Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames

by Richard Paolinelli

  Soors nodded her ascent.

  “I suppose I already know who you have in mind, correct?”

  “Paxton should have been your first choice to begin with, and you know it.”

  “Well isn’t it fortunate for both you and him that this unfortunate accident happened while there was still time to correct my blunder,” Arthur growled, taking some small satisfaction in seeing Soors back up a step. “Very well, then. I’ll leave it to you to work out the details with Kellen. Michael will set up the press conference in three days to make the official announcement. I trust that will give you enough time to secure the consent of both the Senate and the House?”

  “That will be more than enough time, Bill.”

  “Careful, Georgina,” Arthur chided, only half-joking, “you wouldn’t want people thinking you planned all of this all along.”

  Arthur considered himself a very good poker player because he believed that he could read people rather well, but he had absolutely no idea what to make of the look Soors graced him with following his comment.

  ***

  Once the news officially broke that the Vice-President elect had been killed in a plane crash, the media frenzy that erupted was one that had never before been seen. The outgoing president had barely wrapped up the announcement from the Rose Garden when the media hordes descended in full on Arthur’s D.C. office, the Cashman’s apartment in D.C., the Cashman house out west, and just about any location that had even the slightest connection to the story. And the media were stretching to make any connection no matter how small it might be.

  News channels across the globe carried the story and it didn’t take long for claims of alien abduction, mysterious lights in the sky, and the occasional claims of the plane being shot down by at least six different domestic and foreign agencies, as well as foreign and domestic terrorists, to make the air.

  Karpov had made it as far back as France after his meeting in Nassau and was waiting for a connecting flight home when the news of his friend’s death broke. Even with the scant details given by the French anchorwoman, Karpov had heard all he needed to hear to know exactly what had actually happened. He didn’t, not even for one second, accept that it was an accident that had claimed his friend’s life as well as those travelling with him. Despite all of his precautions, someone had found out and had Cashman killed. Which meant it was likely that he, too, was a target.

  “I hardly think that is appropriate language in public, even in France,” Karpov’s silver-haired female companion said in reply to the old Russian curse he’d unknowingly uttered aloud.

  “Forgive me, my dear Mary,” Karpov said. “Bad habits die hard it seems.”

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked, aware of the difficulty.

  “That is a very good question. I wish I had an equally good answer.”

  “Russia may not be safe for you right now. Not that the States will be for you either, if you are right about what is going on.” Her statement was blunt but true.

  “I am right, and unfortunately, so are you about my safety at this particular time. But I may not have any choice.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Mary gazed into his tired eyes.

  “No, it will be even more dangerous for you to be seen over there than it will be for me. The best thing you can do is go back into hiding and stay there. I’ll contact you again if I need any help.”

  “Vlade, it was once my country, too. After more than twenty years, I doubt I will be so easily recognized.”

  “I know my dear,” Karpov said with a smile. “But this is for me to deal with. I promise you I will do all in my power to preserve the country you left behind.”

  ***

  Jack had slipped unnoticed into the cybercrimes area of the Hoover Building after departing the briefing. He had been just enough of a frequent visitor in the last few weeks that his appearance on this morning drew no unwanted notice.

  After securing a station off in the far corner, where he could work without anyone sneaking up behind him, Jack slipped the thumb drive into the portal and got to work. As a joke, a few of the techs had created a fake user account for Jack that came with unlimited clearance. He’d never actually gotten around to using it before and no one in the Bureau, outside of the techs, would ever be able to connect it to him. Or at least so he hoped.

  He was still taking a slight chance using the Bureau’s own computer system, but he needed more information, and this was the best opportunity he would have to gain it quickly and still have a chance to have his search go unnoticed.

  He launched a universal search program that scanned the contents of the external drive and began using several keywords that Jack entered along with the scanned data to do a general search.

  Searching the names of high- and mid-level officials of several government agencies in both the United States and in Russia—present day and in the past for as far back as the records existed—Jack searched for any obvious connections outside those expected to be found within the realms of inter-agency interactions.

  He found nothing out of the ordinary when scanning the records of the Bureau, the CIA, the KGB and its modern-day Russian equivalent. He expanded the search to include both countries’ immigration departments and several other smaller agencies without yielding any appreciable results.

  He added in the names of elected officials of both countries and leaders of each of the fifty states’ statehouses and legislatures in America and still nothing emerged.

  Expanding the search to include the major financial institutions, and business and religious leaders resulted in nothing more than three frustrating hours of work and zero leads as to where to turn next.

  He was about to shut down the program and eject the drive when a sudden thought struck him. He typed in the name Stanislov Karpov and hit enter. His previous searches had resulted in quick returns of results.

  But this time there was a very long pause before several files bearing Russian names appeared on the screen. The only English Jack saw on the screen was the server location where these files had all originated from: Russia.

  The global search program had cracked into a server there, a server that did not appear to be connected in any way to the Russian government. Jack quickly downloaded the files and severed the connection to the mysterious server before his presence could be detected.

  He ejected the drive, logged his account off the system, then deleted it—he doubted he’d need it again in any case—and shut down the station entirely. He would take the drive and his newly discovered files to a computer that could translate their contents into English and make sure that computer was not connected to the outside world in any way.

  He had a feeling that someone out there in cyberspace would soon discover his little excursion and be waiting for him to access the files while online where they could be flagged and he could be located.

  He pocketed the drive and slipped out of the cybercrimes unit looking to make a swift and unnoticed exit from the building. But he stopped short in the main lobby when he came upon a large crowd of agents and visitors gathered around a television screen.

  The news was on, complete with the latest news of the death of Norman Cashman. Even though he knew for a fact that Cashman was alive and well, it was still something of a shock to see the report.

  “It’s a bad day, Rock,” Collins said as he walked up from behind. “Jeremy was already in a bad mood after you got done with him this morning. This hasn’t improved things for him. He won’t be inviting you over for the family picnic anytime soon, but at least he’s listening to what you’re saying now, especially after this. They are going over the recommendations and implementing them and they are treating the crash as if it were an attack as well as an accident.”

  Collins’ cellphone interrupted with a ping of an arriving text message. Collins glanced at the message, seemingly unsettled by what he read before quickly turning to leave. “A Director's work is never done,” he said wear
ily. “I need to go take care of this. See you around.”

  Jack watched his mentor walk off, fighting down once more the urge to reveal all he knew and ask for his help. But Collins had enough on his plate and if whoever these people were found out Collins had any knowledge, he’d become a target just like Cashman had become.

  With one last look at the news report, Jack walked out of the building alone to get to work on the downloaded files. The sooner he got this all sorted out, the better for his friend, his brother, and his country.

  As Jack left the building, looking to return to the safe haven of his apartment, where he could examine the discovered files away from prying eyes, Collins stepped into his office, closing and locking the door behind him before reaching for the phone on his desk.

  “Collins,” he spoke quietly into the receiver after punching in the ten-digit phone number and a five-digit security code. “I see. No, I’ll be right over, fifteen minutes at most.”

  He gently hung up the phone and looked out the window from far above street level. It troubled him that so much was happening, and so soon, and very little of it seemed good. As he spotted Jack crossing the street below, he once again thought of fully reading Jack in, very certain that Del Rio could be very useful to them in the days to come, despite what the others might think.

  No, he decided as he turned to leave, not yet. Maybe in a day or two when a few loose ends have been tied off, I’ll approach Rock about the matter, objections be damned. Right now I have to go and see what Cavanaugh is all worked-up about.

  It took him less time than he’d anticipated to reach Cavanaugh’s D.C. office and was immediately waved in by Cavanaugh’s secretary.

  “Baker,” Cavanaugh began without preamble, “how certain are you that your man Del Rio would come to you if he’d been contacted by his brother?”

  “I’d be the first person he’d come to,” Collins answered without hesitation. “He hasn’t said a word to me.”

  “Which confirms our intelligence.” He stood to come closer to Collins. “He hasn’t received any phone calls or e-mails since Cashman’s plane went into the water, nor has anyone visited him that would have knowledge of what happened out there, present company excepted of course, as neither of us would speak to him of it. Correct?”

  Collins suddenly found himself uncomfortable with the casual manner in which the head of the CIA had just announced that they were spying on an American citizen on American soil in direct violation of long-standing policy and legal statute. It made him acutely wonder if his own phones and computers were safe.

  “He doesn’t know,” Collins repeated. “If he had any inkling of what had happened out there he would be acting a lot differently than he is.”

  “Which means his brother has decided against seeking help on land,” Cavanaugh stated. “That leaves the Captain just one course of action then: Wait until the inauguration begins then pop up out of the water with a living, breathing Cashman and shout conspiracy.”

  “Even if we assume that is what he does have in mind,” Collins pointed out. “Would it do any real harm to us?”

  “Perhaps not,” Cavanaugh allowed. “But we think it is prudent not to give the Captain a chance to get Cashman in front of any TV cameras at all.”

  “How do you propose to accomplish this?” Collins asked.

  The phone intercom on Cavanaugh’s oak desk buzzed. “Director Cavanaugh,” the secretary’s voice softly issued from the speaker, “Secretary Walker is here.”

  “Please send him in.”

  Perry Walker III strode into the room with the kind of bearing that one would come to expect of a fifth-generation Navy man who’d risen to the rank of Admiral in record time before becoming the Secretary of the Navy. If a recruiting poster needed to depict the proto-typical “Old Salt” Navy sailor, they could do no better than using Walker as the poster’s model. The salt of the sea and the air above had chiseled his face as if it were carved from granite.

  “Perry,” Cavanaugh greeted, “it’s good to see you again. I just wish the circumstances were better.”

  “Bradley,” Walker replied, shaking Cavanaugh’s outstretched hand before casting an eye in Collins’ direction. “I saw you at the briefing earlier. That Agent Del Rio of yours is hell on wheels. I’m glad he’s on our side. I’d sure as hell hate to have someone like him planning an attack against us.”

  “He’s one of my best,” Collins agreed.

  “If we could get back to the matter at hand?” Cavanaugh interrupted impatiently.

  “Oh yes,” Walker said. “What was it that you wanted to show me that couldn’t be shared over a secure communications system?”

  “We’ve developed some disturbing information,” Cavanaugh replied. “We didn’t share it with you before until we had confirmation. Which we now have beyond any shadow of a doubt, I’m sorry to say.”

  Cavanaugh handed Walker a thin red file and both he and Collins watched as Walker read through it, twice. When the older man looked up from the material his face was ashen.

  “I don’t believe this,” Walker muttered, the shock apparent in his voice. “A mutiny on board a U.S. Navy submarine, led by her own executive officer? It’s impossible.”

  “Improbable, I grant you,” Cavanaugh countered, “but not impossible. You saw the file. The communications by the XO with a known terrorist group have been triple verified. The seven-figure offshore account that is linked directly to him. The reprimand in his jacket regarding a statement the XO reportedly made at the Officers’ Club in Norfolk. The final communique he sent before the Los Angeles left port alluding to using the Los Angeles’ weapons against a major target on U.S. soil. I’m sorry Perry, but this looks very bad.

  “Look, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt for now and say this isn’t as ominous as it appears at first glance, that the communique is some kind of stupid prank. Prudence dictates you could at least try to contact the Los Angeles and speak with her captain, just to confirm all is well and have her return to port so we can speak directly with the XO and see what he has to say for himself.”

  Walker flipped through the pages once more. Collins had met Jack’s brother a handful of times and on one of those occasions had been introduced to the executive officer. Clearly Cavanaugh had managed to manufacture the evidence he’d just presented to the Secretary. The depth of manufactured evidence was impressive. The speed in which it had been generated was frightening.

  Cavanaugh’s plan was apparent. They did not have the resources to hunt down the Los Angeles and prevent her from doing whatever her captain wanted. But the U.S. Navy did, and Cavanaugh was giving them a very good reason to hunt her down and destroy her.

  “May I?” Walker said finally, indicating the phone on Cavanaugh’s desk. After getting an affirmative nod in response, Walker placed a call.

  “This is Secretary Walker,” he said after a few moments. “Connect me with ComSubLant, high priority.”

  The Commander of the Submarine Fleet in the Atlantic would know the current mission, location and status of every boat in or under the waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

  “Frank,” Walker said when the call was connected, “I need the current orders for the Los Angeles…I see,” Walker replied when his query was answered. “What is her present location and time of last contact? …Very well then, I’ll want an answer in five minutes Admiral. Call me back at this number once you have the information.”

  Walker hung up the phone but said nothing. Cavanaugh sat back and waited patiently. He already knew the submarine was not going to be where it was supposed to be and Walker would draw the one and only conclusion that he could from that information.

  For the first time since he’d been drawn into the inner circle, Collins began to feel a slight doubt about what he’d become a part of. He’d known there would have to be a small handful of necessary deaths. But an entire crew of a Navy submarine, manned by mostly young men who’d done nothing more than signed up to serve their country
, gave him pause.

  As the silence stretched into minutes Collins faced the question within and found that he could accept the loss of those men as long as the goal remained pure. He would mourn their loss, but honor what their deaths were buying. Cavanaugh’s phone brought an end to Collins’ internal debate.

  “Director,” the secretary called out from the speaker, “there is an Admiral Jacoby on the phone for the Secretary.”

  “Put him through,” Cavanaugh instructed.

  “Yes,” Walker barked as he picked up the receiver. His eyes tightened as he listened to the report. “I see. Admiral, I want every effort made to make contact with the Los Angeles, specifically her captain. I want her present location pinned down and I want to know where that boat is every second until further notice. And one more thing Admiral, I want the entire Atlantic Fleet placed on high alert and ready to close in on the Los Angeles on a moment’s notice…No, not over the phone,” Walker answered an obvious question from his subordinate. “I’ll explain it to you when I get to your office.” Walker hung up the phone, gathered up his coat and the file Cavanaugh had provided and turned toward the door to leave.

  “Thank you for the information, Bradley,” Walker said as he reached for the door handle. “I’ll keep you posted. I just hope to god you are wrong about this.”

  “As do I,” Cavanaugh said with an incredible amount of sincerity. “But if we are correct?”

  “There is no way in hell I am going to let a rogue Navy ship fire a nuclear missile at a target on U.S. soil,” Walker stated firmly and opened the door. “Good day gentlemen.”

  “Well now,” Cavanaugh said as the door closed behind the Secretary, “that should well and truly take care of Mr. Cashman and the elder Del Rio brother. As for the younger one, I want you to make sure he stays out of our way too. I know you like the man, but do whatever you have to, Baker, to get him as far out of town as you can.”