Deadly Straits (Tom Dugan 1)

by McDermott, R. E.

  Dugan ignored Ward and kept reading. After a while, he looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  “Now let me get this straight,” Dugan said to Ward. “You and Anna put him on the plane, and you’re done, right?”

  “Essentially. But Tom,” Ward warned, “whatever you’re thinking won’t work. Our orders are to follow this agreement to the letter.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, pal,” Dugan said.

  Heathrow Airport

  London

  28 July

  “Off,” Braun said, extending cuffed wrists to Lou and Harry.

  “Not yet,” Lou said as they rolled through security. Harry just glared.

  “Idiotic,” Braun said, “but have your petty victory.”

  Braun brightened as the limo rolled across the tarmac toward the plane, and he spied familiar figures. “Agent Ward. Agent Walsh. How nice of you to see me off,” he gushed as he was dragged from the car.

  “Cut the crap, Braun,” Ward said.

  “I suggest you lot cut the crap as well,” Braun said, holding up cuffed wrists. “You can start by telling these baboons to uncuff me.”

  Anna nodded, and Lou uncuffed the German, none too gently.

  “Much better,” Braun said, rubbing his wrists. “But now, if there’s nothing further, I’ll just be on my way.”

  “Bon voyage,” Ward said.

  Braun laughed and bounded up the short steps into the plane. As soon as he entered the plane, two large black men grabbed him by the arms, forced him into a seat, and cuffed his wrists to the armrests.

  “What the bloody hell—”

  A much-smaller, well-tailored black man stood looking down at him and spoke.

  “Karl Enrique Braun,” he intoned. “You are under arrest for terrorist acts committed against the Liberian flag vessels M/T China Star and M/T Asian Trader on 4 July of this year. Under Liberian law, statements you make or have made can and will be used against you.”

  “What is this nonsense?” Braun said. “I have immunity, you idiot. Now remo—”

  “Actually, you don’t,” said a voice behind him, and Braun twisted his head to see Dugan walking up the aisle, rolled papers in his right hand tapping the open palm of his left.

  “Meet Mr. Ernest Dolo Macabee,” Dugan said, nodding at the smaller black man, “Foreign minister of the Republic of Liberia.”

  “I don’t give a damn who he is,” Braun said. “I have full immunity. Now—”

  Dugan held up the papers. “Turns out you aren’t quite as bulletproof as you thought, Braun. There’s no mention of Liberia in this agreement.”

  Braun sneered. “Your games don’t fool me, Dugan. The intent of the agreement was global immunity. I don’t believe for a moment your government will allow you to turn me over to these monkeys.”

  Macabee stiffened. Smooth move, Karl, thought Dugan as he smiled down at Braun.

  “The governments involved are following the agreement, Braun. To the letter, in fact. What’s happening isn’t covered by the agreement.”

  “I HAVE FULL IMMUNITY!” Braun shouted.

  “Alas, Mr. Braun, not in Liberia,” Macabee said as if lecturing a dull student. “But it’s not surprising we were overlooked. We have many ships under our flag and limited administrative resources. We invariably cede jurisdiction to the country where crimes occur or, if at sea, authorities in the next port. But we always retain the right to prosecute, if necessary. Justice must be served, Mr. Braun.” He paused. “Even ‘monkeys’ know that.”

  “This is preposterous,” Braun said. “This will never hold up, Dugan. I was promised freedom and a plane to take me anywhere I wanted to go.”

  “And you walked aboard this plane a free man,” Dugan said, “whereupon you were arrested by different authorities. And as far as the plane goes,” he continued, tapping the paper in his palm, “it says absolutely nothing about the ownership of the plane. It merely specifies range capability and that you will be transported to a destination of your choice.”

  Dugan turned to Macabee.

  “Mr. Minister,” he asked, “are you prepared to transport Mr. Braun from here to the destination of his choice before you return with him to Liberia?”

  Macabee nodded. “Most assuredly, Mr. Dugan, though I regret he will be unable to deplane at his chosen destination.”

  Dugan made a show of studying the agreement, enjoying himself.

  “Hmm… nothing in here about deplaning,” he said.

  Braun strained at the cuffs and screamed abuse. Macabee nodded to one of his men, who stifled the tirade with a piece of duct tape over Braun’s mouth.

  “I will discuss Mr. Braun’s desired itinerary with him once we become airborne,” said Macabee. “May I have a word with you on the tarmac, Mr. Dugan?”

  Dugan nodded and followed the dapper African down the short steps. As agreed, Ward and the Brits were long gone, having fulfilled their part of the agreement and left. On the tarmac, Macabee turned to face Dugan.

  “Well, justice delayed is justice denied, so I’ll get Mr. Braun home,” he said, extending his hand. “However, I did not want to leave before thanking you and your government for the generous gift.”

  Dugan gripped the man’s hand. “My pleasure, Mr. Minister, though please be discreet regarding the plane. Agent Ward had to call in a few favors from friends in the Drug Enforcement Agency. The transfer wasn’t completely according to Hoyle, but I’m sure you’ll make much better use of it than the drug smugglers from whom it was confiscated.”

  Macabee smiled. “I understand,” he said and bounded up the short steps into the plane.

  Ten minutes later, Dugan watched the jet roar skyward, at ease for the first time since he’d met Ward and Gardner in Singapore two months and a lifetime ago.

  Epilogue

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  4 August

  “Great, Jesse,” Gardner said, “please go on.”

  “That’s it for Panama. In Iran, the situation is confused since Motaki’s death. The unrest is being brutally suppressed, but the student-led opposition is winning. The regime is collapsing, and Ayatollah Rahmani has requested asylum in France.”

  Gardner scowled. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “I just got it. I’m telling you now.”

  Gardner bit off a reply and smiled. “I understand, Jesse. Sorry to interrupt. Prognosis?”

  What’s with this asshole? Ward thought as he continued.

  “Unknown,” he said. “The likely beneficiary is the Council of Resistance. They pay lip service to democracy but have Marxist roots, even though most of the world knows that ship has sailed. They’ll dominate any coalition. Not so bad, really. Sometimes”—he sighed—”a rational and predictable enemy is the best one can hope for.”

  Gardner filed that away.

  “Great job, Jesse.” He paused as if embarrassed. “I… I want to apologize for past behavior. I should have listened to you.”

  Ward gave a wary nod as Gardner extended his hand.

  “Friends?” Gardner asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Ah, sure,” Ward said as he shook.

  “Good man.” Gardner walked Ward to the door with a hand on his shoulder.

  Ward walked back to his own office, ill at ease and counting his fingers.

  Office of the DDO

  (Deputy Director for Operations)

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  “At times,” Gardner said with a practiced sigh, “a rational and predictable enemy is the best one can hope for.”

  The deputy director looked puzzled.

  “Yes, well, all in all a great briefing,” he said, recovering.

  “Just doing my job, Mr. Director.”

  “And quite well. But where’s Ward?”

  “Off today.” Gardner lowered his voice. “Personal problems.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the DDO said. “Ward’s a go
od man.”

  Gardner’s silence spoke volumes.

  “If you’ve something to say, son, say it.”

  “Sir, I think he’s a burnout. The fitness report I just finished reflects that.”

  The DDO nodded. “Sad, but it happens. I don’t second-guess supervisors.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “And you’ve impressed me. How’d you like to work directly for me?”

  “In what capacity, sir?”

  “Something I’ve considered for years,” the Old Man said. “We use tons of support, an effort decentralized across many groups. I want a sort of ‘czar’ to take charge. You’ve done operations. A staff position will enhance your résumé. How does assistant deputy director for administrative services sound?”

  “It… it sounds fine, sir,” Gardner stammered, “ah… when…”

  “Right now. We’ll get you moved over. Any loose ends?”

  “No, sir.” Gardner stopped. “Well, yes. I have to review Ward’s fitness report with him.”

  “Leave that for his next supervisor.”

  “I better do it, sir. He’ll be upset. He may even make groundless accusations.”

  “He’s not the first burnout we’ve dealt with,” sighed the DDO. “We’ll handle it.”

  ***

  Ward fidgeted. He’d arrived at work to find Gardner’s office empty and an e-mail that his performance review would be done by “his next supervisor,” whatever that meant. Then this summons to the DDO’s office.

  “Jesse. Sorry for the wait,” the DDO said, emerging from his office. “Come on in.”

  He pointed Ward toward a sofa, and as he sat, the Old Man retrieved a file from his desk before sitting opposite, a coffee table between them.

  “Damned impressive.” The DDO tapped Ward’s personnel file. “A string of superior ratings and a Director’s Citation. The only negative—a repeated refusal to accept advancement. Don’t you like hanging around the office, Jesse?”

  Ward squirmed. “I’m better in the field and—”

  “And you hate office politics. Believe me, Jesse, I know the downside of advancement.”

  “Yes, sir, I suspect you do.”

  “More on that later. First, tell me how you became a fuckup.”

  “Sir?”

  “Your latest fitness report.” The DDO passed him a single sheet of paper.

  Ward read with building anger. “This is… this is complete horseshit!”

  “I take it you dispute the evaluation?”

  “You’re goddamned right I dispute—” Ward looked up to see the Old Man grinning.

  “Good enough.” The DDO snatched the report and crossed to his desk. A shredder whirred.

  “This,” the Old Man said, returning with a form, “says a disputed report was reviewed by senior management, that’s me, and voided. This”—he laid a report in front of Ward—”is a fitness report from your new supervisor, also me, full of praise. Some of it might even be true. Sign.”

  “But, but… you’re not… I’m way down the food chain.”

  “We’ll get to that. Sign,” ordered the Old Man, smiling as Ward complied.

  “Now a question,” the DDO said. “Think before answering. An American citizen named Borqei died recently. What do you know about it?”

  “Just what the FBI told us, sir. We suspect a hit by foreign nationals of unknown origin. The trail disappears in Mexico City.”

  “Good answer,” the Old Man said. “Now, the next issue. Recent events showed everyone, including the president, the potential of maritime threats. At his order, I’m forming a Maritime Threat Assessment Section reporting to me. You’re gonna run it.”

  “Sir, I’m just a field spook. I don’t—”

  “Don’t give me that crap. I’m a field spook too, but here I sit, long past retirement. Because the country needs me, just like it needs you.” His face softened. “Jesse, it’s a good deal. You get a chunk of the black budget, and I’ll keep the politicians off your ass.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “’Yes, sir, thank you, sir,’ would be appropriate.”

  They locked eyes. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Ward said.

  “Fantastic.” The Old Man thrust out his hand. “The paperwork’s ready. Start forming a team. And get that Dugan guy. He knows the industry, and I like his instincts.”

  “I’m all over that.”

  “Good. You and Dee Dee ever been to the White House?”

  Ward looked confused. “Uh… we took a tour when the kids were little.…”

  The Old Man laughed. “Well, you and Dee Dee are dining there next week. Just a quiet private dinner where you’ll receive a Presidential Commendation.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “For a smart fellow, Ward, you sure have a limited vocabulary.”

  “But what about Gardner?”

  The Old Man’s smile faded. “Yeah, we need to cover that, but what I’m about to say never leaves this room. Understood?” Ward nodded.

  “You know Gardner’s being groomed for office. Intelligence work enhances the résumé, and his family leaned on enough senators to get him forced on me. It had to be a “leadership position.” Since you’d refused the top job in your group, I figured he could sit at that desk a while, and you’d keep him from stepping on his dick. I was prepared to step in if required, but Gardner’s idiotic actions caught me flat-footed. Thankfully you salvaged things.”

  “So where’s he going now?”

  “I was gonna fire him regardless, but then I realized that wasn’t enough. He might eventually end up somewhere he can do some real harm. I made him office-supply czar with a big title. Now he can’t cause any disasters except maybe a stapler shortage.”

  “But won’t he just move on in a year or so?”

  “That’s all I need. Like everyone else, he signed a privacy waiver. He’s been under surveillance a month and already documented with underage prostitutes and buying cocaine. Soon, I’ll have more than enough to leak to the press if he runs for so much as dog catcher.”

  “The surveillance is legal but leaking it isn’t. Why tell me this, sir?”

  “Because he’ll be around long after I’m dead. I’ll give you a copy of his file and rest easy knowing his balls are in the palm of your very capable hand. Can you live with that?”

  “Yes, sir, I can.”

  “Good, then we’re done.” He started to rise but stopped. “By the way, Gardner tried to snow me with some bullshit about ‘a rational and predictable enemy.’ Sounded familiar.”

  Ward grinned. “It’s from a speech you gave. I knew he’d use it sooner or later.”

  Temporary Offices

  Phoenix Shipping Ltd.

  Lambeth Road, London

  19 August

  Like its legendary namesake, Phoenix Shipping rose from the ashes in temporary space with rented equipment, the hum of voices punctuated by ringing phones as monitors flashed atop a sea of cheap metal desks. Mrs. Coutts sat as gatekeeper to the closet-size cubicle of Mr. Thomas Dugan, acting managing director of Phoenix Shipping Ltd.

  Dugan smiled out at the scene. Business was booming, and an able assist from MI5 hadn’t hurt, providing quiet assurance in the right ears that Alex had performed exemplary service to the Crown and that Her Majesty’s Government would take a dim view of allegations to the contrary. Claims on M/T Asian Trader were paid promptly and in full, and lines of credit were restored, and in most cases, increased.

  Dugan left each night tired but happy, usually to meet Anna for dinner. They’d taken an apartment in Belgravia, and nothing had felt so right since that long-ago time when life was full of promise and he’d return from sea to find Ginny on the dock, laughing as she held up a sign reading HEY SAILOR. LOOKING FOR A GOOD TIME? Ginny would approve, he thought.

  “Mr. Ward on line one, sir,” Mrs. Coutts said.

  Dugan lifted the phone. “Jesse. How’s it going?”


  “Good,” Ward said. “Better than good. We’ve formed a dedicated maritime-threat section. They’re letting me run it until I screw up.”

  “Fantastic, Jesse, and well deserved.” Dugan paused. “What about that asshole Gardner?”

  “Managing paper clips. He’s no longer a factor.”

  “Well, that’s good. At least you won’t have to watch your back.”

  “And speaking of watching things, you know how badly we need—”

  “Stop right there, pal. I like what I’m doing.”

  “Great,” Ward persisted. “Stay there. It’s perfect cover. We’ll make it worth Alex’s while financially, and you just keep your eyes and ears open. Piece of cake.”

  “Let’s recap, shall we? The last time you said that, I was beaten by a crazy Panamanian, forced to jump out of a helicopter onto a moving ship, nearly washed overboard by gasoline, shot at, just escaped being blown up, and almost drowned. Oh yeah, I forgot the broken nose.”

  “Nothing like that’s likely to happen again.”

  “Damn right, because I’m not playing.”

  “Just think about it, Tom. That’s all I ask.”

  “Listen closely, Jesse. I—DO—NOT—WANT—TO—DO—THIS. Understood?”

  “Just think about it. Talk to Anna. I’ll call back. Sorry, but the DDO is calling. Bye.”

  Dugan stared at the receiver. Some friggin’ nerve, he thought as he hung up.

  Five time zones away, Ward smiled. He’ll come around, he thought.

  Kairouz Residence

  Dugan and Anna held hands under the table. Dinner had been pleasant, and Gillian seemed a different person from the hollow-eyed wraith that had haunted Alex’s bedside a month earlier. For that matter, she seemed a different person than she’d ever been. She had on a modest but stylish dress, obviously new, and most of the white had disappeared from her hair. Both she and Alex fairly glowed, trading sly smiles as Cassie seemed near bursting with some great secret. As they all finished coffee, Alex asked Mrs. Hogan and Daniel to join them and addressed the table, his voice raspy.

  “We want you all to share a special moment. Recent events have been life changing, and they’ve led me to count my blessings”—he beamed at Cassie and Gillian—”and take some long-overdue action. I asked, and Gillian has done me the great honor of—”