“I’m coming,” Casey said. “Y’all walk too fast in New York.”
“I’m from California,” Susan said.
“Well, you’ve been here too long, then.” Casey was still confused about the hubbub on the floors of IWG, but he was more interested in why Jim wanted to see him. And based on Susan’s semi-frantic demeanor, he figured it must be important.
Casey followed Susan into the conference room and was greeted by the faces of Jim Shelton and another man about Jim’s age whom Casey did not recognize. Jim spoke for both men. “Great. Please have a seat, guys.” When Casey and Susan were seated at the table, Jim continued. “Sir, this is Casey Shenk. Casey, Dr. Glenn Borglund, the founder of IWG.”
“Nice to meet you, Casey,” Doc said, as he offered a hand to Casey.
“Nice to meet you too, sir.” Casey understood why Susan was a little frazzled out in the hallway. When she said the boss wanted to see him, she meant “The Boss.”
“I understand you’ve done a lot for this company in the past couple of weeks. I would say for free, but that’s not true at all. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.” Casey merely nodded. Doc Borglund was referring to Mike Tunney. The price of losing a friend was not something you could measure in wages paid for services rendered.
“Casey, I’ve filled Doc in on the history of your involvement with IWG and the MV Baltic Venture from the first time Susan called you until now,” Jim said.
“From what Jim has told me,” Doc Borglund said, “you, and Susan here, are largely responsible for everything we know about the Baltic Venture story. And a good deal of what we think we know.”
“Casey,” Jim said, “we read what you wrote on your website last night.”
“Sir, that was just one man’s thoughts. I didn’t implicate IWG in any way with coming to the conclusions I....” Doc cut Casey short.
“We think you’re right.”
“What?”
“We agree with your analysis. And I’m willing to bet the company’s reputation on it,” Doc assured Casey.
Casey looked around the table as all eyes focused on him. “Sir, I don’t have any proof of what I wrote,” he said. “Do I believe it? Yes. Otherwise I wouldn’t have posted anything in the first place. But there’s no real evidence—not enough for y’all to think about putting an IWG stamp on it.” Casey was nervous that he might be responsible for the fall of the Intelligence Watch Group, or worse, if he didn’t put a cap on everyone’s enthusiasm. He was already responsible for Mike’s death and Susan’s paranoia. He didn’t want any more dark clouds on his already guilty conscience.
It was everyone else’s turn to be confused. Susan spoke up and said what they were all thinking. “Didn’t you see the news this morning?”
“No. Why?” Casey asked.
“There was a suicide bombing outside a police barracks in Algiers,” Susan said.
Other than the location, Casey didn’t see the relevance to the hijacking or his blog ranting. The same thing had happened before in 2007 and was claimed by al Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghreb. Casey was sure Iran, Russia, or Israel had nothing to with that incident. Casey shook his head. “I’m not following you.”
“The bomb was radioactive,” Susan said.
“Nuclear?” Casey asked. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He also couldn’t believe he missed the news. Of all days to break routine.
“Not nuclear. Radioactive,” Doc said.
“The reports are still sketchy, but investigators found traces of Cesium-137 at the blast site,” Jim added. “It appears the terrorist used a crude radiological dispersion device. Not your typical suicide vest, but a textbook dirty bomb. Like Chechen rebels tried to use in the mid- to late-nineties.”
“How did they find that out?” Casey asked.
“Witnesses saw a man with a black briefcase lay out a prayer rug in front of the barracks building,” Jim said. “It was just past eight in the morning—hours before the next muezzin call—but the man started a ritual salaat. When three policemen approached him, the bomb detonated, killing them and the bomber instantly. Three other bystanders were killed, and fifteen more were injured. The body count would have been higher if the man had detonated the bomb without the theatrics. That gave people who were nearby time to process that something wasn’t right and leave the area.”
“Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?” Casey asked.
“AQIM,” Susan answered.
“Do they have the capability to make a dirty bomb like that?”
“No, but the Russians do,” Jim said. “That’s why we believe the scenario you came up with last night is highly probable.”
Doc Borglund took over the conversation. “Casey, what you have in your blog is the ability to troll for the truth. The more attractive and realistic the bait, the bigger the fish you might catch. Ever since you began putting together the whole Baltic Venture saga, you have been right on the money. We know this because you not only attracted Susan, but other, more sinister parties. Those fish wouldn’t even nibble if what you offered was an utterly false conspiracy theory that could easily be ignored,” he said.
“The idea that the entire hijacking operation was only the outer layer of the onion was brilliant,” Doc continued. “Everything you have said before about Israel’s intentions to stop the shipment of missiles to Iran while at the same time trying to influence the Russian vote at the P5+1 talks is exactly right. But in the real world, we all know that it takes more than the possibility of getting egg on your face to push a government like Russia around. Israel knows it, too. That’s why suggesting the possibility that there was more behind the Baltic Venture than any of us had been looking at makes perfect sense. In fact, I’m ashamed that we didn’t dig deeper from the beginning. That’s not to say the hard work everyone has put into this was misdirected, it just needed a fresh idea to peel back that outer layer and find the truth. You did that.”
“And you think the bombing was at the center of the Baltic Venture story all along?” Casey asked.
“Do you?” Doc asked.
Casey thought about his response to the redirected question before answering. “I think it’s possible the bomb was somehow connected. But the question is still why? I mean, assuming Israel had anything to do with shipping a radioactive bomb on the Baltic Venture and getting it into the hands of AQIM, what would be the purpose?”
“That’s what I wanted you to help us with,” Doc Borglund said. “The bombing is late breaking news, but you and Susan, and Pete Grozny, have already pieced together the background behind it, going on the assumption that it’s tied to the Baltic Venture. That puts us weeks ahead of everyone else in putting our finger on the true story here. I need you to run with your theory and find some answers.”
“But sir, Casey just puts things together from open sources,” Susan said. “No offense, Casey, and trust me, you’ve done more for me on this case than I could ever have done by myself.” She turned back to the IWG CEO. “Coming up with a theory of what actually happened and even postulating on the implications is one thing. Coming up with the proof requires hard intelligence.” She looked again at Casey. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay. You’re right, Susan,” Casey said. “And in this case, I don’t have any proof that there even was anything bigger than a missile shipment on the Baltic Venture.”
“We understand the limitations, Casey,” Jim said. “We just want your help in steering us in the right direction. Help us figure out where to look to get that proof, that’s all.”
There was a brief silence while everyone waited for Casey’s response. After a full minute, he finally spoke up. “I may have an idea.”
“Excellent,” Doc Borglund said. “Let’s hear it.”
“Well, with all due respect, sir, I’d like to make a phone call first to see if the option is even available.”
“Casey, we have lots of resources available to help in any way possible. We have people on the ground all arou
nd the world,” Doc said.
“Sir, please just trust me on this,” Casey said. “I’ve learned over the past few days what IWG is capable of, but if this thing is as important as we believe it is, I think we’re gonna need some help getting the word out. If you’ll allow me, and frankly, even if you won’t, I’m gonna call a friend first before I take the next step.”
Casey sucked on a straw, getting another gulp of frozen lemonade down before placing the cup on top of the pay phone. He held his breath and clinched his teeth in a vain effort to halt the brain freeze that incapacitated him every time he drank a similar icy treat too fast. When the pain subsided, he picked up the receiver and dialed what seemed like fifty numbers to work his way through eight different menu options until the phone on the other end began ringing. “I gotta get a cell phone,” Casey said to himself as he cradled the receiver between his left ear and shoulder and put the pre-paid calling card he was never without back in his wallet.
“Trooper Laycock,” a gruff voice answered.
Chapter 38
Casey and Susan crossed Central Park West just after four-thirty in the afternoon and walked southeast along the 72nd Street Cutoff towards the middle of Central Park. After the meeting with Doc Borglund and Jim Shelton on Thursday morning, Casey talked to Anton back in Savannah. The Georgia State Trooper listened to Casey’s cryptic request before he reluctantly agreed to help him. Two hours later Anton called the Econo Lodge where Casey had returned to do some extra research, away from the noise of the IWG office.
Casey told Anton he was working on something that would probably shed light on the motives of the people responsible for Mike’s death and maybe even how it all tied in with the person who sabotaged his vending truck. Anton pressed for specifics, but Casey said he didn’t want to get Anton involved any more than he had to. Despite the big man’s protests about being used and the fact that Casey was obligated to pass on any information he had about an ongoing capital murder investigation, Anton said he would call a friend at the Federal Bureau of Investigation and arrange a meet.
Special Agent Jorge Gonzalez was with the FBI’s New York Field Office. He had been stationed in Atlanta during the same time Anton was working SWAT there, and the two men often crossed paths professionally. That relationship turned to friendship, and Anton called in a favor. It was Casey’s insistence that he had information which could directly affect United States international relations, as well as having serious implications for the security of American troops in the Middle East, that convinced both Trooper Laycock and Special Agent Gonzalez to agree that it was worth spending ten minutes to hear Casey out. The meeting was scheduled for five o’clock, and Susan asked if she could accompany Casey. He agreed as soon as Susan bribed him with a burger at Ballfields Cafe afterward, her treat.
“So what do you hope to accomplish by meeting this Special Agent...?”
“Gonzalez,” Casey said.
“Gonzalez. How do you think he’s going to help you?” Susan asked. She and Casey walked lazily along the dirt path on the edge of the road. Special Agent Gonzalez suggested they meet him near the bottom of The Falconer statue, and though they would be early, the extra time gave them both a chance to talk.
“It’s not how he can help me,” Casey said. “It’s how we might be able to help him. Or the government, more precisely.”
“Okay, so how do you plan on helping the United States Government by telling an FBI agent that you think a radioactive bomb in Algiers was transported on a Maltese-flagged cargo ship?”
Casey stopped. “Are you kidding?”
Susan turned around and faced Casey. “What? I’m just asking.”
“Susan, why do you think....” Casey moved Susan towards the embankment to make room for an oncoming jogger. “Why do you think your company exists in the first place?”
Casey answered his own question for her. “Besides making money for its employees, IWG provides a service. You said you furnish analyses of world events to your clients to help them make informed decisions. That’s what we’re doing now. Only we’re working with a fast-approaching deadline, and we need to make sure our client, in this case, our government, actually gets the information in time to do something with it. Reports are great, but you can’t guarantee they’ll be read.”
“So we’re passing on our analysis in person,” Susan said.
“Exactly,” Casey said. “If we don’t want the Ankara talks to be influenced by false perceptions, we need to let someone know.”
“And you think this FBI guy is the right person to tell?”
“No. But he is a federal law enforcement officer. And he’s a friend of a friend. I was shooting blind, and this is the opportunity that came up.”
Susan began to see Casey’s logic and his motivation, but not his method. “Why didn’t you just ask Jim? He has a lot of contacts in the government.”
“I’m sure Doc Borglund does, too. But those guys asked me for help, not the other way around.” Casey hoped Susan would understand. He thought it would help her to stay lead on the story and see this thing through from theory to action, particularly given its importance. It would surely be good for her self-esteem.
“I guess I see what you mean,” Susan said. “Although it wouldn’t have hurt to ask.”
Casey sighed and smiled. “Message to Garcia, ma’am,” he said as they began walking again.
“What?”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you that story some other time.” Casey looked at his watch. “So, is this falcon statue much further? We should have gotten burgers earlier, man. I’m starving my ass off.”
Susan laughed. She felt good. The fear of being an assassin’s target that kept her awake most of the night was completely gone as she walked with Casey. She blocked out everything except the present and pretended she was just on a casual stroll with a good friend. It was a nice mental image that, by all outward appearances, would not be questioned by any of the other park-goers around them. Except for the context behind the trip and discussion that was waiting at the end, everything was benignly pleasant.
The feeling was short-lived, however.
Casey winced as a man in a blue windbreaker came behind him and put a vice-like grip on his arm. The reaction was due to surprise as much as it was the sharp pain that was shooting through his tricep. A stiff jab in his already-bruised ribs nearly caused him to pass out.
“Turn right here,” the man said calmly and forcefully. “Do not make a sound.”
Casey did as he was told and worked his way into the woods on the side of the road. As he changed direction, he noticed Susan was being similarly led by another man. He saw that she wasn’t struggling. Her skin was ashen, no longer the light tan color that accented her dark hair and brown eyes. She was scared.
There were not many people in that part of Central Park that afternoon, the majority of visitors preferring to avoid the heat by coming in the morning or just before sunset. Unfortunately for Casey Shenk and Susan Williams, that meant there was no one around to raise an alarm or even be suspicious of the four people wandering off the path. It took less than two minutes for the group to be out of sight from any casual passers-by.
The shorter of the two men shoved Susan to the ground. A small yelp as she hit the grass was quickly checked when the man extended the pistol he had held against her back as he escorted her through the wooded area. Casey now knew what was digging into his own ribs.
The man guiding Casey was no less abusive. He brought his foot down hard on Casey’s calf, sending Casey to his knees. The shorter man kept his pistol pointed at Susan from a distance no more than three feet from her while Casey’s guide retrieved a cylinder from the left pocket of his windbreaker and attached it to the barrel of his own weapon. Casey was just beginning to regain his senses after the physical pain of the past few minutes when the man in the windbreaker spoke.
“Where are you getting your information?”
“What are you talking about?” Casey rep
lied. He knew exactly what the man was talking about, but he wanted to delay the inevitable. He looked up at his captor. He was half-expecting to see the orange juice drinker from Bar 50 and was a little surprised when it wasn’t him.
“The Baltic Venture. Where did you get the information you wrote about?”
Casey’s suspicion was confirmed. He had held on to the improbable chance that maybe he and Susan were going to be victims of the storied New York muggings that people in the South embellished to make themselves feel better about the relative safety of their own hometowns. The reference to the Baltic Venture extinguished that idea. But he wanted to know who was behind what was sure to be his and Susan’s executions. “Who are you?”
“Who we are is not important, Mr. Shenk. What is of consequence, however, is who gave you and Ms. Williams the information about the hijacking.” The mention of her name coming from the killer’s lips made Susan swallow hard. Her still-catatonic state was only interrupted by a single tear that ran down her cheek. She did not want to die. Not like this. But she knew it was not her choice to make.
Casey tried desperately to figure a way out of the present situation. Every movie scene he had ever watched where the good guy overpowered the bad guys when facing certain death flashed through his mind. And every time, Casey rejected the possibility of enacting a similar scene. In the real world, he knew, an average guy like him doesn’t become the hero when a gun is pointing in his face. He just becomes dead.
“No one did,” Casey answered. “I got everything from open sources. From newspapers, websites, television. It’s all there. Anyone could have put the story together.” Casey knew his defense, regardless of its truth, wasn’t good enough for the prosecution. But he didn’t know what else to say.
“Then I suppose our trouble ends here. The man raised his arm and took aim. “Good day, Mr. Sh....”
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