pushing, and he’s asked for the CTC directorate to bring you out. For questioning.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No. Someone’s feeding him information, and we don’t know who it is, but whoever it is knows something. They knew to point him this way. Which creates a problem.”
“Which is what?”
“One, we want to ensure that all Taskforce activities are shut down. We can’t have anything go wrong. Two, we don’t know who gave him the information to look in the first place. Kurt was a noncombat death. There’s no reason to investigate it.”
Wolffe said, “And three? That’s not enough to get me here. You’ve all seen the updates. We aren’t operating anymore. Do you want me to investigate? Figure out who the leaker is?”
Palmer said, “No. Three is we need you to vacate Washington. He wants to interview you, and we can’t let that happen. Kerry has deflected so far, but we need you gone.”
Wolffe nodded, then said, “Where? Where am I going as a ‘CIA’ officer?”
President Hannister said, “We’d like you to go to Charleston. Get out of D.C., and give Kerry here a reason to stall, but also figure out what the police are doing in Charleston. There has to have been something for him to become suspicious, and if it didn’t come from here, in D.C., it had to have come from there. Talk to the police down there and see what you can find. There’s a reason why this guy is looking at us, and we think it’s from Charleston.”
Hannister paused, then looked at him with a little bit of harshness and said, “Unless you know of another reason.”
Wolffe wondered yet again if someone had found out his actions with Pike. He said, “No, sir, I don’t. Sounds good to me. Charleston is the promised land, according to Pike. I’m sure I could stay with him, and I could maybe find something out. Is that it?”
Palmer said, “Yes, that’s it. Thank you for the agreement on that. Pike losing Kurt is something we don’t want to get out of control, given his past. There is too much in play right now that he won’t understand. Get out of town and stay there. And make sure Pike isn’t planning something that would be . . . something we’ll regret.”
Wolffe nodded, realizing the true meaning of this meeting, and hoping his face wasn’t betraying him. He said, “Sounds good. Anything else?”
They shook their heads, with Wolffe seeing them starting to close folders and rise. He turned to go and bumped into Amanda Croft on the way out the door. She said, “You have a minute?”
He nodded, and they exited the Oval Office with the rest of the principals flooding out to attack their regular day jobs of running the most powerful country on earth.
He said, “Ma’am?”
She waited until the hallway was clear of anyone hearing her, then said, “What are you doing about the Prairie Fire alert from Knuckles? I understand that Taskforce activities are shut down, but surely you’re doing something? Off the books?”
Amanda Croft was an enigma to him. A firebrand who had achieved the position of SECSTATE through sheer force of will, she’d been against most Taskforce activities because—in her world—diplomacy was better than the violent means Wolffe controlled. But he knew she was also intimate with Knuckles—something nobody else on the Council was aware of.
In the recent past Kurt had brought Knuckles to testify at an Oversight Council update for an operation in Africa, and she’d taken a shine to him. The next thing Kurt and Wolffe knew, Knuckles and Amanda had become an “item.” Knuckles was a manwhore of the first order, and it had been a shock at first, but Kurt and Wolffe had kept the secret. It was all close hold in the Taskforce world, and they’d maintained her confidence even as Kurt had confronted her on the relationship. But it was real. “Dating” would be a stretch, but she most definitely cared about his life.
Which begged the question of what she was asking. She was a principal of the Oversight Council, sworn to uphold their activities. Was she fishing for information and using her connections with Knuckles to sniff out subterfuge? Or was she really asking because she cared? Wolffe had worked in the wilderness of mirrors long enough to know he wasn’t going to show his cards just because she asked.
He said, “Ma’am, I know about you and Knuckles, but you heard the Council. I can’t do anything about him.”
She took the comment in stride, knowing he was already aware of the relationship. “Can’t? Or won’t? I don’t believe you’d let a man die because of us politicians. Am I wrong about the Taskforce? Was what Knuckles told me wrong? It’s really about the politics and not the man?”
He shuffled his feet and said, “I can’t do anything about Knuckles. My hands are tied. I have to go to Charleston and put out some fires.”
She looked at him with a touch of disgust and said, “So you’re not something different. You’re just like us.”
She t
urned and began walking away, and he made a decision. He touched her arm, saying, “I can’t do anything. But there are others who can.”
“Who? Someone I can get in motion through State?”
He saw how earnest she was, and committed. He said, “Not anyone you can get in motion.”
She relaxed, understanding his words. She said, “Someone I’ve seen brief before?”
He looked into her eyes for a beat, the silence heavy, and then said, “I can’t comment. Officially, there’s nothing I can do. Just like you.”
She considered for a moment, then said, “Not like me. I can help, if I was told how to do it.”
He smiled and said, “Well, if you’ll stay by your phone, maybe there’s something you could do. Behind the scenes.”
She nodded slowly, understanding what was being asked. She said, “Do I know him?”
“I can’t comment on that.”
She nodded again, then pressed forward: “I understand. Are you going to meet someone in Charleston to prevent something, or are you going to Charleston because we asked, and he’s already gone?”
With a straight face, he said, “Rest assured, I’d never send someone on a mission outside of the charter. I have no idea what I’ll find in Charleston, but I’ll be doing my best to execute the mandate of Project Prometheus.”
Amanda smiled and passed him a card, saying, “Nice choice of words. That’s my direct number. Just in case someone wants to disobey the Oversight Council and you need some advice.”
Chapter 26
Nikita ignored the chopsticks and dipped a piece of nigiri into a tray of soy sauce with his hands, then slurped it down, saying, “Pretty good sushi from this backwater place.”
Maksim nodded, staring at the mess he’d ordered. It looked like some toilet roll that had been decorated with fluorescent frosting from the leftovers of a rainbow birthday cake. Alek caught the look, hoisted a piece of sushi with his chopsticks, and said, “Told you. Never go for the chef’s special.”