“I can’t believe that some twenty-something has evaded the notice of an entire FBI investigative team,” Trevor said, shaking his head.
“If we ever find him, maybe we should ask him to work for us,” Brett muttered.
“Get serious. This isn’t some rerun of White Collar for god’s sake. There’s an insane bomber-assassin who’s possibly still in town, and you talk about recruiting him. What are you smoking these days?”
“Just venting, Trevor,” Brett said with a sigh. “Look, I’m as frustrated as you are. If it’s the same guy, he’s been moving around. But we’ve got Samantha Reid under constant surveillance.”
“And how much is that costing us in agent overtime?” Trevor demanded.
“Actually, she’s heading out west later today to speak at some conference. She’ll be with the Treasury Secretary and his security, so we’ve cut the protective team for a few days and redeployed them to the search efforts at hotels.”
“Thank god for small favors,” Trevor said. “What’s the latest from your real estate contacts? Any new properties changing hands?”
“That new agent, Eleanor, who tipped us to the Russian deal, has been pretty helpful,” Brett said. “Almost too helpful,” he said under his breath.
“What about other things you’re supposed to be handling?” Trevor said.
“My team is on several of them. The Israelis are exercised about a possible ISIS cell inside the United States that could target synagogues. And we’ve all reviewed the additional warnings about home-grown terrorists who might target Disney or other vacation venues. But you know about that,” Brett said.
“We elevated both of those,” Trevor said. “Anything else hot right now?”
“The team picked up some chatter from the Nigerian Embassy about chemical weapons,” Brett said.
“Nigeria? I thought they were focused on oil wells and stealing credit cards, just like the East European crowd.”
“Yes, but we’ve alerted the CIA and others. I’ll make sure you get the details by close of business,” Brett said, anxious to end this interrogation and get back to his computer.
The boss nodded and finally turned to leave. “Keep on the bomber. We’ve got to nail that bastard.”
Brett swung his chair around and read another classified report with no new leads. He pushed back from his desk and headed to the coffee room. He saw Dom pouring what was probably his third cup of the morning. “Is that stuff fresh or the usual rot gut variety?” Brett said.
“Just made this, so it’ll be okay for a little while,” Dom said. “How’s it going?”
“The usual BIAT.”
Dom laughed. “You mean Boss In A Twit?”
“Yep,” Brett said, reaching for the fresh pot. “He’s bitching about the bomber investigation which, as you know, is our investigation. Florida’s got nothing. And even after that hit-and-run and the shooting, we’ve got nothing.”
“I know. I’ve seen all the reports, the cross-checking, matching the drawing, the bullet, the databases. It’s endless,” Dom said.
Brett nodded. “The more technology we get, the more complicated and time-consuming it gets. And Congress isn’t helping.”
“When was the last time they did?”
“I know. They look schizophrenic to me. Right after 9/11, they were all over us, the CIA, everybody for not connecting the goddamn dots and not sharing enough information when it was that Attorney General who put out the ruling separating our intel from the CIA. Remember she said CIA had to operate just overseas, and we have to work here. Well, you know about that box they put us in. So, then they create incredible bureaucracies and layers that do what? Force us to file more reports so that we share our info.
“Then they make everybody upgrade all the computer systems,” Brett continued, “so that it takes a shitload of contractors to deal with them. Then all the hackers—the Chinese, the Iranians, Saudis, Russians, Israelis, French, and lord knows who else—try to steal technology, disrupt systems, plant viruses. So, we have to build bigger and better firewalls, which means hiring even more contractors. Then the whole Snowden thing hits, and we have to cut back again while foreigners gear up. You probably saw that report about how cyber spying against us is up 700 percent in the last couple of years?”
“Yep. And that’s not gonna stop,” Dom said, staring at Brett with a slight smile.
“Well, Congress is demanding more court orders for the surveillance while the intelligence committees demand more briefings, the president demands more action to find terrorists, and the ACLU files lawsuits over just how much data we can collect while we’re trying to find them.”
Dom leaned against the counter with a bemused look. “Are you ranting or raving?”
“Definitely not raving,” Brett said, blowing on his coffee to cool it. “Just letting off some steam.”
“Hey, I hear you. If we had a name or an actual photo of that bomber, we could do a lot more.”
“Like get an Interpol Red Notice so he would be stopped if he tried to fly out of this or any other country,” Brett said.
“So, is that all the boss was yelling about today? The kid we can’t find?” Dom asked.
“No,” Brett said. “He wants constant updates on our embassy listening programs. I know that’s a routine exercise around here, but ever since he added it to my, well, our team’s basket of tricks, he asks about what we’re hearing almost every day.”
“What are we hearing? Anything we should be sharing?” Dom asked with a grin. “And what about that realtor? Seems like you’ve turned her into a pretty good CHS.”
“She’s given us some good intel lately, but she keeps asking me to dinner. Even to the Kennedy Center. Can you believe that?”
“Sure,” Dom said. “You said she’s single. You’re single. Sounds like she’s got you right in her crosshairs.”
“Not a chance,” Brett said emphatically. “She’s useful to the bureau, but I don’t need to get any closer to her. Besides, she’s skinny and severe.”
“What do you mean, ‘severe’?”
Brett thought for a moment. “How do I explain it? She’s kind of edgy. Exhausting really. Even the way she dresses. Always just black and white. She looks like an anorexic Dalmatian.” Dom burst out laughing. “Actually,” Brett said, “I was thinking of shifting her contact info into your inbox.”
“Forget it. I’ve got enough to worry about. Now, back to the embassies. What about the Russians?” Dom asked.
“Last I heard they were talking about someone from the Russian Embassy getting permission from State to go beyond their twenty-five mile travel limit.” Brett checked his watch, refilled his coffee mug, and started for the door. “Come to think of it, I should check with Nori to see if she’s got anything new from last night. See you later.”
Brett walked down the hall to Nori’s office and knocked on the door. He looked forward to his conversations with this agent. She was smart, concise, and didn’t waste anybody’s time. “Hey, Nori. Just taking a break and thought I’d check in with you. Anything new from our Russian friends? Any more conference calls with Moscow?”
Nori looked up and adjusted her glasses. “Glad you stopped by. I just finished translating some notes, and I was about to come find you.” She glanced down at her computer. “Remember when they were talking about conferences and a Russian banker named Alexander Tepanov?”
“Sure,” Brett said, walking to her desk and taking another sip of his coffee.
“Well, Tepanov is going to a conference. And since an official from the Russian Embassy got the okay from State for a travel waiver, it sounds like they are going to the same meeting. And both have talked about security.”
“Sounds pretty standard. I can check with State, but did you hear them mention the name of the conference?”
“They talked about finansists in Dahakson.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m sure it means the financiers going to the Federal Res
erve conference in Jackson, Wyoming,” Nori said with a confident wave toward her computer.
“That’s where Samantha Reid is going, along with a lot of people from Treasury and just about every other central banker and finance minister from every important country. It doesn’t seem strange that Russians would be going too. Everyone else is,” Brett said.
“Maybe so. But here’s where we need to take action.”
“We need to take action? Treasury has its own security people.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “But I also heard conversation fragments about Tepanov and rumors he’s heard. Things that could affect the international markets. I don’t know what he means, but I wonder if somebody is planning to disrupt the conference in some way that could spook the markets.”
Brett stared at her. “Affect the markets?” His eyes darted to the floor and then back to Nori. “Can you print out your notes right now and email them to me as well?”
“Of course,” Nori said, quickly hitting a few keys and then reaching over to retrieve the pages from her printer. “Here you go.”
Brett grabbed her report. “Thanks. Good work.” He turned and raced down the hall.
He barged into Trevor’s office. The boss was on the phone. He gave Brett an irritated look and held up his hand for silence. Brett waved the report in front of Trevor’s desk and pointed to his watch.
“Looks like something’s come up. I’ll have to get back to you,” Trevor said into the receiver and quickly hung up. “What’s so damned important that you have to interrupt me?”
Brett thrust Nori’s notes into his boss’s hand and said, “Something’s up in Jackson. The Fed conference. That’s where Samantha Reid and the Treasury Secretary are going. Later today. I want to head out there. Now.”
“Hold your damn horses,” Trevor said, glancing at the notes. “If she’s right, and there’s something off, first we alert Treasury, and then I call our Denver office. They have jurisdiction out there. Their agents will cover the conference and coordinate with the other security teams. There will be a lot of big names involved, so it’ll be a big job. But it’s not your job.”
“Dammit it, Trevor. Samantha Reid is my job. You just said so. There have been several attempts on her life. And there’s been a lot of publicity about this conference and how she’s been invited to give a speech. Who’s to say she wouldn’t be a special target, especially if someone’s planning something? In fact, I want to see if I can persuade her not to go.”
“Oh, so now you’re the scheduling director for senior White House officials?” Trevor said in a gruff voice.
“No, I’m not. But I do feel responsible for protecting her,” Brett said. “I—we have been doing that all along.”
“Well, Denver can take over. At least while she’s in their territory.”
“Okay, so Denver takes over. I want to be there too.”
Trevor eyed Brett and cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure you’re not being too protective of this particular person? This particular female person?”
Brett didn’t answer the question. “I’ve been on this case from the get-go, and I’m not about to give up now. I’ve been tracking this Otto guy. I’ve memorized his features, researched our databases, and I know Samantha Reid, her habits, her traits, her fears.”
“What fears? Besides being the target of an assassin, that is,” Trevor said.
Brett hesitated. He didn’t want to divulge too many personal observations to his boss, like Samantha’s fear of heights. Better to keep it professional. “That’s what I mean. You’d be anxious too if you were afraid some crazed gunman was going to run you down or try and take another shot at you every time you left your office.”
“I understand that,” Trevor muttered. “But you’ve got too much going on here in D.C. There’s absolutely no evidence, no reason to believe that some kid is going to follow Samantha Reid all the way out to a Federal Reserve conference, or that some banker in Moscow is tied in to anything that would threaten her. You need to stay right here where that waiter was last seen. Denver will handle any possible threat at that conference.”
Brett stared at his boss. What now? His gut kept telling him something was wrong. Very wrong. Even though he knew the Denver agents and other security teams would be out there to protect all the other delegates, he still wanted to get special protection for Samantha.
I’ve got to call her and talk her into cancelling this trip.
He turned and walked back to his office to contact her. He knew it would be a tough sell. She’d say that the program was set, her schedule was set, and her boss was set. Set on her going out there to sweet-talk all those delegates into cooperating with her money-laundering investigations. Besides, she probably would feel safer out of town than in D.C. where that shooter could still be at large.
As he dialed the number, he felt apprehensive, even helpless. He couldn’t remember the last time those kinds of emotions had churned inside him. He reached for his coffee. Cold now. He drank some anyway and held his breath until the call was answered.
THIRTY-EIGHT
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON;
REAGAN NATIONAL AIRPORT
“IT’D BE NICE IF THEY’D let us fly first class once in a while,” Homer said, shoving his carry-on into an overhead bin. “At least our seats are somewhat close to the front. Here, let me help you with that,” he said, hoisting Samantha’s black bag up in one quick move.
“Thanks,” she said. “Let’s just hope that nobody has the middle seat on this flight. It’ll be a good opportunity to go over our notes for the Secretary. At least he’s in first class.”
“That’s because Treasury security says so. They’ve got two guys up there with him. Guess they don’t care what happens to us back here in steerage. But they should. Especially with that last FBI warning you mentioned on the way over,” Homer said. “What do you make of it?”
“I’m not sure. I got that call from a friend, I mean, from the FBI. He’s one of the agents on my protective detail. As I said, they picked up a possible threat tied to the conference, and he told me not to go. I tried to explain that I couldn’t just back out because of some rumor. When I told him I had to do this, he finally conceded that their Denver bureau would be in Jackson and they would check everything out. So we should be okay.”
She looked around as the cabin filled up with teenagers hauling backpacks, young mothers carrying babies, and a few elderly people hobbling down the aisle with canes at their side. “I guess it doesn’t really matter to me which class I fly. However, it would be nice to see something on the menu other than peanuts and pretzels. Thanks for getting some sandwiches to bring onboard.” She glanced at her watch. “Too bad there aren’t any nonstop flights from D.C. to Jackson Hole. At least the layover in Salt Lake isn’t too long.”
“With the time difference, we’ll land in Jackson with plenty of time to drive to the lodge and get a good dinner. Plus, a lot of the other delegates will probably be there already. Maybe we can meet some. I was looking at the list and noticed there’s a new central banker from Russia coming. Alexander Tepanov. Ever heard of him?”
“Brett, my FBI contact, mentioned his name once,” she said, shoving her purse under the seat and fastening her seat belt. “Do you know anything about him?”
“Not too much. But since certain Russian banks are on our target list, I did a quick background check. Didn’t find out a lot because before he got this appointment, he was in the SVR. Evidently handled some money issues there. I peg him as some kind of well-connected accountant.”
“Aha, their foreign intelligence service. Formerly KGB,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Interesting that they’d take someone out of there and put him in the bank.”
“Not too amazing when you consider how Putin promotes his buddies to everything from state-owned mining companies to the highest government positions. Tepenov and Putin came out of the same outfit. We always see that the closer they are to the president, the
higher level their job is. And competence doesn’t seem to factor into the equation. Since this is a pretty recent move for the guy, he was never high profile enough to make the sanctions lists. We have no idea how much influence he might have now, but who knows? With all the tension between us and them, he may want to curry some favor as insurance against any future sanctions. So, if you play your cards right, we might get him to cooperate with us on tracking a few accounts.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “We’ll try to get to know him if we can. We could use a little cooperation over there. I’m afraid they’ve got a lot of secret accounts that we’ll never be able to penetrate, especially when it comes to arms dealers.”
“While they’re dealing, we keep digging,” he said.
Samantha started to read a copy of the Wall Street Journal she had packed into her purse. She pointed to a column in the Business/Technology section. “Here’s another story about how several virtual currencies are moving more billions all over the world, especially in Estonia and Asia. They’re even using it for dowries in Africa. I’m sure money launderers are using it.”
“That’s kind of a tough one for us. Anyone with a crypto-currency account can be anonymous. And with a lot of legitimate businesses accepting them for payment now, that leaves us in a bit of a quandary.”
“I see what you mean. Maybe you can put some sort of controls on them. Ask for more transparency or something,” she suggested.
“It’s not that easy. No one knows exactly who started it by creating those complicated algorithms.”
The captain announced they were ready for takeoff. Samantha was glad that the middle seat remained empty. She never wanted to look down from a window seat, which is why she had requested one on the aisle. While her fear of heights caused her problems in many areas of life, she never had to worry about it on airplanes as long as she didn’t look out a window.
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