The Long shot mc-1

by Stephen Leather

  “Jeez, you guys know everything,” said McDowall. “So what can we do for you, Special Agent Howard?”

  Howard explained what he wanted and arranged to go round to the lab immediately. There was another message from Jake Sheldon on his desk, but Howard ignored it. Thirty minutes later he was in the laboratory with McDowall and Wyman. The sweet smell of marijuana still lingered in the air and McDowall had a slightly spaced-out look about him.

  “That the tape?” asked Wyman.

  Howard nodded and gave it to him. “The quality is good, but it’s the background I’m interested in.”

  Wyman went over to a tape deck and motioned for the FBI agent to join him. “You’d better show me which bit you want,” he said.

  They played the tape through to the point where Schoelen had called his mother. “This is it, from here on,” said Howard. “There’s some noise in the background as if he had the radio or TV on. Can you bring that up for me?”

  “No problem,” said Wyman. “Compared with what we do with video, this is Stone Age stuff.” He looked over at McDowall, who was biting a thumbnail. “Bill, can you digitise this for me?”

  “Sure thing,” said McDowall, who sat down at a computer. He pecked at a few keys. “Okay, run it,” he said.

  Wyman pressed the play button and the conversation was replayed over a loudspeaker. When it had finished, McDowall gave Wyman a thumbs-up. “Got it,” he said. He hit more keys and the conversation played over the speaker again. “This is in the computer, not on tape,” Wyman said to Howard.

  Wyman pulled a chair over next to McDowall and sat down. The two men talked together in rapid jargon, leaving Howard in the dark as to what they were doing. For all he knew, they could be speaking another language. McDowall’s fingers played across the keyboard, with Wyman offering advice, and lines of numbers scrolled across the screen. After ten minutes, Wyman nodded and sat back, a big grin splitting his face. “Try it,” he said. McDowall pressed a key and the speaker crackled into life. This time there were no voices. There were some musical notes, then a burst of what could have been static, then muffled voices.

  “Sounds like TV, for sure,” said Wyman.

  “Can you enhance the voices?” Howard asked.

  “We can take out the higher frequencies, that should take the edge off it,” said McDowall. He bent over the keyboard, his hair swinging forward, and his head moved in time with the pecking of his fingers like a small boy during a piano lesson. When he replayed it, there was a noticeable improvement, though Howard still couldn’t work out what was being said.

  “Keep playing it,” he said.

  “Put it in a loop,” suggested Wyman.

  McDowall pressed more keys and the section was repeated over and over as the three men listened.

  “That sound, the electronic noise, it’s sort of familiar,” mused Wyman.

  “I’ll try to enhance it,” said McDowall. “I’ll mute the lower frequencies first, see if that helps.”

  The three men listened as McDowall played on the computer keyboard. It came to Howard in a burst of inspiration, and he laughed out loud. “It’s a phaser!” he cried.

  “Man, you’re right,” said McDowall.

  “Beam me up, Scottie!” cheered Wyman.

  “Guys, I can’t thank you enough,” said Howard. He took the tape and headed back to the office. On the way out, Wyman pointed out that phasers were used both in Star Trek and its successor, Star Trek: The Next Generation.

  When he arrived back at FBI headquarters, there was a third message from Sheldon on the desk, a note saying that Bill McDowall had called, and a series of faxes from the State Department listing overseas VIPs who were due to visit the United States in the coming months. As he called McDowall, he screwed up both notes and lobbed them through the air and into his wastepaper basket. McDowall answered, and gleefully told Howard that he had done some further work on the end of the phone call, which was still stored in their computer, and that they were reasonably sure that they could pick out Spock’s voice — it was Star Trek and not its successor. Howard thanked him. Knowing that Star Trek had been on television when Schoelen made his phone call was a major step forward. At first he’d planned to ring around all the television stations but on the drive back to his office he’d had a brainwave and instead he rang the publishers of TV Guide, the weekly magazine which published television programme listings throughout the country. He found a co-operative editor there who took only a few minutes to identify those stations which had been playing the science fiction show. There were six in all. The phone company gave him the numbers of the stations, and he called them one at a time, identifying himself as an FBI agent and asking for the programme controller. In each case he asked if they would run the tape of the show broadcast the previous evening and see if a phaser had been fired at about twenty past the hour, the time of the call. Most thought at first he was joking, but Howard gave them the number of FBI headquarters in Phoenix so that they could call back and check that his request was genuine.

  Eventually he had arranged with all six stations to check their shows and call him back. The first two calls reported no phasers at the time Howard was interested in, but he struck gold with the third. Captain Kirk had indeed fired his weapon, and seconds later he’d had a conversation with Spock before beaming up to their starship. The station was WDCA-TV which served the Baltimore-Washington area. Howard smiled as he hung up. He had a good feeling about the way things were going. The remaining three stations rang back within ten minutes of the WDCA-TV call and all were negative. Howard was elated. He finished his coffee and then called up to Jake Sheldon’s office. Sheldon’s secretary told him to go right up.

  Sheldon raised one eyebrow when Howard entered his office. “Been out of the office, Cole?” he asked softly.

  “Yeah, sorry about that, but I was chasing up the Lou Schoelen telephone tap,” he said, dropping into the chair opposite Sheldon’s desk. “I didn’t get your message until a few minutes ago.”

  Sheldon adjusted the cuffs of his immaculate blue suit. “I understood that Kelly was chasing up that lead,” he said.

  “I’m not convinced that the call came from Long Beach,” said Howard. He noticed that there were three files on Sheldon’s desk. He tried to read the names on them but they were obscured by the man’s arms.

  “According to Kelly, the call was made from a public phone there. Several of the Barrett rifles which were sold through West Coast dealers are still unaccounted for, and the President is going to be in LA for the anniversary of the 1992 riots. The evidence seems pretty strong to me.” He linked his fingers on the desk and waited for Howard to reply.

  Howard smiled thinly. Kelly hadn’t mentioned that she’d heard back from the gun dealers. Yet another secret she’d kept from him. “Lou Schoelen was a telephone hacker,” said Howard. “He was almost busted by AT amp; T while he was a SEAL for using and selling black boxes, the gizmos that get you long-distance and international calls for free. He’s perfectly capable of rerouting his calls and sending us on a wild goose chase.”

  Sheldon frowned. “Did you tell Kelly this?”

  “I didn’t get the chance,” Howard replied. He told the director about the analysis of the tape and how he’d identified the television station on the East Coast.

  “So you’re saying that Schoelen made the call from the Baltimore-Washington area?”

  “Seems that way,” agreed Howard. “And from what he said to his mother, whatever it is they have planned is going to take place within the next two weeks. I think I should go to Washington.”

  Sheldon nodded. “It’s worth a try. You should speak to Bob Sanger while you’re there.” He ran a hand through his pure white hair. “There’s something else you should know,” he said. “I had a call from the director of the Counter-Terrorism office in New York while you were out. His name’s Ed Mulholland. Seems they’ve identified three of the photographs you sent to them. One is Mary Hennessy, an IRA activist who is
on the run from the British. One of the men is Matthew Bailey, another member of the Provisional Irish Republican Army. He’s been responsible for the deaths of four policemen in Northern Ireland.” Sheldon passed over two of the three files. Howard opened the top one. It contained a handful of faxes, including a file photograph of Bailey which was a close match of the ones generated by Theodore Clayton’s computer experts.

  “He’s a sniper?” asked Howard as he flicked through the faxes.

  “He’s used a Kalashnikov in Belfast, but more as an assault weapon than sniping,” said Sheldon. “He uses explosives, mainly.”

  Howard opened the second file and looked down at a photograph of the blonde woman. It was the same woman who had been pictured in the desert. “This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why would the IRA be involved with SEAL snipers?”

  “Expertise,” said Sheldon. “Before the 1994 ceasefire they were using a former Green Beret to shoot British soldiers across the border between the north and south. We know who the guy is, we know he’s based in Cork on the west coast of Ireland and we know he uses a Barrett.”

  “So why didn’t the IRA use him in the States?”

  “Because as soon as he sets foot here, he’ll be arrested. Sheldon passed a third file across the desk. “The second man is Ilich Ramirez Sanchez.” The FBI agent opened it and saw several surveillance photographs of the moustached man with the receding hairline. “You probably know him as Carlos the Jackal, the Venezuelan terrorist responsible for kidnapping OPEC ministers in Vienna in 1975 and a machine-gun attack at Tel Aviv Airport which left twenty-five dead in 1972, and a whole host of other atrocities. We’re still trying to find out how he got away from the French. It would never have happened if we’d caught him, I can tell you. All sorts of alarm bells are ringing over in New York, Cole. It was assumed he was in hiding somewhere in the Middle East. If he’s now in this country. .” He left the sentence unfinished.

  Howard scanned the file. Like every law-enforcement officer in the world, he was all too well aware of who Carlos was. There was a list of the terrorist groups he’d been connected with, and it read like a list of Who’s Who in International Terrorism: the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, the Turkish Popular Liberation Front, the Quebec Liberation Front, the Baader-Meinhof Gang, the Japanese Red Army, the Organisation for the Armed Arab Struggle. There was, however, no mention of the IRA. He looked at the photographs again. There was no doubt that it was the same man that had been filmed in the Arizona desert.

  “Have you told Sanger yet?” Howard asked.

  Sheldon shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you first. I think it would be helpful if you saw Ed Mulholland in New York for a briefing from Counter-Terrorism. I’ll call the White House while you’re en route. Cole, now that we know who is involved, this has the Bureau’s absolute top priority. In view of the way the investigation has progressed, Ed Mulholland will be taking command.”

  The news hit Howard like a punch in the stomach. “I have everything under control,” he protested. “I don’t see that. .”

  Sheldon held up a hand to silence him. “I understand your feelings, Cole, but it has now become an anti-terrorism matter. We need specialist input, and Ed has seniority. It has to be that way.”

  Howard wanted to argue, but he knew that it would be pointless. If a terrorist such as Carlos was involved, then it was only natural that Counter-Terrorism would become involved. And if the section’s director wanted to handle the investigation, he would obviously be the ranking agent.

  “I’ve already agreed with Ed that you continue working on the investigation, and that you report to us both, in tandem. The background you already have will be invaluable, and Ed is keen to have you on his team for this one. Is that okay with you?”

  Howard sighed. At least he wasn’t being taken off the case. “Based here or in New York?” he asked.

  “Wherever Ed wants you,” said Sheldon, “though from what you’ve told me it looks as if your focus is going to be the East Coast. Do you want to call Kelly back and have her go to New York with you?”

  Howard fought back the urge to smile and looked steadily at Sheldon. “She seemed very enthusiastic about following up on the Barrett rifles,” he said, “so maybe we should let her carry on with that. Manpower isn’t going to be a problem, I suppose?”

  “Ed will assign you all the men you need on the East Coast and the Secret Service will give you all the help they can.”

  “We’re definitely assuming that Carlos and the IRA are after the President?” Howard asked. He thought of the State Department list on his desk. “He’s always been pro-Irish, right? Isn’t it more likely that the IRA would go for a British target?”

  Sheldon settled back in his chair. “According to Mulholland, the world’s top terrorists were in Baghdad in the summer of 1991, summoned by Saddam Hussein. Carlos was there, so were the IRA. There were people from the Abu Nidal organisation, the Japanese Red Army, and anyone else who was prepared to do Saddam’s dirty work. He’s long been a supporter of terrorist organisations and after Desert Storm he decided to call in favours owed. We don’t know for sure what Saddam had planned, but it’s clear he was planning revenge against the countries who forced him out of Kuwait.”

  “And that’s what our anti-terrorist people think this is about? Revenge for Desert Storm?”

  Sheldon nodded. “Remember the attempt to kill George Bush in Kuwait in April ‘93? The car bomb? That was Saddam’s work.”

  “And we retaliated with a cruise missile attack on Baghdad. Didn’t that teach him a lesson?”

  Sheldon smiled. “The man won’t rest until he’s had his revenge, Cole. It’s an Arab thing. And each time he loses face he becomes even more determined.”

  Howard shrugged. “I can’t think why the IRA would want to be involved in a Presidential assassination, but if they were acting for Iraq, then it makes more sense, I guess.”

  “They could also be doing it for the oldest reason of all — money,” said Sheldon. “Do you know much about the Irish situation?”

  “I know that the IRA are fighting for independence for Ireland. They want the British troops out, and self-determination.”

  Sheldon nodded. “That’s fine as far as it goes, but there’s more to it than that. It’s more a struggle for power and money. And if this Jackal character is paying enough, I’m sure Bailey and Hennessy will do exactly what he wants.”

  “Even if he wanted to assassinate the President? You think they’d do that?”

  “They’ve committed unthinkable atrocities in Britain,” said Sheldon. “Some years ago they blew up Lord Mountbatten while he was in a small boat with a group of children. The boat was reduced to splinters. . there was nothing left of the people. They buried empty coffins.”

  Howard shuddered, but he still wasn’t convinced. He could feel a growing sense of panic in his stomach and he tried to quell it. “Now that we know of the IRA involvement, perhaps we should be looking at the possibility of alternative targets,” he suggested.

  “British, you mean,” said Sheldon. Howard nodded. “Agreed, but I think we have to assume that the President is at risk, until we know the full extent of the IRA involvement,” he said.

  “What about former Presidents?” asked Howard. “If Saddam went for Bush in ’93, maybe he’ll try again.”

  “Bush’s people have been informed and he’ll be keeping out of the public eye for a while. The same goes for high-ranking military officers. But the President can’t do that. He can’t hide.”

  Howard felt a sudden wave of apprehension. He sensed the assignment getting out of control; there were so many angles, so many things he had to do, and he was beginning to fear that the job was too much for him. He picked up the files and went back to his office. In the old days he would have reached for a bottle to kill the butterflies, but he hadn’t touched a drop for almost four years and had no intention of starting now. He sat down heavily at his desk, looked at his watch and
pulled open his bottom drawer. In a slim black book he found mention of an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting which was due to start in an hour’s time. When he’d first stopped drinking, he’d attended an AA meeting pretty much every day. The clinic which Theodore Clayton had sent him to made giving up easy, it was as secure as most Federal prisons and Howard had been under twenty-four hour a day supervision while he underwent detoxification. Later, while he was in group and individual therapy, there was so much to do that he didn’t have the time to miss drinking. The clinic, hidden away on an exclusive estate to the south of Phoenix, prohibited visitors or any contact with outsiders for the first month, and it forced him to address his alcohol problem and to accept that it was an illness, not a weakness.

  When he left the clinic, thirty pounds heavier and feeling better than he’d felt in more than five years, his counsellor’s last words were a reminder to attend daily AA meetings for at least a month. Howard remembered how he’d smiled and shook the man’s hand, thinking that he had his alcoholism licked. Within three hours the craving for a drink had reduced him to a cold sweat and shaking hands and he’d reached for the slim black book.

  Now, he attended AA meetings at least once a week, more if he was gripped by the craving for a drink. An hour. He had time to call New York first. He picked up his copy of the FBI’s internal phone directory and looked up the Bureau’s Counter-Terrorism unit with responsibility for the IRA. He found it under Counter-Terrorism (Europe) and saw that their office was based in Federal Plaza in Manhattan. The director in charge was listed as O’Donnell Jr, H. C. All the FBI’s offices were linked through a secure internal communications system so he could phone internally and not have to use an outside line. He dialled through to O’Donnell’s extension but after six rings it was answered by a secretary who informed Howard that he was out of the office. Howard ran his finger down to the list of agents in the Irish section and asked for the first name there: Clutesi, D. The secretary transferred his call and this time a bored-sounding man answered. Howard identified himself and explained that Ed Mulholland had sent over files on Bailey, Hennessy and the Jackal. He asked the New York agent if he’d check two more names for IRA connections: Rich Lovell and Lou Schoelen. Neither was known to Clutesi. “You want me to try the RUC or MI5?” he offered.