The Export

by J. K. Kelly

  "Love what you've done with the place, Charlie," Matt teased. "I don't think you've changed a thing since I was here last."

  “You’re slipping, my friend,” he retorted. “Lois’ bed is now three times the size, but she rarely uses it.” Charlie tossed Lois a treat and then another as she sat on his command and waited obediently for more.

  “She’s taken over her half of my bed upstairs,” Charlie said with a laugh as Matt watched them play.

  “Wish I had the time and space for a dog,” Matt said, his regretful tone not lost on his friend.

  “Dogs are great, but they’re not for you, not with your damn lifestyle, and Bella wouldn’t put up with a dog,” Charlie said in a similar tone. “At least, not this one.”

  “Yep,” Matt responded and then changed the subject.

  “It’s not quite finished yet Charlie but you won’t believe what I’ve sunk a ton of money into back in Washington,” he said hoping to get his friend’s curiosity going.

  “Bought a football team?” Charlie joked.

  “Better – I found the woman who helped develop facial recognition technology and I’ve paid her to develop how to get around it.” Charlie sat back in his chair and stared at his friend for a time, watching as a broad smile came across Matt’s face.

  “What’ve you done Matt, gone through all the money and now you’re going to start robbing banks?” he asked. Matt took another long draw of his beer and then finished the conversation.

  “No Charlie, we’re going to be able to put intelligence assets into China and Russia and all sorts of places without detection. Unless someone is actually watching the video feed for a specific face, we’re very close to being able to confuse the technology and read only a 25-30 percent possible match – which won’t register with anyone. Once it’s operational, think of the possibilities.”

  “I already have mate, already have. This could be a game changer.”

  An hour later, the food and wine were settled well in the diners, and coffee was next on the menu. Lois, just in from a constitutional in the backyard, was chomping on a bone filled with peanut butter.

  “She’ll be on that for a bit, and then she’ll climb into my bed – her bed – and fall out till sunrise,” Charlie said as he looked fondly on his companion. “Now, let’s stop sodding about. What do you think of our Billy Rogers?”

  *

  Central London’s skyline was changing nearly daily it seemed and in one of the newest, most exclusive and modern-looking high-rises, another dinner meeting was taking place. One of the most powerful ranking members of the United Kingdom’s parliament, one of the richest men in London, was having a similar conversation.

  “So you think they’re trying to entrap you, is that it, Billy?” his uncle asked again. Thomas Sinclair, a lean, handsome man in his late 50s, was born into a powerful and well-connected bloodline that traced back to the French estates of Normandy. Sinclair’s family had been a part of Britain’s financial and political sectors since the time of the First World War in the early 1900s. A ruthless yet charismatic player, Sinclair chose to operate discreetly and had grown to become a valued friend or a feared enemy by mostly everyone in Parliament, Canary Wharf, or the Square Mile.

  Rogers leaned forward and placed his now-empty glass of cola on the kitchen counter. “Yes, uncle, there’s no way they’d just drop the case against me and then turn me loose to kill for the CIA – or MI6, for that matter. There’s no way.”

  “You’d be surprised what can happen when people of power decide they want something. There’s little to stop them, especially when the power values their lives or the lives of those that are dear to them. It happens all the time, and those bastards on the other side of the pond are particularly good at it.” Sinclair continued, “The ones that are operating right out in the open, like this Christopher you met, are often the most dangerous. They make the Russians and the Israelis look like amateurs.”

  Rogers stood and watched as his uncle poured another Scotch, neat, and then continued his kitchen lecture.

  “You may have lost something that day on the mountain, Billy.” His tone switched from authoritarian to compassionate. “Get back to being the type of man, the Royal Marine that you were. Post traumatic stress my ass. You’ve still got the brain and the heart to do whatever it takes to get what you want out of the rest of your life. America’s FDR ran that country from a damn wheelchair, so you aren’t going to let a few braces slow you down now, are you?”

  Sliding the kitchen lights to dim, Sinclair walked to where his nephew stood and leaned against the counter alongside him. The two remained there, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling one-way glass to admire the night lights of their London town. The Eye, the massive Ferris wheel in the distance, rotated slowly above its perch alongside the Thames, with locals and tourists aboard enjoying a similar view. London was still the center of the United Kingdom and had become a melting pot for people from around the world seeking work or a better life.

  “So you’ve given him the tracking number, yes?” the uncle asked.

  “Of course,” Rogers responded. “Once he calls me on it, that will allow your group to track the movements of his phone and acquire any communication sent or received from it.” Smiling, the uncle turned and gave his nephew a pat on the shoulder.

  “Well done. Now let’s turn the tables and set the trap for him. Let this play out. Go ahead and put him to the test. We’ll find out what we can from here, and if there’s any value to leveraging him or someone he’s working for, we will.”

  “And if not?” Rogers asked.

  “Then you can slice and dice him to your heart’s content, my boy. But for now, it’s time for me to head over to Downing Street. Something’s got the PM’s britches in a twist.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Hilton’s bar seemed too inviting to pass up. After a nightcap and a brief flirtation with a very attractive airline flight attendant, Mediterranean complexion, long brown hair, brown eyes – his type – Matt and his new friend spent the next hour close together in and around the freshly made king-size bed in his hotel room on the fourth floor. Once she excused herself and headed for her own room – she had an early wake-up call and long-haul flight to Sydney – Matt turned off his phone and the lights and fell asleep to a muted BBC news broadcast on the flat-screen TV. Morning would come soon, and it was time to set a trap for a killer of women.

  “Billy, it’s Matt,” he said with an enthusiastic voice. “Glad you picked up.” The other end of the phone call remained silent for another 10 seconds, and then finally, the suspect spoke up.

  “I’m willing to talk to you a bit more,” Rogers said. “But not over the phone. Let’s meet up today if you are game.”

  Sitting by himself at a small table in the hotel restaurant on the ground floor, Matt gestured to the waiter for more coffee. “Sure. I never found out where you live. Are you in the city?”

  “Yes, downtown,” Rogers replied.

  “How about we meet in front of Buckingham Palace, the right front gate, at 13:00?”

  “I’ll be there,” Rogers said and ended the call.

  Matt thanked the waiter for the coffee and then asked to charge the meal to his room. He slipped the phone he had used to call Rogers into his jeans pocket and then called Charlie on his personal phone. A short time later, after the express train ride to Paddington and the cab to the palace front gates, Matt and Rogers reconnected among the hundreds of tourists taking selfies and posing for pictures in front of the massive iron gates and fencing that protected the property.

  “Cheers,” Rogers said, keeping his hands in his coat pockets. Guarded as he was, Matt sensed he was actually happy to see him.

  “Good to see you, Billy,” Matt said in response. “Still a bit tentative, I see.”

  “I saw in an American movie once, I forget the name,” Rogers continued, “the character told someone ‘Me mum didn’t raise no fool’ or something like that. I still think you’re here
to set me up, not recruit me, but I need some more info, I’m hungry, and I’m willing to see which one of us is the smarter of the two.”

  “Fair enough,” Matt replied. “I don’t want to insult you. I don’t know how good your legs are if you’ll excuse the frankness. If you can walk for a bit, I know a good spot nearby.”

  After cutting across the grass of Green Park and then turning left on Piccadilly, he and Rogers arrived at the Hard Rock Café. With Aerosmith’s Walk This Way playing loudly in the background, Matt asked the hostess if they could find a table in a quieter area than the main room.

  “So, for the record, I am recording our conversation,” Rogers informed his host.

  “Me, too,” Matt lied. He was too smart to say anything here or anywhere else that wasn’t secure. Judging from Rogers’ facial expression, Matt thought he was lying, too.

  After ordering food and a round of soft drinks, Matt sat back and began round two of the informal interview with a remark aimed at taking the focus off the extremely serious agenda.

  “There are two places you can go in the world for a damn good cheeseburger,” he said with a smile. “Hiltons and Hard Rocks. No matter where I am, if I want a sure thing, this is one of the places I go.”

  “You have someone back home?” Rogers asked.

  “Nope,” Matt responded. “Travel too much and always found the encumbrances outweighed the entitlements.”

  “That’s the way I always felt about it,” Rogers confessed. “Not good for the bird or the babies, being away killing bad guys and such. Easier to rent one.”

  Finally, Matt thought, his walls might be starting to come down.

  “Told you already about the Marines and the legs. Not much more to tell. My parents split up when I was 16, and I went to live with my Uncle Thomas until I finished school and joined the service. Girls love a man in uniform,” Rogers offered. “They just prefer them with all three legs working at one hundred percent.”

  The server delivered their drinks and the appetizer of deep-fried cheese sticks that Matt had ordered for them.

  “So speaking of women,” Matt began, “did you know any of the victims?”

  “Getting straight into it then, ay?” Rogers protested. “Not even letting me down the burger before we get going?”

  “Nope, not the case. I’m just curious.”

  “Well I did, I knew a few of them,” Rogers stated and then went on to tell Matt about each of them. “The first girl – she was a quiet, hard-working young Anglo from down near Plymouth in the Southwest. She’d moved to London to start a better life and worked in the human resources department of MI5. Everyone liked her. Nice girl. Pretty girl. She did the paperwork when my uncle helped me land a job at MI5.”

  “And the others?”

  “Oh, another was a fine bird, if I may say so of the deceased,” Rogers said, Matt noting a bit of a gleam in the suspect’s eyes. “A real looker, and she knew it. Always had the bouncers out and about.”

  “Bouncers?” Matt asked.

  “Cupcakes, the girls, breasticles – you know – her damn breasts!”

  “Any others?” Matt requested as he tried to knock the smile back.

  “Look,” Rogers said sternly, “I’ve been interrogated by the best MI5 has to offer, and all this shat is in the recordings and notes. No more of this stuff. Let’s talk about you for a bit.”

  Matt agreed. His intent had been to push Rogers to emotion, and he had now more than once.

  “And here comes the meal, as if we had orchestrated this somehow,” Matt said with a smile. “Perfect timing.” Over the next 10 minutes, Matt gave Rogers the tour. He told him about his upbringing in Pennsylvania, time at Penn State, years at the FBI and the CIA, his run-in with political powers in Washington, and his love of mountains.

  “In Pennsylvania, we have the Poconos. They call them mountains, but they’re just babies compared to what I came across in my travels. You go to Colorado, and the Rockies are this big,” he said, holding his left hand six inches off the table, “and then you see McKinley in Alaska, and it’s this big.” Matt raised his hand another six inches. “And then you see Everest!” With that, he moved his hand as high as he could reach.

  Rogers smiled. He knew these mountain ranges either from training or from his personal travels before his fall. Matt could see the joy in the suspect’s eyes, pictured them again as they both took a moment to envision what they shared a passion for. As he recalled the image of another young Brit who enjoyed climbing, Andy Bartlett of Liverpool, only with an ice ax stuck in his skull, Matt’s thoughts came back to the suspect in front of him.

  “So the short version is, I grew within the ranks of the American intelligence services, refused to play politics though, so I was set up and forced to retire, if that’s what you want to call it,” Matt said somberly. “But,” he said, his voice coming alive with enthusiasm, “I had some friends in high places who helped steer me into a world where I could be me and help them at the same time.” He looked directly at Rogers, who had been listening attentively.

  “That’s where you come in,” he continued. “You’re a very smart cookie. You’ve proven your love of country and your dedication to it. You’ve been trained to kill bad guys. So, now I’m offering you the chance to kill again, only this time bad guys, not innocents.” Matt watched Rogers’ face and posture harden. “Plus, for the record, I’m really writing a novel, a thriller, so this whole charade is all for the book.”

  Matt winked at Rogers and then dove back into the chocolate layer cake he had ordered for dessert and waited to see which direction Rogers was going to go.

  “I came back from what-the-fuck-istan all broken up. My legs will never be the same, but my heart is right, my mind is a machine, and I am loyal to the people I am sworn to protect,” Rogers stated. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect who, and what, I love.”

  “So you are interested and able to fight? Do you have another war in you? You’re not wiped out?” Matt was pushing buttons.

  “If you want me to go off and kill some bad guys, let’s do it, I’m ready. But I have to know who the enemy is and that rules of engagement don’t exist.”

  This was what Matt was hoping to hear. The man’s suspicion seemed to have been suspended, and his passion was coming to the surface.

  “Watching little burkas walk toward checkpoints and blow up uniforms and innocent women and other children messed me up, I’ll admit that. Tell me I can drop a monster without delay, and I’ll be just fine.”

  “We’ve both faced ruthless enemies, bad motherfuckers in all shapes and sizes,” Matt said in a lowered voice. “The beauty of what we can do, what you can become a part of, is that you get read in on the target. If you don’t want it, they’ll give it to someone who does or who doesn’t care.”

  Rogers sat back, deep in his thoughts as Matt watched the expressions on the Brit’s face change from one emotion to another. As one tear and then another streamed down Rogers’ cheeks, Matt kept watching.

  “It was the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen,” Rogers said as he looked unfocused into the area around him. “The Taliban sent that little girl straight at those people with the belief that the orders to stop were just part of the game, and that candy would be her reward if she didn’t stop.”

  Matt had heard of dozens of stories about this type of suicide bomber technique employed in Iraq and Afghanistan and had been called to investigate them at least nine times while with the FBI.

  “Come back to the Hard Rock, Billy,” Matt said, leaning forward, encouraging the man to push what had happened in the past back there. “Your military days and fighting in war zones are long over. Let me get you to focus on the assholes that are running around here and in Europe.”

  “Okay,” Rogers said, his tone softening. “I can kill. I’ve done it,” he paused, “when I was in uniform that is. But I need to know four things before I can go any further.”

  Matt leaned in closer and waved of
f the server, who was coming to clear their plates.

  “First, who decides who gets taken out? Second, who decides how? Third, how much does it pay?”

  Matt sat back in his chair and smiled. “I’ll answer all of those, but I need to tell you this – I’ve been face to face with all sorts of people, from pickpockets to presidents, and I’m amazed that I haven’t seen you demonstrate even one of the usual tells that someone who’s lying shows. You’re good, and whether you killed those women or not, you’ve got what it takes to do this and get away with it.”

  “That’s because I haven’t lied to you about anything.”

  Matt smiled inside but maintained the serious look their conversation warranted.

  Flattery, complimenting the suspect, might be working. Charlie’s plan might actually be working. Minutes later, the table cleared and the check paid, the two men stood to leave and continue their conversation outside. Sitting as long as they had, Rogers’ legs had tightened up, and he needed a few minutes to get the circulation flowing and the muscles warmed for walking. Once outside, Rogers thanked his host for the meal.

  “I don’t think you’ve been totally honest with me, though, Billy,” Matt said as he stood directly in front of the suspect, staring into his eyes. “I think you’re already working for someone, whether it’s a government or mob or private hitter. MI5 might not have figured it out yet, but those girls were all connected somehow, I know it, I can feel it, and you got away with it. You’re that good.”

  Rogers laughed. “And I think you haven’t been totally honest with me either, Agent Christopher, but there is one way for us to uncover our lies and reveal our truths.”

  Matt didn’t move. His eyes locked with the suspect’s. “There were four things you said that you needed to know,” Matt said. “Let me guess. Number four is going to be a real humdinger?”

  “I’d never want to disappoint any friend of Charlie Chaste,” said Rogers. “Before we go any further, you’re going to have to kill someone for me!”