by Mel Odom
Valentine nodded at the manila folder that lay in the middle of the conspicuously empty desktop. “You have my file right there, sir. You knew I was in the gym, and you’re the one who wanted me in here immediately.”
Sipping his coffee, Wilson walked behind the desk, forcing the young agent to follow him and putting the rest of the team out of sight. It was a move designed to make Valentine self-conscious. “According to your schedule, you were off this morning.”
“I’m at the gym every morning at seven A.M. ,” Valentine replied, “when I don’t have morning classes. You have that in your file as well.”
“You think I keep notes that good”
“I know you do. I broke into your files and made sure you had an accurate schedule for me.”
That surprised Wilson. “When?”
“This morning. About two A.M. After I found out about Newkirk.”
Wilson tried to control his irritation. He’d managed a little sleep on the private charter back from Atlanta, but nothing that had made a dent in his fatigue. He felt as though sandpaper had been glued to his eyelids. “I’d say that was pretty callous, Agent Valentine.”
“No. I’m a realist, with a little ambition thrown in.”
“Maybe with a lot of ambition thrown in.” Wilson set his coffee cup down and flipped open the folder. “You’ve been at the top of your class consistently since you’ve been at the Academy. You’re an overachiever.”
“I work hard to be good at what I do. That’s not overachieving.”
“Why do you work so hard?”
“I work hard because I want to be good.”
“You could go out into the field and become one of the best agents this Academy ever turned out.” Wilson tapped the folder. “At least that’s what this file says. Yet you applied from the beginning to be part of Omega Blue. Why?”
“Did anyone ever ask you crap questions about why you were as good as you were? I researched your files. You were near the top of your class when you graduated too.”
“Near the top,” Wilson repeated. “Not the top. You’re too aggressive.”
“I’d call busting a jackal network with only six people pretty aggressive.”
“You weren’t there. You can’t call it anything.”
Valentine’s jawline tightened. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ve got a juvenile record for assault and battery in Los Angeles that you didn’t report when you applied for the Academy.”
“I wasn’t required to report it. Those records are supposed to be sealed.”
“Those records were sealed,” Wilson said. “But your neighbors’ mouths weren’t.”
“You had someone canvass my neighborhood?”
“It may interest you to know that not everything I do is logged in the personal files of my computer. I can’t afford for it to be. And I knew you were rummaging around in there four months ago. Remember the test scores that I ‘accidently’ transposed? I can give you the day and time, and the location where you were when you changed them back. The scores I changed were only a matter of a few points, nothing that would affect your ability to be considered for this unit. Yet you changed them back. It told me something about you.” Wilson ticked off points on his fingers. “First, you’re aggressive. Second, you’re conceited. Third, you don’t trust the system. And fourth, you’re good at what you do.”
Valentine remained silent, but his dark eyes showed that he was trying to work out exactly where he stood.
Wilson didn’t let up. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
Taking a seat beside the thin folder on the desktop, Wilson sipped his coffee again. It was significant that Valentine hadn’t pointed out that his age was listed in the file. Eventually the young agent had realized there was no give and take to this interview on his part-only give. Behind Valentine, the rest of the team watched. Later, they’d have a chance to express their own views. Each of them-with the exception of Lee Rawley-had been through the same drill. Rawley had been a gut call on surface evaluation alone. “What’s your name?”
“Valentine, Quinn Michael.”
“Not what you call yourself now. Your given name.”
An angry blush stained Valentine’s features. “Mique Valentas.”
“When did you change it?”
“When I was eighteen.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
“You had two brothers in street gangs. Your oldest brother, Tito, was the leader of the East L. A. Warbirds. Clemente, also older than you, was a captain of the Midnight Rush.”
“If you know that, you also know they’re dead. This is history. Why are you digging it up?”
“This is you. If you’re going to be up for this position, I need to know you. Where’s your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“He left your mother.”
“When I was fourteen. My brothers were already involved in the gangs.”
“You worked to help support your mother?”
“And put myself through school.”
“You graduated at the top of your class in high school in spite of that, and with honors from city university.”
“Yeah.”
“And you want to tell me you’re not an overachiever?”
“No. I just work hard.”
Wilson paused a beat. “Where’s your mother?”
“Here in D.C.with me. I brought her out after I was accepted into the Academy.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to see her die in that rat hole of a neighborhood.”
“What did she say when you changed your name?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“But she didn’t approve.”
“That’s not a subject for this conversation.”
“Even if it means blowing this interview?”
Valentine erupted out of his seat. “Hey, screw you, man! You’re not going to come in here with any kind of crap and expect to blow me away when I got a chance at this. You got a legitimate reason to can me from this unit, trot it out and let’s take a look at it.”
“You’re getting emotional.”
“What I’m getting is tired of being screwed with. Ask me about my quals and training. Let’s get this interview back in the arena where it’s supposed to be.”
“All right.” Wilson closed the folder and picked it up. “It also says that you’re a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. Can you defend yourself?”
“Against anyone in this room,” Valentine said defiantly.
“Mac,” Wilson said.
At the back of the room, Mac stood. He wore a fresh blue suit, but his shirt was unbuttoned and his tie dangled from a pocket. “Yeah.”
Wilson looked at Valentine. “Try to subdue him.”
“What if I hurt him?”
“You won’t.”
Valentine adjusted his clothing and shoved the table out of the center of the floor. Mac remained at his end of the room. January, Scuderi, and Rawley lined the opposite, their expressions neutral.
Wilson remained seated at the desk. He was tense, ready to move if things didn’t happen the way he’d choreographed them to. Valentine was still a cipher of unknown and heated passions.
Valentine set himself and brought his hands up to defend himself. A cruel smile twisted his lips. “C’mon, old man, let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Sure, kid.” In a smooth motion, Mac reached under his jacket and pulled out a gleaming silver pistol. He didn’t bother to aim, just pointed and fired. Three liquid spitting noises filled the room.
Valentine tried to dodge, but two brilliant lime-green bursts of color dotted his chest, while a third materialized between his eyes and trickled down through his eyebrows.
“You’re dead,” Wilson stated. For a moment he thought Valentine was going to throw himself at Mac anyway; he braced himself to intercede.
Then Valentine visibly relaxed and turned to face him.
“Any questions, Agent Valentine?” Wilson asked.
“No, sir.”
Wilson stood up and approached him. “Besides being something of an aggressive overachiever with a chip on his shoulder, you’re overly confident of your own abilities. This unit is a team effort. Any attempts at being top dog in this outfit when an operation goes down will ensure that you end up as a one-night stand. If you don’t get yourself killed, I’ll bounce you off the team anyway.” He paused to let his words sink in. With the facts he’d presented in the last few minutes, he knew Valentine was receptive but probably also felt a little like retaliating. “The only reason you’re here now is because another man is dead. A good man. You need to keep that in mind.”
“Yes, sir.” Though the words were there, Wilson heard no regret in Valentine’s voice.
Handing the manila folder over to the young agent, Wilson said, “As for your file being in here, it isn’t. These are permission forms for the Walter Reed staff to perform the SeekNFire operations on you later today. You’re scheduled for one o’clock. It’s a six-hour surgery, but you’ll be back on your feet by tomorrow morning. The hardware takes a little getting used to. I wish I had time to let you work your way into it, but I don’t. Everybody on this team gets a crash course. You’ll have most of tomorrow, but that’s all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sure you think you’re a quick study, but sometimes the SeekNFire doesn’t take. You’ll know within a few hours.”
Valentine nodded. He made no effort to remove the paint stains on his forehead.
“Maggie.”
Scuderi turned to Wilson.
“You’re in charge of our new guy. Debrief him today about current operations and the team before the trip to Walter Reed. Once he goes under, you’re on your own. Report back to the hospital at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow for the SeekNFire follow-up.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Any questions now, Valentine?”
“I’ll make a list as I go along.”
“Do that. You people are dismissed until tomorrow morning.” Wilson grabbed his jacket and led the way out the door. He felt Valentine’s angry stare boring into the back of his neck all the way down the hallway.
*
“I had to let them go,” Vache said.
“When?” Wilson demanded. He leaned across the liaison’s desk and tried to curb his feelings of frustration. It was more important to understand than to lash out. They hadn’t had time to interrogate the Asians in Atlanta, and he’d wanted to sit on that angle of the investigation for a little while before the media got hold of it.
“Ten, fifteen minutes ago.” Vache remained calm behind his desk. Paperwork and clipboards littered the space in front of him and around his computer. “You were busy with Valentine and I chose not to interrupt. There wasn’t a thing you could have done about it anyway. And I didn’t need an international incident right here in my office.”
“They couldn’t have bonded out. Charges hadn’t even been filed against them yet.”
“They didn’t bond out. A Korean ambassador showed up an hour ago with all the proper papers. Those guys are supposed to be part of the Korean Embassy staff. He acted surprised that they’d be involved in shoot-outs in the streets of Atlanta. He also told me that as soon as he found out why those guys were there, he’d get back to me.”
“He got them out on diplomatic immunity?”
“Yeah.”
“What was this guy’s name?”
“Look, Slade, this guy’s a guy you definitely have got to stay away from. He had the director ready to crap sixteen-penny nails.”
Exhaling deeply, Wilson turned from the desk and gazed at the familiar walls of Vache’s office. Framed pictures of Vache with various justice officials, as well as several presidents, over the years took places of prominence, along with the law degrees he’d garnered since moving out of field work. They were there to impress and intimidate first-time visitors to Vache’s office. Wilson knew where to look for the real Vache. A half-dozen pictures were tucked around the room where the liaison could see them easily. Most of them were of Vache’s family, small five-by-sevens of Vache at home with his wife and fishing with his three boys.
“I know how you feel.” Vache reached for the electric coffeepot behind him. “Coffee?”
“No. I’ve had my limit.” Wilson felt a pang of guilt as he stared at the spot where the picture of Blair and himself with a smiling Vache between them had been.
There was a new picture on the wall now, and he couldn’t remember when Vache had placed it there. In it Kasey was five, a squirming bundle in Wilson’s arms, with dark hair like her mother. Neither one of them was smiling. The pang of guilt blossomed into a sweet ache, and Wilson had to look away.
“So how did Valentine take the news?” Vache asked. “Turn any cartwheels; any outbreak of exuberant glee?”
“Actually, he’s pretty much ticked at me. How do the Koreans fit into this?”
“I don’t know. What’s Valentine ticked about?”
“I think I disenchanted him.”
“You’re developing a real habit of doing that to people.”
“This ambassador you talked to, did you get a feel for him?”
“Some.”
“Did he feel like embassy staff?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Vache laced his hands behind his head. “He came in here, and his eyes were everywhere. I got the feeling he knew the names of my kids, could have pointed them out in the pictures and told me Carson was left-handed and wanted to play professional hockey when he grew up.”
“Any explanation as to how he knew those people would be here?’’
“No.”
“And he didn’t mention that the embassy staff had noticed they’d gone AWOL?”
“No.”
“What about the weapons they were using in Atlanta? Has anything turned up on those yet?”
Vache flipped over a piece of paper covered with scribbling and gazed over the jotted information. “They’re from a cache stolen from Fort Benning six months ago.”
“What about NCIC records on the Koreans?”
“Nothing turned up. As far as NCIC, Interpol, or the terrorist tracking network are concerned. I even had them run through the foreign-fugitive files. Nothing. They’re clean.”
“Then where’s the connection between DiVarco, who used to be nothing but small change in the Boston Mafia, and a hit team connected with the Korean Embassy and outfitted with endo-skels?”
“You’re talking about an international conspiracy,”
Vache pointed out. “Any unsubstantiated accusations coming from you could lead to your dismissal.”
Wilson looked at the man. “That sounds official.”
“That’s how it came down to me just a few minutes ago. Almost word for word.”
“And-officially-what is Omega Blue supposed to do?”
“Keep its nose clean. That’s a translation. The director passed on some legalese and political threats that are much more impressive boiled down to the bone.”
“We’re not supposed to investigate?”
“No. But I’ve been assured the State Department will look into it.”
“I’ll bet the Korean Embassy is shaking in its collective boots at this very moment.”
“You don’t have to sell me on the sarcasm,” Vache said. “At most, the State Department will administer a slap on the wrist, probably kick the parties we turned up in Atlanta out of the country and let it go at that.”
“Where does that leave us with this investigation?”
“The Korean angle is strictly hands-off. And you know what the general consensus is regarding jackal networking.”
“Despite what happened in Miami?”
“Especially despite what happened in Miami. I was also warned about that this morning. The director was told that further investigation by Omega Blue into t
he jackal networking would run the risk of a high profile that could cause a national panic.”
“That’s an excuse to shut us down.”
Vache nodded. “They were laying it on thicker than usual this morning. Of course, you and your team kicked a bigger hornet’s nest than usual too.”
“So what have we got to work with? Officially?”
“DiVarco. The files you recovered from Atlanta indicated some money laundering he’s doing through the Cayman Islands.”
“Can we do anything with that?”
“No. It’s a dead end, but I’m not going to file it that way yet. I don’t like cover-ups any more than you do. I also mind being politically correct a lot less than you do, but I’m not going to sacrifice this unit’s power because some politicos are afraid of backlash in the media. Things aren’t right on the Hill, and that’s not our fault. But I refuse to be part of the ongoing problem.”
“Officially we’re working on the money laundering angle.”
“Officially, that and the theft of government property.”
“The guns from Fort Benning.”
“Yeah.”
“Any evidence that DiVarco was behind that?”
“No, but I’ve got some files that can reflect that he was by morning in case we need to present a case foundation.” Vache sipped his coffee. “I want DiVarco as badly as you do if he was the guy behind Newkirk’s death. Emmett was a friend.”
“So we can go to work on DiVarco.”
“Yeah, and if any of this other crap hits the fan, we’ll deal with it then. I’m only going to be able to buy you a few days with this smoke screen we’re putting together. Lamar Cashion’s the second chair on the House subcommittee. He’s one cagey guy, and he’s been rooting around for dirt. If you people don’t get something tangible-that isn’t a political hot potato-soon, you’ll be out of there so fast it’ll make your head swim.”
“Cashion’s from Massachusetts, isn’t he?” Wilson asked.
Vache’s surprise was evident. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I keep abreast of things, Earl, I just don’t get involved in things where I can’t function.” Wilson pressed on. “However, I find it interesting that as the unit has received more heat these last few months, Cashion’s been moving in closer to the top. Could be we’re not the only ones who’ve been laying groundwork on this thing.”