Fatal Decree

by H. Terrell Griffin

  “When did you find out that Gene was selling information?”

  “We didn’t know for sure until last Wednesday. We suspected it, but couldn’t nail it down until Wednesday evening. When you called me the Saturday before and told me about Nell’s death, I thought it might be the cartels trying to put pressure on Gene. After you killed the murderer on Sunday night, that began to seem a little far-fetched to me.”

  “How did you do it?” asked Jock.

  “I was aware of Cantreras and the fact that the cartels used him to kill their enemies. I knew how he was contacted. I thought we could use the same system without bothering with the middleman. In other words, I knew how the contacts were made and we simply followed the system. Cantreras thought he was dealing with Fuentes or one of the other cartel people. I told him to make Gene’s death look like a suicide.”

  “That didn’t work,” said Jock.

  “Yeah. I was hoping that if it appeared to be a suicide, it would be chalked up to his grief over Nell’s death. I didn’t want the police to begin looking into it.”

  “Was that your man Cantreras gave the laptop and satellite phone to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why bring me to Washington last weekend over the laptop?”

  “The man I had pick up the computer from Cantreras didn’t turn up in Tampa when he was supposed to on Friday night. I needed you to find that laptop. You were doing a good job of finding people and I didn’t want to stop you. I figured if you found Cantreras, you’d find the laptop.”

  “And why didn’t you tell me about Gene?”

  “I’m sorry, Jock. I knew you and Gene had a history. I was afraid your sense of loyalty to him might make you less inclined to help with the laptop. I was afraid you’d be so pissed, you’d quit the agency. And then I had an emergency in London and had to let my deputy take the lead on what was going on down here. If I’d been in D.C., I might have been able to keep you from getting involved in all the crap since Monday.”

  “Then why tell me now?”

  “Last night, I read the statements you gave to the federal people after the mess yesterday. I knew you were not going to give up on the connection between the whale tail murders and Gene’s. I wanted you to be satisfied that the one who ordered Gene’s death wasn’t still at large.”

  Jock was quiet for a moment. “So the laptop is still missing?”

  “No. It turned up Sunday afternoon.”

  “How?”

  “The agent I sent to retrieve the laptop got his signals crossed. He thought he was supposed to deliver the damn thing to me in D.C. He couldn’t get a flight out of Sarasota until Saturday, and when he got to Washington, he went home and turned off his phones. We finally found him Sunday afternoon and dragged his ass in. He said he didn’t understand that there was any urgency in getting the laptop back to the agency.”

  “Come on, Dave. That sounds like the Keystone Kops.”

  “I’ll admit it wasn’t our finest hour.”

  “And the guy who had the laptop?”

  “He’s no longer with the agency.”

  “That’s it? You just fired him?”

  Dave laughed. “I wanted to have him executed,” he said, “but our lawyers kept telling me some crap about due process.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d found the laptop when I called on Sunday afternoon?”

  “You told me you were moving on Cantreras. I figured I’d let events take their course. I wanted him and we’d lost him. I knew if you got him, I’d have my crack at him.”

  “But he was your man.”

  “No. He was just a contract killer I hired because I could never ask one of our agents to take out one of our own.”

  “Why do you want him now?”

  “I thought he might have some information about the money flowing from the cartels to the terrorists. I told him to stay in the Sarasota area on the pretense that I might have more work for him. I thought he’d be easier to find that way. And he was expendable. I didn’t want his actions to ever be traced back to the agency.”

  “Did he know anything about the money trail?”

  “No, as it turned out.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Where he can never do harm to anyone else.”

  Jock knew not to follow up on that. Cantreras was either in some supermax prison or a grave. It didn’t really make any difference to Jock, and he didn’t have the need to know.

  “Were you responsible for the Guatemalan gangbangers trying to kill Matt and J.D.?”

  “No. I think that was some sort of coincidence.”

  “Dave,” Jock said, “you and I have known each other a long time, and I’ve put my life in your hands time after time. I trust you implicitly, but there sure are a lot of coincidences popping up here.”

  “Jock, listen to me. You know that the agency never, ever messes with our people’s family members. Never, not even once in all the years I’ve been with this agency.”

  “I know that, Dave. But still—”

  “Don’t you think I know Matt is your family? I’ve given him complete clearance to know everything you know. I did that years ago so that he would have the resources to pull you back from the brink when you finish a mission. To see you through the cleansing times.”

  “Why am I not surprised that you know about that?”

  “Not from Matt. I have to know everything about my agents. I’ve known for years about the times Matt has had to bring you back from the edge of insanity. If you didn’t have that need, I don’t know that I would have trusted you with the missions I’ve sent you on over the years. If you didn’t need to get past what you do for your country, you’d just be your garden-variety sociopath. I don’t want that kind of person within ten miles of this agency. No. I’d never put Matt in danger. And before you ask, I know Matt is close to J.D. and that makes her family too.”

  “I believe you, Dave. I’m just sick about Gene.”

  “I am too. I’m thinking it’s time for me to retire. My job just dictated that I kill a friend of many years standing. I won’t be able to do that again.”

  Jock left him then, sitting alone on the plane, staring into a cup of coffee and probably into his future, trying to divine whether he would ever be able to wash Gene’s bloodstains from his mind.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  I got back from my run on the beach, took a shower, and realized I had nothing to do. The high that I’d been on for days was ebbing away, and I knew depression would follow if I didn’t find something to keep me busy. The only downside to living on an island and not having a regular job was the ennui that hovered just over the horizon. Too much downtime brought it on, and the only way to beat it back into oblivion was to get busy with something.

  J.D. was suffering from the same feeling of lassitude that can overtake the unwary. She had a job, but after the fast pace of Miami she was bored. Chasing car burglars on Longboat Key did not seem as interesting as chasing killers in Miami.

  I picked up a book I hadn’t read and tried to lose myself in the story. It wasn’t working. My mind kept wandering back to the guys burning to death in the palmetto scrub. I’d made a mistake by not going to Tampa with J.D. I might not have been much use, but at least I would have been kept busy.

  Jock called at noon. “Long meeting,” I said.

  “Not really. I’ve been sitting on the beach at Lido drinking coffee and doing some thinking. Is J.D. back from Tampa?”

  “Don’t know. I haven’t heard from her.”

  “I need to talk to you both. At the same time. Can we get together this afternoon?”

  “I don’t see why not. What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  “Are you off on another assignment?”

  “No. Dave just needed to tell me some things that I want to bring you and J.D. in on.”

  “I’ll call her cell and get back to you,” I said.

  “Thanks, podna.”
/>   I called J.D. She was on her way back to the key. “I’m in downtown Bradenton. I should be on the island in about thirty minutes. The traffic is getting worse.”

  “Any luck with Worthington?” I asked.

  “No. He lawyered up. Not saying a word.”

  “Can you come by the house?” I asked. “Jock needs to talk to both of us.”

  “I’ll be there. Have you guys had lunch?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll stop by José’s and bring some Cuban sandwiches.”

  I called Jock and he said he’d be at my house within the hour.

  When Jock arrived, J.D. and I were setting out the sandwiches and drinks on the dining room table. He looked troubled. “You okay, Jock?” I asked.

  “No. Something’s come up that you two need to know about. J.D., do I still have your word that nothing goes any further than this room?”

  “Unless it has to do with my cases.”

  “This does. It’ll solve one of your cases, but I can’t tell you without your promise of confidentiality.”

  “Here we go again, Jock,” she said. “You’re putting me in a tough spot.”

  “This is nothing, J.D. It gets worse.”

  “Give me a hint,” she said.

  “I can solve a murder for you, but you won’t be able to do anything about it. You won’t be able to arrest the murderer. On the other hand, if you spend years and lots of resources on finding out who the murderer is, you still won’t be able to do anything about it.”

  “That sounds very mysterious. Why won’t I be able to bring the murderer in? Is he dead?”

  “No, he’s not dead. But trust me on this, J.D. I give you my word that what I’m telling you is the truth. Your investigation might as well stop right here. It’s not going anywhere. All you can do is turn over rocks that are better left in place.”

  “I don’t get this, Jock,” she said. “Are you telling me that if I don’t quit, I’ll find out stuff I don’t want to know?”

  “I’m telling you it’s an issue of national security. If I tell you, you’ll know stuff you’d rather not know, but at least, with your promise of secrecy, the information will not endanger good people who are trying to protect this country.”

  She was quiet for a moment, a pensive look on her face. “I need to talk to the chief,” she said, finally. “I’ll be right back.”

  J.D. went out to the patio and closed the sliding glass door. I watched her pull out her cell phone, tap in a number, and engage somebody in conversation. It looked to me as if a heated discussion was taking place, but I could have been wrong. In a few minutes, she closed the phone and returned to the dining room, sat, took a bite of a sandwich, a swallow of her Diet Coke, and said, “I’ve cleared it with the chief. You have my word. Nothing goes out of this room.”

  “Not even to the chief?” Jock asked.

  “Not even.”

  “What did Bill say?” I asked.

  “He said he didn’t want to be hearing from the president again, and if we couldn’t ever arrest the murderer, it wouldn’t make much difference what Jock told me. At least we’d be able to close the case.”

  “There is a way to do that,” said Jock. “This is about the Gene Alexander murder.”

  “I figured as much,” said J.D.

  “We know that Cantreras killed him. You can file a report that all evidence leads to that conclusion, but that Cantreras has disappeared.”

  “You’re sure he murdered Gene?” asked J.D.

  “I’m certain.”

  “What if he turns up, arrested for some other reason, somewhere else? All I have is your word that he’s the killer. That’s good enough for me, but it’s not evidence.”

  “Cantreras will never show up anywhere,” said Jock. “I promise.”

  “Okay,” said J.D.

  “Cantreras killed Gene Alexander,” Jock said, “but he did it on orders from my agency. Director Dave Kendall, to be specific.”

  “Christ,” I said, letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in.

  “My God,” said J.D. “And he’s supposed to just get away with that?”

  “It had to be done,” said Jock. “The mole Dave and Gene had been looking for turned out to be Gene.”

  “Why didn’t you just arrest him?” asked J.D., her voice a little high, incredulous.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” said Jock.

  “Why not?” asked J.D. “This is still America.”

  “There have to be sacrifices for the greater good,” said Jock.

  “Don’t give me that crap,” said J.D. “That’s the same excuse every tyrant since the beginning of time has used.”

  “We’re not tyrants, J.D.” said Jock, a note of sadness creeping into his voice. “We’re trying to hold the tyrants at bay.”

  “By using their tactics,” said J.D. “Where’s the morality in that?”

  “There’s no morality in these situations,” said Jock. “There’s just necessity.”

  “How about expedience?” she asked.

  “That, too,” said Jock. “I can’t excuse what we do. I can only hope that it’s right under the circumstances.”

  J.D. frowned. “If you base morality on circumstances, you really don’t have a moral code. If it’s subject to change from time to time, it’s nothing.”

  “Sometimes,” said Jock, “the immoral thing is the right thing to do.”

  “That’s pure sophistry,” said J.D. “Situational ethics.”

  “How about the three agents whose deaths Gene was responsible for?” asked Jock, a little more heatedly. “What about their families?”

  “They’re not the issue here,” J.D. said. “The murder of Gene Alexander is.”

  “I’m sick about this, J.D.,” said Jock, “and so is the director. Gene was a friend, a man I trusted with my life. I’m sick that he turned out to be a snake. I’m sick that three of our agents died horrible deaths because of him, and I’m sick that I have to live with the memory of the men I’ve killed. But I have always operated with a higher goal in mind, the security of our country.”

  “I’m sorry, Jock,” J.D. said. “I know you are a moral man. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t. I’m glad we have people like you, and I guess in some ways, I’m one of you. I killed a man yesterday. It had to be done to protect people I care about, you and Matt. But that rationale doesn’t take away the fact that I killed a man, not for the first time, and that I’ll have to live with that. But what I did wasn’t murder.”

  “What would you call it?” asked Jock.

  “Self-defense.”

  “But you killed Bert because he was about to shoot me, not you.”

  “He would’ve gotten around to me.”

  “But you shot him to keep me alive,” said Jock. “How is that different from Dave having Gene killed to protect the lives of our agents?”

  She was quiet for a moment or two, mulling over Jock’s points. “I didn’t just decree Bert’s death,” she said. “I acted in the emergency situation that he created. How does your director have the right to make the decision as to who dies?”

  “An executive order from the president.”

  “That might make it legal,” said J.D., “and that’s questionable, but that doesn’t make it right.”

  “We’re back at the beginning of the argument, J.D. This isn’t getting us anywhere. Dave had to order Gene’s death. It was the only way to ensure that our agents wouldn’t be killed.”

  “So Dave just utters a fatal decree,” she said, “and Gene dies.”

  “Let me tell you everything Dave Kendall told me this morning,” said Jock.

  When Jock finished, there was quiet in the room. It had been a sordid story, a story of life and duty and tragedy and despair and, finally, treachery, torture, and murder.

  “God, Jock,” said J.D. “how do you do it?”

  Jock shook his head and said nothing. Our sandwiches had grown cold during Jock’s recita
tion, but I didn’t think any of us had an appetite after what we’d heard.

  “What now?” I asked. “We know everything except where Mariah is. We have to find her before this thing is over.”

  “We keep looking,” said J.D. as she got up from the table. “I’ve got to write a report.” She turned and walked out the front door.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Jock got a call from Dave Kendall late that afternoon and left immediately for Tampa. He would spend the night in an airport hotel and leave early the next morning for Houston. He had a new assignment. “Back to the jungle, podna,” he said as he hugged me goodbye. “See you soon.”

  “Be careful, Jock,” I said. “Come back whole.”

  My day had started with a feeling of lassitude and was ending in agitation. I took a beer to the patio and sat quietly, watching the darkness unfold and slowly work its way over the key. I was worried about Jock. Gene’s death, or at least the necessity of it as decreed by an agency to which he had given his life, had rattled him in a way I had not seen before. I worried he might lose focus, and I knew that even a small amount of distraction could prove fatal in the violent environment in which he worked.

  J.D.’s reaction to Jock’s disclosure that the order for Gene’s murder had come from an arm of her own government was one of disgust. I knew her well, and I knew that she would understand the necessity of the director’s actions, but she would never be able to reconcile them with her innate sense of justice. She had left the turmoil of Miami for the relative peace of Longboat Key and found herself enmeshed in the actions of a governmental agency that seemed unbounded by the normal rules of civilized behavior. At least in Miami, there had been an order of sorts in the discord created by the criminal elements. Their actions didn’t always make sense, but at least she knew that at the root of whatever evil they perpetrated on the city, there was always money. There was a certain symmetry to criminality that was absent in the world of the terrorist who killed merely for the shock murder always generated.

  I was not unaware that when J.D. left, she hadn’t muttered the usual pleasantries. No promise to “see you later” or “I’ll call” or even a “goodbye.” She was angry at the uselessness of the murders on Longboat, at the sheer lunacy of the attempts on her life, at Jock and everything he represented, and maybe even at me for being Jock’s friend.