Sweepers

by P. T. Deutermann

  “As in Americans who might have ended up in Saigon jails under questionable, perhaps even embarrassing circumstances. “

  “That was one way, yes. There were conditions, of course, to such recruitment.”

  “One being that old identities disappeared and new ones were created. “

  “Or that there be no identity at all, you see,” Johnson said. “That could be even more useful, depending on what the individual was being recruited to do. Or become.”

  Train sampled his beer. “Were the people who might have been recruited in this fashion being considered for particularly dangerous work?” he asked.

  Johnson pursed his lips as he thought about the question.

  “More often, they were being recruited to place other individuals in danger, rather than themselves. Remember, the operations in question may have involved the heroin business. Disputes in that business tend even to this day to invoke fairly rigorous sanctions from time to time.”

  “I love it when you talk double. What was that lovely expression back in the sixties? Terminate with extreme prejudice?”

  “Something like that. Or so I’m told. This may all be apocryphal.

  The waitress appeared again with their lunch. Johnson waited until she was gone before resuming his little homily.

  The place was noisy enough now that they both had to lean in across the table even to hear each other.

  “That’s an interesting concept,” Train said around a bite of his BLT.

  “But if you recruit and train a guy like that and then employ him in that or in related lines of work, how do you keep control of him? In the event that he gets out of control, I mean. Especially if he doesn’t exist in the first place? And given that the United States government has publicly and frequently disavowed the use of such individuals? I mean, what if he goes freelancing: What sanctions do you use on him?”

  Johnson looked up and mimed clapping his hands in silent applause. “Very good, Doctor,” he said. Then he addressed his soup for a moment. “That, of course, is the heart of the operational problem with the individuals I’ve been describing,” he continued. “What the Roman emperor was always wanting to know: Who guards the guards?” Then he paused, staring at Train, a spoonful of soup in midair. The light from the main chandelier reflected off his glasses, obscuring his eyes. “That particular control problem requires a very special individual indeed. And that requirement has some relevance to your initial question, if you follow.”

  Train sat back in his chair, a chill washing over him. So Qalantz wasn’t just a wet-work mechanic. He was a sweeper, a very special operative whose job it was to go after a mechanic who was no longer under effective operational control.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “Yes, indeed, oh,” Johnson replied.

  And then the full import hit him-why Johnson of the FBI had agreed to meet with him on an hour’s notice. There must be a serious flap on within the operational arms of the intelligence community, serious enough for the FBI to have gotten wind of it. If Galantz was indeed behind two murders out in the civilian community, then his employers had a genuine crisis on their hands. It was one thing for an agency hit man to jump the traces; it was quite another if a sweeper did it. He thought momentarily of Karen and the whispering voice.

  He looked back up at Johnson, who was watching him work it out. Johnson arched his eyebrows, nodded at him meaningfully, and then went back to his soup. Train had suddenly lost his appetite.

  “I’m a little confused about one thing,” Train said finally.

  “Only one thing. How felicitous for you.”

  Train ignored that. “I should think,” he said, “that warnings would have been passed along by now, from their graybeards to our graybeards. As in, ‘butt out.’ “

  “Quite so. Although your own personal graybeards at MS aren’t involved.

  This is well above NIS’s pay grade.”

  “I’m not at NIS. I’m on loan.”

  “On loan? To whom, precisely?” Johnson had the beginnings of a worried look on his face, as if he might have said too much, depending on where Train was parking his car these days.. “I’m seconded to the Navy headquarters staff. I’m working for an Admiral Carpenter. He’s the Navy JAG. The bad guy we’re talking all around may have iced two civilians connected to one of the admirals on the Navy headquarters staff. The cops came to see the JAG.”

  “Now this really begins to tie together,” Johnson said, relief evident in his voice.

  “Why so?”

  “Because it’s my understanding that the Navy has indeed been told to butt out,” Johnson said. “Most emphatically, they have been. Via the Director of Naval Intelligence.”

  Damn, Train thought. The DNI. Had he alerted Carpenter? And,. if so, why hadn’t Carpenter told him this? Johnson sensed his vexation. “Somebody holding back on you, Doctor?” Johnson said gently. “You might want to think about why they’d do that. “

  Train went back to his sandwich, chewing mechanically while thinking about what Johnson had just told him. “Can I assume that interested parties in the other organization are not just sitting around on this problem?” he asked.

  “You most certainly can. VVWCH is how we lesser relatione in the FBI came to know about the problem-especially since your bad guy is operating domestically. The with the problem are not supposed to operate do mestically, a rule we both know they don’t always observe so scrupulously.”

  Train snorted. “Yeah, right. Look, these homicides have brought in the Fairfax cops. What about them?”

  “I give up. What about them?”

  “They’re investigating two homicides.

  Their boss is starting to talk about a serial killer. Maybe bringing in you guys even. “

  Bringing us in,” Johnson murmured. “Now that would be “a lovely twist.”

  “Anyone told them who or what they might be up against?”

  Johnson smiled. “Probably not. But my information is that they’re up against one Rear Admiral W. T. Sherman,” he said. Train put his sandwich down and looked across the table at Johnson. He’d known all along about the murders and their own so-called investigation. Which meant that the FBI was already in the game. What the hell was going on here? He thought back to the meeting with the police the night before, and the way that homicide lieutenant had been looking at Sherman. Their request for him to open his personal accounts-that was a standard FBI tactic.

  “I guess that’s my problem, then,” Train said. “I’m supposedly tasked to determine if Sherman is clean or not. Actually, I’m supposed to help another JAG - division investigator do that-one who has no idea of what she’s really getting involved in.”

  “Then conform to your tasking,” Johnson said. “Like you said, Sherman is your problem. Sherman is not their problem. “

  “But finding their problem is the best way to clear Sherman,” Train pointed out, half-knowing what Johnson would say next.

  “Let me tell you something, Train,” Johnson said. “You stumble across their problem, you or your partner-Commander Lawrence, is it? You pull the bushes aside and come face-to-face with this particular Gorgon, you may find yourself dead, understand? He’s the kind of predator who can tear your throat out with one swipe of his paw before you realize you’re looking at a tiger. These guys, and there are very few of them, have layer upon layer of cover and resources all prepositioned against the day they are called into action. You have a reputation for being a stand-up guy. But you’re way out of your league if you’re thinking of trying to track down a sweeper.”

  “I can’t just sit around. He’s already made a move against my partner.”

  I Johnson shook his head. “Consider Sherman from the IRS perspective.

  Right now, he’s suspected of being guilty.

  Prove him otherwise. Let the people who conjure up monsters like this in a basement cauldron somewhere deal with their problem. You definitely don’t want to encounter their problem.”

 
“You sound like even they’re scared of him.”

  “Any normal human being would be,” Johnson said.

  “Given the organization in question, that means we’re talking about ten percent of them being scared at least. Maybe fifteen. One has to be optimistic.”

  Damn, Train thought. Damn. Damn. Damn. And the FBI even knows all the names. “Like I said, Commander Lawrence may already have attracted this guy’s attention,” Train said. “‘Then you make my point,” Johnson answered. “Circle the wagons. Protect yourselves, especially Sherman.”

  “Does the FBI have people looking?” Train asked.

  Johnson smiled and looked around, as if concerned for the first time that someone might be listening. “One would. think so, wouldn’t one?” be said. “But right now, I’m not so sure. I am just a research scientist, as you know. Nobody talks to me.”

  “Much. But you have an impression, no doubt?”

  “Well,” Johnson said modestly, “I have the impression that there is some very senior FBI management addressing this problem, or at least watching it unfold.”

  Train changed direction. “What’s the relationship between you guys and these other people these days? It hasn’t always been terrific, has it?”

  Johnson smiled again. “Officially? Let me see, how does the latest presidential policy memorandum put it?”Both organizations shall strive to achieve the maximum coordination of assets, planning, and all-source information to best fulfill their mutual mission of protecting the national security of the United States.’ “In other words, armed truce.”

  Johnson smiled but said nothing, concentrating on his soup.

  “Because what occurs to me,” Train continued, “is that the grand dragons in the FBI might be wrestling with a strategic question. Like whether to help, or to seize a precious opportunity to allow those people to be well and truly embarrassed-again.”

  Johnson looked as if he was trying hard to control his face. “Anything’s possible, Train,” he said, wiping his mouth. “This is Washington, isn’t it? You still carry that Glock?”

  “Yup.’ “Got it on you?”

  “Not right now.”

  “That’s not carrying. These are exceptionally good times to be carrying.”

  Train needed to talk to Karen. He called her home number, but there was still only the answering machine. Now what the hell? he thought. Where is she? He asked the divisional yeoman if she had had any messages from Commander Lawrence. “No, sir,” she replied. “Oh, Admiral Sherman’s office called in, but they declined to leave a message for her.” Train asked the yeoman for that number and placed the call. The admiral was not available. In fact, the admiral would be out of pocket for the foreseeable future. The yeoman in OP-32 sounded a little uncomfortable.

  He on temporary duty or something?” Train asked.

  “Uh, no, sir, not exactly. Captain Gonzales said he’s on leave.”

  “On leave?” Train frowned into the phone. “Was this scheduled? I was with him just last night, and he didn’t mention going on leave.”

  “Uh, sir? You’re asking, questions above my pay grade, okay? The admiral’s on leave until further notice. I can take a message if you’d like. The admiral checks in.”

  “Yeah, I’d like. There was a call from Admiral Sherman’s office to Commander Lawrence this morning. Did the two of them connect?”

  “No, sir, not that I know of.”

  “Okay, then I need some information from the admiral.”

  He thought for a moment. “Ask him to call me at this number; I’ll be there in about an hour, okay?” He had given the yeoman Karen’s home number.

  On leave, Train thought, as he walked down the hall. Now what? Damn, you suppose they’ve put him on administrative leave? Because of the police, investigation? Maybe the big boys had eased Sherman into bureaucratic limbo until this mess was cleared up, one way or another. He quickened his step. He felt a sudden urge to get out to Great Falls, not liking the fact that Karen wasn’t answering her phone.

  Train got to Karen’s house at 2:30 and parked right in front of the walk leading up to the house, so she could see who had arrived. He waited for a moment, but no one came to the door. He stared at the front of the house, scanning the windows along the porch. And he saw Gutter’s face pressed against one of the windows.

  Swearing out loud, he got out of the car and trotted up the steps to the porch. The front door was not locked, and he opened it to let the frantic dog out of the house. Gutter ran out onto the lawn to take care of business, then came back to Train.

  “Where’d she go, Gutter? Where is she?”

  At the sound of his voice, the dog immediately sat down.

  “C’mon, then,” he said, and went into the house. With the dog at his heel, he made a quick search of the house, calling out Karen’s name several times as he went through both floors. There was no sign of a struggle or any other commotion. Everything was in order.

  Where the hell was she? He was trying to figure out what to do next, like maybe call 911, when he heard her voice outside, calling her dog.

  Gutter uttered a low growl. Train walked back through the hallway to the front door, surprising her.

  “Sorry to bust in,” he said. “I couldn’t get you on the phone, and the front door was open and Gutter inside. I was worried.”

  “Hi,” she said, pushing a lock of damp red hair off her forehead. She was dressed in tight tan jodhpurs and a sleeveless white shirt. “I decided to go for a ride. Just sitting in the house was beginning to spook me.”

  “You should have kept Gutter with you,” he said, trying to keep an edge out of his voice.

  “You said to keep him inside until he learned the outside perimeter,” she retorted. “I was afraid he’d run off or something. I took Harry along, though.” She looked down at the old Lab, who, having spotted the Doberman, was slinking under the porch. Train rolled his eyes. “I’m thinking the heavies have maybe made a move,” he said, and then he explained what the OP-32 yeoman had told him about Sherman being on leave, with no other explanation. ‘ “Those bastards,” she exclaimed, getting a bottle of mineral water out of the refrigerator. “They didn’t even wait for the cops to do the financial checks.”

  Train went over to a stool and sat down carefully. “So you think they’ve put him in some kind of suspension?”

  “Or sent him on temporary additional duty. Sounds like that to me. He called earlier with the data on Jack. He didn’t mention going TAD.”

  “Let me call that data into the NIS, and then I need to fill you in on a lunch meeting I just had with an old FBI buddy.

  He made the call to the database administrator and then told Karen the essence of what Johnson had said. Karen was walking around the kitchen, chewing on a knuckle when he was finished.

  “Sweepers? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she said.

  “They sound like some kind of vultures.”

  “I debated with myself about telling you any of that,” he concluded. She whirled around on him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? That I need to be protected from knowing the extent of the danger?” Train was taken aback by her sudden anger.

  “Well, I guess to a certain extent, yes, that’s what I was thinking. You had a pretty good scare last night. I didn’t want to-“

  She put up a warning hand. “I’m a big girl now, Train.

  I need to know what’s going on here. lid appreciate it if you wouldn’t treat me like some kind of damsel in distress, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, lady,” Train replied in a brisk tone of voice. He was getting a little tired of the mood swings.

  She’s being emotional, he reminded himself, because she’s scared. Don’t go gettingall hurry. But Karen wouldn’t let it go.

  “I hear that condescending tone in your voice, the one men use when they think they’re around a woman whose emotions are out of control. I just want to make sure we both know where things stand here. We are conducting an i
nvestigation. I appreciate your bringing a guard dog. I really do. But you can’t go holding out on me because you think I’m just a frail little thing who’ll fall apart at the first hint of physical danger, okay? I believe you were talking about my not sharing information with you just the other day, rights”

  Train put both hands up in mock surrender. “I only felt that way because you’re a lawyer,” he said with as straight a face as he could muster.

  “But that’s ridiculous! And besides, you’re a-oh, you bmtard!” But she was smiling again. “I’m sorry. I guess I am being emotional.”

  He wanted to reach out and hold her hand. “It’s kind of like you stepped over a black snake,” he offered. “And then you find out the next day that it wasn’t a black snake, but a cobra. Anyway, I definitely won’t tell you what Admiral Carpenter said this morning. About keeping you safe being a big part of my mission in life.”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “Did he say that?”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything about that, remember? Yeah, he said that. There’s more. My FBI buddy told me that the Navy had been warned off the Galantz problem through intelligence channels. Carpenter, for reasons unknown to me, failed to tell me that, which I think means he wants us to stay in this game, at least for a while. He says it’s because Sherman deserves a chance to clear himself.”

  She put the bottle of mineral water back in the refrigerator. “I should hope so. I can’t believe how they’re treating him. Just because he’s been accused-no, not even that, because he’s been sideswiped by two homicides. Hell, even the cops don’t think he did them.”

  Train got off the stool and headed for the phone. “I don’t understand, either, but for now we press ahead, agreed?

  Let’s see what the database termites can do with John L. Sherman.”

  He called into NIS while Karen went up to change her clothes. He asked for an urgent open-filter screen on an individual and gave the terminal operator Jack Sherman’s name and Social Security number. He went on hold for two minutes. Then the operator came back to him.

  “Okay, Mr. von Rensel. I can transmit all this to your PC over in the Pentagon, but they said you wanted a verbal right now, so here’s what I’ve got on this guy: bank records, credit -cards, home and work address, military service records-that’s admin, pay, and health-make and mod of vehicle, prior arrest records-that was as a juvie-sexual preferences, firearms purchases. for the past two years, and let’s see what else, here.”