Breach of Protocol

by Nathan Goodman

  “No one else knows about the clues we’ve been finding at these murder scenes. It’s like Uncle Bill said, we’ve got to keep those details as close to the chest as possible for now. And even though the agents out of the New Orleans field office are aware of them, it’s not as if they would have had reason to share any of this info with the sheriff’s department of the murdered sheriff.”

  Cade said, “So what are we going to do? Are the three of us going to go out to the murder scene and the position where the sniper sat? I guess what I’m asking is, what is it that you people do all day when you’re not in the office?”

  Kyle shook his head. “We work, nimbleweed. We work. It’s people like you who sit around in a cubicle all day.”

  “Oh, you’re just jealous.”

  “Pencil pusher.”

  “Grunt.”

  Jana smacked both of them on the shoulder.

  “Boys, enough.”

  “Okay okay, I get it. It’s just that it would seem to me that crime-scene techs are better at evaluating a scene for stuff like this.”

  “From what Uncle Bill said,” Kyle added, “the crime-scene techs found one shell casing from the sniper rifle. But they didn’t find anything else. And they certainly didn’t know to start peeling back the layers of leaves or pine straw, or whatever is on the ground there, to look for some microscopic glass bead.”

  “They didn’t find a glass bead at the scene because it wasn’t there,” Cade said. “Seems like such a waste of time to send the three of us. Other than this distant connection that Jana has to the victim, I don’t even see how this is related.”

  “Hey!” Jana snapped. “Willy was a great part of my childhood. With my father gone, it was like having a dad around. Christmas wouldn’t have been Christmas without him.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it any more,” Jana said.

  “Listen, let’s change the subject, okay?” Kyle said.

  After a few minutes of awkward silence, Jana said, “It’s a darn good thing that the government is sending a CIA agent and an NSA analyst. You two are not exactly the normal type of resources Uncle Sam would assign. But,” she added, “it’s good to be going into the field again.” She considered her last statement for a moment. “Now that I think of it though, every time we are together in the field, all hell breaks loose. Kyle, did you pack your deodorant?”

  “Funny, very funny.”

  The three boarded the now familiar jet and two hour and seven minutes later touched down in New Orleans.

  Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a sauna. The brutal humidity mixed with the smell of rotting leaves was pure telltale New Orleans.

  A uniformed sheriff’s deputy stood leaning against a patrol car parked on the tarmac. His arms were crossed.

  Jana extended her hand. “Jana Baker.”

  The deputy did a quick glance up and down her figure, then uttered, “Ah, Kenner. Virgil Kenner. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

  Cade noticed how the deputy was taken by Jana’s physical appearance.

  “You don’t introduce yourself as Special Agent Baker?” Virgil said.

  “No,” Jana replied. “To me, when a fed uses the whole special agent title when meeting a member of local law enforcement, it always sounds kind of cocky. I’m really grateful that you are here to help us. This is Kyle MacKerron and Cade Williams. We work together.”

  “Well, folks, hop on in and I’ll get us over to the sheriff’s office.”

  As they drove, Jana said, “Deputy Kenner, I’m sorry about what happened to the sheriff. I mean that.”

  “Virgil, just call me Virgil. And thank you, ma’am. He was quite a man.”

  Jana wanted as much information as possible and knew that, in some communities, trust needs to be built first. It was something second nature to her.

  “Tell me about him, Virgil.”

  “Well, ma’am, he was a real staple in this community. He’s really done a lot to bring the deputies closer to one another, and even bring us in better communication with neighboring police departments. He was just such a great leader, and it pains me to think about him not being here anymore.”

  “Virgil,” Jana said, “you may not believe this, but I knew him.”

  Virgil glanced at her, and his mouth opened slightly.

  “When I was a little girl, he would come to the house. I have great memories of him. So, I think I know what you are going through. And, when FBI Director Stephen Latent was killed a couple days ago, it felt just like what you’re describing. He meant a lot to me. He was there when I was just a green rookie, and he always looked out for me. I don’t think it’s hit me yet that he is gone. I’m just so focused on finding his killer.”

  Kyle started to ask a question but Cade put a hand on him and whispered, “Let her work.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. But, ma’am? Why is it that you all are here? The FBI already came up from New Orleans and asked us about the investigation. You don’t think there is some connection between the deaths of Sheriff Chalmette and your FBI director, do you?”

  “It doesn’t seem like there is, no,” Jana said. “But you know how they are—those pencil pushers just want to make sure they have a way to justify their jobs, so they sent us down here.”

  The deputy laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I know all about pencil pushers.”

  “Hey, not that we don’t want to be neighborly, but do you think we could go straight to the suspected location of the sniper? I think that would be a great place to start.”

  Virgil replied, “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”

  Fifteen minutes later Virgil pulled into the parking lot of the golf course that had been used in the assassination and pointed across the fairway into the woods.

  “It was right down there. The number eight. This fairway abuts Interstate 12, and just across the highway is the sheriff’s department. The shooter was down there.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking some of these questions, Virgil. I don’t mean to tear into fresh wounds. But, what do you think would make the shooter have known he would have a clear shot at Sheriff Chalmette from here? Why was the sheriff outside at that particular time?”

  “That’s one thing we all talked about. The sheriff had a habit of being outside at the same time every day. It’s the change of shifts, you see? He was always involved with his men. Every one of us. He knew us. He knew what we were facing when we were on patrol, what arrest warrants we had to serve that day, even knew about most of our families. He was just that kind of man.”

  The group hustled across the fairway while a group of golfers waited on the tee box, watching in abject curiosity as the group disappeared into the woods.

  “There it is,” Virgil said as he pointed.

  Before them stood the large cement wall that acted as a sound barrier between the highway and surrounding neighborhoods.

  “See down there? That circular hole cut into the wall? Apparently the shooter cut that so he would have a clear line of sight across the highway.”

  Jana, Kyle, and Cade ducked underneath the crime-scene tape.

  “You sure you should be doing that?” Virgil asked. “It is a crime scene, you know?”

  Jana turned to face him. “Virgil, I promise we won’t mess up anything. But we really need to check this. Like we said, I doubt there is any correlation between this assassination and the others. We’re just being thorough.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Virgil,” Kyle said. “How much time would you say the crime-scene technicians spent over here?”

  “Well, sir, let’s see. They assigned me over here while the crime-scene techs were working. I was supposed to keep out any golfers or other people.”

  “You don’t have to call me sir. It’s Kyle, just Kyle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kyle and Jana knelt down to scan the thick bedding of pine straw.

  “Well I suppose the sniper wou
ld’ve set up just back here,” Kyle said. “If he was back this far, he wouldn’t have his rifle barrel sticking out the end of the wall. That’s what they teach in sniper school.”

  “In sniper school?” Cade said. “Something all FBI agents learn?” He was throwing down the gauntlet and grinned.

  “No, it’s just that some of us paid attention when others were daydreaming.”

  “Daydreaming? As I recall, during undergrad, I was the one making dean’s list, and you were the one talking with girls.”

  Jana interrupted the male banter.

  “Virgil, does this little flag stuck in the ground represent where something was found?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s where they found the shell casing.”

  Kyle’s experience with firearms sent him deeper into concentration as he tried to picture the scene as it unfolded.

  “That makes sense. If he was set up right here, when he ejected the shell casing to chamber another round that’s roughly where it would have landed, assuming he was using a bolt-action rifle. Now, if he was using a semiautomatic, that’s a different story. The shell casing would’ve been much farther away.”

  “A virtual FBI crime lab technician in a box,” Cade said.

  “I’m not with the bureau anymore, nimbleweed.”

  “Not with the bureau?” Virgil said. “Not with the FBI? They told me all three of you were FBI agents.”

  “Don’t pay them any attention, Virgil. They’re just messing around,” Jana said. “It’s hard for them to keep a straight conversation going when they’re together.”

  Cade studied the ground. “So if you were the killer and were going to purposely leave a piece of evidence, where would you put it? And something else that seems strange. Why was only one shell casing found? There were two shots fired. Where’s the other?”

  Jana said, “I’ve been wondering the same thing. I mean, if this was the same guy that killed Stephen Latent, we know he’s going to leave that one piece of evidence for us to find. But why leave behind the shell casing?”

  “Maybe he just forgot to collect it,” Kyle said. “After all, snipers generally only consider one shot. That’s typically all they get. But in this case, he fired the first round and it struck that truck driver instead. And as far as the second shell casing, that would have still been inside the weapon, which makes me believe that this was, indeed, a bolt-action rifle and not an automatic.”

  Jana nodded.

  Kyle continued. “Sitting behind the wall, he wouldn’t have had any way to see that truck coming. So he fires, but from his vantage point, nothing happens.”

  Jana jumped in. “Yeah until a truck starts swerving out of control.”

  “Well, yes, there’s that. But the sniper would be hyperfocused on his target, and his target was still standing.”

  “That’s right,” Virgil said. “I was about twenty feet from the sheriff when it happened.”

  “Virgil,” Jana’s voice sounded as soft as silk. “I didn’t know you were standing right there. That must’ve been awful.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That about sums it up. But you’re right, sir. Truth be told, we didn’t hear the first shot, or the second, for that matter. We just heard a muffled popping and then the truck swerved out of control and flipped over. After that, cars were screeching their tires and slamming into one another. It was a real mess. Couldn’t have been more than a few seconds later, the sheriff is lying on the ground and blood is everywhere. A couple of the deputies behind him got splattered with . . .” Virgil couldn’t continue.

  “You were about to tell us about the crime-scene technicians. How long do you think they were here?”

  “I’d say a few hours.”

  “And the only thing they found at this entire site was one shell casing. Is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What are you thinking?” Kyle said.

  “I’m thinking that if the techs were here for a couple of hours, we’re not going to find anything.”

  Cade said, “Just like I said. A dead end, right?”

  A brightness popped in Jana’s eyes and she turned to Virgil. “How much time did they spend on the other side of the wall?”

  Virgil squinted at her. “Ma’am?”

  “You said the techs spent a few hours working the crime scene. How much of that time did they spend on the other side of the wall?”

  “The other side? Well, none, ma’am. The whole time the techs were working here. Why would they be on the other side, in between the wall and the freeway? I mean, we didn’t exactly know which direction the shot came from at first, but once we found the hole cut in the wall and the shell casing, we knew he was crouched right here.”

  “Jana, what are you getting at?” Kyle said.

  “Well, probably nothing. But I’m not going all the way home and then wondering about it later.” She glanced at Cade. “I would regret that.”

  Cade nodded. “Regret is the poisoned soup of the weak. Regret is for suckers, for conformers, right?”

  “Did you read that in a book or something?” Kyle said.

  But it was Jana who replied. “No. It relates to never doing anything you’re going to regret. It’s something he and I heard from our parents growing up.”

  “The other side of the wall then?” Virgil said.

  24

  A NEW HOST

  Center for Disease Control and Prevention, Arlen Specter Headquarters and Emergency Operations Center, Atlanta, Georgia

  Rafael sat in the back of the van and squinted through a pair of ATN Night Vision Goggles. They cut through the darkness and illuminated his next target, Dr. Katherine Whelan, the director of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. He then looked up at the ten-story building behind her, a tightly controlled government facility nestled into the sprawling campus of Emory University in Atlanta. It was silhouetted against the night sky and looked more like the corporate headquarters of a Wall Street darling than an arm of the federal government. But the property had tight security; of that, Rafael was sure. Years of threat assessments from the FBI and counterintelligence think tanks had seen to it that the facility had become a fortress. The CDC itself was spread across a campus that included several buildings. This one, the main headquarters, was the very definition of government overspend.

  In addition to playing host for the CDC, Emory was also known as “the Ivy League of the South,” and housed the state’s most esteemed medical college and teaching hospital.

  As Dr. Whelan walked across the secure parking lot, Rafael heard the familiar chirp of a BMW 5-series sedan being unlocked by her key fob. Rafael had memorized the car and every detail about it. It was a brand new 4-door, metallic black in color, and still had the price sticker affixed to the rear window.

  He spoke out loud as if the doctor could hear him. “Your new BMW was a waste of money, Dr. Whelan. By tomorrow you will be dead, and my bank account will be flush with cash.” He smirked. “It is too bad that you are a little old for my tastes, good doctor. And you have let your body become soft. Otherwise I would have loved to become better acquainted. Yes, not up to my standards. It is too bad for you, doctor. Most of the women I spend time with seem to enjoy my company greatly.” Rafael thought about his assignment. “I do have to admit that I have no idea why he wants you dead, and in this particular way, but mine is not to question, mine is to kill. I’d love to pull this off inside your office, Katherine, but there are too many risks. No, I think your home will do nicely.”

  Dr. Whelan lived three miles away in the Candler Park area, and unlike the CDC offices, had no security cameras, no fence, no armed guards, no biometric scanners perched beside steel doors, and no barking dog. Only a basic home-security system stood between her and the outside world.

  As director of the CDC, Dr. Whelan spent much of her time directing budgetary meetings, listening to threat assessments, and allocating resources to fight new biological contaminants. This day was not unlike many others. She had
prepared a briefing for the president which would take place the following morning and had not left the office until 8:21 p.m.

  When she turned down the twisting road of her suburban street, shrouded by oak and pine trees, it never occurred to her that this might be the last time she would make this trek home. Had she known her time on earth was numbered by hours, she would have set aside her steely exterior and thought about what her life had become, a stress-filled world of bureaucracy entangled in the warfare of modern medicine against man and nature.

  In all likelihood she would have called her mother to say goodbye, her best friend Lillian to tell her how much she appreciated her over the years, and to apologize for not being there when her husband had fought cancer.

  She would tell Lillian that she had been right all along. Life is not meant to be lived in a cubicle. Each day is meant to be spent reveling in the sun, and noticing things like the sound of rustling leaves on the trees, the simple smell of fresh-cut pine, and the glow of an afternoon’s last light as the sun disappears below the horizon. And, most importantly, life is meant to be shared with loved ones.

  But this was not to be. Dr. Whelan had no idea that moments after she stepped into the house, six freshly killed rats would be placed in the crawlspace underneath. The flea-infested rats were infected with bubonic plague. The fleas, the main transmitters of the disease, would soon detect the decrease in body temperature of the rat and seek out a new host.

  25

  TO COVER ONE’S TRACKS

  Saint Tammany Parish, along the edge of Interstate 12

  When they finally got out of the patrol car on the other side of the wall, the afternoon Louisiana sun was blazing. Jana could feel the heat on her back, and the humidity made it hard to breathe.

  “There’s the hole in the wall,” Virgil said.

  Jana again asked, “Are you sure the crime lab technicians never examined this side of the wall?”