The Export

by J. K. Kelly

  “She said she wanted to be spread near the Tetons, and that’s what I had intended to do. But walking around the house today, looking out all the windows, and admiring the view she enjoyed for so many years, I’m really thinking about leaving her on the grounds of the ranch. She’d have the same view, and she loved it there.” He took another draw and waited for Sam’s answer.

  “Personally, I think it’s a much better idea. But if you’re wrong and you piss her off, you’ll have her and some bad karma in your head for the rest of your life.” They knocked bottles again and drank some more.

  “I’m going to think on it. My flight’s at one, and that gets me home around 10. Then I have to drop off something special to Claire the next morning, if you know what I mean.”

  Sam did. He was in law enforcement and understood the cloak-and-dagger business of the intelligence service and what had to happen when someone like Matt was suspicious about his boss’s death. He wanted to know more, himself – but also knew not to push.

  “Promise me one thing, Matt, if you can, that is,” he said. “If it turns out there was something out of sync, you’ll share it with me. I want to help you go after anyone who was involved in it. Promise me that.” Matt extended his hand, and they shook on it.

  “Promise you what?” a female voice asked from behind Matt. He saw Sam’s face light up and spun his stool to greet Sam’s wife, Liz. Pretty girl, great smile, tight jeans and very successful veterinarian in the area, specializing in treating large animals. She was a good catch but Sam’s long hours had put a strain on their marriage.

  “Nothin’ honey,” Sam said with a smile. She had heard that too many times from her sheriff husband and others he knew in law. She punched his arm, not hard but enough to get his attention.

  “One of these days!” she said, laughing as her husband rubbed his arm. “Now, are either of you boys going to buy this lady a steak dinner, or do I have to go hustle a few tourists?”

  “That’s it,” Sam shouted. “Check, please!”

  After a great meal and visit with his friends, Matt reset the security alarm at the house, tucked the Colt under his pillow, and fell fast asleep. The next morning, the door entry alarm signal went off as two of the ranch’s household staffers entered, waking him from a sound sleep.

  “Coffee!” he begged after he exchanged greetings through the bedroom door. He had a lot to do in a short period of time. After catching up with them and downing at least four cups of coffee, he grabbed a warm cinnamon roll from the cook and ran out the door. He arrived at the funeral home just before 10 and took possession of his aunt’s remains. He stopped off at a FedEx office and slid the one test tube sample that he had wrapped in a hand towel into a shipping box, addressed it to Dale’s assistant – not to Dale herself – at the FBI, and sent it priority so it would arrive there early the next morning. He’d paid cash for the shipment and used a fake name and local address. With the boxed remains now riding shotgun beside him, Matt drove straight to the ranch to address the ranch’s staff of five full-time employees.

  “I know, I know,” he said, smiling down at the box, “slow down, young man!”

  He placed the box in the safe behind a large mirror in the master bedroom. He wasn’t sure what he would do with her remains yet, but he knew they’d be safe there for the time being. He also placed her father’s 45 with it and locked the door.

  As quickly as he had come, before long, he was back at the Jackson airport boarding a commercial jet for the long ride home to Washington. Soon he’d be back in his condo, dropping his bags and changing into shorts and sneakers before heading down to Bella for beer and, hopefully, for some much-needed distractions.

  Summertime fireworks would be flying over the capital soon. He’d confirmed with Dale that he was safely back in D.C. Out of curiosity, he texted Eve to find out what part of the world she might be in these days. When he’d finished his fifth beer, he left Bella and headed to the outside bar for a nightcap, deciding that a Jägerbomb, a mixture of Red Bull and Jägermeister, would be appropriate. The alcohol had only slightly dulled his senses, and it wasn’t long before the stimulants in the energy drink got his mind revving again about what had happened in Jackson Hole.

  Matt had thought about his aunt all the way from one airport to the next. He was sure, not just because of the ring but because of his instincts, and the unexpected call and comment from the president, that something bad had happened to her. The alcohol allowed paranoia to set in. He’d asked himself the same questions over and over since he left Wyoming.

  Was her security team in on it? Was her staff? Could Sam or the coroner have been a part of it? If Sam had been involved, would he have still helped with the blood samples? Could that have been his way of showing Matt that he was indeed on his side, leaving him open to Matt’s movements and strategies going forward? If there was nothing wrong with the sample, what did the ring move really mean? When POTUS mentioned old goat, was that coincidence, or was he somehow involved in the attempted blackmailing and embarrassment of his late friend, the dead ambassador?

  There was nothing he could do until morning, but luckily, what he really wanted to get his mind off things turned up almost right on cue. “Buy me a drink?” the beauty in the Nationals t-shirt asked as she sat down beside him at the bar.

  “Can I get a hug? I really need one,” he said, turning on his charm.

  “Sure, for starters,” she replied.

  That was the last thing he remembered until he woke up, hands and feet zip-tied together, gag in his mouth, and a dark hood over his head.

  As he began to regain consciousness, his head was still spinning from the booze and whatever someone had slipped him. He was groggy and nauseous and realized if he got sick he would choke to death on his own vomit. The night air helped clear his head slightly and then his worst fears were realized. He was being held upside down and being lowered, very slowly, headfirst into the Potomac. Whoever was doing this knew what they were doing. It was his Achilles. In moments, he would be drowning.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Matt choked for air as he was pulled back up out of the water. He was disoriented between the water and the alcohol, blowing out water through his nose mouth and trying desperately to suck in what air he could before he went in again.

  He tried to process what was happening to him, but within a few seconds, he was dunked again and then again. If this nightmare wasn’t enough, whoever was treating him like a tea bag punched him in the stomach to force the air out and more water in every time. As he was pulled up once more and dropped on what must have been a dock, he heard a man’s voice with a strong British accent whisper into his right ear. “The friends of Thomas Sinclair send their regards.” Then he was dumped headfirst again into the water, and this time they let go.

  He began to sink, headfirst, deeper into the river water. He panicked. This same maneuver was a test; one of many underwater challenges that dozens of candidates for the elite Navy SEALs had failed. Matt, too, had failed when his turn came. It was an ordeal he believed he would never be able to survive. Back then, the commander had ordered him pulled out. No one was going to save him now.

  As he felt the water cover his entire body, he tried to maintain his calm, arching his body to bring his head up toward the surface. But it was impossible to know where it was. The darkness, the cold, the restraints all made him fear this was it. He’d struggle, eventually panic, the water filling his lungs until he convulsed and died. What a horrible way to go, he had often thought when he heard of people drowning. Now he was going to be one of them.

  He felt himself close to passing out as the last bit of oxygen left his lungs, and then he saw the light.

  When he woke up, he was lying on the wooden deck, alongside his Bella, hands and feet now free. The hood and gag the attackers had used were lying a few feet away. As his head cleared, he began to recognize sounds. Someone was speaking.

  “Yes, we performed CPR on the victim, he’s vomited
quite a bit, but he’s still going to need a ride to the ER to get checked out,” the voice said, as he filled his lungs over and over with blessed air.

  “Buddy, you okay?” a second voice said.

  Are they asking me that? he thought. Matt’s eyes cleared and fixed on the beautiful, white full moon overhead. Once he realized he hadn’t drowned and the voices were those of D.C. policemen, he sat up quickly, too quickly, became lightheaded, and lay back on the dock.

  “Take it easy, buddy. We’ll have you to a hospital real soon.” He smiled at the two uniformed men who were attending to him and noticed red strobe lights bouncing off the side of his boat.

  A marine police boat and the ambulance arrived on the scene within minutes of the radio call the cops had broadcast. The two men explained to Matt that they had observed something strange while on foot patrol. The restaurants and dockside bars had already closed, and they had been walking a final sweep of the area when the moonlight lit up something strange.

  At a distance, it had looked as though two men, dressed in black, were lowering something into the Potomac. As the police moved in closer to check it out, they noticed whatever it was seemed to be squirming, as if something alive was inside. They immediately sent out a call for backup and shouted, “STOP!” They rushed down the dock, saw the two men release what was clearly a body at closer range, before running from the scene. One cop pursued them while the other jumped into the water and dragged him toward the deck, where onlookers helped him out of the water. Although the cop in pursuit had lost the two attackers, they hoped CCTV cameras in the area would help catch the perpetrators.

  “What’s your name?” the cop closest to him asked. “Is there someone you want us to call?”

  “Sinclair,” Matt said with surprise.

  He was remembering what the bad guy had whispered before dropping him in the drink. His first thought was to call Dale; she lived nearby and could be there in a second. But then it occurred to him that she might have been targeted also, or perhaps the two were on their way to her now.

  Despite their insistence that he sit, Matt pushed the EMTs away and stood up, pulling the blood pressure cuff from his arm. His head was clear now; his blood was full of fresh, delicious oxygen. He’d been to the brink of death and now needed to make sure Dale was safe.

  “Yes,” he said, looking at one of the cops. “We need to get over to the condos at the wharf. It’s 10 minutes from here, five if you let me drive.”

  “What’s there?” they asked.

  “An FBI higher-up who might be their next target if they haven’t already been there.”

  “You FBI?”

  “Yes, and then some,” Matt replied. “We’re wasting time, let’s go.”

  They declined Matt’s offer to drive them to where Dale lived and put out a radio call for two men, dressed in black, probably wet, and in or near the address Matt had given them.

  Matt’s phone was dead, and so was his contact list. He couldn’t call her, and her number wasn’t publicly listed. All he could do was hold on and hope they got there to find her safe. When they ran past the security desk and took the elevator to her floor, they found two uniformed cops talking to Dale. When she saw Matt, soaking wet and in the company of two more cops, she waved them all inside her home.

  The policeman who had jumped in to save Matt laid it out for her. The two men, Matt almost drowning, the bad guys running away, Matt’s concern that she might be next. She listened to every word, and when Matt nodded that the facts as stated were true, she grabbed him and hugged him close while tears streamed down her face.

  Finally, she caught herself and stepped away. “Damn you, Matt! Look what you made me do. My carpet’s all wet now.” She gave him a playful punch in the shoulder, then wiped at her eyes.

  “Are you able to tell us anything more about what’s happened?” one of the cops asked.

  Matt gave Dale a look, their look, that let her know something bad was afoot but she shouldn’t discuss it with anyone until defensive and then offensive plans were developed, and quickly.

  “No, officers, I can’t. We can’t,” she responded. “This man is a confidential operative working for the FBI. That’s all you or any of the detectives who might have questions will be allowed to know.”

  “Okay, do you two feel safe here now to sort this all out, or do you want us to stay here with you, or in the hall, or down in the lobby? When our captain heard FBI, he instructed us to help you however needed.”

  “Coffee, Claire, I need coffee,” he interrupted, and that made her laugh. She laughed so hard she snorted and then laughed even harder. Matt smiled at her and then at the cops, who were surprised by his request and then her behavior.

  “It’s nervous laughter,” Matt offered. “She still loves me,” he continued with a smile. After she regained control of her emotions and apologized, she asked if they could at least leave a patrol car in front of the building’s entrance.

  “Better to park out back,” Matt chimed in. “These guys are pros and would come in that way – if they are still coming.” The policemen wished the couple a safe night and confirmed that two of them would indeed remain on watch until their shift change at eight in the morning.

  Matt showed them to the door. Before they left, he asked the two cops who were first on-scene for their cards.

  “I’ll want to buy you guys a steak dinner sometime soon, to thank you.”

  With two D.C. police department business cards in hand, Matt closed the door behind them. After a second, he quickly reopened it and called out in a soft voice to them. “Keep your eyes open and watch your six.”

  They nodded and then stepped into the elevator. When Matt turned his attention back to Dale, he found her standing behind him, gun in hand. She placed her 9mm Glock 17 on the counter as she walked into the kitchen to make coffee and sit down to go over every detail of the incident. When Matt followed her in, collecting the gun along the way, he told her what had been whispered to him on the dock. That stopped her cold.

  “The friends of Thomas Sinclair send their regards,” he repeated, even adding an English accent for effect.

  Dale picked up her cell and texted a message to FBI headquarters. She pulled out a chair from the kitchen table, sat down, and gestured for Matt to join her. He was too revved up to sit. He needed to brief her, develop a plan, and then find and kill the two who had just ruined his evening. He looked through her cabinets for food. Coming up with only a stale chocolate donut, he smiled at her as he chomped it to bits.

  “Okay, FBI, give me your 30-second summary of what’s happened so far.” She nodded, thought for a few moments, and then laid it out.

  “So, we send you to London to help MI5 with a case, and one of the most influential, most notorious businessmen in the UK winds up dead. His nephew, too. It’s reported as a murder-suicide, but many think that could never have happened.”

  Matt nodded.

  “Then you come home, and we send you off to Canada where the troublemaker we sent you to babysit–”

  “Or clean up after,” Matt interjected.

  “Right. He winds up dead. Seemingly by his own hands. Correct so far?”

  Matt nodded again.

  “Next, you’re onboard a transatlantic jet that has an incident onboard and is forced to land in Iceland. They blamed it on a cleaning solution left open.”

  Matt stopped her there. “But I always wondered if there was more to it. So, hopefully, the team you put on it chases the facts down soon.”

  “Okay, next, once you get home, I get news that Helene has been found dead in her home out west, and you fly out there straight away.” Matt nodded that she had it right so far. Dale looked at him, knowing him as well as she did, and gestured with her hand for more information. “Your turn, flipper,” she said, alluding to his late-night swim. “What else is there?”

  Matt finished his coffee and then went to work on the Keurig for more.

  He kept his back turned to her while t
he coffee quick-brewed. He trusted her more than anyone at this point. But would she be safer if he kept her out of it from here? He debated the pros and cons, the intel and assets at her disposal, but with the sudden death of the DNI, his aunt, and this attempt on his life, maybe he should distance himself from her for her own safety. Or, did he need her for protection and help? He turned and smiled at her lovingly.

  “It’s nice having friends with benefits,” he said and then laid out the rest of the details. He told her about the blood samples, his reconnection with Sam Horton, the president’s condolence call, and his referring to her as a tough old goat. He told her of Wilkerson’s blackmailer’s email address, the Staryy Kozel, yet another reference to an old goat.

  Claire listened, but she still wanted more. “I’m waiting for the bombshell because I know you’re getting ready to make this really interesting. What have you left out?”

  “Just that Ambassador Wilkerson’s wife, Sarah, her maiden name is Sinclair. And it turns out, and I know this because she volunteered it to me, that she had a cousin, a distant one, who killed himself in London recently. Then I’m in the room when she gets killed in Moscow, and I’m tied up like a barbeque pig and dumped head-first in the river with the name Sinclair whispered in my ear.”

  Claire was trying to process it all. She was good, very good, at investigations and unraveling things. But this mess, looked at objectively, as if circling from above, made her think there were two things very clear here.

  “First, with Helene gone, I have no idea who the next DNI will be, so we can’t be sure of your arrangement anymore. Second, someone has most certainly painted a big target on your head, and perhaps on the head of anyone related to you or to any of your recent assignments.”

  Matt shook his head.

  “So, you’re saying I should call the president and ask him to make me the DNI?”

  She stared at Matt as if she wasn’t sure if he was serious.