Trust But Verify

by Karna Small Bodman

  “Cell phones work better. If somebody set a timer, there could be delays. The ministers could take longer to show up, the lunch could start later—who the hell knows? No, I’d opt for a cell phone. That’s why it’s vital that you take pictures and watch every person trying to make a call. Confiscate those phones if you can. I know it’s going to be tough because we can’t just cordon off the entire area. This is high season for tourists, and word is that even the Fed hosts say they are here as guests, not intruders. Not the way I’d do a protective detail, but we’ve got no choice.”

  “Right,” Dom said. “This is going to be a bitch of a problem. But if Denver has as many agents as they say they do, we should be able to cover the territory pretty well.”

  “Well, ‘Hope springs eternal’ and all that,” Brett said. He was speeding down the highway, hoping there weren’t any sheriffs around, when he spotted their turnoff to the right. “We’ll take this road to Spring Gulch.”

  “Sounds like a flooded pot hole,” Dom said.

  “There’s actually another way from the airport to the village that looked shorter. But part of it goes through some park, and it’s not even paved, so I decided to take this route,” Brett explained.

  “Hey, look ahead. Looks like this road isn’t paved either. But there’s a truck up there that’s going pretty fast, so maybe we’ll be okay,” Dom said.

  They passed cow pastures and signs pointing to ranches along the way. Then they took a right onto Route 22 and another right at a sign that said, “Teton Village, 7 miles.”

  After a few more minutes Brett said, “There it is. Up on the left.” He sped toward the village, past the Snake River Lodge and the Alpenhof, and found a place to park near the Jackson Hole Aerial Tram entrance.

  They opened the trunk, grabbed their gear, and ran up to the platform. There they spotted several agents who pointed out the man in charge. He was stationed near the ticket taker. Brett walked over and offered his hand. “Brett Keating, D.C. office. This is Special Agent Turiano. Can you fill us in on the latest?”

  “Oh yes, Agent Keating.” The Denver director shook Brett’s hand with a smile. “Stuart Pierce. Good to finally put a face to a name. As I said on the phone, I believe we have this area under control. We had people up at the restaurant until closing last night. They went over every inch of the place and came down with the kitchen staff on the last tram. No one except the cooks and waiters have been allowed to go up there this morning. And we already finished our background checks on the restaurant staff. Took some time, but they all cooperated.”

  Stuart continued, “We’ve been double-checking tram cars this morning for any sign of explosives, even chemical discharge, and we’ve found nothing. You can trust me when I say there’s nothing to worry about here.”

  Brett vaguely remembered something President Reagan once said about trust. He’d have to look it up. Right now, he was surveying the tram cables as Stuart continued to talk.

  “As soon as the buses arrive with the delegates, which should be around—” Stuart paused and glanced at his watch—“forty minutes or so, we’ll have agents on the cars with them when they ride up to the top. Right now, the tram is stopped.”

  “I want it started again,” Brett said.

  “Why?” Stuart asked.

  “I need to get up there before the delegates. I’m not saying your people didn’t do a good job, I just want to be there in advance. Okay?”

  The agent shook his head. “I know you’ve been heading up the investigation in D.C., but this is our territory. And I told you, we’ve got it covered.”

  Dom intervened. “Look, it can’t be too much trouble to get the operator to send up one tram. I’ll stay here on the ground and work with you and your agents while Brett helps with security at the restaurant. After all, we are here now, and we want to help,” he said in a friendly tone.

  The agent sighed and finally said, “Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid up there. The restaurant manager is nervous enough trying to get this luncheon together for all the officials, including our own Treasury Secretary.”

  “Got it,” Brett said.

  Stuart walked over to the tram booth but was told that the operator was on a break. He gave the order to restart the tram, but the girl standing there said it would be a while. Brett watched the exchange and shook his head as he checked his watch again: 11:30 a.m. Samantha and the others would be here in less than thirty minutes.

  Where the hell is the operator?

  Brett stood there as his panic started to build. Finally, a young guy in jeans and a “Teton Valley Rocks” T-shirt approached the booth. Stuart pointed to the tram car and the guy nodded slowly. After several more minutes, Brett heard motors running, and the cables started to move.

  The tram car skirted the edge of the platform and stopped so that Brett could board. He waved to Dom and hopped inside. Leaning against the window, he turned on his VHS radio, clipped it to his belt, felt in his pocket for the little bomb pre-emptor, and held onto the briefcase he had also filched from Dom’s office.

  Fifteen minutes felt like forty as the car made its way up the side of the mountain. Maybe Stuart was right. Maybe there was no threat at all. Maybe he had been too involved with Samantha Reid to think straight. But he didn’t settle for maybes. He got facts.

  The car halted at the top, and the door opened. Brett thanked the operator and raced to the restaurant. Inside, he saw long tables set for about a hundred people, complete with colorful cloths and wildflower arrangements in small vases lining the centers. He noticed waiters placing water glasses and napkins at each place. Others were moving a lectern and microphone to the front of the room.

  He asked a server where the manager was and watched him point to a swinging door. Brett entered the kitchen and found a rather harried looking man.

  “Sir? You’re the manager?”

  The man nodded. “Who are you? I thought nobody was allowed up until noon.”

  “Brett Keating, FBI.” He offered his hand. “Just want to take one last look around if you don’t mind.”

  The manager nervously shook his hand and said. “Be my guest. We’re awfully busy here, but do what you have to do.” He hurried off.

  Brett began by scanning the room, but he had a hunch that he wouldn’t find anything in the middle of the lunch preparations where it might easily be discovered. Besides, the restaurant must have been locked overnight. If anyone were going to sabotage the meeting, they wouldn’t want to leave some tell-sign of a break in.

  He went to the porch area, set the small briefcase on a wooden chair, and opened it. He took out the square detection device that looked like a flashlight and started to walk around the perimeter of the building.

  Brett studied the small screen on the side as he slowly moved forward. Right now it was showing .50. He remembered Dom telling him .60 was a zone of uncertainty. He kept checking the number as he walked. It started to inch up a bit. Brett held his breath and cautiously stepped toward a set of windows in the back. He looked again. The read-out registered .90.

  “Shit!” he muttered as he felt along one of the windows and looked under each sill. He inhaled sharply as the reading hit .99.

  There it was. An explosive pack of C-4.

  He examined it, noticed how it was taped in place, and finally located the trigger. He yanked it out and disconnected it from the payload. Then he released a huge breath, grabbed his radio, and called Dom. “You there?” he demanded. He waited until he heard Dom’s voice.

  “Here with the Denver guys taking photos. The delegates arrived while you were on your way up. They’re all on board, and the tram is starting to move.”

  “They can’t come up!” Brett yelled. “You’ve got to stop the tram.”

  “Why? It’s already on the way,” Dom said. “It doesn’t go backwards. It has to loop around to come down again.”

  “They’ve got to get off,” Brett shouted. “Evacuate. Do something.”

  “We can’t
. The tram is over a gorge right now. What the hell is going on up there?”

  “I just found a piece of C-4 under a window. But I don’t know how many more are up here. I only found it because I used your new briefcase device,” Brett said while rushing around the side of the building and feeling along the edge.

  “How the hell did it get there?” Dom yelled. “They covered the whole building last night.”

  “Someone must have come up here and stayed late,” Brett said into the two-way strapped to his belt.

  “Can you disarm the one you found?”

  “Did that,” Brett said, rounding a corner. “It was way too easy. I think it was a decoy.” He thought about telling the manager to evacuate the building, but he couldn’t afford to stop searching. Whoever planted the C-4 probably planned to detonate it as soon as the delegates arrived. At least that bought him time. But what if they also sabotaged the tram cables or the tower? He’d have to check them too. Brett started to sweat.

  As he reached under another window sill, he found more C-4. “Shit, there’s more. I don’t know if I can find it all in time,” he said and disconnected the trigger. “Dom, try again to stop the goddamned tram. Wait. No. Alert the Denver agents and cover every frigging inch down there at the base. Somebody is going to try to trigger this stuff, and we don’t know if most of it is up here or down there. And I need Denver’s bomb squad ASAP. Where are they?”

  “I don’t know if they have team here in the village. They may have been checking other locations, but I’ll find out.”

  Brett clicked off and frantically went back to work.

  FORTY-THREE

  THURSDAY NOON;

  JACKSON, WYOMING

  “IT’S BEEN SUCH A PLEASURE getting to know you, Miss Reid,” the Russian banker said with a broad grin. “We are all looking forward to your remarks.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tepanov,” Samantha said, glancing at the man standing between her and the tram window. “I just started reviewing my notes.”

  “I’ll leave you to your preparations, but perhaps we could sit together at the luncheon and continue our discussion?”

  “If they don’t have a seating chart, we may be able to do that. Thanks,” she said and tried to smile, but she was nervous. The tram car was jerking upward and swaying in the wind. She turned to Homer, who was standing next to her, and said in a low voice, “I know we need Russia’s help on a lot of things, but that guy has been all over me since we got here.”

  “It’s pretty obvious he’s a ladies’ man,” Homer whispered. “But knowing you, you’ll figure out how to charm and co-opt him at the same time.”

  “Charm and co-opt?” Samantha asked, trying not to think about where she was, but about what she had to do.

  “How else could you survive in a job where you’re surrounded by men who bank on Kissinger’s old line, ‘Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac?’ ”

  Samantha sighed. “I’ll see what I can do with the Russians in the next few hours. But first, I need to get through this speech,” she said, trying to look down at her notes and ignore the nearby windows.

  “Want to go over your main points again?” Homer asked.

  “I don’t think so. Those four things we worked on are already written down on these cards. Still, I’ve never just read a speech.”

  “You’ll be great. Some of the speakers at the morning sessions were so unbelievably boring with their prepared remarks,” Homer said. “Whoever writes their speeches should be fired. Did you catch that nonsense about M-1 and M-2, velocity and convergence?”

  “Sure did, though I sort of needed subtitles,” Samantha said. She knew Homer was trying to distract her from thinking about heights, so she tried to continue their conversation as the car lurched higher. “That word ‘convergence’ is actually pretty important, but I’m using the idea in a completely different context.”

  “I know. It’s more like the word ‘combination’ we talked about last night.”

  “Exactly. I’ve worked that into my pitch about the threat of global trafficking routes combining with narco-terrorism. When we’ve got trillions of bucks in cybercrimes every year, and when you combine that with money-laundering, it all leads to the weapons trade, drug trade, and even WMD. And that leads to gigantic threats and problems.”

  “Right. They combine the servers, routers, and hackers with the big money guys, and it becomes a real mess,” Homer said. “We make a little progress here and there, but I can see why they wanted you out here to make our case.” He glanced at the Russian who was staring out his window. “If you can get guys like Tepanov to cooperate with us, along with some of their former republics, that would be a huge deal.”

  “I’m trying,” she said, tucking her notes back into her purse. Samantha edged toward the center, farther away from the windows. She didn’t want to be anywhere near them, and she prayed that she wouldn’t freak out before they reached the top.

  “Doing okay?” Homer asked gently.

  She stared at the floor. “I’ll make it if I can stop thinking about the last time I was out here with my husband.”

  “I know,” Homer said, taking her arm. “They said it’ll only take fifteen minutes. When we get to the top, we can head straight into the restaurant and not look down anywhere. Just focus on your speech and the dinner we’re going to have tonight in town. I think the Treasury guys booked us into a place called the Snake River Grill. It’s right on the square, and it’s supposed to be pretty good.”

  He stayed close to her as the car vibrated on its trek upward. She closed her eyes and mentally counted off the minutes.

  FORTY-FOUR

  FRIDAY NOON;

  RENDEZVOUS MOUNTAIN

  “STUART IS APOPLECTIC ABOUT WHAT you found up there. He’s screaming at his agents and asking everyone how the hell any sort of explosive was overlooked. Have you found anything else?” Dom asked.

  “Yeah. Three more small packs of C-4 around the building,” Brett said nervously. “One was right behind a bush for god’s sake. But there are no more readings here, so I think the restaurant is secure. I’m running to the tower now. It would take a helluva cache to bring it down, but I want to make sure it’s clean. Did you ever get a hold of their bomb squad? They need to dispose of this stuff immediately.”

  “We’re trying to round them up. After last night, they went back to the lodge to double-check security there. They’re on their way here, but it looks like they’ll be too late to do you any good,” Dom said.

  “Well, what about the agents on the ground? See anything suspicious down there? Getting pictures I hope,” Brett said as he rushed to the tower.

  “We’re all over it. There were several guys in cars parked nearby. They might just be waiting for someone, but we got photos just in case.” He hesitated and then said, “I don’t want to alarm you, but the tram will be there in less than ten minutes.”

  “Damn! The tower is on a ridge far from the restaurant. Maybe I should have checked that first. If I were a criminal, I’d include the tower in my shit scheme. Gotta go.”

  As he careened away from the restaurant and ran toward the tall tower’s base, he thanked God that he’d brought along Dom’s new detection system. He checked his watch. Not much time before the car containing the most important financial gurus in the world would be here. Them and Samantha. Christ! What if there were more explosives?

  * * *

  “See those guys over there with the cell phones?” Dom called to a Denver agent.

  “I got them covered,” the man replied as he raced over to talk to the group. Dom saw him argue with the quartet of tourists standing near the tram platform. Eventually, the group nodded, and the agent handed them cards and pocketed their phones.

  Dom scanned the rest of the crowd. A young woman wearing a bulky jacket looked like she was taking pictures of the tram. Dom walked over and grabbed her iPhone.

  “What are you doing?” she cried out.

  He turned off her phone and sa
id, “FBI. We’re running a security sweep. No cell phones.”

  “I thought this was a free country,” she countered. “Give me back my phone.”

  Dom took out his own cell and snapped a picture of her. Wearing a jacket on a warm day made him think she might have a weapon on her. All the agents were constantly briefed about home-grown terrorist plots. He couldn’t take any chances.

  “You have no right—” she protested.

  “I have every right,” he said. Then he pocketed her cell. “Open your jacket.”

  “What?” she said.

  “Do it,” he demanded.

  She stared at him, hesitated, then unzipped it. Nothing suspicious was inside. No suicide packs. No weapons of any kind.

  Dom nodded and handed her a business card. “Later today, call this number and leave your address. We’ll send your phone back.”

  She glared at him with contempt. “I still say you have no right,” she muttered and stalked off.

  He saw that the other agents were fanned out, taking more photos and confiscating cell phones amidst shouting and swearing about being in a public park and needing to make a call. Dom couldn’t care less if some tourists were upset.

  This isn’t Parks and Recreation. This is national security.

  * * *

  Brett was circling the tower. He stared at the read-out again. It was starting to climb. As he scanned the base, it suddenly hit .90. “No!” Brett shouted. He held it closer and studied the entire area around the huge edifice.

  Where the hell is it? If something blows up here, it could sever the cables.

  He glanced down and saw that the tram car was hanging from the cable over the deepest crevices of the mountain.

  God help me! I’ve got to find it.

  Brett kept walking around the tower’s base. When the read-out hit .99, he looked down and saw a pile of stones and brush. He knelt down and began throwing the rocks aside. Then he saw it.