by L. D. Beyer
Derek nodded soberly.
Richter slid the pack across the table. “Do you have the keys for the car?”
Derek patted his pocket. “Right here.”
Richter patted him on the shoulder. “Good. I know I can trust you, Derek.”
Derek smiled briefly then caught himself, the stony look he had seen on Richter’s own face now reflected on his. “Thanks, Matt”
“I’ll call within two hours. If I don’t for some reason, Bill will. If you don’t hear from either of us by midnight, take Dave and run.”
“I won’t let you down.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Vicky Jensen clicked the icon on her computer and the recording played again. As she listened through her earphones, she studied the spectrogram on the screen. The monitor showed a graphical depiction of the frequency and amplitude of the speaker’s voice over time, in this case a recording of a twenty-seven-second phone call. The spectrogram essentially represented a voiceprint of the speaker, which, much like a fingerprint, was unique.
Agent Jensen was an FBI “techie” and was considered an expert in voice printing. But, unlike some of her peers who had advanced degrees in linguistics and sound-wave theory, her credentials were a training course eight or nine years ago taught by two FBI experts and a scientist from Bell Laboratories. She learned the basic theory behind voice printing and identification and the law enforcement application of voiceprint analysis, its use in criminal investigations, and its admissibility in court cases. The course had given Jensen enough information to be intrigued or, as one instructor put it, enough information to be dangerous.
She had analyzed many recordings over the ensuing years, and although she always reviewed the recordings and her analysis with one of her more learned colleagues, she had yet to be proven wrong. This time though, Deputy Director Monahan had been very explicit that she perform the analysis herself without seeking a second opinion. She had been an agent for fourteen years, more than enough time to understand that sometimes, even within the FBI, certain investigations were compartmentalized for a multitude of reasons. In this case, the fact that she was analyzing phone calls made to and from a cell phone that belonged to the vice president was sufficiently dangerous that she clearly understood the logic behind Monahan’s instructions. The fact that the wiretap and resulting recordings were obtained without a warrant, but under the guise of the Patriot Act was disconcerting by itself.
The theory of voice identification was based on the premise that every individual’s voice was uniquely characteristic, sufficiently so to enable it to be distinguished from others through voiceprint analysis. Every person’s voice was a unique pattern—a combination of pitch, tone, cadence, and harmonic level—driven by differences in not only their vocal cavities but in their teeth, tongue, lips, and palate. This could be viewed graphically in a spectrogram.
The advent of the digital age had brought with it very sophisticated computer software that significantly enhanced the field of voice printing and, at the same time, put it in the hands of more law enforcement professionals. Over the last several years, the software had become Jensen’s second opinion.
After listening a third time, she then loaded another sound clip, this one a speech made by Vice President Rumson a week ago. It was one minute twenty-four seconds long. That’s more than enough, she thought. She clicked her mouse again and, as she listened, the spectrogram displayed on her screen.
When the recording finished, she then clicked the compare button. The program utilized a special algorithm to compare the two samples. Two seconds later, she had her answer.
___
The RV Park was seven miles northwest of Amarillo International Airport, close to the highway. Their site not only provided a view of the entrance, but was far enough away from the other campers to afford some privacy. Earlier, after checking in, they drove to the airport and rented two cars, one in Bill’s name and one in Peggy’s.
Now, as Richter drove one of the cars back to the airport, he quizzed Daniels once again. By the time they approached the airport, Richter was satisfied. He dropped Daniels off at a restaurant a mile away, then continued on to the TAC Air terminal. TAC Air was an FBO, or fixed base operator providing services to private aircraft, located next to the main terminal. As he pulled into the airport lot, he couldn’t help but notice that the flag was at half-mast. He picked a parking spot with a clear view of the TAC Air terminal door. Twenty minutes later, he saw a plane begin its landing approach. He watched through binoculars and was able to read the tail number before the jet disappeared behind the terminal building. They were right on time.
Five minutes later, Monahan exited the building and walked to one of the rental cars in the lot. Moments later, he pulled out onto the access road. Richter waited twenty seconds to see if anyone followed Monahan before he put the car in gear. Traffic was light, and he was able to spot Monahan’s car several hundred yards ahead. He punched the speed dial button and when Monahan answered, he instructed him to drive to a shopping center several miles away. As Monahan pulled in, Richter drove past and pulled into the carwash next door. He watched as Monahan parked. After five minutes, and no sign of a tail, Richter dialed again.
“I want you to leave the shopping center and drive back to the airport. Keep the phone line open.”
Richter let several cars pass before he pulled out and followed. Several minutes later, Monahan stopped at a traffic light. Richter was three cars back.
“Pull into the restaurant on your right. Keep the line open.” With a second phone, Richter punched the speed dial button. Daniels answered immediately. “We’re here.”
Monahan parked, and Richter pulled in three spaces away. Daniels exited the restaurant, spotted Richter’s car, and walked over. Richter climbed out, scanned the parking lot again, and then approached Monahan’s car, his Secret Service credentials open in his hand.
Richter climbed in the back. Monahan looked in the rearview mirror and nodded.
Richter nodded back. “Are you armed?”
“No. I followed your instructions.”
“Are your men still on the plane?”
“Yes. Guarding Reed.”
He studied Monahan in the mirror. He was nervous, which was understandable, but he kept his hands on the steering wheel. That was smart.
“What’s the plan, Agent Richter?”
“We’re going to take a drive and have a chat. Based on how that goes, I’ll tell you what our next steps are.”
___
An hour later, they pulled into the RV Park. With Richter directing, Monahan drove up to the lone RV at the end of the row. He parked and watched as a scruffy young man wearing a fanny pack stepped out of the motor home. The man disappeared around the car then reappeared in Monahan’s side view mirror. Another car parked two spaces away and a slightly overweight, older man stepped out. He too wore a fanny pack.
He caught Richter’s eyes in the mirror.
“It would be a mistake to underestimate them, Mr. Monahan.”
Monahan nodded.
“Let’s go.”
Monahan climbed out and allowed Richter to search him, not that he had much choice. Then, he was led up the steps, escorted inside, and told to sit at the table. He took a deep breath. He had been preparing himself for this moment since the phone call with Bill Daniels last night. He was both excited and nervous.
Richter stood behind him. “We’re ready.”
Monahan’s eyes went wide as the president stepped out of the rear bedroom.
___
Frustrated, Rumson stood. Minutes later, flanked by the Secret Service, he climbed into the limo. He was still living in the Naval Observatory, having decided that it wouldn’t look good if he forced Kendall’s family to move out of the White House. Not yet anyway. As the motorcade pulled through the White House gate, he stared out the window at the lights of Washington. He hadn’t heard back from Jane yet. He would have to call her when he got home.
&
nbsp; The challenge was that there was a nation to run. He had security briefings, Cabinet meetings, phone calls with foreign leaders, meetings with congressman and staffers and governors, and a myriad of other responsibilities that he had to focus on throughout the day. The crash investigation, while still the number one priority, only occupied a portion of his time. And on top of all of that, Jane and her people had to find Kendall. What the bomb on the plane had failed to do, they now had to do themselves. Kendall had to be shoved back into whatever hole he had crawled out of, along with whoever was helping him. Rumson had to put all of this behind him, and he had to do it soon.
One of the signs of a leader, he knew, was how well he dealt with setbacks, with crisis, with problems that suddenly arose and threatened to unravel carefully crafted plans. He again considered calling his CIA contact, but, once more, decided against it. While things looked dire at the moment, he had faith in Jane. She was resourceful. She would find a way to resolve this. She had never let him down.
___
“Hi, Pat.”
Monahan tried to stand, but Richter pushed him back down.
“Mr. President…Sir? I’m at a loss for words.”
The president sat across from him. “You understand the gravity of the situation I’m in, don’t you?”
“I do, sir.”
The president’s eyes narrowed as he studied the federal agent for a moment. “Are you here to help me, Mr. Monahan?”
Monahan grimaced. “Yes. Of course, sir.”
The president smiled briefly. “Good. There’s one thing we need to clear up first.” He paused, his eyes narrowing again. “Agent Richter is calling the shots. He’s in charge. You and your men will not do anything without his knowledge or approval. Understood?”
Monahan glanced at Richter then nodded again. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
The president smiled. “Okay, then. Agent Richter has some questions for you.”
Richter sat next to Monahan. “Take us through the crash investigation, the evidence you’ve gathered over the last twenty-four hours, everything.”
Monahan told them about McKay and Mosby, about the body in Laredo and the briefcase, about the cell phone they discovered in the pickup with Mosby’s number and the bank account in Luxembourg.
Richter and the president exchanged a glance.
“Do you believe the Mexico angle?” Richter asked.
Monahan frowned. “I did, but after listening to the phone calls, I’m wondering if all of that was just a plant.” He described the calls they had recorded and told them that they were now monitoring the vice president’s cell phone, but, as of early this evening, there hadn’t been any additional calls made by or to that number. Then he described his interview with Reed.
“We haven’t picked up the body in Cortez yet,” he said at the end.
Richter nodded then changed gears. “How quickly can you do a DNA analysis of blood and hair samples?” He explained what he wanted. “I want it witnessed by at least one other agent. This way, no one can allege that the samples came from before the crash or were obtained from the bodies recovered from the crash.”
Monahan nodded. “We should be able to confirm identity in a day, if I push it.”
“Push it, Mr. Monahan.”
___
The security guard checked Monahan’s ID.
“He’s an agent as well,” Monahan said, nodding toward Richter.
The guard nodded and opened the gate. Monahan drove out onto the tarmac, directly up to the plane. As they pulled up alongside the wing, the stairs descended and two agents climbed down. Richter climbed out of the car and scanned the area. It was shortly before 10:00 p.m. Thankfully, there were no other planes or people about.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs and nodded to the agents. “He’s inside?”
The agents nodded back and, with Monahan trailing, Richter bounded up the steps. In the back of the cabin sat a hooded man, his hands and legs cuffed. Two FBI agents stepped out of the way. Ignoring them, Richter walked up to the prisoner. The man appeared to be sleeping. Richter yanked off the hood. Joe Reed blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light. When he saw Richter’s face, six inches from his own, his body stiffened and his eyes went wide.
“You’re going to make another call for me, Reed.”
___
Jane didn’t recognize the number. She hesitated for a second, debating whether to let the call go to voice mail, but on the fourth ring, she answered.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
She exploded in anger. “Where the hell are you?”
“We ran into some problems. My partner’s dead.”
“What? How did that happen?”
“He had a heart attack. I just left the hospital.”
“Why didn’t you call me right away?”
“I couldn’t. My phone’s broken.”
“You’re a total fuck-up, Reed!”
“Look. He collapsed and stopped breathing. My phone was on the ground next to me. I called 911 while I was performing CPR. I think one of the paramedics stepped on it. I bought a new phone as soon as I could.”
She mulled over the implications and her next steps. Reed continued talking.
“He was dead on arrival. It’s been hectic ever since. I had to talk to the doctors and the police.”
“How did you identify yourself?”
“I didn’t use any law enforcement credentials if that’s what you mean.”
“What about your partner?”
“I took his creds and gun before the ambulance arrived.”
Jane digested this. “Okay. Are you still in Durango?”
“No. Santa Fe. We were following a lead.”
“Give me your address.”
Jane jotted it down.
“Stay where you are. I’ll call you back.”
She hung up then leaned back, thinking. Something didn’t feel right. That was two days in a row that he’d been out of touch. That was one coincidence too many. She made another call. The phone was answered immediately.
“I need you to send a man down to Santa Fe. There’s a loose end I need taken care of.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Thursday, May 6
It was three in the morning when Monahan hung up the phone.
“The plane arrived back in Washington two hours ago. Reed is now in a safe house. My men are guarding him.”
Richter nodded.
“We have a problem. He’s demanding a lawyer. We arrested him at the storage locker, read him his Miranda rights. He hasn’t been processed or formally charged. This is going to get sticky. I need to speak to a U.S. Attorney.”
Richter ignored the veiled request. “What about the wire taps? What’s the status?”
“The tap on Rumson’s phone’s in place. So far, there’s been only one call, and that was to the woman, to ‘Jane.’ We’ve compared the voice with known voice records for the vice president. It’s him.”
The door to the motor home opened and Peggy stepped out. Richter lowered the window.
“I made coffee for you guys.”
Richter took the two mugs. “Thanks, Peggy.”
After she went back inside, Monahan continued. “One problem is that they have not specifically mentioned the president or the bombing.” Monahan flipped on the map light and handed Richter a yellow legal pad. “This is a transcript.”
Richter read for a moment. “…‘Put every resource you have on this. You need to find him pretty damn quick. And you need to end this!’…That sounds pretty damned incriminating to me.”
“It does, but I would like to hear him mention the president’s name.”
Richter flipped off the map light and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, but we might not get that chance.”
“I know. Separately, you know that Jane has dispatched another team to look for you. Again, she never mentioned the president by name or even title, so we have no direct evidence tying her
back to the bombing. She’s getting nervous though. Shortly after Reed called her, she instructed her second team to locate him. I suspect that she now sees him as a liability. Either way, I think we need to consider locating her and picking her up for questioning. I’ll need to get more resources to do that.”
Richter was silent for a minute. His first priority was to protect the president and get him back to Washington safely. And with Monahan, his men and the plane, they could do that. But they couldn’t just walk back into the White House, could they? And didn’t he have an obligation to uncover how widespread this conspiracy was? To make sure those behind it paid the price?
“We need to set up a sting operation. We need to get Rumson to admit that he’s behind this. If we pick Jane up, can we get her to wear a wire?”
Monahan shook his head. “She’s likely to refuse, but on the chance she agrees, she’s going to want a deal. We would have to get the U.S. Attorney involved. We can’t cut plea deals on our own. I think that’s the same thing Reed is now thinking.”
Richter rubbed his eyes again. “Shit.”
“Agent Richter,” Monahan paused, “Matthew…what you’ve done is nothing short of amazing. You got him off the plane. You kept him alive in the wilderness, in the middle of a blizzard. My initial reaction was that you were crazy for not turning yourself in to the search and rescue teams. But, with what you knew at the time and what we know now, I can see why you didn’t. Your instincts were right. You survived a run-in with Agent Mosby and another one with Reed. I know that you’re not only focused on protecting him, you want to hold these bastards accountable as well.” Monahan took a breath and shifted in his seat. “Look. I know you don’t trust anyone. You don’t even trust me. Not completely. I get that. But let me help you. Once we get the president back to Washington…I assume that’s what you’re planning on doing when the plane returns…what’s your next step?”