by David Spell
“This is Thomas Burns,” he answered.
“Agent Burns, this is Andy Fleming. I’ve got some information for you.”
“Good to hear from you, Fleming. What’d you find out?”
“I just emailed it to you as well, but we got a confirmation on facial recognition software for a Musa Khan. This is a real bad guy, a high-level terrorist. He was a bigwig in Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence until about five years ago. Evidently, an operation went bad in Syria and the leadership of the ISI forced him out.
“Since then, he’s been staying busy and making a living as an independent contractor. The Agency doesn’t even show him in the US. Their last known location for him was in Iraq, where he supposedly took out an up-and-coming politician with leanings towards the United States. Our intel shows him to be very slippery. The CIA has gone after him a couple of times and come up empty.”
Burns grunted. “Well, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear on a Monday morning but I do appreciate your help.”
“I might need you to return the favor before the day is out,” Fleming answered. “I’ve probably violated half a dozen Agency rules by digging up this intel and passing it on to you.”
“Fleming, you let me know if Sterling gives you a hard time. I haven’t been able to get a lot of cooperation from the CIA on this investigation. I don’t get it. Someone tried to murder one of their assistant directors and did kill two of her security personnel, but it’s like pulling teeth to get anything from your director.”
“I hope this helps. In the meantime, Scotty and I are guarding the CIA’s main entrance. No terrorists are gonna to get past us,” the former Marine laughed bitterly.
“It sounds like you guys got screwed over,” the FBI agent acknowledged. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“No problem,” Fleming said. “I heard through the grapevine that Chuck and Kevin have something interesting brewing. Maybe it’ll spill over on us but at least we’ve still got jobs.”
“So McCain’s got his fingers in something else, huh? I was just getting ready to call him. Thanks again, Fleming. This is my cell number. Call me if I can ever help you.”
“Will do, Agent Burns. Talk to you later.”
After they disconnected, Thomas checked the email on his computer, opening the message from Andy. There were a few more details in the email, along with several photos, but this was clearly a dangerous man. Now, they just needed to find him.
Arlington, Virginia, Tuesday, 1935 hours
McCain arrived at the Irish Pub early, as was his custom, taking a table in the back where he could scan most of the restaurant. The big man had been surprised at Burns’ call asking to meet again. They’d just had lunch the week before and it wasn’t like they were close friends. To be fair, though, Chuck had grown to like the man.
The first couple of contacts between them in Atlanta after the virus had been deployed left a bad taste in McCain’s mouth. To his credit, though, the FBI agent’s attitude had slowly changed as they were around each other more, both working to stop the spread of the virus and attempting to track down the terrorists responsible. Plus, as McCain’s team had continued to locate and take down terrorist after terrorist, Burns had come to appreciate what Chuck and his men brought to the table.
Chuck had spent both Monday and Tuesday with General Perkins and Kevin, hashing out plans for the launch of their business. All the paperwork had been filed and everything was official. Now, they were dealing with the nitty gritty details of what they were actually going to do and how they were going to do it.
With Beth and little Ray still in Asheville, McCain had been grateful for Burns’ call. He needed to eat dinner and was already sipping on a tumbler of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey over ice as he waited for the federal cop to arrive. A couple of minutes later, the fed entered the pub and spotted his friend. As he approached the table, Burns unbuttoned his top button, pulling his tie loose and sitting across from the more casually dressed McCain. He placed his leather briefcase in the empty chair next to him.
A waitress appeared as soon as Thomas was seated, handing him a menu. Before she could even speak, he just pointed at Chuck’s glass.
“I’ll have one of those, but make it a double.”
“Long day?” McCain asked as the young woman went to place Burns’ drink order.
“Yeah, a long couple of weeks. Between you and me, we’re still not making a lot of progress on the two attempts on Ms. Dunning’s life. Like I told you on the phone, the CIA isn’t helping at all. I found out today that even though she’s in the process of retiring, we can’t interview her until Sterling gives the OK. “
“Are you kidding me?” Chuck asked, disgust in his voice. “What’s he trying to hide?”
“That’s a very interesting question, McCain. He said he’s worried that with her being medicated she might give away some secrets. Maxwell said he would get back to me on when we can talk to her, but even then, he’ll send an Agency lawyer or two to sit in on it.
“But back to your question about whether or not Sterling is trying to hide something, he raised the red flags for me the other day at the hospital after the shooting. How much of that conversation did you hear?”
“I heard bits and pieces of it,” McCain admitted. “I was on the phone with my wife, letting her know what had happened so she wouldn’t freak out if she heard it on the news first. I got the bit about him being pissed I was there but what else did he say?”
The waitress arrived with Burns’ drink and both men paused their conversation to order food. After she left, Thomas sipped his Jameson’s, gave a satisfied grunt, and continued talking.
“Well, he kept going on and on about how you shouldn’t be there, blah, blah, blah. I finally asked him, ‘Mr. Director, do you want Ms. Dunning dead?’ I was trying to piss him off more than anything, but he didn’t respond the way that I expected. Most people would have gotten angry that I would dare to suggest such a thing.
“Not Maxwell Sterling. He got defensive, took a step backwards, and even semi-apologized. I might not be the gunfighter that you are,” Burns said, with a chuckle, “but I’m a damned good interrogator. In my humble opinion, the CIA Director has something to hide and for at least a milli-second, he dropped his guard.”
“Interesting,” Chuck commented, mulling over what he had just heard. “But, of course, we’ll need to probe a bit deeper to find out what that might be. You want me to talk to Sandra? She’s probably going to be in the hospital another few weeks. I could drop by to check on her and see if she’ll tell me anything.”
Thomas nodded. “Sure, why not? And thanks for giving me Fleming’s number. He really helped me out. Take a look at this.”
The FBI agent reached into his briefcase, retrieving a manila folder and handing it to his companion. McCain opened it to view several photos of a wiry, dark-skinned man wearing hospital scrubs. There were a few other pictures of the same man taken out-of-doors in an area that looked a lot like the Middle East. The folder also contained a bio sheet on Khan.
“What’s the story on him?” Chuck asked, staring intently at the man, memorizing his face.
“That’s Musa Khan, formerly employed by the ISI in Pakistan. Those photos of him in scrubs were taken from the hospital’s security cameras on Thursday. He was there during the assassination attempt, ducking out as soon as it was over. Fleming had someone over at the Agency run those through their facial recognition software. Khan has been independent for about five years now and was evidently hired by someone to set up the hit on Dunning. Maybe he set up the first attack two weeks ago, as well.”
“Any luck following up on him?”
“No,” Burns sighed. “He used an alias to rent a car and the address he put on the application is bogus. We checked the credit card that he used and mapped out the locations where he’s been. He first started using it about two months ago, but just in the DC, NOVA, and Maryland area. My guess is that he probably has several
different aliases and credit cards to make it hard for us to track him.”
The server returned with their food and Chuck closed the folder and laid it aside as he dug into a large portion of Shepherd’s Pie, while Thomas took a big bite out of his bacon cheeseburger. A few minutes later, Burns put his burger down, wiping the cloth napkin across his mouth.
“I probably ended up getting Fleming in trouble. My boss came into my office today after just getting screamed at by Sterling. Maxwell wanted me removed from the case for going behind his back, yada, yada, yada.”
“What’d your boss say?”
“Larry’s a good guy. I’m sure he told the CIA Director to go pound sand or even something more colorful, but that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Like him or not, Sterling is in a cabinet-level position. Larry said that after Maxwell realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he said that he knew who the leak was and would be dealing with him.”
McCain grunted. “That sucks, but Andy’s a big boy and knew what he was doing when he decided to help you. Truth be told, if he gets fired, they’d be doing him a favor. He’s been hating life since he got transferred to security.”
The FBI agent sighed deeply. “I still hate the idea of getting him in trouble because he did the right thing. You know, McCain, I’m thinking about retiring myself after we wrap up this case.”
“Really?” Chuck asked with surprise. “I thought the Bureau was your life.”
“It has been for the last thirty-one years. I never thought I’d be an assistant director. I was always happy as a field agent. The most I ever really hoped for was to run a field office like I did in Atlanta. That was a great job but the zombies and the terrorists left a big hole in the Bureau. That was a tough time. We had so many good people killed and a lot of bad ones were working for the other side.”
Burns paused, holding up his glass to the waitress, indicating that he’d like another whiskey.
“I’ve been married and divorced three times,” Thomas continued. “I never looked at another woman but the Bureau was my mistress and all three of my exes suffered for it. I’ve got a son by my second wife who hates me and I get it. I was never at any of his little league games, I never made any of his recitals or any parent-teacher meetings. Now, he’s grown and won’t even return my calls. So, yeah, retirement is starting to look good. Who knows, maybe I could even rebuild that relationship?”
“It’s never too late to start, Burns,” Chuck said softly, surprised by his companion’s vulnerability.
The waitress sat another tumbler of Jameson’s in front of the FBI agent.
“Sorry to get so heavy there,” he said, sipping his whiskey. “One more thing before you tell me about your new venture,” Thomas said, noting the surprised look on Chuck’s face. “Brownsville Police found an abandoned van next to the Rio Grande River a couple of nights ago. It’s registered to a known associate of Juan Guerra.”
“Wasn’t he the guy who showed up after the first attempt on Sandra’s life and hauled away some of the shooters? He’s connected to the New Generation Cartel?”
“Impressive,” Burns commented. “You’ve got a good memory. That’s him. The vehicle is registered to a Daniel Guzmán, another serious gangbanger. He’s got a rap sheet as long as your arm for pretty much everything. He and Guerra grew up together in Mexico. The back of the van was nasty. It was full of bloody bandages and bottles of piss.
“Brownsville CSI processed it and lifted several sets of fingerprints. Guerra and Guzmán’s were in there and two females that didn’t return when we ran them through NCIC. There was another set, though, that came back to a Damian Sanchez. When one of my agents ran his prints, they got a call from the Department of Defense. It seems that Mr. Sanchez went through the US Army’s Special Forces training about ten years ago. The last they had heard, he was the platoon sergeant of a Mexican SF unit.”
“Not anymore, he’s not,” Chuck shook his head. “The cartels pay really well and they’ve been recruiting guys like Sanchez for a while now. Remember last year, when you and I were in Los Angeles trying to find that rogue FBI agent? At the same time, the Tijuana Cartel sent a team after our families at Fort Belvoir. Two of those guys had gone through SF training at Fort Bragg but had turned sicários for the gang. Unfortunately for them, they ran into Andy and Josh.”
“Too bad. Well, anyway, to tie it all together, Sanchez’s fingerprints were all over one of those humvees. He was manning the machine gun that killed big Tim.”
Thomas watched as Chuck’s eyes grew narrow, his face tensing. Burns had seen that expression on the big man a couple of times before, usually just before he unleashed hell on someone or a group of someones.
“Whose blood was in the van?” McCain asked.
“Thankfully, that’s another thing that the DOD keeps records of. It was from Sanchez. There was a lot of it and a lot of discarded bandages. The Brownsville field office and the local cops searched the area and found a tunnel leading under the river and exiting a couple of miles east of Matamoros, Mexico.”
“Now what?”
“That’s the question. I hate cases like these because working with the Mexican Federales is a crap shoot. Are the guys they assign to the case on the cartel’s payroll or are they one of the few good cops left in Mexico? And even those honest cops don’t want to tangle with the cartel. I can’t really blame them. How many federales, local cops, and judges have the gangs assassinated?
“Anyway, federal arrest warrants have been issued for Sanchez, Guzmán, and Guerra for multiple counts of murder, attempted murder, and several other things. For Juan Guerra, it’s just more charges added to the stack he already has pending. This might even put him into our Top Ten.”
Their waitress removed the empty dishes and both men indicated that they would have another dose of Jameson’s.
“Your turn,” Thomas said, pointing across the table. “What do you have up your sleeve now that the CIA no longer has need of your services?”
Chuck told his friend about Century Tactical Solutions, General Perkins, and the exciting opportunity that he and Kevin had been given. He didn’t mention the President’s involvement or the fact that he wanted them to create response teams.
“That sounds exciting, McCain. After you guys get up and running, I’ll see about setting something up for my agents. I’m sure that they could learn a lot from your expertise.”
“Much appreciated. I figure that a lot of what we do, especially early on, is going to come through referrals and word of mouth.”
After their refills of whiskey were delivered, they sat in silence for several minutes sipping their drinks. Eventually, Burns broke the silence.
“If you decide you want to take a trip to Mexico, let me know. I’ll make sure you have all the intel I can give you.”
“What makes you think I’d want to go to Mexico?” McCain asked, an amused expression on his face.
“I’m not saying anything, McCain. I’m just saying that if you and some of your buddies did want to take a visit south of the border, I’d do everything I could to support you on this end.”
Chuck locked eyes with the FBI agent and smiled.
“Something like that would be highly illegal, Agent Burns, but I certainly appreciate the kind offer. You know that I’m a law and order kind of guy and we’ll just have to wait and let the wheels of justice take their course.”
Burns chuckled, motioning with his glass. “You might be waiting on Lady Justice for a while on this one.”
Sibley Memorial Hospital, Wednesday, 1320 hours
Chuck sat next to Sandra’s bed, facing the door, while Shaun Taylor stepped out for a few minutes to get some lunch. Two FBI HRT members sat alertly outside the hospital room. McCain had spent the previous twenty minutes pitching his former boss to come work with he and Kevin at Century Tactical Solutions.
“So, what do you think? If your heart is set on retiring, I understand, but Kevin told me recently that he wasn’t ready to
plant his butt in a rocking chair yet and neither was I.”
“I don’t know,” Sandra answered, her voice quivering. “It’s going to be while before I get out of here, and then I’m going to have to learn to live without my legs.”
Tears poured down the woman’s face as she turned away, embarrassed by her show of emotion.
“I understand and there’s no rush or pressure. We’re holding this position open for you. Kevin and I already have a couple of training gigs lined up. Eventually, we’ll be pulling in some of the people that we used in Ops, if they’re interested, but for now, it’ll just be me and him. Take your time. Focus on getting better, but there’s no one we’d rather have running our intel unit than you.”
“Thanks, Chuck,” Dunning smiled, wiping her eyes. “I’ll think about it. That’s probably a really good idea. I sure don’t need to sit around the house feeling sorry for myself.”
“No, ma’am. But it’s more than that. You’re really good at what you do and I think that when we get this thing up and running, we’ll be able to help a lot of people and make some money.”
“Any idea when the FBI is going to interview me?” the former Ops Director asked, changing the subject. “I doubt that there’s a lot that I can add to what Shaun and the other witnesses have already said, but I’d like to get it over with.”
McCain shrugged. “I saw Agent Burns last night. He told me that Director Sterling had said that there will be no interview until he gives the OK. He’s worried that you might give away sensitive information since you’re on so many meds. Plus, he’s going to have an Agency lawyer or two attend the interview, as well.”
“That man,” she muttered angrily, shaking her head.
“Burns also told me that he thinks Sterling is hiding something,” Chuck continued, lowering his voice. “He definitely hasn’t cooperated with the FBI as they’ve investigated the two attempts on your life. Is there any reason you can think of as to why the director doesn’t want to help the Bureau?”